We commence to Cut our Way--The Pathless Primeval Forest--The
Order of March--Trouble with our Horses; their Perversity--
Continual Disasters--Our Daily Fare--Mount Cheadle--Country
Improves only in Appearance--Futile Attempt to Escape out of
the Valley--A Glimpse of Daylight--Wild Fruits--Mr. O’B.
triumphantly Crosses the River--The Assiniboine Disabled--New
Arrangements--Hopes of Finding Prairie-Land--Disappointment--
Forest and Mountain Everywhere--False Hopes again--Provisions
at an End--Council of War--Assiniboine Hunts without Success--
The Headless Indian--“Le Petit Noir” Condemned and Executed--
Feast on Horse-flesh--Leave Black Horse Camp--Forest again--
The Assiniboine becomes Disheartened--The Grand Rapid--A Dead
Lock--Famishing Horses--The Barrier--Shall we get Past?--Mr.
O’B. and Bucephalus--Extraordinary Escape of the Latter--More
Accidents--La Porte d’Enfer--Step by Step--The Assiniboine
Downcast and Disabled--Mrs. Assiniboine takes his Place--
The Provisions give out again--A Dreary Beaver Swamp--The
Assiniboine gives up in Despair--Mr. O’B. begins to Doubt,
discards Paley, and prepares to become Insane--We kill another
Horse--A Bird of Good Omen--The Crow speaks Truth--Fresher
Sign--A Trail--The Road rapidly Improves--Out of the Forest at
last!
On the 31st of July we left Slaughter Camp in a pouring rain, and
plunged into the pathless forest before us. We were at once brought
up by the steep face of a hill which came down close to the water’s
edge. But the steepness of the path was not the greatest difficulty.
No one who has not seen a primeval forest, where trees of gigantic
size have grown and fallen undisturbed for ages, can form any idea of
the collection of timber, or the impenetrable character of such a
region. There were pines and thujas of every size, the patriarch of
300 feet in height standing alone, or thickly clustering groups of
young ones struggling for the vacant place of some prostrate giant.
The fallen trees lay piled around, forming barriers often six or eight
feet high on every side: trunks of huge cedars, moss-grown and decayed,
lay half-buried in the ground on which others as mighty had recently
fallen; trees still green and living, recently blown down, blocking the
view with the walls of earth held in their matted roots; living trunks,
dead trunks, rotten trunks; dry, barkless trunks, and trunks moist and
green with moss; bare trunks and trunks with branches--prostrate,
reclining, horizontal, propped up at different angles; timber of every
size, in every stage of growth and decay, in every possible position,
entangled in every possible combination. The swampy ground was densely
covered with American dogwood, and elsewhere with thickets of the
aralea, a tough-stemmed trailer, with leaves as large as those of the
rhubarb plant, and growing in many places as high as our shoulders.
Both stem and leaves are covered with sharp spines, which pierced our
clothes as we forced our way through the tangled growth, and made the
legs and hands of the pioneers scarlet from the inflammation of myriads
of punctures.
The Assiniboine went first with the axe, his wife went after him
leading a horse, and the rest of the party followed, driving two or
three horses apiece in single file. Mr. O’B. had by this time been
trained to take charge of one pack-animal, which he managed very well
under favourable conditions. But although it had been hard enough to
keep our caravan in order when there was a track to follow, it was ten
times more difficult and troublesome now. As long as each horse could
see the one in front of him, he followed with tolerable fidelity; but
whenever any little delay occurred, and the leading horses disappeared
amongst the trees and underwood, the rest turned aside in different
directions. Then followed a rush and scramble after them, our efforts
to bring them back often only causing them to plunge into a bog or
entangle themselves amongst piles of logs. When involved in any
predicament of this kind, the miserable animals remained stupidly
passive, for they had become so spiritless and worn out, and so injured
about the legs by falling amongst the timber and rocks, that they
would make no effort to help themselves, except under the stimulus of
repeated blows. These accidents occurring a dozen times a day, caused
the labour to fall very heavily; for we were so short-handed, that each
man could obtain little assistance from the rest, and was obliged to
get out of his difficulties as well as he could, unaided. When this was
accomplished, often only to be effected by cutting off the packs, most
of the party had gone he knew not whither, and the other horses in his
charge had disappeared. These had to be sought up, and a careful cast
made to regain the faint trail left by the party in advance. Another
similar misfortune would often occur before he joined his companions,
and the same exertions again be necessary. The work was vexatious and
wearisome in the extreme, and we found our stock of philosophy quite
unequal to the occasion.
