R.M. Ballantyne (continued 5)

“Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, And waste its sweetness on the desert air.”

At night we encamped at the furthest extremity of the lake, on a very exposed spot, whence we looked out upon the starlit scene, while our supper was spread before us in the warm light of the fire, which blazed and crackled as the men heaped log after log upon it, sending up clouds of bright sparks into the sky.

Next morning we commenced the ascent of Lac la Pluie River. This is decidedly the most beautiful river we had yet traversed—not only on account of the luxuriant foliage of every hue with which its noble banks are covered, but chiefly from the resemblance it bears in many places to the scenery of England, recalling to mind the grassy lawns and verdant banks of Britain’s streams, and transporting the beholder from the wild scenes of the western world to his native home. The trees along its banks were larger and more varied than any we had hitherto seen—ash, poplar, cedar, red and white pines, oak, and birch being abundant, whilst flowers of gaudy hues enhanced the beauty of the scene. Towards noon our guide kept a sharp lookout for a convenient spot whereon to dine; and ere long a flat shelving rock, partly shaded by trees and partly exposed to the blaze of the sun, presented itself to view. The canoe was soon alongside of it, and kept floating about half a foot from the edge by means of two branches, the two ends of which were fastened to the bow and stern of the canoe, and the other two to the ground by means of huge stones. It is necessary to be thus careful with canoes, as the gum or pitch with which the seams are plastered breaks off in lumps, particularly in cold weather, and makes the craft leaky. A snow-white napkin was spread on the flattest part of the rock, and so arranged that, as we reclined around it, on cloaks and blankets, our bodies down to the knees were shaded by the luxuriant foliage behind us, while our feet were basking in the solar rays! Upon the napkin were presently placed, by our active waiter Gibault, three pewter plates, a decanter of port wine, and a large ham, together with a turret of salt butter, and a loaf of bread, to the demolition of which viands we devoted ourselves with great earnestness. At a short distance the men circled round a huge lump of boiled pork, each with a large slice of bread in one hand and a knife in the other, with which he porked his bread in the same way that civilised people butter theirs! Half an hour concluded our mid-day meal; and then, casting off the branches from the canoe, we were out of sight of our temporary dining-room in five minutes.

On the evening of the following day we arrived at the Company’s post, Fort Frances. The fort is rather an old building, situated at the bottom of a small bay or curve in the river, near the foot of a waterfall, whose thundering roar forms a ceaseless music to the inhabitants. We found the post in charge of a chief trader, who had no other society than that of three or four labouring men; so, as may be supposed, he was delighted to see us. Our men carried the canoe, etcetera, over the portage to avoid the waterfall, and as it was then too late to proceed further that night, we accepted his pressing invitation to pass the night at the fort. There was only one spare bed in the house, but this was a matter of little moment to us after the variety of beds we had had since starting; so, spreading a buffalo robe on the floor for a mattress, I rolled myself in my blanket and tried to sleep. At first I could not manage it, owing to the unearthly stillness of a room, after being so long accustomed to the open air and the noise of rivers and cataracts, but at last succeeded, and slept soundly till morning.

Dame Fortune does not always persecute her friends; and although she had retarded us hitherto a good deal with contrary winds and rains, she kindly assisted us when we commenced crossing Lac la Pluie next morning, by raising a stiff, fair breeze. Now, be it known that a canoe, from having no keel, and a round bottom, cannot venture to hoist a sail unless the wind is directly astern—the least bit to one side would be sure to capsize it; so that our getting the wind precisely in the proper direction at the commencement was a great piece of good fortune, inasmuch as it enabled us to cross the lake in six hours, instead of (as is generally the case) taking one, two, or three days.

In the evening we arrived, in high spirits, at a portage, on which we encamped.

Our progress now became a little more interrupted by portages and small lakes, or rather ponds, through which we sometimes passed with difficulty, owing to the shallowness of the water in many places. Soon after this we came to the Mecan River, which we prepared to ascend. In making a portage, we suddenly discovered a little Indian boy, dressed in the extreme of the Indian summer fashion—in other words, he was in a state of perfect nakedness, with the exception of a breech-cloth; and upon casting our eyes across the river we beheld his worthy father, in a similar costume, busily employed in catching fish with a hand-net. He was really a wild, picturesque-looking fellow, notwithstanding the scantiness of his dress; and I was much interested in his proceedings. When I first saw him, he was standing upon a rock close to the edge of a foaming rapid, into the eddies of which he gazed intently, with the net raised in the air, and his muscular frame motionless, as if petrified while in the act of striking. Suddenly the net swung through the air, and his body quivered as he strained every sinew to force it quickly through the water: in a moment it came out with a beautiful white-fish, upwards of a foot long, glittering like silver as it struggled in the meshes. In the space of half an hour he had caught half a dozen in this manner, and we bought three or four of the finest for a few plugs of tobacco. His wigwam and family were close at hand; so, while our men crossed the portage, I ran up to see them.

The tent, which was made of sheets of birch bark sewed together, was pitched beneath the branches of a gigantic pine, upon the lower limbs of which hung a pair of worn-out snow-shoes, a very dirty blanket, and a short bow, with a quiver of arrows near it. At the foot of it, upon the ground, were scattered a few tin pots, several pairs of old moccasins, and a gun; while against it leaned an Indian cradle, in which a small, very brown baby, with jet-black eyes and hair, stood bolt upright, basking in the sun’s rays, and bearing a comical resemblance to an Egyptian mummy. At the door of the tent a child of riper years amused itself by rolling about among the chips of wood, useless bits of deer-skin, and filth always strewn around a wigwam. On the right hand lay a pile of firewood, with an axe beside it, near which crouched a half-starved, wretched-looking nondescript dog, who commenced barking vociferously the moment he cast eyes upon me. Such was the outside. The interior, filled with smoke from the fire and Indians’ pipes, was, if possible, even dirtier. Amid a large pile of rabbit-skins reclined an old woman, busily plucking the feathers from a fine duck, which she carefully preserved (the feathers, not the duck) in a bag, for the purpose of trading them with the Company at a future period. Her dress was a coat of rabbit-skins, so strangely shaped that no one could possibly tell how she ever got it off or on. This, however, was doubtless a matter of little consequence to her, as Indians seldom take the trouble of changing their clothes, or even of undressing at all. The coat was fearfully dirty, and hung upon her in a way that led me to suppose she had worn it for six months, and that it would fall off her in a few days. A pair of faded blue cloth leggins completed her costume—her dirty shoulders, arms, and feet being quite destitute of covering; while her long black hair fell in tangled masses upon her neck, and it was evidently a long time since a comb had passed through it. On the other side sat a younger woman similarly attired, employed in mending a hand-net; and on a very much worn buffalo robe sat a young man (probably the brother of the one we had seen fishing), wrapped in a blanket, smoking his pipe in silence. A few dirty little half-naked boys lay sprawling among several packages of furs tied up in birch bark, and disputed with two or three ill-looking dogs the most commodious place whereon to lie. The fire in the middle of the tent sent up a cloud of smoke, which escaped through an aperture at the top; and from a cross-bar depended a few slices of deer-meat, undergoing the process of smoking.

I had merely time to note all this, and say, “What cheer!” to the Indians, who returned the compliment with a grunt, when the loud voice of our guide ringing through the glades of the forest informed me that the canoe was ready to proceed.

The country through which we now passed was very interesting, on account of the variety of the scenes and places through which we wound our way. At times we were paddling with difficulty against the strong current of a narrow river, which, on our turning a point of land, suddenly became a large lake; and then, after crossing this, we arrived at a portage. After passing over it, there came a series of small ponds and little creeks, through which we pushed our way with difficulty; and then arrived at another lake, and more little rivers, with numerous portages. Sometimes ludicrous accidents happened to us—bad enough at the time, but subjects of mirth afterwards.

One cold, frosty morning (for the weather had now become cold, from the elevation of the country through which we were passing), while the canoe was going quietly over a small reedy lake or ford, I was awakened out of a nap, and told that the canoe was aground, and I must get out and walk a little way to lighten her. Hastily pulling up my trousers for I always travelled barefoot—I sprang over the side into the water, and the canoe left me. Now, all this happened so quickly that I was scarcely awake; but the bitterly cold water, which nearly reached my knees, cleared up my faculties most effectually, and I then found that I was fifty yards from the shore, with an unknown depth of water around me, the canoe out of sight ahead of me, and Mr Bain—who had been turned out while half asleep also—standing with a rueful expression of countenance beside me. After feeling our way cautiously—for the bottom was soft and muddy—we reached the shore; and then, thinking that all was right, proceeded to walk round to join the canoe. Alas! we found the bushes so thick that they were very nearly impenetrable; and, worse than all, that they, as well as the ground, were covered with thorns, which scratched and lacerated our feet most fearfully at every step. There was nothing for it, however, but to persevere; and after a painful walk of a quarter of a mile we overtook the canoe, vowing never to leap before we looked upon any other occasion whatsoever.

