_CROSSING THE NELSON._
On the morning of the 11th of November our parties arranged to separate.
The route of Mr. Matheson’s party henceforth lay away to the eastward,
while our path still led to the south, toward the banks of the Nelson
River. A place was prepared on our own dog-sled for crippled Michel; the
team of six dogs was harnessed, and the flat sleds, including one for
Eli, the son of old William the Indian, were loaded with all that the
dogs were unable to haul. Our supplies by this time were diminished to
the extent of about two hundred and fifty pounds, so that, even with the
additional weight of a man, the loads were lighter than at the outset of
the journey.
Loads being thus readjusted, and our feet harnessed to snowshoes, we bade
farewell to our friends from the Fort, as well as to those of the forest,
and made a new start.
The weather was now unusually mild for the month of November, making the
snow soft, and even wet in some places. This made travelling hard for the
team, as it caused the ice glazing to melt from the sled, and the mud
shoeing to wear and drag heavily upon the track. My brother and I still
suffered much from our crippled limbs, but with considerable difficulty
managed to keep up with the rest. After making a small day’s march we
camped for the night on the bank of a stream called by the Indians White
Bear Creek. The weather having turned colder during the night, making
the prospects for travel more favorable, we started down stream the next
morning upon the ice of the creek, and then across country to Duck Creek,
where we found a second Indian camp, occupied by two Crees and their
families.
From one of these Indians, named Morrison, we purchased an additional
dog with which to supplement our team. The price asked was a new dress
for one of the squaws, but as we had no dress-goods with us, the best
we could offer was that the dress should be ordered at the Hudson’s
Bay Company’s store at York, and delivered when the first opportunity
afforded. After some consideration, and several pipes of tobacco, the
offer was accepted and with seven dogs in our team the journey resumed.
We followed the creek till it led us out to the low, dreary coast at the
mouth of the Nelson, where, having left the woods several miles inland,
we were exposed to the full sweep of a piercingly cold, raw, south-west
wind.
We are accustomed to thinking of a coast as a definite, narrow
shore-line; but to the inhabitants of the Hudson Bay region the word
conveys a very different meaning. There the coast is a broad mud and
boulder flat, several miles in width, always wet, and twice during the
day flooded by the tide. At this time of the year the mud flats were
covered by rough broken ice and drifted snow, but above high-tide mark
the surface of the country was level and the walking good. For several
hours we tramped southward down the coast, with the cutting wind in our
faces. During the afternoon we sought shelter, but finding none our
course was altered and shaped for the nearest wood, several miles inland.
The great advantage of travelling on the open plain is that there the
snow is driven hard, and hence the walking is much better than in the
woods, where the snow is soft and deep. Nevertheless, when the weather
is rough, as it was on this occasion, the heavy walking is preferable to
travelling in the open country in the teeth of the storm.
For the remainder of the day we bore southward, and about sunset made
camp on the south bank of a stream known as Sam’s Creek, in a lovely
snow-laden, evergreen forest—an ideal Canadian winter woodland picture.
From this beautiful but chilling scene our tramp was continued next
morning at daylight. The low shore of the Nelson was again reached and
followed, until about noon a decided change in the character of the land
was observed. A boulder clay bank commenced to make its appearance, and
this as we advanced rapidly reached an elevation of twenty-five or thirty
feet, and as we proceeded up the river became higher and more thickly
wooded. The change was a great relief from the level, treeless coast.
We were now well within the mouth of the great Nelson River, and could
already, through the rising vapor, dimly see the outline of the opposite
shore.
Considerable ice was coming down the river, and on this account we felt
some anxiety as to crossing, but we were now within a few miles of the
boat of which we had been informed, and it seemed possible that we might
yet cross the stream before nightfall. In the middle of the afternoon we
found the boat drawn up at the mouth of Heart Creek, where the old Indian
hunter had left it. It was a large heavily built sail-boat, capable of
carrying our whole outfit in one load, but unfortunately the keel was
deeply imbedded in the sand and there securely frozen. The only way to
free it was to chop it out, and at this task as many hands were set as
could find room to work. Long pries were cut and vigorously applied, but
even with our united efforts we only managed to get the boat loosened by
nightfall. We were obliged, therefore, to leave it until morning, and
seek a place to camp.