With a view of economising our provisions and making more rapid
progress, we reduced our meals to breakfast and supper, resting only a
short time at mid-day to allow the horses to feed, but not unpacking
them. Our fare was what the half-breeds call “rubaboo,” which we made
by boiling a piece of pemmican the size of one’s fist in a large
quantity of water thickened with a single handful of flour. The latter
commodity had now become very valuable, and was used in this way only,
three or four pounds being all we had left. Occasionally we were lucky
enough to kill a partridge or skunk, and this formed a welcome addition
to the “rubaboo.” The mess was equally divided, and two ordinary
platesful formed the portion of each individual. Under these trying
circumstances we had the advantage of Mr. O’B.’s advice, which he did
not fail to offer at every opportunity. When we stopped for the night,
and the work of unloading the horses and preparing camp was over, he
would emerge from some quiet retreat, fresh from the solace of Paley,
and deliver his opinions on the prospects of the journey and his views
on the course to be pursued. “Now, my lord; now, Doctor,” he would
say, “I don’t think that we have gone on nearly so well to-day as we
might have done. I don’t think our route was well chosen. We may have
done fifteen or twenty miles (we had probably accomplished three or
four), but that’s not at all satisfactory. ‘_Festina lente_’ was
wisely said by the great lyric; but he was never lost in a forest, you
see. Now, what I think ought to be done is this: the Doctor and The
Assiniboine are strong vigorous fellows; let them go five or six miles
ahead and investigate the country, and then we shall travel much more
easily to-morrow.” The two “vigorous fellows” were, however, generally
too much jaded by hard work during the day to adopt his advice, and
declined the proposal.
The valley continued to run nearly due south, and ranges of mountains
separated only by the narrowest ravines came down from the N.E. and
N.W. up to it on each side at an angle of 45°. These proved serious
obstacles to our progress, rising almost perpendicularly from the
water’s edge.
On the 1st of August we came in sight of a fine snowy mountain which
appeared to block up the valley ahead, and we hoped this might be
the second of two described to us as landmarks by the old woman at
The Cache, which she stated was not far from Fort Kamloops. To this
Milton gave the name of Mount Cheadle, in return for the compliment
previously paid him by his companion. The river also became wider and
less rapid, and at one point divided into several channels, flowing
round low wooded islands. Only one snowy mountain could be seen to the
right, to which we gave the name of Mount St. Anne; but the road was as
encumbered as ever.
After cutting a path for two days, The Assiniboine was almost disabled
by thorns in his hands and legs, and as we had not accomplished more
than two or three miles each day, we attempted to escape out of
the narrow valley in which we were confined, in the hope of finding
clearer ground above. But the mountain sides were too steep; the horses
rolled down one after another, crashing amongst the fallen timber;
and we were compelled to imitate the example of the King of France,
and come down again. On the 3rd we reached a marsh about 300 yards in
length, scantily covered with timber, the first open space we had met
with for ten days; and the change from the deep gloom of the forest
to the bright sunlight made our eyes blink indeed, but produced a
most cheering effect on our spirits. The horses here found plenty of
pasture, although of poor quality--a great boon to them after their
long course of twigs and mare’s-tail. This was altogether a brighter
day than common, for we met with several patches of raspberries, as
large as English garden-fruit, and two species of bilberry, the size of
sloes, growing on bushes two feet high. The woods were garnished with
large fern, like the English male fern, a tall and slender bracken, and
quantities of the oak and beech fern. We had the luck, too, to kill
four partridges for supper; and although the day was showery, and we
were completely soaked in pushing through the underwood, we felt rather
jollier that night than we had done since the trail ended.