In this way we proceeded—literally over hill and dale—in our canoe; and in the course of a few days ascended Mecan River, and traversed Cross Lake, Malign River, Sturgeon Lake, Lac du Mort, Mille Lac, besides a great number of smaller sheets of water without names, and many portages of various lengths and descriptions, till the evening of the 19th, when we ascended the beautiful little river called the Savan, and arrived at the Savan Portage.

Many years ago, in the time of the North-West Company, the echoes among these wild solitudes were far oftener and more loudly awakened than they are now. The reason of it was this. The North-West Company, having their head quarters at Montreal, and being composed chiefly of Canadian adventurers, imported their whole supplies into the country and exported all their furs out of it in north canoes, by the same route over which we now travelled. As they carried on business on a large scale, it may be supposed that the traffic was correspondingly great. No less than ten brigades, each numbering twenty canoes, used to pass through these scenes during the summer months. No one who has not experienced it can form an adequate idea of the thrilling effect the passing of these brigades must have had upon a stranger. I have seen four canoes sweep round a promontory suddenly, and burst upon my view, while at the same moment the wild romantic song of the voyageurs, as they plied their brisk paddles, struck upon my ear; and I have felt thrilling enthusiasm on witnessing such a scene. What, then, must have been the feelings of those who had spent a long, dreary winter in the wild North-West, far removed from the bustle and excitement of the civilised world, when thirty or forty of these picturesque canoes burst unexpectedly upon them, half shrouded in the spray that flew from the bright vermilion paddles; while the men, who had overcome difficulties and dangers innumerable during a long voyage through the wilderness, urged their light craft over the troubled water with the speed of the reindeer, and, with hearts joyful at the happy termination of their trials and privations, sang, with all the force of three hundred manly voices, one of their lively airs, which, rising and falling faintly in the distance as it was borne, first lightly on the breeze, and then more steadily as they approached, swelled out in the rich tones of many a mellow voice, and burst at last into a long enthusiastic shout of joy!

Alas! the forests no longer echo to such sounds. The passage of three or four canoes once or twice a year is all that breaks the stillness of the scene; and nought, save narrow pathways over the portages, and rough wooden crosses over the graves of the travellers who perished by the way, remains to mark that such things were. Of these marks, the Savan Portage, at which we had arrived, was one of the most striking. A long succession of boiling rapids and waterfalls having in days of yore obstructed the passage of the fur-traders, they had landed at the top of them, and cut a pathway through the woods, which happened at this place to be exceedingly swampy: hence the name Savan (or swampy) Portage. To render the road more passable, they had cut down trees, which they placed side by side along its whole extent—which was about three miles—and over this wooden platform carried their canoes and cargoes with perfect ease. After the coalition of the two companies, and the consequent carriage of the furs to England by Hudson Bay—instead of to Canada, by the lakes and rivers of the interior—these roads were neglected, and got out of repair; and consequently we found the logs over the portage decayed and trees fallen across them, so that our men, instead of running quickly over them, were constantly breaking through the rotten wood, sinking up to the knees in mud, and scrambling over trees and branches. We got over at last, however—in about two hours; and after proceeding a little further, arrived at and encamped upon the Prairie Portage, by the side of a voyageur’s grave, which was marked as usual with a wooden cross, on which some friendly hand had cut a rude inscription. Time had now rendered it quite illegible. This is the height of land dividing the waters which flow northward into Hudson Bay from those which flow in a southerly direction, through the great lakes, into the Atlantic Ocean.

A few pages from my journal here may serve to give a better idea of the characteristics of our voyage than could be conveyed in narrative:—

Saturday, 20th September.—We crossed the Prairie Portage this morning—a distance of between three and four miles—and breakfasted at the upper end of it. Amused myself by sketching the view from a neighbouring hill. After crossing two more portages and a variety of small lakes, we launched our canoe on the bosom of the river Du Chien, and began, for the first time since the commencement of our journey, to descend, having passed over the height of land. We saw several grey grouse here, and in the evening one of our men caught one in a curious manner. They were extremely tame, and allowed us to approach them very closely, so Baptiste determined to catch one for supper. Cutting a long branch from a neighbouring tree, he tied a running noose on one end of it, and going quietly up to the bird, put the noose gently over its head, and pulled it off the tree. This is a common practice among the Indians, particularly when they have run short of gunpowder.

Sunday, 21st.—Crossed Lac du Chien, and made the portage of the same name, from the top of which we had a most beautiful view of the whole country for miles round. Having crossed this portage, we proceeded down the Kamenistaquoia River, on the banks of which, after making another portage, we pitched our tents.

Monday, 22nd.—Rain obliged us to put ashore this morning. Nothing can be more wretched than travelling in rainy weather. The men, poor fellows, do not make the least attempt to keep themselves dry; but the passengers endeavour, by means of oiled cloths, to keep out the wet; and under this they broil and suffocate, till at last they are obliged to throw off the covering. Even were this not the case, we should still be wretched, as the rain always finds its way in somewhere or other; and I have been often awakened from a nap by the cold trickling of moisture down my back, and have discovered upon moving that I was lying in a pool of water. Ashore we are generally a little more comfortable, but not much. After dinner we again started, and advanced on our journey till sunset.

Tuesday, 23rd.—To-day we advanced very slowly, owing to the shallowness of the water, and crossed a number of portages. During the day we ran several rapids. This is very exciting work. Upon nearing the head of a large rapid, the men strain every muscle to urge the canoe forward more quickly than the water, so that it may steer better. The bowsman and steersman stand erect, guiding the frail bark through the more unbroken places in the fierce current, which hisses and foams around, as if eager to swallow us up. Now we rush with lightning force towards a rock, against which the water dashes in fury; and to an uninitiated traveller we appear to be on the point of destruction. But one vigorous stroke from the bowsman and steersman (for they always act in concert) sends the light craft at a sharp angle from the impending danger; and away we plunge again over the surging waters—sometimes floating for an instant in a small eddy, and hovering, as it were, to choose our path; and then plunging swiftly forward again through the windings of the stream, till, having passed the whole in safety, we float in the smooth water below.

Accidents, as may be supposed, often happen; and to-day we found that there is danger as well as pleasure in running the rapids. We had got over a great part of the day in safety, and were in the act of running the first part of the Rose Rapid, when our canoe struck upon a rock, and wheeling round with its broadside to the stream, began to fill quickly. I could hear the timbers cracking beneath me under the immense pressure. Another minute, and we should have been gone; but our men, who were active fellows, and well accustomed to such dangers, sprang simultaneously over the side of the canoe, which, being thus lightened, passed over the rock, and rushed down the remainder of the rapid stern foremost ere the men could scramble in and resume their paddles. When rapids were very dangerous, most of the cargo was generally disembarked; and while one half of the crew carried it round to the still water below, the other half ran down light.

Crossed two small portages and the Mountain Portage in the afternoon; on the latter of which I went to see a waterfall, which I was told was in its vicinity. I had great difficulty in finding it at first, but its thundering roar soon guided me to a spot from which it was visible. Truly, a grander waterfall I never saw. The whole river, which was pretty broad, plunged in one broad white sheet over a precipice, higher by a few feet than the famous Falls of Niagara; and the spray from the foot sprang high into the air, bedewing the wild, precipitous crags with which the fall is encompassed, and the gloomy pines that hang about the clefts and fissures of the rocks. Fur-traders have given it the name of the Mountain Fall, from a peculiar mountain in its vicinity; but the natives call it the Kackabecka Falls. After making a sketch of it, and getting myself thoroughly wet in so doing, I returned to the canoe.

In the evening we encamped within nine miles of Fort William, having lost one of our men, who went ashore to lighten the canoe while we ran a rapid. After a good deal of trouble we found him again, but too late to admit of our proceeding to the fort that night.

Wednesday, 24th.—Early this morning we left the encampment, and after two hours’ paddling Fort William burst upon our gaze, mirrored in the limpid waters of Lake Superior—that immense fresh-water sea, whose rocky shores and rolling billows vie with the ocean itself in grandeur and magnificence.

Fort William was once one of the chief posts in the Indian country, and, when it belonged to the North-West Company, contained a great number of men. Now, however, much of its glory has departed. Many of the buildings have been pulled down, and those that remain are very rickety-looking affairs. It is still, however, a very important fishing station, and many hundreds of beautiful white-fish, with which Lake Superior swarms, are salted there annually for the Canada markets. These white-fish are indeed excellent; and it is difficult to say whether they or the immense trout, which are also caught in abundance, have the most delicate flavour. These trout, as well as white-fish, are caught in nets; and the former sometimes measure three feet long, and are proportionately broad. The one we had to breakfast on the morning of our arrival must have been very nearly this size.

The fur-trade of the post is not very good, but the furs traded are similar to those obtained in other parts of the country.

