Start from St. John’s.--Crossing the ice.--Batiste La
Fleur.--Chimeroo.--The last wood-buffalo.--A dangerous
weapon.--Our raft collapses.--Across the Half-way River.
The 22nd of April had come. For some days we were engaged at St. John’s
in preparing supplies for the ascent of the river, and in catching and
bringing in from the prairie the horses which were to carry me to the
point of embarcation at the west end of the cañon; the snow had nearly
all disappeared from the level prairie. The river opposite the fort
was partly open, but some distance below a bridge of ice yet remained,
and on the 20th we moved our horses across this connecting link to the
north shore. The night of the 20th made a serious change in the river,
and when the 22nd came, it was doubtful whether we should be able to
cross without mishap.
From the fort of St. John’s to the gold mines on the Ominica River was
some twenty or thirty days’ travel, and as no supplies were obtainable
_en route_, save such as my gun might afford, it became necessary to
carry a considerable quantity of moose pemmican and dry meat, the sole
luxuries which St. John’s could boast of.
By the 22nd all preparations were declared complete, and we began
to cross the river over the doubtful ice-bridge. First went two men
dragging a dog-sled, on which was piled the stores and provisions for
the journey; next came old Batiste La Fleur, who was to accompany me as
far as the Half-way River, a torrent which we would have to raft across
on the second day of our journey.
Batiste carried a long pole, with which he sounded the ice previous
to stepping upon it. I brought up the rear, also carrying a pole, and
leading by a long line the faithful Cerf-vola. Spanker and his six
companions here passed from my hands, and remained at St. John’s to
idle through the approaching summer, and then to take their places as
Hudson Bay hauling-dogs; but for Cerf-vola there was to be no more
hauling, his long and faithful service had at length met its reward,
and the untiring Esquimaux was henceforth to lounge through life
collarless and comfortable.
Coasting down along the shore-ice we reached the crossing-point, and
put out into the mid-river; once on the dangerous part, there was no
time to think whether it was safe or not. A Salteaux Indian, dragging
the sled, went in, but light and quick as thought he dragged himself
from the ice and sped along its yielding surface. Below rumbled the
river, and in the open places its dark waters gurgled up and over the
crumbling ice. Only a narrow tongue of ice spanned the central current;
we crossed it with nothing worse than wet feet and legs, and to me a
dislocated thumb, and then we breathed freer on the farther side.
Loading the horses with luggage and provisions, I bade good-bye to my
host, and we turned our faces towards the steep north shore. The day
was gloriously bright. The hill up which the horses scrambled for a
thousand feet was blue with wild anemones; spring was in the earth and
in the air. Cerf-vola raced in front, with tail so twisted over his
back that it threatened to dislocate his spine in a frantic attempt
to get in front of his nose. The earth, bare of snow, gave forth a
delicious fragrance, which one drank with infinite delight after the
long, long scentless winter; and over the white river below, and the
pine forest beyond, summer, dressed in blue sky and golden sunbeam,
came moving gently up on the wing of the soft south wind.
We reached the summit. Below lay a long line of frosted river; the
little fort, dwarfed by distance, the opposing ridges, the vast
solitude, and beyond all, snow-white against the western sky, the
peaks and pinnacles of nameless mountains. Through varied prairie and
wooded country, and across many a rushing brook, deep hidden in tangled
brake and thicket, we held our way on that bright spring afternoon;
and evening found us on a bare and lofty ridge, overlooking the valley
of the Peace River. Batiste had lived his life in these solitudes,
and knew the name of creek and prairie, and the history (for even the
wilderness has a history) of each hill or widespread meadow.
The beautiful prairie which lay beneath our camping-place was
Chimeroo’s prairie, and the great ridge of rock which frowned above it
was also Chimeroo’s; and away there where the cleft appeared in the
hills to the north, that was where Chimeroo’s river came out to join
the Peace. In fact, Chimeroo played such a conspicuous part in the
scenery that one naturally asked, Who was Chimeroo?