Before evening we came to a rocky rapid stream from the N.W. We all
mounted our horses to traverse it except Mr. O’B., who had never become
reconciled to riding since his dire experience along the Fraser. What
was to be done? Mr. O’B. obstinately persisted that he dare not
venture on horseback, and the river was too deep and rapid to be safely
forded on foot. After some useless discussion with him, we plunged our
horses in, The Assiniboine and his family having crossed already; but
before Cheadle’s horse had left the bank a yard, Mr. O’B. rushed madly
after, dashed in, and grasping the flowing tail of Bucephalus with
both hands, was towed over triumphantly. After this great success, his
anxiety about prospective rivers was greatly alleviated.
After leaving the little marsh above-mentioned, we were again buried
in the densest forest, without any opening whatever, for several days,
and worked away in the old routine of cutting through timber, driving
perverse horses and extricating them from difficulties, and subsisting
on our scanty mess of “rubaboo.” Tracks of bears were numerous, and we
saw signs of beaver on all the streams, but our advance was necessarily
so noisy that we had small chance of seeing game, and we could not
afford to rest a day or two for the purpose of hunting.
[Illustration: MR. O’B. TRIUMPHANTLY CROSSES THE RIVER.
(_See page 291._)
]
On the 5th The Assiniboine’s single hand became so swollen and painful
from the injuries caused by the thorns of the aralea, that he was
unable to handle an axe, and the task of clearing a path devolved upon
Cheadle. This misfortune retarded us greatly, for he was, of course,
not so expert a pioneer as The Assiniboine, and his assistance could
ill be spared by the horse-drivers, who were now reduced to Milton and
the boy--with Mr. O’B., who began to afford more active assistance
than he had done hitherto. During this day the valley appeared to open
out widely a few miles ahead, and we reached a rounded hill, from
which we could see some distance to the south. But we were bitterly
disappointed; vast woods were still before us without a sign of open
country, and in the distance the hills closed in most ominously. At
the foot of this eminence we crossed a rapid stream, flowing into the
main river by two channels some twenty yards in width, which Mr. O’B.
crossed with great success by his improved method.
The following day we struggled on from morning to night without
stopping, through difficulties greater than ever; but on the 7th of
August, the eighth day of our being lost in the forest, we crossed
another stream, about thirty yards wide, clear and shallow, and
evidently not fed by mountain snows. We named it Elsecar River. Soon
after we were greatly encouraged by entering upon a tolerably level
space, about a square mile in extent, the confluence of five narrow
valleys. Part of this was timbered, some of it burnt, and the rest
marshy meadow, with a few stunted trees here and there. In the burnt
portion we found large quantities of small bilberries, not yet ripe, on
which we stayed and dined, and then forced our way to the marshy open,
where we encamped.
The hopes of speedy escape which had sprung up when we first observed
the retreat of the hills to the west, were quickly dispelled. The
flat proved to be a mere oasis in the mountains, surrounded by steep,
pine-clad hills, from which the narrow gorges between the different
ranges afforded the only means of egress. On this evening we ate our
last morsel of pemmican, and the only food we had left was about a
quart of flour. The distance from Tête Jaune Cache to Kamloops was,
according to our map, about 200 miles; but this estimate might be very
erroneous, the exact latitude of either being probably unknown when
our map was made. Calculating that we had travelled ten miles a day,
or seventy miles, when the road ended, and had done three miles a day,
or thirty altogether, since we began to cut our way, we had still 100
miles to travel before reaching the Fort. Nearly the whole of this
distance might be country similar to what we had already encountered.
At any rate, the prospect around gave us no hope of speedy change for
the better. We progressed so slowly, at the best only five or six miles
a day--often not one--that it must take us many days yet to get in.
There seemed no chance of any assistance, for since leaving Slaughter
Camp we had seen no sign that man had ever before visited this dismal
region. No axe mark on a tree, no “blaze” or broken twig, no remains of
an old camp fire had greeted our eyes. Animal life was scarce, and the
solemn stillness, unbroken by note of bird or sound of living creature,
and the deep gloom of the woods--
“Nulli penetrabilis astro
Lucus iners,”
as Mr. O’B. quoted--increased the sense of solitude. We had become so
worn-out and emaciated by the hard work and insufficient food of the
last ten days, that it was clear enough we could not hold out much
longer. We held a council of war after our last meal was ended, and Mr.
