_LIFE OR DEATH?_
After the great five days’ storm, which lasted until the 4th of October,
the whole country was buried in snow, and every possibility of finding
even a little moss for fuel was excluded. Winter indeed had overtaken us.
Ice was forming all along the shore of the Bay, and it was evident that
within a very few days travel by canoe must be at an end.
On the above date, though light snow continued to fall, the wind had gone
down sufficiently to admit of launching the canoes after a long portage
out to meet the tide. In spite of the most vigorous exertion, all we were
able to make during the day was ten miles, and that through a chilling
spray which froze upon us and encased canoes and men in an armor of ice.
We had great difficulty in getting ashore at night, having again to
portage a long distance over the low-tide boulder flats.
On the following morning the water of the Bay was out of sight, and it
was not until about noon, when the tide flowed in, that we were able
to float the canoes. We were so obstructed by the new ice and a strong
head-wind, that we were not able to make more than a mile or two before
being again forced to struggle to the shore. At this rate we would be a
long time in reaching Churchill. We had now been more than three weeks on
the coast, and were still at least two hundred and fifty miles from our
haven.
Some different mode of travel must be adopted or we should never get in.
The shore ice was forming rapidly and might now block us at any time. We
had not more than enough meat for another day or two, and the game had
all left the country. What was to be done? My brother and I talked the
matter over during the night. The plan suggested itself of abandoning
everything but rifles and blankets, and starting down the shore on foot.
But then, how could the numerous large rivers, which were still open, be
crossed? Again, to this plan there was the objection that having been in
canoes all summer, our party, though still strong enough to paddle, was
in very poor condition to walk. The only other feasible plan was then
suggested. It was to abandon dunnage, instruments, rock collection, etc.,
everything except note-books, photographs, plant collection, rifles,
blankets, and two small tents, and with these to start out in only two
light canoes, and with the increased force in them to travel for our
lives.
This plan was decided on, and in the morning the men were set to work to
cache all our stuff excepting the articles above mentioned. This occupied
the whole morning, and to us it was a sad and lonely task, but as it
seemed to be the only way by which we might hope to escape from this
dreary ice-bound coast, it was felt to be a necessary one. As secure a
cache as we could build was made, and then with heavy hearts we turned
our steps toward the shore.
After launching the two canoes it was with great danger and difficulty we
were able to force a way through the broken but heavy shore-ice to the
open water beyond. Having once gotten clear, we were able to make good
progress, and even at great risk of being smashed upon some of the many
rocks, we paddled far into the night; but at a late hour, being sheathed
in ice from the freezing spray we landed, and, without supper, lay down
to sleep upon the snow.
Eight more dreary days passed, six of which were spent in battling with
the elements and two in lying storm-stayed in our tents. During this
interval our party suffered much from cold and lack of food, and to make
matters worse, dysentery attacked us, and it appeared as if one of our
men would die.
The ice had been all the while forming, rendering it more and more
difficult to launch or get ashore. Our frail crafts were being badly
battered, and often were broken through by the ice, and the low character
of the coast had not improved. Still with hollow cheeks and enfeebled
strength we struggled on, sometimes making fair progress and at others
very little, until on October the 14th, as we advanced, the ice became so
heavy, and extended so far out to sea, that in order to clear it we had
to go quite out of sight of land.
Towards evening we began to look about for some opportunity of going
ashore, but nothing could be seen before us but a vast field of ice with
occasional protruding boulders. We pushed on, hoping to find some bluff
point or channel of water by which we might reach the shore, but the
appearance of things did not change in the slightest. We stood up in the
canoes or climbed upon boulders, vainly hoping to at least get a glimpse
of the land. Of course, we knew the direction in which the shore lay, but
it was so low, and we were so far out, that it was beyond our view.
Soon the shades of night began to fall about us, our canoes were leaking
badly and the weather was bitterly cold. Failing to reach the shore, we
resolved to wait for high tide, about ten o’clock, hoping we might with
it do better. The tide came, but left us still in the same condition,
no more able to penetrate the ice or gain the shore than before. It had
become intensely dark, and we were in great danger of being smashed on
the ice or rocks. We were utterly helpless and could do nothing but
remain where we were, or go where the tide chose to carry us, until the
return of daylight.
