At Fond du Lac I slept for the first time since we left the fort under a
roof, but on account of the awful squalor of the house I should have
much preferred the usual open camp in the snow. Daylight found us under
way again, François and myself, with a small boy to run ahead of the
dogs; as we were travelling light I expected to be able to ride the last
half of the journey, but for the first two days the fish for dogs' food
made our load too heavy to travel at a fast pace. I left all the musk-ox
and caribou heads and skins that I had managed to save, to come in with
Michel and Marlo when they made the usual journey to the fort for New
Year's day, on which occasion the Indians from all quarters bring in
their furs to trade, and receive a small feast of flour and sugar, an
event not to be missed on any account, even though wives and families
may be left to starve in the woods and the famished dogs drop with
fatigue along the track.
There was no news as to the state of the ice, as we were the first
people to attempt the crossing of the lake this winter. It is usually
not safe for travel till the middle of December, so we coasted along the
north shore, increasing the distance, but getting greater safety by
doing so. We took things easily, making early starts and putting ashore
frequently for a cup of tea; it was a great improvement on the
canoe-travelling which had delayed us so much in the autumn. At sundown
every night we picked out a sheltered spot among the tall pine-trees
where firewood was plentiful, threw away the snow with our snow-shoes,
and put down a thick mat of pine-brush; then a huge fire was lit and
enough wood cut for the night, the fish thawed for the dogs, and supper
cooked for the men. We had bread at every meal, which is in itself a
luxury after four months of straight meat; the day ended with tobacco,
and we rolled ourselves in our blankets to sleep, till the position of
the Great Bear told us it was time to be on the march once more. People
who live in civilization find it hard to believe that men in these
northern latitudes habitually sleep out under the stars, with the
thermometer standing at 30°, 40°, and even 60° below zero; yet it is
those same people of civilization who suffer from colds in the head,
lung-diseases, and a variety of ailments unknown to the _voyageur_,
whose only dangers are starvation and the risk of accidents incidental
to travelling in rough countries.
On the second day we passed a couple of houses occupied by an Indian,
Capot Blanc, with whom I afterwards became great friends; he had left
for the fort a couple of days before, but the ice was reported to be
dangerous in the Grand Traverse. Another Indian, Thomas, a brother of
Marlo and Zinto, was ready to start, and joined in with us for the rest
of the journey; he had only two dogs, but with a light load managed to
keep up easily enough. The ice among the islands was pretty good, but
the snow was soft and deep, and it was not till our fourth night out
from Fond du Lac that we camped on the last outlying island, ready to
take the Traverse. About eighteen miles away to the south, without any
chance to put ashore till we reached it, lay the Ile de Pierre, and we
were to make for a half-breed's house that lay within a mile of it on
the main shore of the lake. It had been arranged that I was to ride in
pomp across this piece, so, after a good breakfast about three o'clock,
I turned into the sleigh and soon dropped off to sleep to the music of
sleigh-bells and a volley of French oaths with which François encouraged
his dogs every few minutes. At this time the stars were shining
brightly, and there was not a breath of wind. I must have slept for a
couple of hours when François awoke me with the information that we were
lost. Turning out of my warm berth I found a gale of wind blowing, with
snow falling and drifting heavily; I could hardly make out the men in
the darkness, though they were all standing within a few yards of me. Of
course I had not the slightest idea where we were, or the direction in
which we had been travelling. François seemed undecided, but Thomas was
quite sure that by keeping the wind abeam we should hit off the Ile de
Pierre. We put him ahead, and he proved perfectly right in his
direction; for after four hours' steady walk we made out the land, the
weather clearing a little at day-break. We had headed a little too far
to the west, but were soon inside the half-breed's cabin, where we found
plenty of fish for the dogs, and so decided to spend the day there, as
the wind had freshened up again and the drifting snow made travelling
unpleasant. We did not know what a narrow escape we had had till the
owner of the house came in, after making an attempt to visit his nets.
He reported the ice broken up to the west by the violence of the gale,
and had we kept a little more in that direction we might easily have
walked into open water in the darkness and made a disastrous ending to
our expedition.