O.’B. laid down his one-eyed spectacles and his Paley, to suggest that
we should immediately kill “Blackie,” as he affectionately denominated
the little black horse he usually took charge of on the way. The
Assiniboine and Cheadle proposed to starve a few days longer, in the
hope of something turning up. Against this Mr. O’B. entered a solemn
protest, and eventually Milton’s proposal was agreed to. This was
that The Assiniboine should spend the next day in hunting: if he were
successful, we were relieved; and if not, the “Petit Noir” must die.
There seemed some chance for his life, for The Assiniboine had caught
sight of a bear during the day, and the dog had chased another. Their
tracks were tolerably numerous, and The Assiniboine we knew to be the
most expert hunter of the Saskatchewan.
[Illustration: THE HEADLESS INDIAN.
(_See page 296._)
]
Early next day The Assiniboine set out on his hunt; Cheadle and the
boy went to a small lake ahead to try to get a shot at some geese
which had flown over the day before; Milton gathered bilberries; and
Mr. O’B. studied; whilst the woman essayed to patch together shreds
of moccasins. The party was not a lively one, for there had been no
breakfast that morning. Mr. O’B., wearied of his Paley, declared that
he was beginning to have painful doubts concerning his faith, and would
read no more. He did not keep his resolution, however, but resumed
his reading the same evening, and brought out his book afterwards at
every resting-place with the same regularity as ever. In the afternoon
Cheadle and the boy returned empty-handed. The Assiniboine arrived
about the same time, and, producing a marten, threw it down, saying
drily, “J’ai trouvé rien que cela et un homme--un mort.” He directed
us where to find the dead body, which was only a few hundred yards
from camp, and we set off with the boy to have a look at the ominous
spectacle. After a long search, we discovered it at the foot of a large
pine. The corpse was in a sitting posture, with the legs crossed, and
the arms clasped over the knees, bending forward over the ashes of a
miserable fire of small sticks. The ghastly figure was headless, and
the cervical vertebræ projected dry and bare; the skin, brown and
shrivelled, stretched like parchment tightly over the bony framework,
so that the ribs showed through distinctly prominent; the cavity of
the chest and abdomen was filled with the exuviæ of chrysales, and the
arms and legs resembled those of a mummy. The clothes, consisting of
woollen shirt and leggings, with a tattered blanket, still hung round
the shrunken form. Near the body were a small axe, fire-bag, large tin
kettle, and two baskets made of birch-bark. In the bag were flint,
steel, and tinder, an old knife, and a single charge of shot carefully
tied up in a piece of rag. One of the baskets contained a fishing-line
of cedar bark, not yet finished, and two curious hooks, made of a
piece of stick and a pointed wire; the other, a few wild onions, still
green and growing. A heap of broken bones at the skeleton’s side--the
fragments of a horse’s head--told the sad story of his fate. They were
chipped into the smallest pieces, showing that the unfortunate man had
died of starvation, and prolonged existence as far as possible by
sucking every particle of nutriment out of the broken fragments. He
was probably a Rocky Mountain Shushwap, who had been, like ourselves,
endeavouring to reach Kamloops, perhaps in quest of a wife. He had
evidently intended to subsist by fishing, but before his tackle was
completed, weakness--perchance illness--overtook him, he made a small
fire, squatted down before it, and died there. But where was his head?
We searched diligently everywhere, but could find no traces of it. If
it had fallen off we should have found it lying near, for an animal
which had dared to abstract that would have returned to attack the
body. It could not have been removed by violence, as the undisturbed
position of the trunk bore witness. We could not solve the problem,
and left him as we found him, taking only his little axe for our
necessities, and the steel, fishing-line, and hooks as mementoes of the
strange event. We walked back to the camp silent and full of thought.
Our spirits, already sufficiently low from physical weakness and the
uncertainty of our position, were greatly depressed by this somewhat
ominous discovery. The similarity between the attempt of the Indian to
penetrate through the pathless forest--his starvation, his killing
of his horse for food--and our own condition was striking. His story
had been exhibited before our eyes with unmistakable clearness by the
spectacle we had just left: increasing weakness; hopeless starvation;
the effort to sustain the waning life by sucking the fragments of
bones; the death from want at last. We also had arrived at such
extremity that we should be compelled to kill a horse. The Indian had
started with one advantage over us; he was in his own country--we were
wanderers in a strange land. We were in the last act of the play. Would
the final scene be the same?
