By this time it was well on in September, and eight hundred miles had to
be travelled to reach the Rocky Mountains and when these were sighted
there were still two hundred miles to MacLeod's Lake, the farthest point
I could reasonably hope to reach by open water. The first night we
camped in the Quatre Fourches, the channel connecting the lake with the
main stream of Peace River. The banks were thickly peopled with Indians
and half-breeds, drying whitefish which were being taken in marvellous
numbers; white and grey wavies and ducks of many kinds were flying
overhead in large flocks, and rising in front of the canoe at every bend
of the stream; plovers and other wading birds were screaming over the
marshes, and I noticed a good many snipe; but who would fire a charge of
ammunition at such a wretched little mouthful when geese were plentiful?
Without going out of our way to hunt, we could have loaded the canoe
with wild-fowl, but of course only killed as many as we required for
food.
At the end of the Quatre Fourches we passed into the main stream of
Peace River, and, with a sharp westward turn, commenced our ascent of
the easiest of all the Northern waterways. From its junction with the
Slave River to the first range of the Rocky Mountains, with only the
obstruction of the shute some forty miles below Fort Vermillion, its
course is navigable throughout for a light-draught steamer, and, but for
this shute, would be an invaluable route for supplying the Hudson's Bay
Company's upper river-posts.
The lower reaches of the river present exactly the same appearance as
the country we had passed through in ascending the Slave River; a broad
stream with low sandy banks, densely timbered, with often a huge
sand-bar, the resting-place of many geese, stretching far out into the
stream. We were rather handicapped by not knowing the river and missing
the best tracking; an old hand would have known all the correct
crossings to take advantage of an easy bank to track from, or an eddy to
paddle in. Nor could we well risk the short cuts, as a promising channel
would often end in dry sand instead of running through into the
river, or turn out to be the mouth of a tributary stream. After our
usual halt for dinner on the third day we saw a canoe coming down
stream, and, crossing over, found that it was Dr. Mackay on his way from
Vermillion; both canoes put ashore and we had the usual cup of tea and
an hour's yarn together. The Doctor was anxious to get back to
Chipeweyan, to begin his Fall fishing and make every possible
preparation for keeping up the food-supply for the winter; I had no time
to spare either, and darkness must have found us camping many miles
apart. These stray meetings in the wilderness are always a pleasant
recollection, and on first returning to civilization one is surprised at
the manner in which people pass each other with a nod, till one realises
the fact that there are too many people about for a more lengthy salute.
Murdo obtained leave to come with me across the mountains, subject to
the condition that he was to return in the spring if he received orders
to that effect from headquarters at Winnipeg.
The same evening we hauled up an insignificant rapid, caused by a
contraction in the channel; a limestone formation, with many fossils,
shows up here for a few miles of the river's course, and is noticeable
again at the shutes and in several spots along the river. We broke the
canoe rather badly in mounting this rapid, and during the rest of our
journey to Vermillion had to bale out frequently. Day after day we
followed the winding course of the river, which bends and doubles on
itself through the flat country, and at last made out a landmark in the
Caribou Mountains, lying to the north and stretching in that direction
as far as we could see: an inviting range of hills, clear of timber on
the slope, and their round summits sparsely dotted with pines; a
favourite hunting-ground for the Indians of Vermillion, but none of the
white men of whom I made inquiry seemed to have any knowledge of the
extent or nature of this solitary range, rising so conspicuously from
the dead level of muskeg and pine forest.