[Illustration: Skins in the Post Storeroom]
[Illustration: Taking the Post Dogs for Exercise]
Our course the next day lay over shoal water, mostly inside sandbanks
and through narrow channels of the delta of the Slave River. We crossed
the main stream on good ice, and following the shore of the lake for ten
miles, rattled into the fort about two o'clock, within ten minutes of
the arrival of the outward-bound packet from Mackenzie River. Luckily
enough it had been delayed one day by the storm that had overtaken us in
the Grand Traverse, and I had an opportunity of sending out letters by
the dog-sleigh that was to leave the same night. For true hospitality
there is nothing in the world to beat the welcome back to a Hudson's Bay
post in the North after one has made a long journey in the wilds; no
need to trouble your head with the idea that you may not be wanted, or
that you will eat too much of the ever insufficient supplies sent in
from the outside world to the officer in charge. Why is it that the less
a man has, and the harder things are to obtain, the more ready he is to
divide? It does not seem to work in civilization, but it is certainly so
in rough countries, and especially with the Hudson's Bay Company's
officers in the Far North. Perhaps it is because they have all seen
hardships and privations in the Company's service and know the value of
a helping hand given in the time of need; men who have suffered
themselves have always more feeling for the sufferings of others than
people who have lived only on the soft side of life.
I don't think I ever enjoyed a meal so much as that first dinner at Fort
Resolution, after a most necessary wash. A year later I dragged myself
into a small trading-post at the foot of the Rocky Mountains after many
days' total starvation, but had then got beyond the capacity of enjoying
anything. On the present occasion I was able to thoroughly appreciate
the change from my four months' experience in the Barren Ground. How
strange it seemed once more to sit at a table, on a chair, like a white
man, and eat white man's food with a knife and fork, after the long
course of squatting in the filth of a smoky lodge, rending a piece of
half-raw meat snatched from the dirty kettle. Then, too, I could speak
again in my own language, and there was a warm room to sit in, books to
read, and all the ordinary comforts of life, with the knowledge that so
long as I stayed in the house I had my own place, while the wind and the
snow had theirs outside.
There was no scarcity at the fort this year, although the autumn fishing
had not been successful. The Fond du Lac boat had brought in a good
supply of dried meat, and there was a better stock of flour than is
usually to be found at a northern fort. Mr. Mackinlay, too, had got in a
fair supply of luxuries from Winnipeg, and, as Mrs. Mackinlay was an
excellent manager, we always lived as well as one should wish to live
anywhere.
Fort Resolution is a fair sample of a trading-post in the North. It is
situated on the south side of a bay, the entrance to which is sheltered
by a group of islands, the largest known as Mission Island, from the
Roman Catholic mission established there in charge of Father Dupire. The
original site was on an outlying island known as Moose Island, but the
present position on the mainland has been found more practicable. The
buildings consist of the master's house, a comfortable log-building
flanked on each side by a large store, one used for provisions and the
other as a fur and trading store; these were originally within a
stockade and formed the fort proper, but the peaceful nature of the
Indians has removed all need for defensive works. Outside is a small row
of log-houses, occupied by the engaged servants, freemen, and a couple
of pensioners too old to make their living in the woods. Close at hand
are the buildings belonging to the Protestant Mission, while the willows
and bush-growth of a densely-wooded level country hem in the small patch
of cleared ground on which the settlement stands; here potatoes and a
few other vegetables are raised, and in a favourable season produce very
fair crops. There are a yoke of work-cattle for hauling wood and a
couple of milch cows are kept, as hay is easily procured in the numerous
swamps which are scattered through the woods in every direction. The
only high land to be seen is a conspicuous bluff marking the entrance to
the Little Buffalo River some ten miles along the lake shore, this
stream heads in to the south, and as it breaks up earlier in the spring
than the Little Slave River it is used at that time of year as a route
to Fort Smith, one overland portage being made, to drop on to the main
stream a short distance below the fort.
Looking out over the vast expanse of frozen lake on still, bright days
some very beautiful and curious mirage effects can often be seen.
Everything takes an unnatural and frequently inverted form; islands so
far away as to be below the horizon are seen suspended in the air, and
it is impossible to recognise a point or bunch of trees with which you
are perfectly familiar in ordinary circumstances.