A number of canôtes de maître, or very large canoes, are always kept in store here, for the use of the Company’s travellers. These canoes are of the largest size, exceeding the north canoe in length by several feet, besides being much broader and deeper. They are used solely for the purpose of travelling on Lake Superior, being much too large and cumbersome for travelling with through the interior. They are carried by four men instead of two, like the north canoe; and, besides being capable of carrying twice as much cargo, are paddled by fourteen or sixteen men. Travellers from Canada to the interior generally change their canôtes de maître for north canoes at Fort William, before entering upon the intricate navigation through which we had already passed; while those going from the interior to Canada change the small for the large canoe. As we had few men, however, and the weather appeared settled, we determined to risk coasting round the northern shore of the lake in our north canoe.

The scenery around the fort is very pretty. In its immediate vicinity the land is flat, covered with small trees and willows, which are agreeably suggestive of partridges and other game; but in the distance rise goodly-sized mountains; and on the left hand the noble expanse of the Lake Superior, with rocky islands on its mighty bosom and abrupt hills on its shores, stretches out to the horizon. The fort is built at the mouth of the Kamenistaquoia River, and from its palisades a beautiful view of the surrounding country can be obtained.

As the men wanted rest and our canoe a little repair, we determined to remain all day at Fort William; so some of the men employed themselves re-gumming the canoe, while others spread out our blankets and tents to dry. This last was very necessary as on the journey we have little time to spare from eating and sleeping while on shore; and many a time have I, in consequence, slept in a wet blanket.

The fair lady of the gentleman in charge of the fort was the only lady at the place, and indeed the only one within a circuit of six hundred miles—which space, being the primeval forest, was inhabited only by wild beasts and a few Indians. She was, consequently, very much delighted to meet with Mrs Bain, who, having for so many days seen no one but rough voyageurs, was equally delighted to meet her. While they went off to make the most of each other, Mr Bain and I sauntered about in the vicinity of the fort, admiring the beauty of the scenery, and paid numerous visits to a superb dairy in the fort, which overflowed with milk and cream. I rather think that we admired the dairy more than the scenery. There were a number of cows at the post, a few of which we encountered in our walk, and also a good many pigs and sheep. In the evening we returned, and at tea were introduced to a postmaster, who had been absent when we arrived. This postmaster turned out to be a first-rate player of Scotch reels on the violin. He was self-taught, and truly the sweetness and precision with which he played every note and trill of the rapid reel and strathspey might have made Neil Gow himself envious. So beautiful and inspiriting were they, that Mr Bain and our host, who were both genuine Highlanders, jumped simultaneously from their seats, in an ecstasy of enthusiasm, and danced to the lively music till the very walls shook; much to the amusement of the two ladies, who, having been both born in Canada, could not so well appreciate the music. Indeed, the musician himself looked a little astonished, being quite ignorant of the endearing recollections and associations recalled to the memory of the two Highlanders by the rapid notes of his violin. They were not, however, to be contented with one reel; so, after fruitlessly attempting to make the ladies join us, we sent over to the men’s houses for the old Canadian wife of Pierre Lattinville and her two blooming daughters. They soon came, and after much coyness, blushing, and hesitation, at last stood up, and under the inspiring influence of the violin we:—

“Danced, till we were like to fa’, The reel o’ Tullochgorum!”

And did not cease till the lateness of the hour and the exhaustion of our musician compelled us to give in.

On the following morning we bade adieu to the good people at Fort William, and began our journey along the northern shore of Lake Superior, which is upwards of three hundred miles in diameter. Fortune, however, is proverbially fickle, and she did not belie her character on this particular day. The weather, when we started, was calm and clear, which pleased us much, as we had to make what is called a traverse—that is, to cross from one point of land to another, instead of coasting round a very deep bay. The traverse which we set out to make on leaving Fort William was fourteen miles broad, which made it of some consequence our having a calm day to cross it in our little egg-shell of a canoe. Away we went, then, over the clear lake, singing “Rose Blanche” vociferously. We had already gone a few miles of the distance, when a dark cloud rose on the seaward horizon. Presently the water darkened under the influence of a stiff breeze, and in less than half an hour the waves were rolling and boiling around us like those of the Atlantic. Ahead of us lay a small island, about a mile distant; and towards this the canoe was steered, while the men urged it forward as quickly as the roughness of the sea would allow. Still the wind increased, and the island was not yet gained. Some of the waves had broken over the edge of the canoe, and she was getting filled with water; but a kind Providence permitted us to reach the island in safety, though not in comfort, as most of the men were much wet, and many of them a good deal frightened.

On landing, we pitched our tents, made a fire, and proceeded to dry ourselves, and in less than an hour were as comfortable as possible. The island on which we had encamped was a small rocky one, covered with short heathery-looking shrubs, among which we found thousands of blaeberries. On walking round to the other side of it, I discovered an Indian encamped with his family. He supplied us with a fine white-fish, for which our men gave him a little tobacco and a bit of the fresh mutton which we had brought with us from Fort William.

Three days did we remain on this island, while the wind and waves continued unceasingly to howl and lash around it, as if they wished, in their disappointment, to beat it down and swallow us up, island and all; but towards the close of the third day the gale moderated, and we ventured again to attempt the traverse. This time we succeeded, and in two hours passed Thunder Point, on the other side of which we encamped.

The next day we could only travel till breakfast-time, as the wind again increased so much as to oblige us to put ashore. We comforted ourselves, however, with the prospect of a good mutton-chop.

The fire was soon made, the kettle on, and everything in preparation, when the dreadful discovery was made that the whole of the fresh mutton had been forgotten! Words cannot paint our consternation at this discovery. Poor Mrs Bain sat in mute despair, thinking of the misery of being reduced again to salt pork; while her husband, who had hitherto stood aghast, jumped suddenly forward, and seizing a bag of fine potatoes that had been given to the men, threw it, in a transport of rage, into the lake, vowing that as we were, by their negligence, to be deprived of our mutton, they certainly should also be sufferers with us.

It was very laughable to behold the rueful countenances of the men as their beautiful, large white potatoes sank to the bottom of the clear lake, and shone brightly there, as if to tantalise them, while the rippling water caused them to quiver so much that the lake seemed to rest on a pavement of huge potatoes! None dared, however, attempt to recover one; but after a while, when Mr Bain’s back was turned, a man crept cautiously down to the water’s edge, and gathered as many as were within reach—always, however, keeping an eye on his master, and stooping in an attitude that would permit of his bolting up on the slightest indication of a wrathful movement.

It would be tedious, as well as unnecessary, to recount here all the minutiae of our voyage across Lake Superior; I shall merely touch on a few of the more particular incidents.

On the 1st of October we arrived at the Pic House (see note 2), where we spent the night; and, after a rough voyage, reached Michipicoton on the 4th. Our voyage along Lake Superior was very stormy and harassing, reminding us often of Lake Winnipeg. Sometimes we were paddling along over the smooth water, and at other times lying-by, while the lake was lashed into a mass of foam and billows by a strong gale. So much detention, and the lateness of the season, rendered it necessary to take advantage of every lull and calm hour that occurred, so that we travelled a good deal during the night. This sort of travelling was very romantic.

On one occasion, after having been ashore two days, the wind moderated in the afternoon, and we determined to proceed, if possible. The sun set gloriously, giving promise of fine weather. The sky was clear and cloudless, and the lake calm. For an hour or so the men sang as they paddled, but as the shades of evening fell they ceased; and as it was getting rather chilly, I wrapped myself in my green blanket (which served me for a boat-cloak as well as a bed), and soon fell fast asleep.

How long I slept I know not; but when I awoke, the regular, rapid hiss of the paddles struck upon my ear, and upon throwing off the blanket the first thing that met my eye was the dark sky, spangled with the most gorgeous and brilliant stars I ever beheld. The whole scene, indeed, was one of the most magnificent and awful that can be imagined. On our left hand rose tremendous precipices and cliffs, around the bottom and among the caverns of which the black waters of the lake curled quietly (for a most death-like, unearthly calm prevailed), sending forth a faint hollow murmur, which ended, at long intervals, in a low melancholy cadence. Before and behind us abrupt craggy islands rose from the water, assuming every imaginable and unimaginable shape in the uncertain light; while on the right the eye ranged over the inky lake till it was lost in thick darkness. A thin, transparent night-fog added to the mystical appearance of the scene, upon which I looked with mingled feelings of wonder and awe. The only distinct sound that could be heard was the measured sound of the paddles, which the men plied in silence, as if unwilling to break the stillness of the night. Suddenly the guide uttered in a hoarse whisper, “A terre!” startling the sleepy men, and rendering the succeeding silence still more impressive.

The canoe glided noiselessly through a maze of narrow passages among the tall cliffs, and grounded on a stony beach. Everything was then carried up, and the tents pitched in the dark, as no wood could be conveniently found for the purpose of making a fire; and without taking any supper, or even breaking the solemn silence of the night, we spread our beds as we best could upon the round stones (some of which were larger than a man’s fist), and sank into repose. About a couple of hours afterwards we were roused by the anxious guide, and told to embark again. In this way we travelled at night or by day, as the weather permitted—and even, upon one or two occasions, both night and day—till the 12th of October, when we arrived at the Sault de Ste. Marie, which is situated at the termination of Lake Superior, just as our provisions were exhausted.