Just as we were starting on the tenth morning a light puff of west wind
brought us the first sound of a distant roar that we knew must be caused
by the shute, and a couple of hours' tracking brought us to a small
Company's trading-post, known as Little Red River, from a stream bearing
that name which here joins the Peace River from the south. The
establishment was deserted, although it was to be kept open during the
winter; so we passed on and soon came in sight of a low white wall of
water extending across the whole width of the river. Dr. Mackay had told
me to make the portage close under the fall on the south side, or we
should have been at a loss to find the only place where it is possible
to take the canoe out of the water. In a strong running current, with
the spray falling over her bow, we put alongside a ledge of rock six
feet above us, and two men, standing on a submerged ledge, not without
difficulty passed everything up to the others above; the distance to
carry was very short, and we were soon afloat again above the fall. The
shute is not more than eight feet in height, but is of course a complete
barrier to navigation. I think the scene from the south bank is one of
the most beautiful in the whole course of the loveliest of rivers. It
was a bright afternoon when we made the portage, and the white broken
water of the cascade showed in strong contrast to the broad blue
stretches above and below; several rocky, pine-covered islands stand on
the brink of the overfall, as if to give a chance to any unlucky
traveller who may approach too near the danger; fully three-quarters of
a mile away on the far side stands the gloomy forest of black pines,
relieved by a glimpse of the open side-hills of the Caribou Mountains.
Another small portage was necessary a mile or two above; but from the
spot where we camped that night we never had to lift canoe or skiff out
of the water till we reached the foot-hills of the Rocky Mountains.
The next day we passed a couple of Cree lodges, and finding moose-meat
plentiful made the most of our opportunity, as a gale of wind sprang up
right ahead and prevented travel.
It was not till sundown on the eleventh day from Chipeweyan that we
completed our journey of two hundred and eighty miles, and put ashore at
the Company's trading-post at Fort Vermillion. Here the appearance of
the country suddenly changes; stretches of open prairie dotted with
small poplars take the place of the pine-woods, and the sand-bars in the
river begin to give way to gravel, and the banks rise higher and higher
as one journeys up-stream. We reached Vermillion late in September, in
the full glory of the autumn; the sharp morning frosts had coloured the
poplar leaves with the brightest golden tints, and the blue haze of an
Indian summer hung over prairie and wood. Away on the Great Slave Lake a
half-breed had told me of the beauties of Vermillion as a farming
country, and had explained that all the good things of the world grew
there freely, so that I was prepared for the sight of wheat and barley
fields, which had this year produced a more abundant harvest than usual;
potatoes and other vegetables were growing luxuriously, cattle and
horses were fattening on the rich prairie grass, and it seemed that
there was little to be gained by leaving such a fertile spot in the face
of the winter that would soon be upon us.
Vermillion is also an important fur-post, and probably to-day the best
in the North for beaver and marten; but there are several free-traders
on the Peace River, and the Company have to carry on their business with
the extra difficulty of competition, which always raises the price of
fur. It is all very well to say that no Company should have the monopoly
of trading over so vast a territory, but after all the Indians are
little benefited by the appearance of the free-traders. The Hudson's Bay
Company have always treated the Indians fairly and leniently, taking the
greatest care only to import articles absolutely necessary to the
welfare of the natives. Guns, ammunition, blankets, capotes,
dress-stuff for the women, and tea and tobacco, have always been the
principal contents of the store; and these are sold at absurdly low
prices, when the cost of the long and risky transport is considered. The
Indians' love of gaudy colours was always indulged, but the goods were
of the best material. Then came the free-trader with a stock of bright
cheap clothing, a variety of dazzling tinsel, or perhaps a keg of
molasses, which attracted the eye and palate of the wily hunter, so that
he would give up his rich furs for the worthless trash, only to find
himself short of all the necessaries for maintaining life in the woods
when the snow began to fall again. No amount of experience enables him
to resist the temptation; but the long enduring Hudson's Bay Company
always listens to his tale of woe and helps him out of his difficulties,
accepting his promise, ever readily given and as readily broken, to hand
in his fur in the following spring to the officer in charge of the post.
Whenever the often-told story of a band of Indians caught by the horrors
of starvation reaches the fort, the Company sends to the rescue, and
every winter saves many a man from death, while the free-trader, having
taken as much fur as he can out of the country during a short summer's
trip, is living at ease on the confines of civilization. The days are
long gone by when a prime silver fox could be bought for a cotton
pocket-handkerchief, but still the rumours brought from this little
known Northern country attract the venturesome trader, usually to his
own loss, and always to the upsetting of the Company's wise system of
dealing with the Indians.