Every one took a rather gloomy view when we discussed our prospects
that evening, and “Blackie” was unanimously condemned to die at
daybreak. The marten, made into a “rubaboo,” with some bilberries,
formed our only supper that evening, the stinking and nauseous mess
being distasteful even to our ravenous appetites, and poor Mr. O’B.
had not the satisfaction of retaining what it had cost him so great an
effort to swallow.
Early on the 9th of August “Blackie” was led out to execution, but
although all were agreed as to the necessity of the deed, every one
felt compunction at putting to death an animal which had been our
companion through so many difficulties. The Assiniboine, however, at
last seized his gun and dispatched him with a ball behind the ear. In
a few minutes steaks were roasting at the fire, and all hands were at
work cutting up the meat into thin flakes for jerking. All day long
we feasted to repletion on the portions we could not carry with us,
whilst the rest was drying over a large fire; for although doubts had
been expressed beforehand as to whether it would prove palatable, and
Milton declared it tasted of the stable, none showed any deficiency of
appetite. The short intervals between eating we filled up by mending
our ragged clothes and moccasins, by this time barely hanging together.
Before turning into our blankets we crowned the enjoyment of the feast
by one last smoke. We had not had tobacco for weeks, but now obtained
the flavour of it by pounding up one or two black and well-seasoned
clays, and mixing the dust with “kinnikinnick.” But this was killing
the goose with the golden egg, and as pure “kinnikinnick” did not
satisfy the craving, we laid our pipes by for a happier day. We had
tea, too--not indeed the dark decoction of black Chinese indulged in
by unthrifty bachelors, or the chlorotic beverage affected by careful,
mature spinsters--but the “tea muskeg” used by the Indians. This is
made from the leaves and flowers of a small white azalea which we found
in considerable quantities growing in the boggy ground near our camp.
The decoction is really a good substitute for tea, and we became very
fond of it. The taste is like ordinary black tea with a dash of senna
in it.
By noon on the following day the meat was dry. There was but little of
it, not more than thirty or forty pounds, for the horse was small and
miserably lean, and we resolved to restrict ourselves still to a small
“rubaboo” twice a day. As we had now two axes, and The Assiniboine’s
hand was nearly well, he and Cheadle both went ahead to clear the way,
and we again entered the forest, still following the Thompson Valley.
The same difficulties met us as before, the same mishaps occurred,
and the horses proved as perverse and obstinate as ever. The weather
was fine and exceedingly hot, and the second evening after leaving
“Black Horse Camp”--as we named the scene of “Blackie’s” fate--
The Assiniboine, worn out by the continual toil, became thoroughly
disheartened, protesting it was perfectly impossible to get through
such a country, and useless to attempt it. We anxiously discussed the
question, as on every evening, of how many miles we had come that
day, and whether it was possible that the river we had struck might
not be the Thompson at all, but some unknown stream which might lead
us into inextricable difficulties. We got out our imperfect map, and
showed The Assiniboine that according to that the river ran due south
through a narrow valley shut in by mountains up to the very Fort, in
exact correspondence, so far, with the stream along the banks of which
we were making our way. This encouraged him a little, and he worked
away next day with his usual untiring perseverance. We found our diet
of dried horse-meat, and that in exceedingly small quantity--for we
still kept ourselves on half-rations--very insufficient, and we were
frightfully hungry and faint all day long. We rarely killed more than
two partridges in the day, and sometimes, though not often, a skunk or
a marten, and these were but little amongst six people. Cheadle at this
time discovered three fish-hooks amongst the wreck of our property, and
made some night lines, which he set, baited with horse-flesh. These
produced three white trout the first night, one of which weighed at
least a couple of pounds, but, although they were diligently set every
night afterwards, we never had such luck again, occasionally killing
a fish, but not a dozen in all during the rest of the journey. These
fish were marked like a salmon-trout, but with larger heads. They were
sluggish fish, lying at the bottom of the deepest holes, and would not
take a fly or spinning bait, preferring, like the other barbarous fish
of the country, a piece of meat to more delicate food. They had very
much the flavour of ordinary trout, but their flesh was whiter and less
firm.