We had thus taken eighteen days to coast the lake. This was very slow going indeed, the usual time for coasting the lake in a north canoe being from eight to ten days.

The Sault de Ste. Marie is a large rapid, which carries the waters of Lake Superior into Lake Huron. It separates the British from the American possessions, and is fortified on the American side by a large wooden fort, in which a body of soldiers are constantly resident. There is also a pretty large village of Americans, which is rapidly increasing. The British side is not fortified; and, indeed, there are no houses of any kind except the few belonging to the Hudson Bay Company. This may be considered the extreme outskirts of civilisation, being the first place where I had seen any number of people collected together who were unconnected with the Hudson Bay Company.

I was not destined, however, to enjoy the sight of new faces long, for next morning we started to coast round the northern and uninhabited shores of Lake Huron, and so down the Ottawa to Montreal. Mr and Mrs Bain left me here, and proceeded by the route of the Lakes.

During the next few days we travelled through a number of rivers and lakes of various sizes; among the latter were Lakes Huron and Nipisingue. In crossing the latter, I observed a point on which were erected fourteen rough wooden crosses. Such an unusual sight excited my curiosity, and upon inquiring I found that they were planted there to mark the place where a canoe, containing fourteen men, had been upset in a gale, and every soul lost. The lake was clear and smooth when we passed the melancholy spot, and many a rolling year has defaced and cast down the crosses since the unfortunate men whose sad fate they commemorate perished in the storm.

While searching about the shore one night for wood to make a fire, one of our men found a large basket, made of bark, and filled with fine bears’-grease, which had been hid by some Indians. This was considered a great windfall; and ere two days were passed the whole of it was eaten by the men, who buttered their flour cakes with it profusely.

Not long after this we passed a large waterfall, where a friend of mine was once very nearly lost. A projecting point obliges the traveller to run his canoe rather near the head of the fall, for the purpose of landing to make the portage. From long habit the guides had been accustomed to this, and always effected the doubling of the point in safety. Upon this occasion, however, either from carelessness or accident, the canoe got into the strong current, and almost in an instant was swept down towards the fall. To turn the head of the canoe up the stream, and paddle for their lives, was the work of a moment; but before they got it fairly round they were on the very brink of the cataract, which, had they gone over it, would have dashed them to a thousand atoms. They paddled with the strength of desperation, but so strong was the current that they remained almost stationary. At last they began slowly to ascend—an inch at a time—and finally reached the bank in safety.

On Sunday the 19th of October we commenced descending the magnificent river Ottawa, and began to feel that we were at last approaching the civilised nations of the earth. During the day we passed several small log-huts, or shanties, which are the temporary dwelling-places of men who penetrate thus far into the forest for the purpose of cutting timber. A canoe full of these adventurous pioneers also passed us; and in the evening we reached Fort Mattawan, one of the Company’s stations. At night we encamped along with a party who were taking provisions to the wood-cutters.

The scenery on the Ottawa is beautiful, and as we descended the stream it was rendered more picturesque and interesting by the appearance, occasionally, of that, to us, unusual sight, a farmhouse. They were too few and far between, however, to permit of our taking advantage of the inhabitants’ hospitality, and for the next four days we continued to make our encampments in the woods as heretofore. At one of these frontier farms our worthy guide discovered, to his unutterable astonishment and delight, an old friend and fellow-voyageur, to greet whom he put ashore. The meeting was strange: instead of shaking hands warmly, as I had expected, they stood for a moment gazing in astonishment, and then, with perfect solemnity, kissed each other—not gently on the cheek, but with a good hearty smack on their sunburnt lips. After conversing for a little, they parted with another kiss.

On the fourth day after this event we came in sight of the village of Aylmer, which lay calmly on the sloping banks of the river, its church spire glittering in the sun, and its white houses reflected in the stream.

It is difficult to express the feelings of delight with which I gazed upon this little village, after my long banishment from the civilised world. It was like recovering from a trance of four long dreamy years; and I wandered about the streets, gazing in joy and admiration upon everything and everybody, but especially upon the ladies, who appeared quite a strange race of beings to me—and all of them looked so beautiful in my eyes (long accustomed to Indian dames), that I fell in love with every one individually that passed me in the village. In this happy mood I sauntered about, utterly oblivious of the fact that my men had been left in a public-house, and would infallibly, if not prevented, get dead drunk. I was soon awakened to this startling probability by the guide, who walked up the road in a very solemn I’m-not-at-all-drunk sort of a manner, peering about on every side, evidently in search of me. Having found me, he burst into an expression of unbounded joy; and then, recollecting that this was inconsistent with his assumed character of sobriety, became awfully grave, and told me that we must start soon, as the men were all getting tipsy.

The following day we arrived at Bytown.

This town is picturesquely situated on the brow of a stupendous cliff, which descends precipitously into the Ottawa. Just above the town a handsome bridge stretches across the river, near which the Kettle Fall thunders over a high cliff. We only stayed a few minutes here, and then proceeded on our way.

During the day we passed the locks of the Rideau Canal, which rise, to the number of eight or ten, one over another like steps; and immediately below them appeared the Curtain Falls. These falls are not very picturesque, but their great height and curtain-like smoothness render them an interesting object. After this, villages and detached houses became numerous all the way down the river; and late in the evening of the 24th we arrived at a station belonging to the Hudson Bay Company, on the Lake of the Two Mountains, where we passed the remainder of the night.

Here, for the first time since leaving home, I was ushered into a civilised drawing-room; and when I found myself seated on a cushioned chair, with my moccasined feet pressing a soft carpet, and several real, bonâ fide ladies (the wife and daughters of my entertainer) sitting before me, and asking hundreds of questions about my long voyage, the strange species of unbelief in the possibility of again seeing the civilised world, which had beset me for the last three years, began slowly to give way, and at last entirely vanished when my host showed me into a handsomely furnished bedroom, and left me for the night.

The first thing that struck me on entering the bedroom was the appearance of one of our voyageurs, dressed in a soiled blue capote, dilapidated corduroy trousers, and moccasins; while his deeply sunburnt face, under a mass of long straggling hair, stared at me in astonishment! It will doubtless be supposed that I was much horrified at this apparition. I was, indeed, much surprised; but, seeing that it was my own image reflected in a full-length looking-glass, I cannot say that I felt extremely horrified. This was the first time that I had seen myself—if I may so speak—since leaving Norway House; and, truly, I had no reason to feel proud of my appearance.

The following morning, at four o’clock, we left the Lake of the Two Mountains; and in the afternoon of the 25th October, 1845, arrived at Lachine, where, for the time, my travels came to a close—having been journeying in the wilderness for sixty-six days.

Soon after my arrival winter set in, and I became acquainted with a few of the inhabitants of Lachine. The moment the snow fell, wheeled carriages were superseded by carioles and sleighs of all descriptions. These beautiful vehicles are mounted on runners, or large skates, and slide very smoothly and easily over the snow, except when the road is bad; and then, owing to the want of springs, sleighs become very rough carriages indeed. They are usually drawn by one horse, the harness and trappings of which are profusely covered with small round bells. These bells are very necessary appendages, as little noise is made by the approach of a sleigh over the soft snow, and they serve to warn travellers in the dark. The cheerful tinkling music thus occasioned on the Canadian roads is very pleasing. Sleighs vary a good deal in structure and costliness of decoration; and one often meets a rough, cheerful Canadian habitant sitting in his small box of a sledge (painted sometimes red and sometimes green), lashing away at his shaggy pony in a fruitless attempt to keep up with the large graceful sleigh of a wealthy inhabitant of Montreal, who, wrapped up in furs, drives tandem, with two strong horses, and loudly tinkling bells.

Reader, I had very nearly come to the resolution of giving you a long account of Canada and the Canadians, but I dare not venture on it. I feel that it would be encroaching upon the ground of civilised authors; and as I do not belong to this class, but profess to write of savage life, and nothing but savage life, I hope you will extend to me your kind forgiveness if I conclude this chapter rather abruptly.

It is a true saying that the cup of happiness is often dashed from the lips that are about to taste it. I have sometimes proved this to be the case. The cup of happiness, on the present occasion, was the enjoyment of civilised and social life; and the dashing of it away was my being sent, with very short warning, to an out-of-the-way station, whose name, to me, was strange—distance uncertain, but long—appearance unknown, and geographical position a most profound mystery.

Note 1. Since the above was written, many years have passed, and Dr Rae’s name has become famous, not only on account of successful discovery, but also in connection with the expeditions sent out in search of Sir John Franklin.

Note 2. It must be borne in mind that all the establishments we passed on the way belonged to the Hudson Bay Company.

Chapter Eleven.

Winter-travelling in Canada—Departure from Lachine—Scenery along the road—“Incidents” by the way—Arrival at Tadousac—Mr Stone’s adventure with Indians—Clubbing seals.

It was on a bright winter’s day in the month of January 1846 that I was sent for by the Governor, and told to hold myself in readiness to start early the following morning with Mr Stone for Tadousac—adding, that probably I should spend the approaching summer at Seven Islands.