Vermillion has a comparatively large population, outside the numerous
_employés_ of the country. Both the Protestant and Roman Catholic
churches have missions here, and several half-breeds have taken up an
irregular method of stock-raising and small farming to help out the
uncertain living afforded by fur-trapping. Mr. Lawrence, a practical
hard-working farmer from Eastern Canada, has been successful with a farm
three miles above the fort; but for many years to come there is not the
slightest reason for that emigration of farmers to Peace River which
wild enthusiasts clamour for. So much talk about this scheme has lately
appeared in the Canadian newspapers, mostly, no doubt, as one of the
political cries which find such favour with the statesmen of Ottawa,
that I cannot allow this opportunity to pass without a word of warning
to any intending settler. I made careful inquiries and observations
along the whole length of Peace River, and I do not for a moment deny
that in some parts of its course crops of wheat and barley may be raised
in favourable seasons, as the well-managed farms of Mr. Lawrence, at
Vermillion, and Mr. Brick, higher up at Smoky River, fully attest; but
these farms, and all the spots in which grain ripens, are in close
proximity to the bed of the river, and here the amount of arable land
is limited. Climb the steep banks and take a glance over the millions of
fertile acres which the philanthropic politician wishes to see
cultivated; notice the frost on a summer's morning, and make the
attempt, as has often been made already, to raise a crop on this
elevated plateau. In ten years' time this may be a cattle-country,
although the hay-swamps are insufficient to ensure enough feed for the
long winter; but let us have an end of this talk of sending poor
settlers to starve in a land unable to supply food to the Indian, who is
accustomed to a life of continual struggle with a relentless nature.
Mr. Wilson entertained me royally at the fort, but here again was the
same trouble that I had found at Chipeweyan; no crew was procurable, and
there was a journey of three hundred and fifty miles to Dunvegan before
I had any chance of getting men. José and Dummy, who had both worked
right well up to now, considered they were far enough away from their
beloved Fort Smith; and José had an extra attraction in Dummy's sister,
who was waiting his return to make him happy for ever, but was not very
reliable in case of a more prepossessing admirer coming to the fore.
José made a touching speech at parting: "God made the mountains, the
lakes, and the big rivers," he said. "What is better than drifting down
Peace River singing hymns? You are going up-stream to cross the big
mountains back to your own country; I am going down-stream to marry
Dummy's sister; I shall think of you many times." Dummy smiled and
nodded affectionately, and the pair shot out into the river with my
canoe, leaving me on the bank with only Murdo for my crew and no means
of conveyance.
Now if I could have got a small dug-out wooden canoe, and pottered away
up-stream with Murdo, tracking in turns, we should have got on very
well; but unfortunately there was nothing but a large and somewhat
clumsy skiff available, and this we finally had to take. The evening
before we were to start I received a visit from a man whom I shall
allude to as John. Long before in merry England he had seen better
times, and was evidently intended by nature for a sedentary life, or any
other kind of life than the physical activity necessary to accomplish
quickly and successfully a boating-trip up a swift-running river; in
reality he was powerful enough, and but for his extraordinary laziness
might have earned a good living anywhere. John told me he wished to
leave Peace River and cross the mountains to Quesnelle, and would be
glad to render me every assistance in his power if I would let him take
advantage of this chance to get out of the country. In spite of the
warnings of Mr. Wilson and everybody else who knew John's character, I
went on the theory that when one is shorthanded any kind of a man is
better than no man, but was speedily disabused of this idea after
leaving the fort. He turned sulky when he found that I would stand no
shirking, and was painfully slow on the tracking-line, awkward in
letting go or tying a knot, and, although he had been five years at
boating, absolutely without knowledge of the duties of bowsman or
steersman. In addition to this he was just as useless in camp, and
conceived a violent hatred to Murdo, who fully reciprocated the feeling.
