_ON SNOWSHOES AND DOG-SLEDS._
On the morning of the 6th of November, after a stay of seventeen days at
Fort Churchill, we were again ready to set out for the south. Our team
consisted of six Eskimo dogs, attached tandem fashion to a sled twelve
feet long and a foot and a half wide. This sled was of the regular Eskimo
type, the runners being formed of sticks hewn down to the dimensions of
about two inches by six inches, and slightly curved up in front.
Upon the sled was loaded about six hundred pounds of provisions,
dog-meat, blankets and other dunnage, all securely lashed on within a
canvas wrapper. The driver who had charge of the team was a tall young
half-breed, named Arthur Omen. Our guide, whose name was “Jimmie”
Westasecot, was a large fine-looking Cree Indian, of about middle age,
who bore the distinction of being the most famous hunter and traveller in
all that country.
The party consisted of ten. My brother and I were warmly dressed in
deer-skin garbs of the Eskimo, while the rest of the party wore the white
blanket suits of the traders, and with the exception of poor Michel,
whose feet were still too sore to allow him to walk, each man was
provided with a pair of snowshoes. As one dog-team was unable to draw all
the freight, the men were obliged to haul their own dunnage, and for this
purpose three flat sleds or toboggans were procured and loaded with sixty
or seventy pounds each.
Thus provision was made for the transport of all necessary supplies, but
what was to be done with Michel? Mr. Matheson kindly assisted us out of
the difficulty by offering to take the crippled Indian on one of his
sleds. Thus arrangements were completed, and, with nine days’ provisions,
we bade our kind friends farewell, and early on the morning of the date
mentioned marched from the Fort in single file, forming into a long
serpentine train, winding our way to the southward across the broad
frozen river. As we departed farewell salutes were waved from the doorway
of the little mission-house, and we felt that with them were wafted the
most sincere and hearty good wishes.
At the outset, though we had greatly improved physically during the stay
at Churchill, we were still far from being strong, and it was thought
best not to attempt forced marches at the outset. The wisdom of this
resolve was clearly proven before the first day’s tramp was ended. That
afternoon one of my knees gave out, and soon became so badly crippled
that within an hour or so every step caused me excruciating pain, and it
was with the greatest effort I managed to hobble along after the train
until evening. We travelled about twenty-one miles during the day, on an
easterly course, across open plains and snow-covered lakes. There was
little timber on the route until we reached the Eastern Woods, where it
was decided to camp. Upon the open plains we found the snow hard and in
good condition for travelling, so that the teams trotted along easily
with their heavy loads.
Snowshoe travel was also comparatively easy for those whose legs were
sound, but the moment we entered the woods down sank shoes and dogs into
the soft, light snow. In soft snow it is necessary for the guide or
track-breaker to wear very large shoes, that he may not sink too deeply,
but those who follow in his trail get along with the more ordinary size.
The snowshoes used by Jimmie, the guide, were about five feet long and
eighteen inches wide, whereas those used by the rest of us varied from
three to three and a half feet in length and from ten to twelve inches in
breadth. The guide’s large shoes were made somewhat after the Montreal
model, symmetrical on either side, framed of one stick and slightly bent
up at the toe, but those used by the rest were of very different make,
and more peculiar design. Though we purchased them from the Hudson’s Bay
Company at Churchill, they were made by the Chippewyan Indians. Their
shoes are not made symmetrically, but are constructed with great bulges
upon their outer sides, and are formed of two pieces of wood, tied
together at both ends and held apart in the middle by cross-bars, while
the toes are turned up with a sharp curve.
Having reached the shelter of the Eastern Woods, and concluded the first
day’s march, a camping-place was chosen. The drivers of the teams at once
proceeded to unharness the dogs, make beds for them of spruce boughs,
and give them their daily meal of seal-blubber or fish. The other members
of the party busied themselves in clearing away the snow, cutting down
brush and firewood, and building the camp. This latter did not consist of
a tent, shanty, or indeed covering of any kind, but simply of a wall of
brush built crescent shaped, to a height of three or four feet, and in
such a position as to best afford shelter from the cutting wind. The two
main elements of a good winter camp-ground are shelter and dry wood, both
of which are indispensable.