Tadousac, be it known, is a station about three hundred miles below Montreal, at the mouth of the river Saguenay, and Seven Islands is two hundred miles below Tadousac; so that the journey is not a short one. The greater part of the road runs through an uninhabited country, and the travelling is bad.

In preparation for this journey, then, I employed myself during the remainder of the day; and before night all was ready.

Next morning I found that our journey was postponed to the following day, so I went into Montreal to make a few purchases, and passed the rest of the day in a state of intense thought, endeavouring to find out if anything had been forgotten. Nothing, however, recurred to my memory; and going to bed only half undressed, in order to be ready at a moment’s notice, I soon fell into a short disturbed slumber, from which the servant awakened me long before daylight, by announcing that the sleigh was at the door. In ten minutes I was downstairs, where Mr Stone shortly afterwards joined me; and after seeing our traps safely deposited in the bottom of the sleigh, we jumped in, and slid noiselessly over the quiet street of Lachine.

The stars shone brightly as we glided over the crunching snow, and the sleigh-bells tinkled merrily as our horse sped over the deserted road. Groups of white cottages and solitary gigantic trees flew past us, looking, in the uncertain light, like large snow-drifts; save where the twinkling of a candle, or the first blue flames of the morning fire, indicated that the industrious habitant had risen to his daily toil. In silence we glided on our way, till the distant lights of Montreal awakened us from our reveries, and we met at intervals a solitary pedestrian, or a sleigh-load of laughing, fur-encompassed faces returning from an evening party.

About seven o’clock we arrived at the hotel from which the stage was to start for Quebec—but when did stage-coach, or sleigh either, keep to its time? No sign of it was to be seen, and it required no small application of our knuckles and toes at the door to make the lazy waiter turn out to let us in. No misery, save being too late, can equal that of being too soon; at least, so I thought while walking up and down the coffee-room of the hotel, upon the table of which were scattered the remains of last night’s supper, amid a confusion of newspapers and fag-ends of cigars; while the sleepy waiter made unavailing efforts to coax a small spark of fire to contribute some warmth to one or two damp billets of wood.

About an hour after its appointed time, the sleigh drove up to the door, and we hastened to take our places. The stage, however, was full, but the driver informed us that an “extra” (or separate sleigh of smaller dimensions than the stage) had been provided for us; so that we enjoyed the enviable advantage of having it all to ourselves. Crack went the whip, and off went the leader with a bound, the wheeler following at a pace between a trot and a gallop, and our “extra” keeping close in the rear. The lamps were still burning as we left the city, although the first streaks of dawn illumined the eastern sky. In fifteen minutes more we had left Montreal far behind.

There is something very agreeable in the motion of a sleigh along a good road. The soft muffled sound of the runners gliding over the snow harmonises well with the tinkling bells; and the rapid motion through the frosty air, together with the occasional jolt of going into a hollow or over a hillock, is very exhilarating, and we enjoyed our drive very much for the first hour or so. But, alas! human happiness is seldom of long duration, as we soon discovered; for, just as I was falling into a comfortable doze, bang! went the sleigh into a deep “cahoe,” which most effectually wakened me. Now these same “cahoes” are among the disadvantages attending sleigh-travelling in Canada. They are nothing more or less than deep hollows or undulations in the road, into which the sleighs unexpectedly plunge, thereby pitching the traveller roughly forward; and upon the horses jerking the vehicles out of them, throwing him backward in a way that is pretty sure to bring his head into closer acquaintance with the back of the sleigh than is quite agreeable, particularly if he be a novice in sleigh-travelling. Those which we now encountered were certainly the worst I ever travelled over, rising in succession like the waves of the sea, and making our conveyance plunge sometimes so roughly that I expected it to go to pieces. Indeed, I cannot understand how wood and iron could stand the crashes to which we were exposed. In this way we jolted along, sometimes over good, sometimes over bad roads, till about nine o’clock, when we stopped at a neat, comfortable-looking inn, where the driver changed his horses, and the passengers sat down to a hurried breakfast.

The morning turned out beautifully clear and warm, at least in comparison with what it had been; and upon re-entering the sleigh we all looked extremely happy, and disposed to be pleased with everything and everybody. The country through which we now passed was picturesque and varied. Hills and valleys, covered with glittering snow and dark pines, followed each other in endless succession; while in every valley, and from every mountain-top, we saw hundreds of hamlets and villages, whose little streets and thoroughfares were crowded with busy habitants, engaged in their various occupations and winter traffic.

The laughing voices of merry little children romping along the roads accorded harmoniously with the lively tinkling of their parents’ sleigh-bells as they set out for the market with the produce of their farms, or, dressed in their whitest blanket capotes and smartest bonnets rouges, accompanied their wives and daughters to a marriage or a festival. The scene was rendered still more pleasing by the extreme clearness of the frosty air and the deep blue of the sky; while the weather was just cold enough to make the rapid motion of our sleighs agreeable and necessary.

In some places the roads were extremely precipitous; and when we arrived at the foot of a large hill we used generally to get out and walk, preferring this to being dragged slowly up by the jaded horses.

During the day our sleighs were upset several times; but Mr Stone and I, in the “extra,” suffered more in this way than those of the regular stage, as it was much narrower, and, consequently, more liable to tip over. Upon upsetting, it unaccountably happened that poor Mr Stone was always undermost. But he submitted to his fate most stoically; though from the nature of things my elbow invariably thrust him deep into the snow, on which, after being extricated, a splendid profile impression was left, to serve as a warning to other travellers, and to show them that a gentleman had been cast there.

As very little danger, however, attended these accidents, they only afforded subject for mirth at the time, and conversation at the end of the stage—except once, when the sleigh turned over so rapidly, that I was thrown with considerable force against the roof, which, being of a kind of slight framework, covered with painted canvas, offered but small opposition to my flight; my head, consequently, went quite through it, and my unfortunate nose was divested to rather an alarming extent of its cutaneous covering. With this exception, we proceeded safely and merrily along, and about seven o’clock in the evening arrived at the small town of Three Rivers.

Early next morning we resumed our journey, and about four in the afternoon arrived at the famous city of Quebec, without having encountered any very interesting adventures by the way.

The first sight we had of Quebec was certainly anything but prepossessing. A recent fire in the lower town had completely destroyed a large portion of it; and the first street I passed through was nothing but a gaunt row of blackened chimneys and skeleton houses, which had a very melancholy, ghostlike appearance when contrasted with the white snow. As we advanced, however, to where the fire had been checked, the streets assumed a more agreeable aspect—shops were open here and there, and workmen busily employed in repairing damaged houses and pulling down dangerous ones. Upon arriving at the steep street which leads from the lower town to within the walls, the immense strength of the ramparts and fortifications struck me forcibly. The road up which we passed to the gate was very narrow: on one side a steep hill descended to the lower town; and on the other towered the city walls, pierced all over with loopholes, and bristling with cannon. At the head of the road, in an angle of the wall, two silent but grim-looking guns pointed their muzzles directly down the road, so as to command it from one end to the other. All the other parts of the walls that I happened to see were even more strongly fortified than this.

The streets of Quebec are very steep, much more so than those of Edinburgh; and it requires no small exertion to mount one or two without stopping to breathe at the top. Upon the whole, it is anything but a pretty town (at least in winter), the houses being high, and the streets very narrow. The buildings, too, are commonplace; and the monument to Wolfe and Montcalm is a very insignificant affair. In fact, Quebec can boast of little else than the magnificent views it commands from the ramparts, and the impregnable strength of its fortifications. Some of the suburban villas, however, are very beautiful; and although I saw them in winter, yet I could form some idea of the enchanting places they must be in summer.

After spending three pleasant days here, we got into our sleigh again, and resumed our journey.

No stages ran below Quebec, so that we now travelled in the sleigh of a farmer, who happened to be going down part of the way.

Soon after leaving the city, we passed quite close to the famous Falls of Montmorenci. They are as high, if not higher, than those of Niagara, but I thought them rather tame, being nothing but a broad curtain of water falling over an even cliff, and quite devoid of picturesque scenery. A curious cone of ice, formed by the spray, rose nearly half-way up the falls.

The scenery below Quebec is much more rugged and mountainous than that above; and as we advanced the marks of civilisation began gradually to disappear—villages became scarcer, and roads worse, till at last we came to the shanties of the wood-cutters, with here and there a solitary farmhouse. Still, however, we occasionally met a few sleighs, with the conductors of which our driver seemed to be intimately acquainted. These little interruptions broke, in a great degree, the monotony of the journey; and we always felt happier for an hour after having passed and exchanged with a Canadian a cheerful bonjour.

Our driver happened to be a very agreeable man, and more intelligent than most Canadians of his class; moreover, he had a good voice, and when we came to a level part of the road I requested him to sing me a song—which he did at once, singing with a clear, strong, manly voice the most beautiful French air I ever heard; both the name and air, however, I have now forgotten. He then asked me to sing—which I did without further ceremony, treating him to one of the ancient melodies of Scotland; and thus, with solos and duets, we beguiled the tedium of the road, and filled the woods with melody! much to the annoyance of the unmusical American feathered tribes, and to the edification of our horse, who pricked up his ears, and often glanced backwards, apparently in extreme surprise.