During the night the wind, which had been blowing pretty strongly for
two days past, increased to a gale from the north-west. This unwelcome
guest did not come by himself, but brought with him his friend the
snow-storm, and they two held high carnival all night, vying with each
other as to which should cause the strange intruders in the grove the
more discomfort. The gale shrieked through the trees and threatened to
level our shelter, nor was he contented with this, but also entered the
camp and played pranks with our fire and blankets. The more stealthy
snow-storm, making less noise than his blustering friend, before daylight
had filled the ravine with white drifts and almost buried us.
Such was our condition on the morning of the 14th. As this was the ninth
day from Churchill, our supply of provisions was about exhausted, but we
were now only one day’s march from York. After breakfast, despite the
condition of the weather, all hands proceeded to the boat, and by a
united effort managed to drag it out to the edge of the shore-ice, but
the tide being low there was no water to float it. We therefore had to
await the flood-tide, which would not be up till about noon. Meanwhile
the boat was loaded where it rested upon the sand, and at twelve o’clock,
being lifted by the water, a canvas was hoisted, and through a dense fog
which rose from the river we sailed up the shore to find a narrow part
of the stream and avoid the broad shoals which extended out from the
opposite shore.
Having proceeded some three miles up, to the vicinity of Flamboro’ Head,
a bold headland, our course was altered and we steered into the fog for
the south shore—about two miles distant. The wind was piercingly cold,
instantly freezing every splash as it fell, and still blowing fresh, so
that our ice-laden craft sped swiftly away on her course. Some floating
ice was met, but successfully passed, and for a time it seemed as if the
crossing would soon be effected; but suddenly there loomed out of the
mist right ahead a dense field of ice, broken and rafted and hurrying
down with the current. By putting the helm hard to starboard, and quickly
dropping our canvas, we managed to keep clear of the mass; but what was
now to be done?
The south shore was still hidden by dense volumes of vapor, and nothing
could be seen in that direction but the adjacent fields of ice. On the
north shore the dark outline of Flamboro’ Head could still be discerned,
and it was resolved thence to beat our retreat. We were, however, unable
to sail against the wind, but taking to the oars we managed, after a
prolonged and difficult struggle, to regain the place whence we had
started.
Once more on land, a camp was made, and a fire kindled to thaw out
our stiffened limbs, while we awaited an opportunity to cross. The
mist continued the rest of the day, preventing us from making a second
attempt, and so we lay up for the night.
Next morning the fog had cleared away, revealing a dismal sight. On the
south side the river was frozen over, and the ice firmly set for a mile
or more from shore, while the channel of open water to the north was
running full of heavy ice, making it quite impossible to use the boat,
and equally impossible to effect a crossing on foot.
We had no alternative but to remain where we were, and hope for a change
in the condition of the river. Not the least unpleasant feature of this
waiting was that our provisions were now gone.
The men were at once sent out to hunt, and returned in the evening with
nine ptarmigan, with which a good _bouillon_ was made for supper. Besides
this, Eli, the Indian boy, gave us some comforting information as to the
existence of a fish cache of his father’s, not far distant. With this
consoling knowledge we rolled up in our blankets and were soon dreaming
of better times.
The next morning, there being no change in the river, two men and the
dogs were sent after William’s fish cache, and four others went off
hunting, while the rest remained at camp, collected wood, and kept the
fire burning.
We had nothing to eat this day until evening, when the sledding party
returned with a little bag and can of pounded dried fish, two or three
gallons of seal oil, and some seal blubber for the dogs, all of which,
though not exactly luxurious, we were heartily glad to receive. Later
two of the hunters returned with several ptarmigan and one or two
rabbits, and last of all, some time after dark, the remaining two—Jim and
our noble guide—walked into camp carrying the carcase of a deer.
With careful use we had meat enough now to keep us from suffering for
several days, and in order to guard against greed or waste my brother and
I took possession of the stock and divided it up equally among the party,
each man receiving in all about ten pounds.
Without narrating in detail the incidents following it will be sufficient
to state that for ten long days our weary wait on the bleak banks of the
Nelson was continued. From time to time the men were sent out to hunt,
but except in the above instance were obliged to return empty-handed.
On the morning of the 19th, the guide and Jim, provided with rifles,
blankets, axes and snowshoes, started up the river, determined to find
deer if there were any in the neighborhood, and also to investigate the
possibilities of crossing the river higher up.