The snow was cleared away from the inside of the wind-break, and in its
stead spruce boughs were strewn to a depth of several inches, and in
front of this a big fire kindled—and camp was complete.
These tasks ended, the preparation of supper was commenced. Bacon and
biscuits were hauled out, while frying-pans and tea-kettles were brought
and placed with their contents upon the fire. Fresh water had been found
by cutting through the ice of a creek close by, so nothing was lacking.
Tin plates and cups, knives and forks were provided, but as we took hold
of them they froze to our fingers, and before we could use them they had
to be heated. After supper preparations were made for the night and for
the morrow’s tramp. Socks, duffles and moccasins, wet with perspiration
from the day’s march, were hung up before the fire to dry; robes and
blankets were spread about the camp, and upon them our tired party
assembled to enjoy a rest and smoke beside the fire before turning in for
the night. Though cold, the night was beautifully calm and clear, and
when from time to time the big dry sticks of wood were thrown upon the
fire, showers of sparks ascended until they found hiding-places among the
dark branches of the overhanging spruce trees.
Camp-fire stories and gossip were indulged in for an hour, then several
logs were thrown upon the fire, and each man, rolled up in his blanket
and with feet toward the fire, lay down to sleep. There was little sleep
for me, however, because of my knee, which gave me great pain during the
night.
The next morning camp was called at five o’clock, and under the still
star-lit sky all hands rolled out into the keen frosty morning air. At
the first streak of dawn, after breakfast and other preliminaries, our
march was resumed.
It was yet dark in the woods, and to most of us there was no more
indication of a trail in one place than in another, but our veteran
guide, who possessed all the sagacity of the ideal red-man, led the way,
and all the rest of us had to do was merely to follow his tracks. Soon we
merged from the Eastern Woods, and getting into more open country, turned
our course toward the south, crossing broad plains, diversified here and
there by stunted, scattered trees, ice-covered ponds, and occasionally
the thickly wooded valley of a winding stream. As we travelled on my leg
caused me intense pain, so that it became impossible to keep up with the
train. I hobbled along as well as I could for a time, but finding that
I was seriously retarding the progress of the march, arrangements were
made to give me a lift on one of the sleds. Pierre and Louis were also
becoming lame from the use of their snowshoes, to which they were not
yet hardened, but were not seriously crippled.[5]
During the second day from Churchill a band of twenty or thirty deer was
seen. Some of us were in no mood or condition to hunt, but Jimmie, the
guide, our own man, Jim, and Mr. Matheson, went off in pursuit of the
band. Several times during the afternoon we crossed the tracks of both
deer and hunters, but when we came upon the big tracks of our guide we
saw the first signs of success. He had evidently wounded a deer and was
giving him a hot chase, for the Indian’s strides were right upon those
of a caribou, and to one side of the trail spatters of blood could be
seen on the snow. Toward evening our train came up with Mr. Matheson and
Jim, who had a long but fruitless run after the deer, but nothing could
be seen of the guide. Some time after camp had been made for the night
Jimmie walked in with a haunch of venison on his shoulder. He had wounded
his deer early in the afternoon, but had been obliged to run him many
miles before he could again come up with him. Lest the carcase, which was
lying some distance from camp, should be devoured by wolves in the night,
a team was harnessed and Jimmie himself, with another man, started off
for the meat, which, a few hours later, they brought into camp. As we had
had very little fresh meat for some time past, supper of venison steak
was gratefully appreciated.
During the day’s march numerous wolf and polar bear tracks had been
crossed, but the caribou were the only animals seen.
The next day’s tramp was a short one, not in actual miles travelled by
some of us, but in distance made upon the course. We had, however, a good
day’s sport, for at different times during the day no less than eight
deer were shot. My brother and I were not able to take part in the chase,
for by this time, though I was beginning to recover, my brother was as
badly crippled as I had been, and for a time had to be drawn on a sled.
