[Illustration: ALEXANDER MACKENZIE]
Upon a bright June morning, in the year 1789, the gates of Fort
Chipewyan, on the south shore of Lake Athabaska, opened to give passage
to a party of gayly dressed fur-traders. At their head strode a handsome
young Scotsman named Alexander Mackenzie. The love of adventure had
brought him from the Highlands to Montreal, where he joined a company of
merchants engaged in the western fur-trade. Bartering blankets and beads
for beaver-skins soon grew wearisome, however, and Mackenzie looked
around eagerly for a chance to win fame for himself and glory for his
adopted country. He had heard of the wonderful journey of Samuel Hearne,
from the shores of Hudson Bay to the far-off mouth of the Coppermine
River, and determined that he too would explore the immense unknown
country that lay to the northward.
Fort Chipewyan had been built only in 1788, by Mackenzie’s cousin
Roderick, and although some of the fur-traders had pushed their way a
few hundred miles farther north to the shores of Great Slave Lake,
nothing was known of what lay beyond, except from the reports of roving
Indians. These Indians were in the habit of bringing their furs to Fort
Chipewyan to trade, and Mackenzie never lost a chance of questioning
them as to the nature of the country through which they had travelled.
They would draw rude maps for him on birch-bark, or in the sand, of
rivers, lakes, and mountains. Finally they told him of a mighty river
that ran out of the western end of Great Slave Lake. None of them had
ever been to its mouth, but they had been told by Indians of a different
tribe who lived upon the banks of this river, that it emptied into the
sea at such an immense distance that one would have to journey for
several years to reach the salt water. Mackenzie knew that this could
not be true, but he made up his mind to explore this great river and
discover whether it flowed into the Arctic Sea or into the Pacific.
All preparations having been made, therefore, he and his plucky little
band of French-Canadian boatmen and Indian hunters got into their
canoes. Amid shouts of farewell from the fort, the paddles dipped
noiselessly into the water, and they were off on their long journey to
the mouth of the Mackenzie. A few days’ paddling brought them to Great
Slave Lake, which they had to cross very carefully in their frail
birch-bark canoes, as great masses of ice were still floating about in
spite of the warm June sun. Before the end of the month they had reached
the western end of the lake, and entered the Mackenzie River.
Day by day and week by week they paddled steadily onwards, the days
growing longer as they went farther north. It must have seemed strange
to rise, as they did, at two o’clock in the morning, and find the sun
already up before them. As they journeyed down the river they met many
new tribes of Indians, who had never before seen white men. Sometimes
the Indians would rush into the woods in terror; at other times they
would brandish their spears and clubs threateningly, until Mackenzie
made them understand by signs that the white men were friends, not
enemies. Then they would come near and examine with wonder his strange
clothes and weapons, and they were willing to offer him all that they
owned for a handful of bright-colored beads.
Early in July, Mackenzie reached a point where another river emptied
into the one he was exploring. The Indians told him that this river came
from a very great lake, which they called Bear Lake, some distance off
to the eastward. Two days later he came to what were afterwards known as
the Ramparts of the Mackenzie River, where the rocky banks rise to a
great height, as straight as the walls of a room. The river grew narrow
at this point and rushed forward so violently that Mackenzie and his men
feared every moment would be their last. With great care, however, they
managed to keep the canoes afloat, and presently the river widened out
again and the current became less rapid.
Mackenzie now knew, from the direction of the river, that it must empty
into the Arctic Sea, and as the short summer would soon be over, he
would have to turn back within a few days. He therefore urged his men
forward at their utmost speed. On July 10th, he came to a place where
the river divides into a number of channels. He chose what seemed the
largest, and on they went, racing for the mouth of the great river.
Finally the banks widened out into what seemed at first to be a lake.
Weary and dispirited, the explorer landed upon an island and threw
himself down upon the hard ground to sleep. A shout from one of his men
aroused him a few hours later. The water had risen, he said, and was
carrying away their provisions. There could no longer be any doubt. The
rising water was the tide, and the long task was completed. They had
reached the mouth of the Mackenzie, and stood upon the shores of the
Arctic Sea. A post was driven into the frozen ground, upon which
Mackenzie carved his own name and those of his men, with the date. Then
he gave the word, and the canoes bounded away with renewed energy on the
long journey back to Fort Chipewyan.
--LAWRENCE J. BURPEE.
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Count that day lost whose low descending sun
Views from thy hand no worthy action done.