The aspect of the country now changed, and on the 12th of August we
entered a region rocky and barren, where the timber was of smaller
size, but grew much more thickly, and the surface of the ground was
covered only by moss and a few small lilies. The ravine suddenly
narrowed, its sides became precipitous, and the river rushed over a
bed of huge boulders, a roaring, mighty rapid. The fallen timber lay
as thickly and entangled as the spiculæ in the children’s game of
spelicans; we had literally to force our way by inches. We met with a
godsend, however, in the way of provisions, shooting a porcupine which
had been “treed” by the dog Papillon. We found it delicious, although
rather strong-flavoured, a thick layer of fat under the skin being
almost equal to that of a turtle. The road at this point became so
impracticable from the steep, encumbered hill-sides which came down to
the water’s edge, that we were frequently obliged to pull up and wait
for hours whilst The Assiniboine found a way by which it was possible
to pass. We expected every day to come to some barrier which would
completely prevent our further advance. What course could we take then?
Take to a raft or abandon our horses and climb past on foot? We feared
the alternative, yet were unwilling to confess the probable extremity.
We had come too far to turn back, even if we had been willing to
retreat.
After three days’ travelling along the bank of this rapid, to which
we gave the name of Murchison’s Rapids, never out of hearing of its
continual roar, offensive to the ears of Mr. O’B., the valley became
narrower still, and we were brought to a standstill by a precipice
before us. We were shut in on one side by the river, and on the other
by hills so steep and embarrassed that it seemed hopeless to attempt
to scale them, for we had tried that before, and miserably failed.
There was nothing for it but to camp at once, and seek a way by which
to pass this barrier. The horses had not tasted grass since leaving
the marsh, four days ago, and for the last three had fed upon the moss
and lilies growing amongst the rocks. They wandered to and fro all the
night, walking in and out between us, and stepping over us as we lay
on the ground. Mr. O’B., too, passed a restless night in consequence,
and aroused us continually by jumping up and whacking them with his
great stick. The poor animals grubbed up the moss from the rocks, and
everything green within their reach had disappeared by morning. The
indefatigable Assiniboine started at daybreak to search for a path,
whilst the rest of us packed the horses and awaited his return. He came
back in an hour or two with the news that the country ahead grew more
and more difficult, but that we could, with care, lead the horses
past the present opposing bluff. This relieved us from the fear that
we might be compelled to abandon our horses here, and have to make our
way on foot. We had to mount the hill-side by a zig-zag, over loose
moss-grown rocks, leading the horses past one by one. The accidents
which occurred, though perhaps not so numerous as on some occasions,
were more extraordinary, and will serve to illustrate what occurred
daily. All the horses had safely passed the dangerous precipice except
one which Cheadle was leading, and Bucephalus, in charge of Mr. O’B.,
who brought up the rear. The length of the zig-zag was about a quarter
of a mile, and when the former had got nearly over, he turned to look
for those behind him. They were not to be seen. Cheadle, therefore,
left his horse, and going back to see what had happened, met Mr. O’B.
climbing hastily up the mountain-side, but minus Bucephalus. “Where’s
the horse?” said Cheadle. “Oh,” said Mr. O’B., “he’s gone, killed,
tumbled over a precipice, _Facilis descensus_, you see. He slipped and
fell over--ἕπειτα πέδονδε κυλίνδετο ἽΠΠΟΣ ἀναιδής, you know, Doctor,
and I have not seen him since. It’s not the slightest use going back, I
assure you, to look for him, for he’s _comminuted_, smashed to atoms,
dashed to a thousand pieces! It’s a dreadful thing isn’t it?” Cheadle,
however, sternly insisted that Mr. O’B. should accompany him back to
the scene of the accident, and the latter reluctantly followed.