“Chimeroo! Oh, he is a Beaver Indian; he lived here for a long time,
and he killed the last wood-buffalo in yonder valley, just three years
ago.”
The last of his race had wandered down from the banks of the Liard,
and Chimeroo had struck his trail, and followed him to the death.
When twilight fell, that peculiar orange light of the American
wilderness lay long in the west. Against this vivid colour, Chimeroo’s
hill stood out in inky profile the perfect image of a colossal face.
Forehead, nose, lips, and chin seemed cut in the huge rock, and, like a
monstrous sphinx, looked blankly over the solitude.
“It is the head of Chimeroo,” I said to Batiste; “see, he looks over
his dominions.” We were perched upon a bare hill-top, many hundred feet
above the river. The face rose between us and the west, some three
miles distant; the head, thrown slightly back, seemed to look vacantly
out on the waste of night and wilderness, while a long beard (the lower
part of the ridge) descended into the darkness. Gradually day drew off
his orange curtain from the horizon, and ere the darkness had blotted
out the huge features of Chimeroo, we slept upon our lonely hill-top.
Pursuing our journey on the morrow, we descended to the river, and held
our way over Chimeroo’s prairie, passing beneath the lofty ridge, whose
outline had assumed the image of a human face.
About mid-day we reached the banks of Chimeroo’s river, which, being
flooded, we forded, and, climbing its steep north shore, halted for
dinner. It would not be easy to exaggerate the beauty of the country
through which the trail had carried us, or the sensation of rest which
came to one as, looking out over the landscape, the fair spring scene
stole insensibly on the mind. Everywhere the blue anemone, like a
huge primrose, looked up to the bluer sky; butterflies fluttered in
the clear, pure air; partridges drummed in the budding thickets. The
birch-trees and willows were putting forth their flowers, precursors
of the leaves so soon to follow. The long-hushed rippling of the
streams fell on the ear like music heard after lapse of time; and
from the blue depths of sky at times fell the cry of the wild goose,
as with scarce-moving wing he held his way in long waving _w_‘s to
his summer home. Chimeroo’s prairie was golden with the long grass of
the old year. Chimeroo’s hill glistened in the bright sun of the new
spring; and winter, driven from the lower earth, had taken refuge in
the mountains, where his snow-white flag of surrender floated out from
crag and cliff, high above the realm of pines. Such a scene as this,
might the first man have beheld when he looked over the virgin earth.
It was far too fine a day to work: we would rest. Batiste La Fleur knew
of a lake not far off, and we would go to it and spend the evening in
hunting beaver and wild ducks; so we put the saddles on and journeyed
slowly to Batiste’s paradise.
Through many a devious path and tortuous way did Batiste guide us,
until his hunting-ground was gained. On a knoll we made our camp; and
while Kalder remained to look after it, Batiste and I sallied forth to
hunt.
Batiste’s gun was an excellent weapon, were it not for a tendency to
burst about the left barrel. This was made observable by two or more
ominous bulges towards the centre of the piece; but Batiste appeared
to have unlimited confidence in the integrity of his weapon, and
explained that these blemishes were only the result of his having on
two or three occasions placed a bullet over a charge of shot, and then
directed the united volley against the person of a beaver. When loading
this gun, Batiste had a risky method of leaning it against his chest
while drawing a charge of shot from his shot-bag. I pointed out to him
that this was not a safe method of loading, as it was quite possible
the other barrel might explode while the gun thus rested against his
side. It was true, he said, for only last year the gun under similar
treatment had exploded, carrying away the brim of his hat, and causing
no slight alarm to the rest of his person.
Our success that afternoon was not great; ducks and geese but lately
arrived from the peopled south were yet wild and wary, and had not
learned to look on man in any light save that of an enemy; and
altogether Batiste’s hunter’s paradise did not justify his glowing
accounts of it. To do him justice, however, it must be stated that the
wet ground was literally ploughed up with moose-tracks; and the golden
willows lay broken down and bruised by the many animals which had
browsed upon them during the winter.