There are four engaged servants at the fort; a white man, Murdo Mackay,
native of the Hebrides, who was serving a five years' contract with the
Company, and three half-breeds, by far the best of whom was Michel
Mandeville, who has held the position of interpreter at Fort Resolution
for several years. Except at the time of the Fall fishery, an engaged
servant's work is light--cutting and hauling enough firewood to keep the
fort supplied, visiting the nets and lines, and an occasional trip with
the packet, or to get trading-goods from another fort.
Christmas passed away quietly, but there was stir enough when the
Indians came in for New Year and the trading began. The old system of
barter is still carried on, with the beaver-skin for a standard. An
Indian's pile of fur is counted, and he is told how many skins' worth of
goods he has to receive; then he is taken into the store and the door
solemnly locked, as it is found impossible to trade at all with more
than one at a time. It seems very simple; the Indian knows exactly how
many skins he has to take, and the value in skins of every common
article. But, to begin with, he wants everything he sees, and the whole
stock would hardly satisfy him, and it is a long time, with many changes
of opinion, before he has spent the proceeds of his hunt. Then arises
the question of his debt, and he tries to take the largest amount
possible on credit for his spring hunt; the trader cannot refuse
absolutely to make any advances, as there are some things essentially
necessary to the Indian's life in the woods, but the debts are kept in
proportion to the man's character. After he has finished his trade, he
shows his purchases to his friends, and, acting on their advice, usually
comes back to effect some change, and the game begins all over again;
sometimes a whole day is passed in laying out a hundred skins, roughly
fifty dollars according to our method of calculation. Before the Indian
leaves the fort he always comes in and does a little begging while
saying good-bye to his master.
I had a very bad time of it settling up with the Beaulieus. Promises
that I had made under stress of circumstances had to be redeemed, but it
was hopeless to try and satisfy them; although they had each received
far more than had been originally agreed upon, they continued grumbling
till they left the fort. On New Year's day a big ball was given to the
half-breeds, while the Indians were provided with the materials for a
feast, and held a dance of their own in one of the empty houses. It was
the poorest display imaginable; many of the Canadian tribes have really
effective dancing, but the Yellow Knives appear to have a very
elementary idea of graceful movement. Their only figure is to waddle
round in a circle, holding each other's hands, keeping up a monotonous
chant, and spitting freely into the middle of the ring. In the big house
Red River jigs and reels were kept up with unflagging energy till
daylight.
As soon as everything had quieted down and the Indians had gone back to
their hunting-ground, Mackinlay and myself started on an expedition
after the caribou to try and kill some fresh meat for the fort. We took
Michel, the interpreter, with us, and Pierre Beaulieu, a brother of
King's; and a resident of Mission Island joined us with his two sons, as
there was news of the caribou being at no great distance on the far side
of the lake. It was now the dead of winter, the season of the _gra'
frète_, and we had two remarkably cold days' travel to reach the north
shore of the Great Slave Lake. We struck into the woods, not far to the
eastward of the Gros Cap, the point forming the eastern extremity of the
long narrow arm leading to Fort Rae. We each had a sleigh of dogs, and
were able to ride most of the time on a good road broken by a band of
Indians hunting in the neighbourhood. Two long days over small lakes and
through the thick pine woods, in a country much resembling that of Fond
du Lac but of lower elevation, brought us among the caribou, but they
were not in very large numbers.
We had everything we could want to make life pleasant in the woods,
abundance of tea and tobacco, meat if we killed it, and no hardships;
the cold was severe of course, but there was plenty of firewood, and it
was our own fault if we could not keep ourselves warm. Three days we
spent in hunting, and, although we did not kill very much, there was a
little meat to take back; we never really found the caribou in any
quantity, or we should have made a big killing and _cached_ the meat, to
be hauled later on when the days grew longer. A rattling three days'
journey took us back to the fort, as old Pierre, who is one of the most
rushing travellers I ever met, hustled us along to save using his meat
on the way home; he had no intention of feeding his dogs from his load
for more than two nights when he had fish to give them at home. This
trouble about dogs' food is the great drawback to winter travelling in
the North; a dog, to keep him in good order, requires two whitefish,
weighing each perhaps three pounds, every night. This adds so much to
the load that a ten days' journey is about the longest one can undertake
with full rations all round, unless it be in a part of the country where
game is plentiful or fish can be caught _en route_.