Towards evening the driver told us that we should soon arrive at Baie de St. Paul; and in half an hour more our weary horse dragged us slowly to the top of a hill, whence we had a splendid view of the village. In all the miles of country I had passed over, I had seen nothing to equal the exquisite beauty of the Vale of Baie de St. Paul. From the hill on which we stood the whole valley, of many miles in extent, was visible. It was perfectly level, and covered from end to end with thousands of little hamlets, and several churches, with here and there a few small patches of forest. The course of a little rivulet, which meanders through it in summer, was apparent, even though covered with snow. At the mouth of this several schooners and small vessels lay embedded in ice; beyond which rolled the dark, ice-laden waves of the Gulf of St. Lawrence. The whole valley teemed with human life. Hundreds of Canadians, in their graceful sleighs and carioles, flew over the numerous roads intersecting the country; and the faint sound of tinkling bells floated gently up the mountain-side, till it reached the elevated position on which we stood. The whole scene was exquisitely calm and peaceful, forming a strange and striking contrast to the country round it. Like the Happy Valley of Rasselas, it was surrounded by the most wild and rugged mountains, which rose in endless succession, one behind another, stretching away in the distance till they resembled a faint blue wave on the horizon. In this beautiful place we spent the night, and the following at Mal Baie. This village was also pretty, but after Baie de St. Paul I could but little admire it.

Next night we slept in a shanty belonging to the timber-cutters on the coast of the gulf, which was truly the most wretched abode, except an Indian tent, I ever had the chance (or mischance) to sleep in. It was a small log-hut, with only one room; a low door—to enter which we had to stoop—and a solitary square window, filled with parchment in lieu of glass. The furniture was of the coarsest description, and certainly not too abundant. Everything was extremely dirty, and the close air was further adulterated with thick clouds of tobacco smoke, which curled from the pipes of half a dozen wood-choppers. Such was the place in which we passed the night; and glad was I when the first blush of day summoned us to resume our travels. We now entered our sleigh for the last time, and after a short drive arrived at the termination of the horse road. Here we got out, and rested a short time in a shanty, preparatory to taking to our snow-shoes.

The road now lay through the primeval forest, and fortunately it proved to be pretty well beaten, so we walked lightly along, with our snow-shoes under our arms. In the afternoon we arrived at another shanty, having walked about eighteen miles. Here we found a gentleman who superintended the operations of the lumberers, or wood-cutters. He kindly offered to drive us to Canard River, a place not far distant from the termination of our journey. I need scarcely say we gladly accepted his offer, and in a short time arrived at the river Saguenay.

This river, owing to its immense depth, never freezes over at its mouth; so we crossed it in a boat, and on the evening of the 7th of February we arrived at the post of Tadousac.

This establishment belongs to the Hudson Bay Company, and is situated at the bottom of a large and deep bay adjoining the mouth of the river Saguenay. Unlike the posts of the north, it is merely a group of houses, scattered about in a hollow of the mountains, without any attempt at arrangement, and without a stockade. The post, when viewed from one of the hills in the neighbourhood, is rather picturesque; it is seen embedded in the mountains, and its white-topped houses contrast prettily with the few pines around it. A little to the right rolls the deep, unfathomable Saguenay, at the base of precipitous rocks and abrupt mountains, covered in some places with stunted pines, but for the most part bald-fronted. Up the river, the view is interrupted by a large rock, nearly round, which juts out into the stream, and is named the “Bull.” To the right lies the Bay of St. Catherine, with a new settlement at its head; and above this flows the majestic St. Lawrence, compared to which the broad Saguenay is but a thread.

Tadousac Bay is one of the finest natural harbours in the St. Lawrence. Being very deep quite close to the shore, it is much frequented by vessels and craft of every description and dimension. Ships, schooners, barks, brigs, and bateaux lie calmly at anchor within a stone’s-throw of the bushes on shore; others are seen beating about at the mouth of the harbour, attempting to enter; while numerous pilot boats sail up and down, almost under the windows of the house; and in the offing are hundreds of vessels, whose white sails glimmer on the horizon like the wings of sea-gulls, as they beat up for anchorage, or proceed on their course for England or Quebec. The magnificent panorama is closed by the distant hills of the opposite shore, blending with the azure sky. This, however, is the only view, the land being a monotonous repetition of bare granite hills and stunted pines (see note 1).

Here, then, for a time, my travels came to a close, and I set about making myself as comfortable in my new quarters as circumstances would permit.

Tadousac I found to be similar, in many respects, to the forts in the north. The country around was wild, mountainous, and inhabited only by a few Indians and wild animals. There was no society, excepting that of Mr Stone’s family; the only other civilised being, above the rank of a labourer, being a gentleman who superintended a timber-cutting and log-sawing establishment, a quarter of a mile from the Company’s post.

My bourgeois, Mr Stone, was a very kind man and an entertaining companion. He had left Scotland, his native land, when very young, and had ever since been travelling about and dwelling in the wild woods of America. A deep scar on the bridge of his nose showed that he had not passed through these savage countries scathless. The way in which he came by this scar was curious, so I may relate it here.

At one of the solitary forts in the wild regions on the west side of the Rocky Mountains, where my friend Mr Stone dwelt, the Indians were in the habit of selling horses, of which they had a great many, to the servants of the Hudson Bay Company. They had, however, an uncommonly disagreeable propensity to steal these horses again the moment a convenient opportunity presented itself; and to guard against the gratification of this propensity was one of the many difficulties that the fur-traders had to encounter. Upon one occasion a fine horse was sold by an Indian to Mr Stone, the price (probably several yards of cloth and a few pounds of tobacco) paid, and the Indian went away. Not long after the horse was stolen; but as this was an event that often happened, it was soon forgotten. Winter passed away, spring thawed the lakes and rivers, and soon a party of Indians arrived with furs and horses to trade. They were of the Blackfoot tribe, and a wilder set of fellows one would hardly wish to see. Being much in the habit of fighting with the neighbouring tribes, they were quite prepared for battle, and decorated with many of the trophies of war. Scalp-locks hung from the skirts of their leather shirts and leggins, eagles’ feathers and beads ornamented their heads, and their faces were painted with stripes of black and red paint.

After conversing with them a short time, they were admitted through the wicket one by one, and their arms taken from them and locked up. This precaution was rendered necessary at these posts, as the Indians used to buy spirits, and often quarrelled with each other; but, having no arms, of course they could do themselves little damage. When about a dozen of them had entered, the gate was shut, and Mr Stone proceeded to trade their furs and examine their horses, when he beheld, to his surprise, the horse that had been stolen from him the summer before; and upon asking to whom it belonged, the same Indian who had formerly sold it to him stood forward and said it was his. Mr Stone (an exceedingly quiet, good-natured man, but, like many men of this stamp, very passionate when roused) no sooner witnessed the fellow’s audacity than he seized a gun from one of his men and shot the horse. The Indian instantly sprang upon him, but being a less powerful man than Mr Stone, and, withal, unaccustomed to use his fists, he was soon overcome, and pommelled out of the fort. Not content with this, Mr Stone followed him down to the Indian camp, pommelling him all the way. The instant, however, that the Indian found himself surrounded by his own friends, he faced about, and with a dozen warriors attacked Mr Stone and threw him on the ground, where they kicked and bruised him severely; whilst several boys of the tribe hovered around him with bows and arrows, waiting a favourable opportunity to shoot him. Suddenly a savage came forward with a large stone in his hand, and, standing over his fallen enemy, raised it high in the air and dashed it down upon his face. My friend, when telling me the story, said that he had just time, upon seeing the stone in the act of falling, to commend his spirit to God ere he was rendered insensible. The merciful God, to whom he thus looked for help at the eleventh hour, did not desert him. Several men belonging to the fort, seeing the turn things took, hastily armed themselves, and hurrying out to the rescue, arrived just at the critical moment when the stone was dashed in his face. Though too late to prevent this, they were in time to prevent a repetition of the blow; and after a short scuffle with the Indians, without any blood shed, they succeeded in carrying their master up to the fort, where he soon recovered. The deep cut made by the stone on the bridge of his nose left an indelible scar.