Once, on being heartily cursed while he was tracking, John threatened to
desert and go back to Vermillion, but when we ran the skiff ashore and
offered to help him build a raft and to give him a week's rations, he
hastily withdrew his proposition. I hoped to be able to leave him at
some fort _en route_, but I found John was too well known, and no one
would accept the horrible responsibility of keeping him for a winter on
any terms. A man like this takes all the pleasure out of a journey when
good temper is the almost invariable rule, and everybody takes his share
of the tracking and wading, the paddling and poling, as part of the
ordinary day's work.
At this time of year, when the water is at its lowest, tracking is a
comparatively easy matter, and taking half-hour spells at a sharp walk
we made good day's journeys, although we should have done much better
with a canoe. It was a hard time for moccasins, but we could get them at
every fort we passed; sometimes we found an Indian encampment on the
bank, and a small present of tea and tobacco to the women ensured neat
patches over the gaping holes in the moose-skin soles.
The fourth day out from Vermillion we reached the mouth of Battle River
coming in from the north, and found a small trading-post with a French
half-breed in charge. He told us that the Indians had been killing a
great many moose, and that he had already bought the dried meat of
sixteen as a start towards his winter stock of provisions; black bear
too were numerous on Battle River, and there were reports of grizzly
having been seen. This would probably be one of the best points from
which to enter the unknown country between Peace River and the Great
Slave Lake.
I never remember to have seen in any part of Canada such a fine autumn
as we enjoyed between Vermillion and the Rockies; there was hardly a
day's rain the whole time, and, although a sharp white frost usually
made a cold camp, the days were bright and at times almost too hot for
tracking. Often we saw the fresh tracks of moose and bear, but never
happened to see an animal of any kind, and as we could afford no time
for hunting did not fire a single shot at big game; geese and ducks we
could have killed every day if there had been any necessity for doing
so.
[Illustration: Junction of the Peace and Smoky Rivers]
Fifteen days of continuous travel from Vermillion took us to the
junction of Smoky River, the principal tributary of the Peace, flowing
towards the south-west not far from some of the head-waters of the
Athabasca. This junction is rather an important point, as it is close to
the end of the waggon-road to the Lesser Slave Lake, lying seventy-five
miles to the south. Here the trading-goods brought overland are loaded
on to scows and boats, to be sent down-stream to Vermillion and
up-stream to Dunvegan, St. John's, and Hudson's Hope. A little above are
Mr. Brick's mission and the farm that I have already spoken of, besides
a settlement of half-breeds, more hunters than farmers, well known as
the laziest and most worthless gang on the whole length of Peace River.
Many efforts have been made to get these people to pay more attention to
their potato-patches as the game is getting killed out, but all in vain;
sometimes they will fence in a piece of ground and plant seed, but will
take no further trouble with the crop, and generally use their
fence-rails for firewood during the next winter. Luckily whitefish are
very plentiful in the Lesser Slave Lake within two days' journey, or
starvation would certainly play havoc at Smoky River.
I enjoyed a long talk with Mr. Brick in his pleasant home in the wilds,
where we spent a night; he kindly furnished me with supplies that I was
short of, and three days afterwards we arrived at Dunvegan, another
celebrated fur-post, situated on the north bank of the river at the
foot of a high bluff known as the Cap. Here again was abundant evidence
of the fertility of the soil in the crops harvested by the Company and
the missionaries. Across the river, twenty miles away, is the Company's
cattle-_ranche_, where the oxen used on the waggon-road are raised and a
fair amount of beef is annually killed. Some thoroughbred stock has been
imported and should prove successful, but of course there is no paying
market for a large amount of cattle, although there are plenty of hungry
people who would be glad of a chance to eat beef.
At Dunvegan, besides Mr. Round who was in charge of the fort, I met Mr.
Ewen Macdonald, the chief of Peace River District, with headquarters at
Lesser Slave Lake. He had just finished his inspection of the upper
river-posts, and had left Hudson's Hope, the last establishment east of
the mountains, a few days previously; he reported that the snow was
already low down on the foot-hills, and advised me strongly to give up
my attempt to cross the Rockies so late in the autumn. He told me,
however, that a free-trader was expected in from the west side of the
mountains, and if I was lucky enough to meet him I should probably be
able to secure the service of some of his crew who would be returning to
Quesnelle.
