THE WILD NORTH LAND--THE TWO METHODS OF TRAVEL, BY CANOE AND DOG-TRAIN--
THE NATIVE DOGS--ST. BERNARD AND NEWFOUNDLAND DOGS--THE DOG SLEDS--THE
GUIDE--THE DOG DRIVERS--THE LONG JOURNEYS--NIGHT TRAVELLING--WONDROUS
VISIONS OF THE NIGHT.
So destitute are these wild north lands of roads that there are really
no distinct words in the languages of these northern tribes to represent
land vehicles. In translating such words as "waggon" or "chariot" into
the Cree language, a word similar to that for "dog-sled" had to be used.
No surveyor, up to the years about which I am writing, had visited those
regions, and there were literally no roads as understood in civilised
lands.
So numerous are the lakes and rivers that roads are unnecessary to the
Indian in the summer time. With his light birch canoe he can go almost
everywhere he desires. If obstructions block up his passage, all he has
to do is to put his little canoe on his head, and a short run will take
him across the portage, or around the cataracts or falls, or over the
height of land to some other lake or stream, where he quickly embarks
and continues his journey.
All summer travelling is done along the water routes. Naturally the
various trading posts and Indian villages or encampments are located on
the edges of the lakes or rivers, or very near them, so as to be most
conveniently reached in this way. So short are the summers that there
are only about five months of open water to be depended upon in these
high latitudes. During the other seven months the dog sled is the only
conveyance for purposes of travelling. So rough and wild is the country
that we know of no vehicle that could take its place, and no animals
that could do the work of the dogs.
As the years of toil rolled on, my Mission field or Circuit so enlarged
that it extended irregularly north and south over five hundred miles,
with a width in some places of over three hundred. In summer I
travelled over it in a birch canoe, and in winter with my dog-trains.
At first it seemed very novel, and almost like child's play, to be
dragged along by dogs, and there was almost a feeling of rebellion
against what seemed such frivolous work. But we soon found out that we
had travelled in worse conveyances and with poorer steeds than in a good
dog sled, when whirled along by a train of first-class dogs.
The dogs generally used are of the Esquimaux breed, although in many
places they have become so mixed up with other varieties as to be almost
unrecognisable. The pure Esquimaux sled dogs are well-built, compact
animals, weighing from eighty to a hundred and twenty pounds. They are
of various colours, and have a close, warm, furry coat of hair. They
have sharp-pointed ears and very bushy, curly tails. They are the most
notorious thieves. I never could completely break an Esquimaux dog of
this propensity. It seemed ingrained in their very natures. I have
purchased young puppies of this breed from the natives, have fed them
well, and have faithfully endeavoured to bring them up in the way in
which they ought to go, but I never could get them to stay there. Steal
they would, and did, whenever they had an opportunity.
This serious defect may have been the result of the constant and
unremitting neglect with which Indians generally treat their dogs. They
are fond of them in a way, and are unwilling to part with them, except
at a good price; yet, except when working them, they very seldom feed
them. The dogs are generally left to steal their living, and some of
them become very clever at it, as more than once I found to my sorrow.
When the fisheries are successful, or many deer have been killed, the
dogs, like their owners, are fat and flourishing. When food is scarce,
the dogs' allowance is the first cut off. We could always tell at a
glance, when a band of wild, wandering pagan Indians came in to visit
our village from their distant hunting grounds, how they had prospered.
If they and their dogs were fat and good-natured, they had had abundance
of food. If, while the people looked fairly well, the dogs were thin
and wolfish, we knew they had fared but moderately. If the dogs were
all gone and the people looked gaunt and famine-stricken, we knew they
had had hard times, and, as a last resort, had eaten their poor dogs to
keep themselves alive.
Some of the Indians who make a pretence to feed their dogs in winter
never think of doing so in summer. The result is that, as they have to
steal, hunt, or starve, they become adepts in one or the other.
Everything that is eatable, and many things apparently uneatable, are
devoured by them. They fairly howled with delight when they found
access to such things as old leather moccasins, dog harness, whips, fur
caps, mitts, and similar things. They greedily devoured all they could,
and then most cunningly buried the rest. Many of them go off in summer-
time on long fishing excursions. I once, when away on a canoe trip, met
a pack of them up a great river over a hundred miles from their home.
When we first saw them at a long distance, we mistook them for wolves,
and began to prepare for battle. The quick eyes of my Indian canoe men
soon saw what they were, and putting down our guns, we spent a little
time in watching them. To my great surprise I found out that they were
fishing on their own account. This was something new to me, and so I
watched them with much interest.