Besides Mr Stone, I had another companion—namely, Mr Jordan, a clerk, who inhabited the same office with me, and slept in the same bedroom, during the whole winter. He was a fine-looking athletic half-breed, who had been partially educated, but had spent much more of his life among Indians than among civilised men. He used to be sent about the country to trade with the natives, and consequently led a much more active life than I did. One part of his business, during the early months of spring, was hunting seals. This was an amusing, though, withal, rather a murderous kind of sport. The manner of it was this:—

My friend Jordan chose a fine day for his excursion, and, embarking in a boat with six or seven men, sailed a few miles down the St. Lawrence, till he came to a low flat point. In a small bay near this he drew up the boat, and then went into the woods with his party, where each man cut a large pole or club. Arming themselves with these, they waited until the tide receded and left the point dry. In a short time one or two seals crawled out of the sea to bask upon the shore; soon several more appeared, and ere long a band of more than a hundred lay sunning themselves upon the beach. The ambuscade now prepared to attack the enemy. Creeping stealthily down as near as possible without being discovered, they simultaneously rushed upon the astonished animals; and the tragic scene of slaughter, mingled with melodramatic and comic incidents, that ensued, baffles all description. In one place might be seen my friend Jordan swinging a huge club round with his powerful arms, and dealing death and destruction at every blow; while in another place a poor weazened-looking Scotchman (who had formerly been a tailor! and to whom the work was new) advanced, with cautious trepidation, towards a huge seal, which spluttered and splashed fearfully in its endeavours to reach the sea, and dealt it a blow on the back. He might as well have hit a rock. The slight rap had only the effect of making the animal show its teeth; at which sight the tailor retreated precipitately, and, striking his heel against a rock, fell backwards into a pool of water, where he rolled over and over—impressed, apparently, with the idea that he was attacked by all the seals in the sea. His next essay, however, was more successful, and in a few minutes he killed several, having learned to hit on the head instead of on the back. In less than a quarter of an hour they killed between twenty and thirty seals, which were stowed in the boat and conveyed to the post.

Nothing worth mentioning took place at Tadousac during my residence there. The winter became severe and stormy, confining us much to the house, and obliging us to lead very humdrum sort of lives. Indeed, the only thing that I can recollect as being at all interesting or amusing—except, of coarse, the society of my scientific and agreeable friend, Mr Stone, and his amiable family—was a huge barrel-organ, which, like the one that I had found at Oxford House, played a rich variety of psalm tunes, and a choice selection of Scotch reels—the grinding out of which formed the chief solace of my life, until the arrival of an auspicious day when I received sudden orders to prepare for another journey.

Note 1. It may be well to say that the above description applied to the country only in the summer and autumn months. It is now, we believe, an important summer resort, and a comparatively populous place.

Chapter Twelve.

A journey on snow-shoes—Evils of snow-shoe travelling in spring—Value of tea to a tired man—Encamp in the snow—Isle Jérémie—Canoeing and boating on the gulf of St. Lawrence—Amateur navigating—Seven Islands—A narrow escape—Conclusion.

It was on a cold, bleak morning, about the beginning of March 1846, that I awoke from a comfortable snooze in my bedroom at Tadousac, and recollected that in a few hours I must take leave of my present quarters, and travel, on snow-shoes, sixty miles down the Gulf of St. Lawrence to the post of Isle Jérémie.

The wind howled mournfully through the leafless trees, and a few flakes of snow fell upon the window as I looked out upon the cheerless prospect. Winter—cold, biting, frosty winter—still reigned around. The shores of Tadousac Bay were still covered with the same coat of ice that had bound them up four months before; and the broad St. Lawrence still flowed on, black as ink, and laden with immense fields and hummocks of dirty ice, brought down from the banks of the river above. The land presented one uniform chilling prospect of bare trees and deep snow, over which I was soon to traverse many a weary mile.

There is nothing, however, like taking things philosophically; so, after venting my spite at the weather in one or two short grumbles, I sat down in a passable state of equanimity to breakfast. During the meal I discussed with Mr Stone the prospects of the impending journey, and indulged in a few excursive remarks upon snow-shoe travelling, whilst he related a few incidents of his own eventful career in the country.

On one occasion he was sent off upon a long journey over the snow, where the country was so mountainous that snowshoe walking was rendered exceedingly painful, by the feet slipping forward against the front bar of the shoe when descending the hills. After he had accomplished a good part of his journey, two large blisters rose under the nails of his great toes; and soon the nails themselves came off. Still he must go on, or die in the woods; so he was obliged to tie the nails on his toes each morning before starting, for the purpose of protecting the tender parts beneath; and every evening he wrapped them up carefully in a piece of rag, and put them into his waistcoat pocket—being afraid of losing them if he kept them on all night.

After breakfast I took leave of my friends at Tadousac, and, with a pair of snow-shoes under my arm, followed my companion Jordan to the boat which was to convey me the first twenty miles of the journey, and then land me, with one man, who was to be my only companion. In the boat was seated a Roman Catholic priest, on his way to visit a party of Indians a short distance down the gulf. The shivering men shipped their oars in silence, and we glided through the black water, while the ice grated harshly against the boat’s sides as we rounded Point Rouge. Another pull, and Tadousac was hidden from our view.

Few things can be more comfortless or depressing than a sail down the Gulf of St. Lawrence on a gloomy winter’s day, with the thermometer at zero! The water looks so black and cold, and the sky so gray, that it makes one shudder, and turn to look upon the land. But there no cheering prospect meets the view. Rocks—cold, hard, misanthropic rocks—grin from beneath volumes of snow; and the few stunted black-looking pines that dot the banks here and there only tend to render the scene more desolate. No birds fly about to enliven the traveller; and the only sound that meets the ear, besides the low sighing of the cold, cold wind, is the crashing of immense fields of ice, as they meet and war in the eddies of opposing currents. Fortunately, however, there was no ice near the shore, and we met with little interruption on the way. The priest bore the cold like a stoic; and my friend Jordan, being made, metaphorically speaking, of iron, treated it with the contemptuous indifference that might be expected from such metal.

In the evening we arrived at Esquimain River, where we took up our quarters in a small log-hut belonging to a poor seal-fisher, whose family, and a few men who attended a sawmill a short distance off, were the only inhabitants of this little hamlet. Here we remained all night, and prepared our snow-shoes for the morrow, as the boat was there to leave us and return to Tadousac. The night was calm and frosty, and everything gave promise of fine weather for our journey. But who can tell what an hour will bring forth? Before morning the weather became milder, and soon it began to thaw. A fine warm day, with a bright sun, be it known, is one of the most dreadful calamities that can befall a snowshoe traveller, as the snow then becomes soft and sticky, thereby drenching the feet and snow-shoes, which become painfully heavy from the quantity of snow which sticks to and falls upon them. In cold frosty weather the snow is dry, crisp, and fine, so that it falls through the network of the snow-shoe without leaving a feather’s weight behind, while the feet are dry and warm; but a thaw!—oh! it is useless attempting to recapitulate the miseries attending a thaw; my next day’s experience will show what it is.

Early on the following morning I jumped from my bed on the floor of the hut, and proceeded to equip myself for the march. The apartment in which I had passed the night presented a curious appearance. It measured about sixteen feet by twelve, and the greater part of this space was occupied by two beds, on which lay, in every imaginable position, the different members of the half-breed family to whom the mansion belonged. In the centre of the room stood a coarsely-constructed deal table, on which lay in confusion the remains of the preceding night’s supper. On the right of this, a large gaudily-painted Yankee clock graced the wall, and stared down upon the sleeping figures of the men. This, with a few rough wooden chairs and a small cupboard, comprised all the furniture of the house.

I soon singled out my man from among the sleeping figures on the floor, and bade him equip himself for the road—or rather for the march, for road we had none. In half an hour we were ready; and having fortified ourselves with a cup of weak tea and a slice of bread, left the house and commenced our journey.

My man Bezeau (a French Canadian) was dressed in a blue striped cotton shirt, of very coarse quality, and a pair of corduroys, strapped round his waist with a scarlet belt. Over these he wore a pair of blue cloth leggins, neatly bound with orange-coloured ribbon. A Glengarry bonnet covered his head; and two pairs of flannel socks, under a pair of raw seal-skin shoes, protected his feet from the cold. His burden consisted of my carpet-bag, two days’ provisions, and a blue cloth capote—which latter he carried over his shoulder, the weather being warm. My dress consisted of a scarlet flannel shirt, and a pair of étoffe du pays trousers, which were fastened round my waist by a leathern belt, from which depended a small hunting-knife; a foraging cap and deer-skin moccasins completed my costume. My burden was a large green blanket, a greatcoat, and a tin tea-kettle. Our only arms of offence or defence were the little hunting-knife before mentioned, and a small axe for felling trees, should we wish to make a fire. We brought no guns, as there was little prospect of meeting any game on the road; and it behoves one, when travelling on foot, to carry as little as possible.

Thus we started from Esquimain River. The best joke, however, of all was, that neither I nor my man had ever travelled that way before! All we knew was, that we had to walk fifty miles through an uninhabited country, and that then we should, or at least ought to, reach Isle Jérémie. There were two solitary houses, however, that we had to pass on the way; the one an outpost of the Hudson Bay Company, the other a saw-mill belonging to one of the lumber companies (or timber-traders) in Quebec. In fact, the best idea of our situation may be had from the following lines, which may be supposed to have been uttered by the establishment to which we were bound:—

“Through the woods, through the woods, follow and find me, Search every hollow, and dingle, and dell; To the right, left, or front, you may pass, or behind me, Unless you are careful, and look for me well.”

The first part of our road lay along the shores of the St. Lawrence.