The place where the horse had slipped and struggled was easily found,
for the bark torn off the recumbent trunks marked the course of his
headlong descent. The place from which he fell was about 120 or 130
feet above the river, and the last thirty or forty feet of this a
perpendicular face of rock. Cheadle crept down and looked over the
edge, and on a little flat space below saw Bucephalus, astride of a
large tree, lengthwise. The tree was propped up by others horizontally
at such a height that the animal’s legs hung down on each side without
touching the ground. The two then descended, expecting to find him
mortally injured, but, to their astonishment, he appeared quite
comfortable in his novel position. The packs were taken off, and
Cheadle, by a vigorous lift--Mr. O’B. declining the suggestion that
he should haul at the tail, on the ground of the dangerous nature of
the service--rolled the horse from his perch. He was uninjured, and
Mr. O’B. led him past the most dangerous part, whilst his companion
toiled after, carrying the packs up the brow to safer ground. After the
horse had been re-loaded, the two pursued their way, but before many
yards were passed, the other horse slipped, and rolled down the hill.
He luckily brought up against some trees, before reaching the bottom;
but again the pack had to be cut off, again carried up, and the horse
hauled on to his legs and led up the steep. Soon after they joined the
rest, another horse, refusing to jump some timber in the path, bolted
aside and fell into a regular pit, formed by fallen trees and rocks;
every effort to extricate him was useless. We were alone, for the
rest of the party had gone on, and after trying in vain for nearly an
hour, Milton ran ahead, caught them up, and brought back the axe. It
was another hour’s work to cut him out and re-pack, but we found our
companions not far before us, and indeed there was little danger of
their leaving us any great distance behind.
The river still continued a grand rapid, and a short distance more
brought us to a place where the ravine suddenly narrowed to about fifty
feet, with high straight-cut rocks on either side, through which, for
about 100 yards, almost at a right angle, and down a swift descent,
the waters raged so frightfully about huge rocks standing out in the
stream, that it was instantly named by The Assiniboine the “Porte
d’Enfer.” No raft or canoe could have lived there for a moment, and we
thankfully congratulated ourselves that we had decided to make our way
by land.
We camped for the night close to where we had started in the morning,
and The Assiniboine, having cut his foot to the bone on the sharp
rocks, amongst which we walked nearly barefoot, was completely
disabled. That night he was thoroughly disheartened, declared the river
we were following was not the Thompson at all, and we must make up our
minds to perish miserably. Mr. O’B. of course heartily concurred, and
it required all our powers of persuasion, and an explanation by the
map, to restore hope.
Another day similar to the last brought us to the end of the rapid.
The woman had bravely taken her husband’s place ahead with an axe,
and worked away like a man. The last of the dried horse-flesh, boiled
with the scrapings of the flour-bag, formed our supper. We had only
three charges of powder left, and this we kept for special emergency.
The Assiniboine, however, and his son had succeeded in “nobbling” a
brace of partridges, knocking the young birds out of the trees with
short sticks, missiles they used with great dexterity. We had been
cheered during the day by observing the first traces of man--except
the dead body of the Indian--we had seen for sixteen days. These were
old stumps of trees, which bore marks of an axe, though now decayed
and mossed over. The next day, however, was cold and wet, and we felt
wretched enough as we forced our way for hours through a beaver swamp,
where the bracken grew higher than our heads, and tangled willows of
great size required cutting away at every step. Slimy, stagnant pools,
treacherous and deep, continually forced us to turn aside. At last a
stream, whose banks were densely clothed with underwood, barred the
path, and we could not find a practicable ford. Drenched to the skin,
shivering, miserable, having had no food since the previous evening,
we felt almost inclined to give way to despair, for we seemed to have
gained nothing by our labours. There was no sign of the end.
Our journey had now lasted nearly three months; for five weeks we had
not seen a human being, nor for the last three had we seen the smallest
evidence of man’s presence at any time in the wild forest in which we
were buried.
After several futile attempts to cross the stream, The Assiniboine sat
down with his wife and son, and refused to go any further. We did not
attempt to argue the matter, but, merely remarking that we did not
intend to give in without another struggle, took the axes, and renewed
the search for a crossing place. Having at length discovered a shallow
place, and cut a path to it, we led the horses into the water, but
the mud was so soft and deep, and the banks so beset with slippery
logs, that they could not climb up, and rolled back into the water.
At this juncture The Assiniboine, fairly put to shame, came to our
assistance, and we unpacked the animals and hauled them out. We were
quite benumbed by standing so long up to our waists in the ice-cold
water, and after we had got the horses across, as the rain still poured
down, we camped on a little mound in the midst of the dismal swamp.