After the caribou hunt, we amused ourselves about the fort; sometimes
going in search of ptarmigan, which are usually to be found among the
willows close to the edge of the lake; and sometimes paying Father
Dupire a visit on his island, a couple of miles away, to hear some of
his interesting experiences during a residence of many years among the
Indians. Close at hand lay the Protestant Mission, where there was
always a welcome, and, with these attractions and a fair supply of
books, time did not hang at all heavily till early in February the
winter packet from the outside world arrived. I received a big bundle of
letters, the first that reached me since June, but it happened that none
of the newspapers for the fort turned up, and we were left in ignorance
of what had happened in the Grand Pays.
So many travellers have written about this great Northern Packet and the
wonderful journey that it makes that it is unnecessary for me to say
much about it. On its arrival at Fort Resolution it presents the
appearance of an ordinary dog-sleigh, with a man ahead of the dogs,
which are driven by a half-breed, with plenty of ribbons and beads on
leggings and moccasins, capable of running his forty miles a day with
ease, and possessed of a full command of the more expressive part of the
French language.
Dr. Mackay, who was on his yearly round of visits to inspect the
outlying posts in his district, came down from Fort Chipeweyan with the
packet, and we had a long talk respecting a summer trip to the Barren
Ground which I proposed making.
My intention was to leave the fort on the last ice in the spring and
travel with the dogs to the spot where we had left our big canoe in the
autumn, there to await the breaking up of the lakes and to descend the
Great Fish River with the first open water. I had no special object in
reaching the sea-coast, as a birch-bark canoe is not the right sort of
craft for work among salt-water ice; and it was more to see what the
Barren Ground was like in summer, and to notice the habits of the birds
and animals, than for the sake of geographical discovery, that I wished
to make the expedition.
The Great Fish River has been twice descended before, but of course both
Back's and Anderson's parties were compelled by the shortness of the
summers to confine their exploration to the immediate neighbourhood of
the river; and I thought that, by spending more time at the head-waters
than they had been able to do, I should get a good idea of the nature of
the country and an insight into the Indian summer life among the
caribou. The difficulty was to obtain a crew; but Dr. Mackay very kindly
consented to Mackinlay's accompanying me, and also lent me the two
engaged servants, Murdo Mackay and Moise Mandeville, brother of Michel
Mandeville the interpreter, but not half such a good fellow. We hoped to
be able to engage the services of some of the Indians to guide us to the
head of the river, but they have such a dread of the Esquimaux, who hunt
farther down the stream, that we hardly expected any of the Yellow
Knives to accompany us beyond that point. Long ago there was always war
between the Indians and the Esquimaux, and Hearne's description of the
massacre at the Bloody Falls on the Coppermine gives a good idea of the
hatred that existed between these tribes. For many years they have not
met, and although the Esquimaux seen by Anderson on the Great Fish River
appear peaceful enough, the Yellow Knives hunting at the head of the
river are in constant fear of meeting them.
Zinto, the chief, and another Indian, Syene, arrived at the fort soon
after Dr. Mackay left, and we consulted them as to the best route to
follow, and whether we could depend upon their tribe for any help. They
told us that there was no difficulty in reaching the head-waters of the
river, as the Indians were in the habit of coming there every summer,
but beyond was an unknown country; they both remembered Anderson's
expedition, and were full of stories about the difficulties of
navigation, the numerous portages and the likelihood of starvation, but
knew nothing from personal experience. We failed lamentably in the
attempt to discover when the ice in the river usually broke up. Syene
told us that it was in the moon when the dogs lie on their backs in the
sun, and Zinto volunteered the information that it was soon after the
leaves begin to shoot on the little willows in the Barren Ground; but we
could not work it out into any particular month. Both promised to make
dried meat and pemmican for us if they fell in with the caribou, and to
leave _caches_ in the last bunch of pine-trees. Next day they left for
their camp, two hundred miles away in the woods, to await the first
signs of warmer weather to start for the spring musk-ox hunt. Zinto was
to come to the fort about the 1st of May, and personally conduct us to
the places where he had piled up the meat of many caribou for our use.