The sun shone brightly, and the drifting ice in the gulf glittered in its rays as it flowed slowly out to sea; but ere long the warm rays acted upon the snow, and rendered walking toilsome and fatiguing. After about an hour’s walk along the shore, we arrived at the last hut we were likely to see that day. It was inhabited by an Indian and his family. Here we rested a few minutes, and I renewed my snow-shoe lines, the old ones having broken by the way.

Shortly after this we passed the wreck of what had once been a fine ship. She lay crushed and dismasted among the rocks and lumps of ice which lined the desolate shore, her decks and the stumps of her masts drifted over with snow. Six short months before, she had bounded over the Atlantic wave in all the panoply of sail and rigging pertaining to a large three-master, inclosing in her sturdy hull full many a daring heart beating high with sanguine hopes, and dreaming of fame and glory, or perchance of home. But now, how great the change!—her sails and masts uprooted, and her helm—the seaman’s confidence and safeguard—gone; her bed upon the rocks and pebbles of a dreary shore; and her shattered hull hung round with icicles, and wrapped in the cold embraces of the wintry ocean. Few things, I think, can have a more inexpressibly melancholy appearance than a wreck upon a rocky and deserted shore in winter.

The road now began to get extremely bad. The ice, over which we had to walk for miles, had been covered with about six inches of water and snow. A sharp frost during the night had covered this with a cake of ice sufficiently strong to bear us up until we got fairly upon it, and were preparing to take another step, when down it went—so that we had a sort of natural treadmill to exercise ourselves upon all day; while every time we sank, as a matter of course our snowshoes were covered with a mixture of water, snow, and broken ice, to extricate our feet from which almost pulled our legs out of the sockets.

In this way we plodded slowly and painfully along, till we came to a part of the shore where the ice had been entirely carried off, leaving the sandy beach uncovered for about two miles. We gladly took advantage of this, and, pulling off our snow-shoes, walked along among the shells and tangle of the sea-shore. At this agreeable part of our journey, while we walked lightly along, with our snow-shoes under our arms, I fell into a reverie upon the superior advantages of travelling in cold weather, and the delights of walking on sandy beaches in contrast with wet snow. These cogitations, however, were suddenly interrupted by our arrival at the place where the ice had parted from the general mass; so, with a deep sigh, we resumed our snow-shoes. My feet, from the friction of the lines, now began to feel very painful; so, having walked about ten miles, I proposed taking a rest. To this my man, who seemed rather tired, gladly acceded, and we proceeded to light a fire under the stem of a fallen tree which opportunely presented itself.

Here we sat down comfortably together; and while our wet shoes and socks dried before the blazing fire, and our chafed toes wriggled joyously at being relieved from the painful harness of the snow-shoes, we swallowed a cup of congou with a degree of luxurious enjoyment, appreciable only by those who have walked themselves into a state of great exhaustion after a hurried breakfast.

Greatly refreshed by the tea, we resumed our journey in better spirits, and even affected to believe we were taking an agreeable afternoon walk for the first mile or so. We soon, however, fell to zero again, as we gazed wistfully upon the long line of coast stretching away to the horizon. But there was no help for it; on we splashed, sometimes through ice, water, and snow, and sometimes across the shingly beach, till the day was far spent, when I became so exhausted that I could scarcely drag one foot after the other, and moved along almost mechanically. My man, too, strong as he was, exhibited symptoms of fatigue; though, to do him justice, he was at least seven times more heavily laden than I.

While we jogged slowly along in this unenviable condition, a lump of ice offered so tempting a seat that we simultaneously proposed to sit down. This was very foolish. Resting without a fire is bad at all times; and the exhausted condition we were then in made it far worse, as I soon found to my cost. Tired as I was before, I could have walked a good deal farther; but no sooner did I rise again to my feet than an inexpressible weakness overcame me, and I felt that I could go no farther. This my man soon perceived, and proposed making a fire and having a cup of tea; and then, if I felt better, we might proceed. This I agreed to; so, entering the woods, we dug a hole in the snow, and in half an hour had a fire blazing in it that would have roasted an ox! In a short time a panful of snow was converted into hot tea; and as I sat sipping this, and watching the white smoke as it wreathed upwards from the pipe of my good-natured guide, I never felt rest more delightful.

The tea refreshed us so much that we resumed our journey, intending, if possible, to reach Port Neuf during the night; and as we calculated that we had walked between fifteen and eighteen miles, we hoped to reach it in a few hours.

Away, then, we went, and plodded on till dark without reaching the post; nevertheless, being determined to travel as long as we could, we pushed on till near midnight, when, being quite done up, and seeing no sign of the establishment, we called a council of war, and sat down on a lump of ice to discuss our difficulties. I suggested that if we had not already passed the post, in all probability we should do so, if we continued to travel any farther in the dark. My companion admitted that he entertained precisely the same views on the subject; and, furthermore, that as we both seemed pretty tired, and there happened to be a nice little clump of willows, intermixed with pine trees, close at hand, his opinion was that nothing better could be done than encamping for the night. I agreed to this; and the resolution being carried unanimously, the council adjourned, and we proceeded to make our encampment.

First of all, the snow was dug away from the foot of a large pine with our snow-shoes, which we used as spades; and when a space of about ten feet long, by six broad, was cleared, we covered it with pine branches at one end, and made a roaring fire against the tree at the other. The snow rose all around to the height of about four feet, so that when our fire blazed cheerily, and our supper was spread out before it upon my green blanket, we looked very comfortable indeed—and what was of much more consequence, felt so. Supper consisted of a cup of tea, a loaf of bread, and a lump of salt butter. After having partaken largely of these delicacies, we threw a fresh log upon the fire, and rolling ourselves in our blankets, were soon buried in repose.

Next morning, on awaking, the first thing I became aware of was the fact that it was raining, and heavily too, in the shape of a Scotch mist. I could scarcely believe it, and rubbed my eyes to make sure; but there was no mistake about it at all. The sky was gray, cold, and dismal, and the blanket quite wet! “Well,” thought I, as I fell back in a sort of mute despair, “this is certainly precious weather for snow-shoe travelling!” I nudged my sleeping companion, and the look of melancholy resignation which he put on, as he became gradually aware of the state of matters, convinced me that bad as yesterday had been, to-day would be far worse.

When I got upon my legs, I found that every joint in my body was stiffer than the rustiest hinge ever heard of in the annals of doors! and my feet as tender as a chicken’s, with huge blisters all over them. Bezeau, however, though a little stiff, was otherwise quite well, being well inured to hardships of every description.

It is needless to recount the miseries of the five miles’ walk that we had to make before arriving at Port Neuf, over ground that was literally next to impassable. About nine o’clock we reached the house, and remained there for the rest of the day. Here, for three days, we were hospitably entertained by the Canadian family inhabiting the place; during this time it rained and thawed so heavily that we could not venture to resume our journey.

On the 16th the weather became colder, and Bezeau announced his opinion that we might venture to proceed. Glad to be once more on the move—for fears of being arrested altogether by the setting-in of spring had begun to beset me—I once more put on my snow-shoes; and, bidding adieu to the hospitable inmates of Port Neuf, we again wended our weary way along the coast. Alas! our misfortunes had not yet ceased. The snow was much softer than we anticipated, and the blisters on my feet, which had nearly healed during the time we stayed at Port Neuf, were now torn open afresh. After a painful and laborious walk of eight or nine miles, we arrived at a small house, where a few enterprising men lived who had penetrated thus far down the gulf to erect a saw-mill.

Here we found, to our infinite joy, a small flat-bottomed boat, capable of carrying two or three men; so, without delay, we launched it, and putting our snow-shoes and provisions into it, my man and I jumped in, and pulled away down the gulf, intending to finish the twenty miles that still remained of our journey by water. We were obliged to pull a long way out to sea, to avoid the ice which lined the shore, and our course lay a good deal among drifting masses.

Half an hour after we embarked a snow-storm came on, but still we pulled along, preferring anything to resuming the snow-shoes.

After a few hours’ rowing, we rested on our oars, and refreshed ourselves with a slice of bread and a glass of rum—which latter, having forgotten to bring water with us, we were obliged to drink pure. We certainly cut a strange figure, while thus lunching in our little boat—surrounded by ice, and looking hazy through the thickly falling snow, which prevented us from seeing very far ahead, and made the mountains on shore look quite spectral.

For about five miles we pulled along in a straight line, after which the ice trended outwards, and finally brought us to a stand-still by running straight out to sea. This was an interruption we were not at all prepared for, and we felt rather undecided how to proceed. After a little confabulation, we determined to pull out, and see if the ice did not again turn in the proper direction; but after pulling straight out for a quarter of a mile, we perceived, or imagined we perceived, to our horror, that the ice, instead of being stationary, as we supposed it to be, was floating slowly out to sea with the wind, and carrying us along with it. No time was to be lost; so, wheeling about, we rowed with all our strength for the shore, and after a pretty stiff pull gained the solid ice. Here we hauled the flat up out of the water with great difficulty, and once more put on our snow-shoes.