It was mid-day on the 24th of April when we reached the banks of the
Half-way River, whose current, swollen by the melting snow, rolled
swiftly from the north, between banks piled high with ice-floe. This
was the first serious obstacle to the journey, and as soon as dinner
was over we set to work to overcome it. From a neighbouring grove of
pines Kalder and Batiste got dry trees; half a dozen of these lashed
together formed the groundwork of a raft. Three other pine-trees tied
on top completed the craft, and with a long pole and a rough paddle,
all fashioned by the axe, the preparations were declared finished. This
craft was put together in a sheltered part of the river; and when all
was completed, the goods and chattels were placed upon it. But one more
piece of work remained to be accomplished ere we set sail upon our
raft--the horses had to be crossed. By dint of driving and shouting we
forced them across the boulders of ice into the water. It was cold as
ice, and they stood knee-deep, afraid to venture farther. But Kalder
was a very demon when work had to be done. In an instant he was across
the ice-floe, and upon the back of one of the horses; then with knees
and hands and voice and heels he urged the brute into the flood. The
horse reared and snorted and plunged, but Kalder sat him like the
half-breed that he was, and in another second, horse and rider plunged
wildly into the torrent. Down they went out of sight, and when they
reappeared the horse was striking out for the far shore, and Kalder was
grappling with the projecting ice. The other horses soon followed their
leader, and all four went swimming down the current. Gradually the back
eddy near the farther shore caught them, and, touching ground, they
disappeared in the forest. Now came our turn to cross. We towed the
crazy raft up the bordering ice, and, mooring her for a moment in an
eddy, took our places on the upper logs. Scarcely had we put out from
the shore than the fastening gave way, and the whole fabric threatened
instant collapse. We got her back to the eddy, repaired the damage, and
once more put out. Our weight and baggage sunk us down, so that the
body of the raft was quite submerged, and only the three trees on top
showed above the water; upon these we crouched. Old Batiste waved a
good-bye. Kalder was at the bow with a pole. I worked a paddle on the
stern. Once out of the sheltering eddy, the current smote our unwieldy
platform, and away we went. Another instant and the pole failed to
reach the bottom. With might and main I worked the paddle; down we
shot, and across; but ten yards down to every one across. Would we save
the eddy? that was the question; for if we missed it, there was nought
to stay our wild career. Far as eye could reach, the current ran wild
and red. For an anxious minute we rushed down the stream, and then the
eddy caught us, and we spun round like a teetotum. “The other side!”
roared Kalder; and to the other side went the paddle to keep us in the
eddy. Then we headed for the shore; and, ere the current could catch us
again, Kalder was breast-deep in the water, holding on with might and
main to the raft.
We were across the Half-way River. To unload the raft, build a fire, to
dry our wet garments, and shout good-bye to old Batiste, who stood on
an ice boulder, anxiously watching our fortunes from the shore we had
quitted, took us but a short time.
The horses were captured and saddled, and, ascending through tangled
forest into a terraced land of rich-rolling prairies, we pushed on
briskly towards the west.
Thus, trotting through a park-like land of wood and glade and meadow,
where the jumping deer glanced through the dry grass and trees, we
gradually drew near the Rocky Mountains. At times the trail led up the
steep face of the outer hill to the plateau above, and then a rich view
would lie beneath--a view so vast with the glories of the snowy range,
and so filled with nearer river and diamond-shaped island, that many a
time I drew rein upon some lofty standpoint to look, as one looks upon
things which we would fain carry away into the memory of an after-time.
About the middle of the afternoon of the 25th of April we emerged from
a wood of cypress upon an open space, beneath which ran the Peace
River. At the opposite side a solitary wooden house gave token of life
in the wilderness. The greater part of the river was still fast frozen,
but along the nearer shore ran a current of open water. The solitary
house was the Hope of Hudson!