The hours of that night were the longest I have ever experienced, and the
odds seemed to be against us surviving until morning; but at last the day
returned and found us still alive. My brother was nearly frozen, having
been obliged to sit or lie in icy water all night. Poor little Michel had
both of his feet frozen, and the rest of us were badly used up. Still
we were in the same position as on the night before. We could not hold
out much longer; we must gain the shore or perish. At the time of high
tide, the ice being somewhat loosened, our canoes were thrust into the
pack, and by great exertion as well as much care we succeeded about one
o’clock in reaching solid ice, upon which we were able to land and, for
the last time, haul out our noble little crafts. We had been in them
just thirty hours, battling with the ice, exposed to a chilling winter
blast, our clothing saturated and frozen, and our bodies faint and numb
with starvation and cold. But we were now within reach of the land, and
all of us who were able gladly scrambled out upon the ice to stretch our
cramped and stiffened limbs. My brother was in a perishing condition from
the exposure of the night. He had been barely able to keep his canoe
afloat by bailing, and had sat in the icy water for seventeen hours. I
wrapped him up as warmly as I could and administered half a bottle of
Jamaica ginger, the last of our stock. We then set about hauling the
canoes over the ice to the shore, which we soon reached, and where we
were so fortunate as to find drift-wood. A fire was quickly made, camp
pitched, and better still, a meal prepared. On the previous day a seal,
the only one secured on the trip, had been shot, and we were now in
a position to appreciate it. The three western men were still fairly
strong, but the remaining five of us were very weak and badly used up.
We knew now, however, that we could be no great distance from Churchill,
for we had again reached the wooded country, and two or three miles back
from the shore could be seen dark clumps of spruce trees. This was a most
consoling fact, for besides having meat for several days, we felt that we
would have shelter and fire.
As to launching our canoes again, that was entirely out of the question.
If we would reach Churchill at all it must be by land.
As most of us were unable to walk, the only course open appeared to be
to send on some of the stronger men to, if possible, reach the fort
and bring back a relief party. This plan was proposed, and two of the
western men, “Jim” and John, volunteered to undertake the walk. We
thought the distance could not be more than fifty miles, and it might
be considerably less. On the morning of the 16th the two men set out on
their journey, while those of us remaining proceeded to move our tents
back from the shore about two miles to the nearest woods, where we might
make ourselves more comfortable, to await the success or failure of the
relief party.
A sheltered spot was selected for camp, in a thick grove of spruce
trees, and after clearing away about two feet of snow which covered the
ground, tents were pitched, then well carpeted with spruce boughs, and a
big camp-fire made. This was indeed a happy change from lying in canoes
in the ice-pack. Clothing and blankets were now dried, and with the
seal meat, and some ptarmigan which we shot in the grove, we were soon
comparatively comfortable, with the exception perhaps of poor Michel, who
suffered much from his frozen feet.
The reviving effect of the camp-fire upon our numb and half-frozen
bodies was soon felt, though with the exception of François, the western
half-breed, all of us at the camp were still very weak. Our veteran
Pierre, who had done such good service with the paddle, now staggered
in his walk, and as we were moving the tents from the shore back to the
woods, he fell from sheer exhaustion and had difficulty in regaining his
feet. Now in camp, however, and with meat enough to last us for a day or
two, we were in a position to take a rest from our labors. Poor Michel’s
feet were in a bad state, and having no proper means of treating them,
they caused us much anxiety. His brother Louis was also in a wretched
condition from the effects of severe dysentery caused by exposure and
starvation, and was unable to walk.
On the morning of the 17th, feeling somewhat revived after a long night’s
rest, I undertook to go hunting ptarmigan, which we were glad to find
were plentiful in the woods about us. Had it not been for the fact that
our ammunition was almost exhausted, the occurrence of these birds in
abundance would have afforded us greater consolation, but being, as we
were, reduced to a dozen or two charges, the opportunity for living on
feathered game seemed limited to a short period. We were hoping that Jim
and John might be successful in reaching Churchill. Before I had walked a
hundred yards from camp, I was forced to realize how weak I had become,
and after making a circuit of about half a mile and shooting only two or
three birds, I was scarcely able to crawl back to the tent. On my return,
François, taking the shot-gun, went out and returned in the evening with
a fine bag of game.
On waking the next morning, my brother amused us by relating an
extraordinary dream, in which he imagined he was luxuriating in good
things, and particularly sweet currant cakes, for which he was exhibiting
a wonderful capacity. But alas! with the visions of the night the
cakes had vanished, and for breakfast he was forced to be content with
unseasoned boiled ptarmigan.
At about one o’clock in the day, as we were seated within the tent
partaking of our second meal, we were suddenly startled by hearing the
exclamation, “Hullo, Jim!” The eagerness with which we scrambled over
dinner and dishes to the tent-door can better be imagined than described,
and on looking out, sure enough there was Jim returning. Was he alone?