Above Dunvegan the valley of the river contracts, the banks rise for
several hundred feet in height, and the strength of the current
increases. The hundred and twenty miles to St. John's took us seven days
and a half to travel, and in many places we had to keep two men on the
line to stem the strong water; the tracking too was bad, as the banks
had fallen in several spots, and John, who had been up and down the
river three times before, proved a very poor pilot. The weather was
colder, and a sheet of ice formed over the back waters and close to the
bank out of the current.
At St. John's we found Mr. Gunn busy with a band of Indians who were
taking their winter supplies, and I had a chance of hearing their
accounts of the wilderness to the north in the direction of the Liard
River; they described it as a muskeg country abounding in game and fur,
but a hard district to reach, as the streams are too rapid for canoes
and the swamps too soft for horses to cross. They occasionally fall in
with a small band of buffalo, but have never seen them in large numbers.
Sometimes by ascending Half-way River, a stream adjoining Peace River
twenty-five miles above St. John's, they meet the Indians from Fort
Nelson on the south branch of the Liard.
We had now passed out of the Cree-speaking belt and the language became
that of the Beaver Indians, a far inferior language to Cree, resembling
in sound and in many of the words some of the dialects of the Chipeweyan
tongue. Mr. Gunn had learned to speak Beaver fluently, and was now
going up to Hudson's Hope to interpret; he was a great help to us both
as pilot and on the line, and with two men always tracking we took
little notice of the strong stream which we found throughout the fifty
miles to the next fort.
Snow was falling heavily when we left St. John's, and it looked as if
the winter had set in, but next day the ground was bare again, and a
west wind from across the mountains blew warm as a summer's breeze. We
camped for a night at the mouth of Half-way River, heading towards the
north through a wide open bay which seems to invite exploration. A
considerable quantity of gold dust has been taken out of some of the
gravel-bars along this part of Peace River, and Half-way River is
supposed to be a paradise for the miner and hunter, but I could not hear
of any white man having ever penetrated far up this valley. On the
afternoon of Sunday, October 26th, on rounding a bend in the river, we
caught our first glimpse of the snowy peaks of the Rocky Mountains that
I had travelled so far to reach; but the sublime is often mixed with the
ludicrous, and when John in his admiration of the scenery slipped off a
narrow ledge of shale along which he was tracking and fell with an oath
into the river, the snowy peaks were forgotten in the joy that always
greets other people's misfortunes in this sort of travelling.
A short distance below Hudson's Hope we passed a remarkable group of
high basaltic islands, differing entirely from anything in the
neighbourhood, and affording a strong contrast to the low gravelly
islands so numerous in the course of this river. In the afternoon of the
27th we unloaded the skiff and hauled her up on the beach in front of
the fort, to lie there till anybody might want to run her down-stream
the following spring.
Hudson's Hope is a small unpretentious establishment, standing on the
south side of Peace River, a mile below the wild cañon by which this
great stream forces its way through the most easterly range of the Rocky
Mountains. The Indians were all encamped in their moose-skin lodges on
the flat close to the fort waiting for the trade to begin, and I was
surprised to hear how few representatives of the once numerous tribe of
Beavers are left. It is the same at St. John's and Dunvegan, and the
total Indian population of the upper Peace River cannot exceed three
hundred, an immense falling off since Sir Alexander Mackenzie first
crossed the mountains by this route. The biggest lodge was occupied by
Baptiste Testerwich, a half-breed Iroquois, descended from the Iroquois
crew left here many years ago by Sir George Simpson, formerly Governor
of the Hudson's Bay Company. Baptiste had a house at Moberley's Lake
twelve miles to the south, and is well known as the most successful and
most enduring of moose-hunters. A remarkable point about the man is his
hardiness and indifference to cold; in the dead of winter he wears no
socks in his moccasins, which to any other man would mean a certainty of
frozen feet, and the Indians say that his feet are so hot that the snow
melts in his tracks in the coldest weather.