Four days of bitterly cold weather passed, the thermometer varying from
12 to 15 degrees below zero, and back came our discouraged hunters
without having fired a shot. Food was becoming alarmingly scarce. A fox
which happened in our way was trapped and eagerly devoured.
On the evening of the 22nd, though the mercury indicated 22° below zero,
the channel of the river above us was noticed to be less thickly blocked
with ice than where we were encamped. It was resolved, if possible, to
haul the boat a mile or two farther up stream, and there to launch and
measure our strength with the floe.
All hands excepting Michel, who was still unable to walk, engaged in the
work. The boat was launched, and by means of a long line we managed to
tow it about half a mile up shore, but there the ice became so thick that
we had to haul it out to prevent its being crushed. Our objective point
was about a mile farther up, so an effort was made to haul the boat along
the shore. It was all the ten of us could manage, but by about nightfall
we had succeeded. The night being clear and light, we moved camp to
the boat, that we might be prepared to cross in the morning if it were
possible.
The next morning was bitterly cold and a fog was rising from the river.
We towed the boat half a mile still farther up, until the Seal Islands
were reached. Here we pushed out into the stream and commenced the
struggle.
Every man was armed with an oar, a pole or an axe, and all of these were
vigorously applied in forcing our way through the ice and the current.
For a time we made fair progress, but before long were caught in the grip
of the ice-pack and hurried down with the stream toward the sea.
We pushed and we pulled, we pounded and hacked, and at length got into a
channel of open water. Again we were beset, but again got free, and so
after much exertion we crossed the channel and landed upon the stationary
ice. We had taken this for shore-ice, but were sorely disappointed to
find it was only a jam in the middle of the channel.
What was now to be done? It was impossible to tow the boat around the
upper end of the jam; and to allow it to drift down past the lower end
would mean that we would be carried with the current out to sea and be
irrevocably lost.
After carefully considering the situation, we concluded to portage across
the island of ice and launch on the other side. Accordingly the boat
was unloaded and piece by piece everything was carried safely across,
but when we attempted to portage the boat it and we continually broke
through the surface. We were therefore obliged to cut a channel right
through the island, the full width of the boat. After much labor this was
accomplished, the boat hauled through, reloaded, and again pushed out
into the flowing pack, which carried us, in spite of all our endeavors,
far down toward the mouth of the river.
At length we had succeeded in getting within thirty feet of the solid
south-shore ice, but even then, when the shore seemed almost within
reach, we were nipped in the floe and again carried helplessly downward,
until it seemed as if, after all, we were going to be carried out to sea.
We used every effort to free the boat, but all of no avail. At
last, however, civil war among the floes caused a split and brought
deliverance. A few rapid strokes and our old craft bumped against the
solid ice.
The bowman, François, quick as a flash, sprang out with the end of
the tow-line, while the rushing ice again caught the boat and bore it
downward. François held on to the tow-line with all his might, but the
tug-of-war was going against him; he yielded, fell, and for a short
distance was dragged over the broken hummocks of ice, but bracing
his feet against one of these, he formed himself into a veritable
ice-anchor, and with Herculean strength held us fast until others sprang
out to his assistance.
All hands quickly disembarked, but as there was still between us and the
shore a full mile of rough ice, liable to break adrift at any moment, no
time was lost in exultation. The boat was unloaded, hauled up and the
tramp commenced for the shore. After much exertion we reached land, and
every man felt a thrill of exultation that the Nelson was at last to the
north of us.
[Illustration: HUDSON’S BAY COMPANY’S STORE, YORK FACTORY.]
We were all much chilled from exposure, so a fire was made in the edge of
the woods. Spruce boughs were strewn about it to keep our feet from the
snow, and the cheerful warmth was most gratefully enjoyed.
A little of the pounded dried-fish still remaining was fried on a pan
with seal oil, the combination forming a dish that might be described as
fish-flavored chips steeped in oil, but with appetites such as ours it
could be eaten—though I will not say relished.
After this “refreshment” had been partaken of, and the stiffness thawed
from our limbs, snowshoes were adjusted, and with a “Hurrah for York” the
march was resumed.
One more camp was made, and on the following day, the 24th of November,
and the nineteenth day since leaving Churchill, we reached York Factory.
[Illustration: RED DEER COWBOY.]