YORK FACTORY--WINTER AMUSEMENTS--INTENSE COLD--THE
SEASONS--"SKYLARKING"--SPORTING IN THE WOODS AND MARSHES--TRADING WITH
INDIANS--CHRISTMAS DOINGS--BREAKING-UP OF THE ICE IN SPRING.
Are you ambitious, reader, of dwelling in a "pleasant cot in a tranquil
spot, with a distant view of the changing sea?" If so, do not go to
York Factory. Not that it is such an unpleasant place--for I spent two
years very happily there--but simply (to give a poetical reason, and
explain its character in one sentence) because it is a monstrous blot on
a swampy spot, with a partial view of the frozen sea!
First impressions are generally incorrect; and I have little doubt that
_your_ first impression is, that a "monstrous blot on a swampy spot"
cannot by any possibility be an agreeable place. To dispel this
impression, and at the same time to enlighten you with regard to a
variety of facts with which you are probably unacquainted, I shall
describe York Factory as graphically as may be. An outline of its
general appearance has been already given in a former chapter, so I will
now proceed to particularise the buildings. The principal edifice is
the "general store," where the goods, to the amount of two years' outfit
for the whole northern department, are stored. On each side of this is
a long, low whitewashed house, with green edgings, in one of which
visitors and temporary residents during the summer are quartered. The
other is the summer mess-room. Four roomy fur-stores stand at right
angles to these houses, thus forming three sides of the front square.
Behind these stands a row of smaller buildings for the labourers and
tradesmen; and on the right hand is the dwelling-house of the gentleman
in charge, and adjoining it the clerks' house; while on the left are the
provision-store and Indian trading-shop. A few insignificant buildings,
such as the oil-store and lumber-house, intrude themselves here and
there; and on the right a tall ungainly outlook rises in the air,
affording the inhabitants an extensive view of their wild domains; and
just beside it stands the ice-house. This latter building is filled
every spring with blocks of solid ice of about three feet square, which
do not melt during the short but intensely hot summer. The inhabitants
are thus enabled to lay up a store of fresh meat for summer use, which
lasts them till about the commencement of winter. The lower stratum of
ice in this house never melts; nor, indeed, does the soil of the
surrounding country, which only thaws to the depth of a few feet, the
subsoil being perpetually frozen.
The climate of York Factory is very bad in the warm months of the year,
but during the winter the intensity of the cold renders it healthy.
Summer is very short; and the whole three seasons of spring, summer, and
autumn are included in the months of June, July, August, and September--
the rest being winter.
During part of summer the heat is extreme, and millions of flies,
mosquitoes, etcetera, render the country unbearable. Fortunately,
however, the cold soon extirpates them. Scarcely anything in the way of
vegetables can be raised in the small spot of ground called by courtesy
a garden. Potatoes one year, for a wonder, attained the size of
walnuts; and sometimes a cabbage and a turnip are prevailed upon to
grow. Yet the woods are filled with a great variety of wild berries,
among which the cranberry and swampberry are considered the best. Black
and red currants, as well as gooseberries, are plentiful; but the first
are bitter, and the last small. The swampberry is in shape something
like the raspberry, of a light yellow colour, and grows on a low bush,
almost close to the ground. They make excellent preserves, and,
together with cranberries, are made into tarts for the mess during
winter.
In the month of September there are generally a couple of weeks or so of
extremely fine weather, which is called the Indian summer; after which
winter, with frost, cold, and snow, sets in with rapidity. For a few
weeks in October there is sometimes a little warm weather (or rather, I
should say, a little _thawy_, weather); but after that, until the
following April, the thermometer seldom rises to the freezing-point. In
the depth of winter it falls from 30 to 40, 45, and even 50 degrees
_below zero_ of Fahrenheit. This intense cold, however, is not so much
felt as one might suppose, as during its continuance the air is
perfectly calm. Were the slightest breath of wind to arise when the
thermometer stands so low, no man could show his face to it for a
moment. Forty degrees below zero, and quite calm, is infinitely
preferable to fifteen degrees below, or thereabouts, with a strong
breeze of wind. Spirit of wine is, of course, the only liquid that can
be used in the thermometers, as mercury, were it exposed to such cold,
would remain frozen nearly half the winter. Spirit never froze in any
cold ever experienced at York Factory, unless when very much adulterated
with water; and even then the spirit would remain liquid in the centre
of the mass [see note 1].