No, thank the Lord! Behind him, a moment later, emerged from the woods a
number of men, followed by teams of dogs and sleds. One after the other
there came scampering along no less than four teams, hauling long empty
sleds capable of furnishing accommodation for our whole outfit.
After a hard two days’ tramp, Jim and John had reached the Fort, where
they had found kind friends ready to send us prompt assistance. Dog teams
had been placed at their disposal, provisions supplied, and early on the
morning of the same day on which they had found us, the train had set
out for our relief. With light sleds they had travelled at a rapid pace
over the thirty miles of snowy plains which separated us from Churchill.
Another day of good travel in the canoes would have taken us in, had this
been afforded us.
As the relief party drew up at our camp, Jim advanced and handed letters
to my brother and myself expressing kind wishes and sympathy from Mr.
and Mrs. Lofthouse, the Church of England missionary and his wife at the
Fort, whose friendship I had the privilege of making on two former visits
to Churchill. Along with the letters was handed a box, which when opened
was found to contain the very good things of my brother’s dream, even to
the sweet currant cakes. Staple provisions were also produced, and it is
scarcely necessary to say that they were joyfully welcomed. It would be
impossible to describe our feelings upon this occasion, the termination
of so many hardships and sufferings. During the afternoon preparations
were made for the journey to the Fort on the following day. The canoes
were hauled up from the shore, where we had been obliged to leave them,
and loaded upon two of the dog-sleds. Camp outfit and provisions were
loaded upon the others, and as far as possible everything was put in
readiness for an early start in the morning.
A change in the weather was already forecast, the wind shifting around
to the south, and towards evening it became decidedly milder. During the
night a rain set in, and between it and the warm wind a wonderful change
was wrought before dawn. It began to look very much as if the fates were
against us, and that now with the sleds and dog-teams we should have
no snow to travel on. But before daylight camp was astir, and finding
that enough yet remained, breakfast was partaken of by the light of
the camp-fire and at the first streaks of dawn the journey on sleds to
Churchill was begun.
Out of the woods there was comparatively little of the snow left. Under
cover of the trees it was still deep, but too soft and heavy for the
teams, so we kept along on the open plains between the woods and the
shore, and made fair progress.
The arrangement of our party was as follows: As guide an Indian named
James Westasecot led the way some distance ahead of the train. Next after
him came a team of six big Eskimo dogs hitched two and two abreast to a
long sled carrying the big canoe, in which Michel was given a passage.
Following this team was another hauling the smaller canoe, in which I was
rolled up in my blankets. The third team consisted of only four dogs
and, in a carryall, hauled my brother and some of the baggage; and at the
rear of the train trotted another full team of six dogs with Louis, the
sick Iroquois, and the camp outfit. The rest of our men walked behind
or beside the various sleds, resting themselves by jumping on when the
travelling was easy, as it often was when crossing level plains or frozen
ponds—of which latter there were very many.
The day was beautifully bright and pleasant for one travelling as I was,
but for the drivers and dogs it was much too warm for comfort. In many
places the higher ground was bare, and progress consequently slow.
About noon a halt was made for lunch, and during this time the opinion
was expressed by the drivers that we would not be able to reach the Fort
until the next day; but upon being promised that if they would take
us in without having to spend another night in camp they should have
whatever remained of the supplies they had brought us, they were induced
to change their minds, and acting upon the new inspiration we were soon
again on our way. In many places the low flat plains we traversed were
overgrown by clumps of swamp willow, and around these many large flocks
of ptarmigan were seen. About three o’clock in the afternoon we reached
Grassy Island, at the bottom of Button’s Bay, and two hours later gained
the base of a long range of rocky hills. We skirted the foot of these for
some time, until we reached a low place in the ridge, where, dismounting
to lighten the loads, we turned up the steep pass, and after a short
climb to the crest found ourselves within full view of Fort Churchill. It
was not an imposing place, but even though consisting of only four or
five old frame buildings, the sight to us was one of deep satisfaction.
For a moment we paused on the summit of the ridge, then at the crack of
the driver’s whip the teams bounded forward, galloped down the steep
slope, sped across the plains below, and in a few minutes landed us at
the house of the Hudson’s Bay Company’s traders. Here, after extricating
ourselves from the various conveyances, we were presently received by a
tall young Scotchman, who announced himself as Mr. Matheson, Master of
the Fort.
[Illustration: FRENCH-SALTEAUX GIRL.]