On the side of the river on which they were was a shallow, reedy marsh,
where the water was from a few inches to a foot in depth. In these
shallow waters, at certain seasons of the year, different varieties of
fish are to be found. The principal is the Jack fish, or pike, some of
which are over three feet long. As they crowd along in these shallows,
often with their back fins out of the water, they are observed by the
dogs, who quietly wade out, often to a distance of many yards, and seize
them with such a grip that, in spite of their struggles, they are
carried in triumph to the shore, and there speedily devoured. Sometimes
the dogs will remain away for weeks together on these fishing
excursions, and will return in much better condition than when they
left.
During the winter of the first Riel Rebellion, when all our supplies had
been cut off, my good wife and I got tired of dining twenty-one times a
week on fish diet, varied only by a pot of boiled musk rats, or a roast
hind-quarter of a wild cat. To improve our bill of fare, the next
summer, when I went into the Red River Settlement, I bought a sheep,
which I carefully took out with me in a little open boat. I succeeded
in getting it safely home, and put it in a yard that had a heavy
stockade fence twelve feet high around it. In some way the dogs got in
and devoured my sheep.
The next summer, I took out a couple of pigs, and put them into a little
log stable with a two-inch spruce plank door. To my great disgust, one
night the dogs ate a hole through the door and devoured my pigs.
There seemed to be a good deal of the wolf in their nature. Many of
them never manifested much affection for their masters, and never could
be fully depended upon. Still I always found that even with Esquimaux
dogs patience and kindness went farther than anything else in teaching
them to know what was required of them, and in inducing them to accept
the situation. Some of them are naturally lazy, and some of them are
incorrigible shirks; and so there is in dog-driving a capital
opportunity for the exercise of the cardinal virtue of patience.
As my Mission increased in size, and new appointments were taken up, I
found I should have to be on the move nearly all the winter if those who
longed for the Word of Life were to be visited. Do the best I could,
there were some bands so remote that I could only visit them twice a
year. In summer I went by canoe, and in winter by dog-train. After a
few wretched experiences with native dogs, where I suffered most
intensely, as much on account of their inferior powers as anything else,
I began to think of the many splendid St. Bernard and Newfoundland dogs
I had seen in civilised lands, doing nothing in return for the care and
affection lavished upon them. These thoughts, which came to me while
far from home, were promptly followed by action as soon as that terrible
trip was ended, in which every part of my face exposed to the intense
cold had been frozen, even to my eyebrows and lips.
Missionary Secretaries were amused at the requisition for dogs, and had
their laugh at what they called "my unique request," and wrote me to
that effect. Thanks, however, to the kindness of such men as the
Honourable Mr Sanford, of Hamilton, the Honourable Mr Ferrier, of
Montreal, and other friends, I had in my possession some splendid dogs
before the next season opened, and then the work went on with increasing
interest and satisfaction. With splendid, well-trained dogs, I could so
shorten the time of the three hundred miles' trip, that, instead of
shivering seven or eight nights in a hole dug in the snow, we could
reduce the number to four or five.
Those who have experienced the sufferings and hardships of camping out
in the forest with the temperature ranging from thirty to sixty degrees
below zero, will agree that to escape two or three nights of it meant a
good deal.
I found by years of experience that the St. Bernard and Newfoundland
dogs had all the good qualities, and none of the defects, of the
Esquimaux. By kindness and firmness they were easily broken in, and
then a whip was only an ornamental appendage of the driver's picturesque
costume. Of these splendid dogs I often had in my possession, counting
old and young, as many as twenty at a time. The largest and best of
them all was Jack, a noble St. Bernard. He was black as jet, and stood
over thirty-three inches high at his fore shoulder. When in good
working trim, he weighed about a hundred and sixty pounds. He had no
equal in all that northern land. Several times he saved my life, as we
shall see further on. No whip ever ruffled his glossy coat; no danger
ever deterred him from his work, when he with his marvellous
intelligence once got to know what was expected of him. No blizzard
storm, no matter how fickle and changeful, could lead him off from the
desired camping place, even if the courage of other dogs failed them,
and even though the guides gave up in despair.
The distance we could travel with dogs depended of course very much on
the character of the trail or route. On the frozen surface of Lake
Winnipeg, when no blinding gales opposed us, and our dogs were good and
loads not too heavy, we have made from seventy to ninety miles a day.
One winter I accomplished the journey from Fort Garry to Norway House in
five days and a half--a distance of nearly four hundred miles. When we
were toiling along in the dense forests, where the snow lay deep and the
obstructions were many, and the country was broken with hills and
ravines, we often did not make more than a third of that distance, and
then suffered much more than when we had made much greater journeys
under more favourable auspices.