Once again arose the trouble about guides to take us to Macleod's Lake.
John had been there before, but I had already seen too much of his
piloting to trust myself in his hands, and was quite sure that he would
lose his way if there was the least possibility of doing so. The
free-trader from across the mountains had not yet arrived, and as it was
getting late in the year there was a chance of his being frozen in
before he reached Hudson's Hope. Besides the Peace River route there is
the Pine River Pass, farther to the southward, heading almost directly
to Macleod's Lake. A party of surveyors once came through this pass
several years ago, and the Indians use it habitually in the summer; but
none of the Beavers would volunteer to guide us through at this time of
the year, as a heavy snowfall might be expected immediately.
I decided to wait a few days for the trader, and we had a very festive
time at Hudson's Hope; a ball was given every night, and the
moose-dance, rabbit-dance, and duck-dance were kept up till the small
hours. A ball is not an expensive entertainment at an out-of-the-way
trading-post; no invitations are necessary, but a scrape of the fiddle
at the door of the master's house fills the ball-room in a few minutes.
If the master is in a liberal state of mind, a cup of tea is provided
for his guests, but in any case the river is close, and if anyone is
thirsty there is plenty of water. On the third night the ceremonies were
interrupted by the sound of a gunshot on the opposite bank, and an
Indian came across with the news that the trader had arrived at the west
end of the cañon with two small scows, and that some of his crew were
going back to Quesnelle.
Baptiste lent me a horse on the following day, and I rode over to
interview the new arrivals. A fair trail, twelve miles in length on the
north side of the river, leads to the navigable water above the cañon,
while the stream runs a circuitous course of probably thirty miles. I
could get little information as to the nature of this cañon; even the
Indians seem to avoid it, and, though accounts of it have been written,
nobody appears to have thoroughly explored this exceptionally rough
piece of country. I went down a few miles from the west end, but found
the bluffs so steep that I could seldom get a view of the water, and
could form no idea of the character of the rapids and waterfalls. There
is some quiet place in the middle of the cañon where the Indians cross
on the ice, but beyond this they could tell me little about it.
Right in the centre of the gap by which the trail crosses stands the
Bull's Head, a solitary mountain well known to travellers coming from
the west, as it can be seen many miles away, and in full view to the
south is a huge flat-topped mountain, covered with perpetual snow and
fit to rank with any of the giants of the main range. The trail reaches
a considerable elevation above the river level, and from the summit the
upper waters of the Peace are seen winding away to the west, through a
broad valley flanked by hills of ever increasing height, as far as the
eye can reach. Close to the river the slopes are open or thinly timbered
with pine and poplar, but the big mountains are clothed nearly to their
summits with the dense, almost impassable, forest growth which is such a
common feature in the scenery as the Pacific Coast is approached.
At the far end of the portage, on the bank of the river, stand a rough
shanty and trading-store. Here I made the acquaintance of Twelvefoot
Davis, who acquired this name, not from any peculiarity of stature, but
from a small though valuable mining claim of which he had been the lucky
possessor in the early days of British Columbia. A typical man of his
class is Davis, and his story is that of many a man who has spent his
life just in advance of civilization. Born in the Eastern States of
America, a 'Forty-niner in California, and a pioneer of the Caribou
Diggings discovered far up the Fraser River in 'Sixty-one, he had
eventually taken to fur-trading, which has ever such an attraction for
the wandering spirit of the miner. Here among the mountains and rivers
where formerly he sought the yellow dust he carries on his roaming life.
There is a strong kinship between the two enterprises; the same
uncertainty exists, and in each case the mythical stake is always just
ahead. No failure ever damps the ardour of miner or fur-trader, or puts
a stop to his pleasant dreams of monster nuggets and silver foxes.
Davis was making all possible haste in packing his cargo across the
portage with horses; an Indian and a half-breed were going back to
Quesnelle, and would gladly enter my service as guides. A small stock of
goods was to be left at the west end of the portage, and Thomas Barrow,
the only white man who had come down with Davis, was to remain in charge
of the trading-post during the winter.