To resist this intense cold the inhabitants dress, not in furs, as is
generally supposed, but in coats and trousers made of smoked deer-skins;
the only piece of fur in their costume being the cap. The houses are
built of wood, with double windows and doors. They are heated by means
of large iron stoves, fed with wood; yet so intense is the cold, that I
have seen the stove in places _red-hot_, and a basin of water in the
room _frozen_ nearly solid. The average cold, I should think, is about
15 or 16 degrees below zero, or 48 degrees of frost. The country around
is a complete swamp, but the extreme shortness of the warm weather, and
the consequent length of winter, fortunately prevent the rapid
decomposition of vegetable matter. Another cause of the unhealthiness
of the climate during summer is the prevalence of dense fogs, which come
off the bay and enshroud the country; and also the liability of the
weather to sudden and extreme changes.
Summer may be said to commence in July, the preceding month being a
fight between summer and winter, which cannot claim the slightest title
to the name of spring. As August advances the heat becomes great; but
about the commencement of September Nature wears a more pleasing aspect,
which lasts till the middle of October. It is then clear and beautiful,
just cold enough to kill all the mosquitoes, and render brisk exercise
agreeable. About this time, too, the young ducks begin to fly south,
affording excellent sport among the marshes. A week or so after this
winter commences, with light falls of snow occasionally, and hard frost
during the night. Flocks of snow-birds (the harbingers of cold in
autumn, and heat in spring) begin to appear, and soon the whirring wings
of the white partridge may be heard among the snow-encompassed willows.
The first thaw generally takes place in April; and May is characterised
by melting snow, disruption of ice, and the arrival of the first flocks
of wild-fowl.
The country around the fort is one immense level swamp, thickly covered
with willows, and dotted here and there with a few clumps of pine-trees.
The only large timber in the vicinity grows on the banks of Hayes and
Nelson Rivers, and consists chiefly of spruce fir. The swampy nature of
the ground has rendered it necessary to raise the houses in the fort
several feet in the air upon blocks of wood; and the squares are
intersected by elevated wooden platforms, which form the only promenade
the inhabitants have during the summer, as no one can venture fifty
yards beyond the gates without wetting his feet. Nothing bearing the
most distant resemblance to a hillock exists in the land. Nelson River
is a broad stream, which discharges itself into Hudson Bay, near the
mouth of Hayes River, between which lies a belt of swamp and willows,
known by the name of the Point of Marsh. Here may be found, during the
spring and autumn, millions of ducks, geese, and plover, and during the
summer billions of mosquitoes. There are a great many strange plants
and shrubs in this marsh, which forms a wide field of research and
pleasure to the botanist and the sportsman; but the lover of beautiful
scenery and the florist will find little to please the eye or
imagination, as Nature has here put on her plainest garb, and flowers
there are none.
Of the feathered tribes there are the large and small grey Canada goose,
the laughing goose (so called from the resemblance of its cry to
laughter), and the wavie or white goose. The latter are not very
numerous. There are great numbers of wild ducks, pintails, widgeons,
divers, sawbills, black ducks, and teal; but the prince of ducks (the
canvas-back) is not there. In spring and autumn the whole country
becomes musical with the wild cries and shrill whistle of immense hosts
of plover of all kinds--long legs, short legs, black legs, and yellow
legs--sandpipers and snipe, which are assisted in their noisy concerts
by myriads of frogs. The latter are really the best songsters in Hudson
Bay [see note 2]. Bitterns are also found in the marshes; and
sometimes, though rarely, a solitary crane finds its way to the coast.
In the woods, and among the dry places around, there are a few grey
grouse and wood partridges, a great many hawks, and owls of all sizes--
from the gigantic white owl, which measures five feet across the back
and wings, to the small grey owl, not much bigger than a man's hand.
In winter the woods and frozen swamps are filled with ptarmigan--or, as
they are called by the trappers, white partridges. They are not very
palatable; but, nevertheless, they form a pretty constant dish at the
winter mess-table of York Factory, and afford excellent sport to the
inhabitants. There are also great varieties of small birds, among which
the most interesting are the snow-birds, or snow-flakes, which pay the
country a flying visit at the commencement and termination of winter.
Such is York Fort, the great depot and gate to the wild regions
surrounding Hudson Bay. Having described its appearance and general
characteristics, I shall proceed to introduce the reader to my future
companions, and describe our amusements and sports among the marshes.