The dog sleds are made of two oak or birch boards, about twelve feet
long, eight or nine inches wide, and from half an inch to an inch thick.
These two boards are fastened securely together, edge to edge, by
crossbars. Then one of the ends is planed down thin, and so thoroughly
steamed or soaked in hot water that it can easily be bent or curved up
to form what is called the head of the sled. It is then planed smooth,
and fitted out with side loops. The front ones are those to which the
traces of the dogs are attached, and the others along the sides are used
to fasten the load securely. When finished, allowing two or three feet
for the curled-up head, a good dog sled is nine or ten feet long, and
from sixteen to eighteen inches wide.
Sometimes they are fitted with parchment sides and a comfortable back.
Then they are called carioles. When the dogs were strong enough, or the
trail was a well beaten one, or we were travelling on the great frozen
lakes, I was able to ride the greater part of the time. Then it was not
unpleasant or toilsome work. But as many of my winter trails led me
through the primeval forests, where the snow was often very deep, and
the hills were steep, and the fallen trees many, and the standing ones
thickly clustered together, on such journeys there was but little
riding. One had to strap on his snow shoes, and help his faithful
Indians to tramp down the deep snow in the trail, that the poor dogs
might drag the heavily loaded sleds along.
Four dogs constitute a train. They are harnessed in tandem style, as
all this vast country north of the fertile prairies is a region of
forests. The Esquimaux style of giving each dog a separate trace, thus
letting them spread out in a fan-like form, would never do in this land
of trees and dense under-bush.
The harness, which is made of moose skin, is often decorated with
ribbons and little musical bells. Singular as it may appear, the dogs
were very fond of the bells, and always seemed to travel better and be
in greater spirits when they could dash along in unison with their
tinkling. Some dogs could not be more severely punished than by taking
the bells off their harness.
The head dog of the train is called "the leader." Upon him depends a
great deal of the comfort and success, and at times the safety, of the
whole party. A really good leader is a very valuable animal. Some of
them are so intelligent that they do not require a guide to run ahead of
them, except in the most dense and unbeaten forest trails. I had a
long-legged white dog, of mixed breed, that ever seemed to consider a
guide a nuisance, when once he had got into his big head an idea of what
I wanted him to do. Outside of his harness Old Voyager, as we called
him, was a morose, sullen, unsociable brute. So hard to approach was he
that generally a rope about sixty feet long, with one end fastened
around his neck, trailed out behind him. When we wanted to catch him,
we generally had to start off in the opposite direction from him, for he
was as cunning as a fox, and ever objected to being caught. In zigzag
ways we moved about until he was thrown off his guard, and then by-and-
by it was possible to come near enough to get hold of the long rope and
haul him in. When once the collar was on his neck, and he had taken his
place at the head of the party, he was the unrivalled leader. No matter
how many trains might happen to be travelling together, no one thought
of taking first place while Old Voyager was at hand.
Lake Winnipeg is very much indented with deep, wide bays. The headlands
are from five to thirty miles apart. When dog-travelling on that great
lake in winter, the general plan is to travel from headland to headland.
When leaving one where perhaps we had slept or dined, all we had to do
was to turn Old Voyager's head in the right direction, and show him the
distant point to which we wished to go; and although it might be many
miles away, a surveyor's line could not be much straighter than the
trail our sleds would make under his unerring guidance.
I have gone into these details about this mode of travelling, because
there is so little known about it in the outside world. Doubtless it
will soon become a thing of the past, as the Indians are settling down
in their Reservations, and, each tribe or band having a resident
Missionary, these long, toilsome journeys will not be essential.
The companions of my long trips were the far-famed Indian runners of the
north. The principal one of our party was called "the guide." To him
was committed the responsibility of leading us by the quickest and
safest route to the band of Indians we wished to visit with the good
news of a Saviour's love. His place was in front of the dogs, unless
the way happened to lead us for a time over frozen lakes or well-beaten
trails, where the dogs were able to go on alone, cheered by the voice of
their drivers behind. When the trail was of this description, the guide
generally strode along in company with one of the drivers.