I should not, perhaps, say we took no part in the chase, for my brother
made one remarkable shot.
At about the close of day, a small deer which Mr. Matheson had been
following, and at which he had been practising for some time with my
brother’s rifle, stood still and looked at him with innocent amazement,
at a distance of about three hundred yards from our train. Probably the
cause of Mr. Matheson’s bad shooting was the cross wind which was blowing
strongly at the time, but, however, he gave up in disgust and returned
the rifle to my brother, asking him to try a shot. My brother said it was
useless for him to try, as the deer had now run still farther away, and
he himself had only one leg to stand on. But, dropping on his knee, he
fired a shot, and down dropped the deer.
Several of the best haunches of venison secured were loaded upon the
sleds, but it was not thought wise to overload the teams by trying to
carry too much. The bulk of the meat was “cached” where it was killed,
to be picked up by the Company’s teams on their return trip and taken
to Churchill to replenish the larder. Our third camp was made in a strip
of wood upon the bank of Salmon Creek, and to our Indians it will be
memorable as being the place at which they had the “big feed,” for it
took three suppers to satisfy them that night. With my brother and myself
the hours of darkness had ceased to bring repose. Our knees were so
painful we did not sleep, but only turned restlessly from side to side
until the return of dawn. Happily for us all the weather had continued
to be fair, with no extreme cold since the commencement of the journey,
which was particularly fortunate on account of poor Michel, who would
doubtless have suffered had he been obliged to ride upon a sled all
day during severe weather. As it was, we were able to keep him fairly
comfortable, bundled up in deer-skin robes and blankets.
On the fourth day, meeting with no deer, we made about twenty-seven
miles, a good march under the circumstances. This brought us to the banks
of Owl River, a stream two or three hundred yards in width, situated in a
straight line about midway between York and Churchill.
At dawn the next morning we were again marching southward, with the
expectation of that day reaching Stony River, where William Westasecot,
a brother of the guide, was encamped, and where our parties were to
separate.
Three more deer were shot during the day, making a total of twelve for
the trip, most of them victims of the Indian guide. About four o’clock in
the afternoon we arrived at Stony River, but there was no Indian camp to
be seen, and for a time we saw no signs of any human presence. We turned
down the river, and ere long came upon the tracks of a solitary hunter.
These Jimmie knew to be the tracks of his brother, and by following them
a mile or two into a dense evergreen wood, we came upon the camp. It was
a solitary tepee, situated in the heart of a snow-clad thicket of spruce
trees and scrub, so dense that a bird could scarcely fly through it.
The Indian lodge or tepee was built of poles placed closely together,
and arranged in the shape of a cone. The cracks between the poles were
chinked tightly with moss, with which the tepee was then covered,
excepting a foot or so at the top, where a hole was left for the chimney.
An opening made in the wall to serve as a doorway was closed by a heavy
curtain of deer-skin, and as we lifted it we saw in the centre of the
lodge, upon a square mud-covered hearth, a smouldering wood fire burning,
from which the circling smoke ascended to find its way through the
chimney, while huddled around it by the wall were the old Indian, his
squaw and their children. Deerskin cushions were offered us, and as we
seated ourselves more wood was piled on the fire.
William, the Indian, was a much older man than his brother, for his long
flowing locks were already whitened with age, though he still appeared
strong and athletic. Presents of tobacco were passed around; pipes were
then lighted, and information sought and obtained, both by ourselves and
the Indian. We found that William had seen and killed only one deer for
some weeks past, and was now almost out of food, and entirely out of
ammunition. We supplied him with the latter, and told him where, within
a day’s travel, he might supply himself with the former.
From him we learned that the great Nelson River, which we expected to
reach within two or three days, was still quite open, and that we should
find a large boat, in which we might cross, some miles up the river. It
was arranged, also, that William’s elder son should accompany us to York,
and assist by hauling a flat sled.
[Illustration: N.-W. M. P. “OFF DUTY.”]
[Illustration: HALF-BREED DOG-DRIVER.
(_Drawn from life by Arthur Heming._)]