There was no chance of finding any other provision, and we therefore
led out another horse and shot him at once. Another day was occupied in
drying the meat, and in mending our tattered garments as before. Mr.
O’B., who, it is only justice to say, had improved vastly under his
severe trials, was now plunged in the depths of despair. He confided
to us that he loathed Paley, whom he looked upon as a special pleader;
that his faith was sapped to its foundations, and--“_curis ingentibus
æger_”--he was rapidly becoming insane, adding that he should have
lost his wits long ago but for his book; and now, since he must be
deprived of that consolation, there could be but one horrible result--
madness. And in truth we had noticed a remarkable change during the
last week. From being the most garrulous of men, he had lately become
the most taciturn; and although solemn and silent in company, he
muttered to himself incessantly as he walked along. Revived, however,
by a plentiful meal of fresh meat, he became more cheerful, took a more
orthodox view of the “Evidences,” the one-eyed spectacles again stole
on to his nose, Paley again came forth from the pocket of the clerical
coat, and he was presently absorbed in theology once more.
The rest of us discussed our prospects, and various plans were
proposed. It was certain that the horses, already mere skeletons, could
not hold out many days longer, unless they found proper pasturage.
For a long time past indeed we had expected some of them to lie down
and die in their tracks. Their bodies mere frames of bone covered
with skin, their flanks hollow, their backs raw, their legs battered,
swollen, and bleeding--a band for the knackers’ yard--they were
painful to look upon.
The project of rafting was renewed, for the river now flowed with a
tempting tranquillity; but the recollection of the Grand Rapid and
Porte d’Enfer decided us against it, and doubtless we thus escaped
great disaster, for we afterwards met with several dangerous rapids
in the river below. We agreed to stick to our horses as long as they
could travel, then kill some for provisions, and make for the Fort on
foot. The Assiniboine was utterly dispirited, and continued gloomy and
morose, dropping from time to time hints of desertion, and reproaching
us bitterly with having led him into such desperate straits. He camped
apart from us, with his wife and boy, holding frequent and significant
consultations with them; and it required all the forbearance we could
command, to prevent an open rupture with the man and his family.
On the morning of the 18th, before we started, our ears were greeted
by the cry of that bird of ill omen, a crow--to us proclaiming glad
tidings, for it was a sure indication of more open country being at
hand. Our spirits were raised still more by observing during the day’s
journey signs of man’s presence as recent as the preceding spring--a
few branches cut with a knife, as if by some one making his way through
the bushes.
A heavy thunder-storm which came on obliged us to camp very early;
but the next day we struck a faint trail, which slightly improved as
we advanced, and towards evening we found the tracks of horses. The
path disappeared, and re-appeared again, during the next two days,
and was still very dubious and faint, so that we were afraid it might
be a deceptive one, after all; but on the night of the 21st we came
to a marsh where horse tracks were very numerous, and found on the
further side, where we camped, a large cedar felled, from which a canoe
had been made. On a tree was an inscription which was not legible,
although the words seemed to be English. To our intense delight, the
next morning we hit upon a trail where the trees had been “blazed,” or
marked with an axe a long time ago, and old marten-traps at intervals
informed us that we had at last touched the extreme end of an old
trapping path from the Fort. The valley began rapidly to expand, the
hills became lower, the trail continued to become more and more beaten,
and at noon on the 22nd we fairly shouted for joy as we emerged from
the gloom in which we had so long been imprisoned, on to a beautiful
little prairie, and saw before us a free, open country, diversified
with rounded hills and stretches of woodland. We stopped with one
accord, and lay down on the green turf, basking in the sun, whilst we
allowed our horses to feed on the rich prairie grass, such as they had
not tasted since leaving Edmonton.
The day was gloriously bright and fine, and the delight with which we
gazed upon the beautiful landscape before us will be appreciated, if
the reader will reflect that we had travelled for more than eleven
weeks without cessation, and for the last month had been lost in the
forest, starving, over-worked, almost hopeless of escape. Even Mr.
O’B., who had resumed the study of Paley with renewed zest, looked up
from his book from time to time, and ventured to express a hope that we
_might_ escape, after all, and offered his advice upon the course to be
pursued in the happier time at hand.