As the greater part of my work was in the wild forest regions, there
were many trips when the guide was always at the front. Marvellously
gifted were some of these men. The reader must bear in mind the fact
that there were no roads or vestiges of a path. Often the whole
distance we wished to go was through the dense unbroken forest. The
snow, some winters, was from two to four feet deep. Often the trees
were clustered so closely together that it was at times difficult to
find them standing far enough apart to get our sleds, narrow as they
were, between them. In many places the under-brush was so dense that it
was laborious work to force our way through it. Yet the guide on his
large snowshoes was expected to push on through all obstructions, and
open the way where it was possible for the dog-sleds to follow. His
chief work was to mark out the trail, along which the rest of us
travelled as rapidly as our loaded sleds, or wearied limbs, and often
bleeding feet, would allow.
Wonderfully clever and active were these guides in this difficult and
trying work. To them it made but little difference whether the sun
shone brightly, or clouds obscured the sky. On and on they pushed
without hesitancy or delay. There were times when the sun's rays were
reflected with such splendour from the snowy wastes, that our eyes
became so affected by the glare, that it was impossible to travel by
sunlight. The black eyes of the Indians seemed very susceptible to this
disease, which they call "snow blindness." It is very painful, as I
know by sad experience. The sensation is like that of having red-hot
sand thrown on the eyeballs. Often my faithful dog-drivers used to
suffer so from it that, stoical as they naturally are, I have known them
to groan and almost cry out like children in the camp.
Once, in travelling near Oxford Lake, we came across a couple of Indians
who were stone-blind from this disease. Fortunately they had been able
to reach the woods and make a camp and get some food ready ere total
blindness came upon them. We went out of our course to guide them to
their friends.
To guard against the attack of this disease, which seldom occurs except
in the months of March and April, when the increasing brightness of the
sun, in those lengthening days, makes its rays so powerful, we often
travelled only during the night-time, and rested in the sheltered camps
during the hours of sunshine. On some of our long trips we have
travelled eight nights continuously in this way. We generally left our
camp about sundown. At midnight we groped about as well as we could,
aided by the light of the stars or the brilliant auroras, and found some
dry wood and birch bark, with which we made a fire and cooked a midnight
dinner. Then on we went until the morning light came. Then a regular
camp was prepared, and breakfast cooked and eaten, and the dogs were
fed, instead of at night. Prayers said, and ourselves wrapped up in our
blankets and robes, we slept until the hours of brilliant sunshine were
over, when on we went.
It always seemed to me that the work of the guides would be much more
difficult at night than during the daytime. They, however, did not
think so. With unerring accuracy they pushed on. It made no matter to
them whether the stars shone out in all the beauty and brilliancy of the
Arctic sky, or whether clouds arose and obscured them all. On the guide
pushed through tangled underwood or dense gloomy forest, where there
were not to be seen, for days, or rather nights, together, any other
tracks than those made by the wild beasts of the forest.
Sometimes the wondrous auroras blazed out, flashing and scintillating
with a splendour indescribable. At times the whole heavens seemed aglow
with their fickle, inconstant beauty, and then various portions of the
sky were illumined in succession by their ever-changing bars, or columns
of coloured light. Man's mightiest pyrotechnic displays dwarfed into
insignificance in the presence of these celestial visions. For hours at
a time have I been entranced amidst their glories. So bewildering were
they at times to me that I have lost all ideas of location, and knew not
which was north or south.
But to the experienced guide, although, like many of the Indians, he had
a keen appreciation of the beauties of nature, so intent was he on his
duties that these changing auroras made no difference, and caused him no
bewilderment in his work. This, to me, was often a matter of surprise.
They are very susceptible in their natures, and their souls are full of
poetry, as many of their expressive and beautiful names indicate. To
them, in their pagan state, those scintillating bars of coloured light
were the spirits of their forefathers, rank after rank, rushing out to
battle. Yet, while on our long trips I have had Indians as guides who
became intensely interested in these wondrous visions of the night, I
never knew them to lose the trail or become confused as to the proper
route.
Very pleasant are my memories of different guides and dog-drivers. With
very few exceptions they served me loyally and well. Most of them were
devoted Christian men. With me they rejoiced to go on these long
journeys to their countrymen who were still groping in the darkness, but
most of them longing for the light. Many of them were capable of giving
exhortations or addresses; and if not able to do this, they could, Paul-
like, tell the story of their conversion, and how they had found the
Saviour.
My heart warms to those faithful men, my companions in many a storm, my
bed-fellows in many a cold wintry camp. Memory brings up many incidents
where they risked their lives for me, and where, when food was about
exhausted, and the possibilities of obtaining additional supplies for
days were very poor, they quietly and unostentatiously put themselves on
quarter rations, for days together, that their beloved missionary might
not starve.
Some of them have finished their course. Up the shining trail,
following the unerring Guide, they have gone beyond the auroras and
beyond the stars right to the throne of God.