The "Nor'-west Angle"--The Company's House--Triumph of
"Stick-in-the-Mud"--On the Lake of the Woods--A Gallant Cook--Buns
_à l'imprèvu_--A Man overboard!--Camping out--Clear Water Bay--Our
First Portage--A Noble Savage--How Lake Rice and Lake Deception won
their Names--At our Journey's End.
The "Nor'-west Angle" is a little village at the north-west corner of
the Lake of the Woods, and at the mouth of a nameless river, or narrow
arm of the lake. The banks on one side are high and wooded, on the other
high also, but completely bare of shrubs or trees; while between them the
river wanders hither and thither through marshy ground, looking somewhat
as one fancies the fens at home must do.
The company's house is a long, low white building, with narrow windows
and doors, neat fences and grass plots in front, and a very fair kitchen
garden, showing signs of care and attention. The houses near are all
one-storied, log-built, and plastered with mud inside and out. There are
also several birch-bark wigwams, full of smoke and swarthy children; the
owners squatting at their low doors, or, with their dirty blankets
wrapped more tightly round them, leaning on the fence to stare at the
new-comers.
The "Angle" was quite lively that afternoon. All our own teams were
there, "Stick-in-the-Mud" having arrived first after all, with his load
in a better condition than the others. Such a genuine smile of
satisfaction beamed on his good-natured face, that I could not forbear
congratulating him on his triumph over difficulties. Several other teams
had brought supplies for the contractor; and fifty or sixty navvies going
out in search of work on the contract were camped about everywhere; some
in tents, some under waggons, while some sat up all night round the
fires, smoking and recounting their experience of the road. Many of the
men were very lame and stiff, after their hundred-mile tramp. Numbers of
Indians had come in to trade, and the ceaseless "tom-tom" from the wigwam
on the opposite bank told how they were gambling away their earnings.
They kept up this dissipation until daylight, when they went away in
canoes. The way-house being full when we arrived, the Hudson Bay
Company's officer very kindly vacated his quarters for us, and paid us
every attention in his power, even robbing his tiny garden of half its
early lettuce for our benefit. We had a comfortable night's sleep, much
enjoyed after our toils and troubles, and on a misty summer morning we
packed ourselves and our luggage into a large rowing-boat. The big
steamer, _Lady of the Lake_, being, as usual, stuck on a rock, about
forty miles out, we were towed behind a barge by a shaky-looking little
tug. Glad were we to have room to move about a little, and after the
crowded and cramping waggon the boat seemed a paradise.
Floating almost due north over the smooth waters of the bay, we were soon
on the Lake of the Woods. The scenery is very lovely; island follows
island. Some seem but a pile of moss-covered stone, every crevice filled
with ferns, blueberries, and wild juniper bushes; others are great masses
of rock, their perpendicular sides covered with curling black cariboo
moss and crowned with great pines; others, again, have shelving sandy
shores, covered with tangled vines and bright-hued wild-flowers. As we
passed along, each long stretch of the lake appeared more beautiful than
the last. Then the sun went down, turning to gold and crimson the fleecy
clouds mirrored in the lake, glinting on the distant white pines,
throwing into bold relief their darker brothers and the jagged walls of
moss-covered rock, in varied tints--black, red, green, and white. The
shadows slowly deepened, the long grey clouds hung like a curtain in the
sky, where the stars began to gleam softly. The varied foliage turned to
a deep, rich blue, shading into green like a peacock's tail. Silence was
around us, broken only by the weird cry of the loon diving in the distant
bay, and the ceaseless, monotonous puff-puff of the little tug as she
pursued her way over the peaceful waters.
About three or four o'clock--how little note we took of time!--we reached
the rock on which the big steamer was still fast, stopping to give her
another anchor and cable, and wishing her good luck and a speedy release.
We had been amusing ourselves during the afternoon by watching the cook
on the barge dive up and down through the narrow doorway of a sort of box
to a small rusty sheet-iron cooking-stove, with an equally rusty
stove-pipe. First seizing an axe, he chopped up some wood from a pile in
the corner, and filled the stove; then he dragged down a bag of flour into
his den; then up again he started, as suddenly as a Jack-in-the-box, for
a round tin; then for some flat pans. Next we heard him shouting from
below, "Is that fire burning good, boys? Cram her full; pile in more
wood, and don't heed the smoke!" and he suddenly appeared with the pans
full of buns, which were quickly baked. Then, leaning over the railing of
the barge, he cried--
"If you would have your tea now, ladies, while the buns are hot, and
would pass along your tea-kettle, I have some tea ready for you."
Accepting his invitation with thanks, a tin can of buns was soon in our
boat, and never did the lightest tea-buns, served in the daintiest of
snowy napkins, taste more delicious. The number we demolished proved our
appreciation of his cookery.
About sundown we altered our course. After passing a pretty green hill,
from which a group of squaws, children, and dogs watched us, we turned to
the west and entered Clear Water Bay. The night was getting dark, damp,
and chilly, the children were sleepy, and we were tired and silent. The
men on the tug had become quiet and drowsy; nothing seemed to stir but
the flying sparks from the funnel of the tug, which dropped all around
us, and not even a cry from a loon broke through the stillness.
Suddenly--"Here we are!" rang out from a dozen voices, followed by a
heavy splash and a cry of "A man overboard!" While we peered out into the
darkness, dreading we knew not what, a laugh came from the barge. It was
only the short stove-pipe, which some one had knocked overboard in the
darkness. In our relief at finding that the accident was nothing worse,
we quite forgot the future misery of our poor friend the bun-maker, whose
cookery would have to be carried on amidst redoubled volumes of smoke. A
moment later the light of a camp fire appeared, and leaving the tug the
barge was poled up to it. One of the engineers belonging to Mr. C----'s
staff came to meet us. He had been ordered into town, and had waited at
Clear Water two days for the tug or steamer to take him to the "Angle,"
intending, if they did not arrive before morning, to cross next day in a
canoe.
We were soon comfortably settled in Mr. K----'s tent, while he directed a
party of Indians, who seemed to spring up in every direction, to put up
another. Some of the men on the barge had tents too; others made great
fires, piled with broken branches until the blaze shot up to the
tree-tops. The swift, silent movements of the Indians stepping hither
and thither, now in the glare of the fire, then lost in the surrounding
darkness; the chatter of the men; the barking of the dogs; and the sharp
crackle of the blazing logs helped to compose a strange and lively scene.
Gradually all grew quiet, and settled down for the night; the Indians,
rolling themselves in their blankets, lay down with their feet to the
fire, and we felt that this was indeed a fitting ending to our day upon
the Lake of the Woods.
I think one always wakes earlier when camping out than when sleeping in a
house. Our first night under canvas in the "Nor'-west" was no exception
to the rule. We were up and out before five o'clock; yet, early as it
was, we found our camping-ground almost deserted. The Indians, who were
nearly all "packers," employed by the contractors to carry stuff over the
portages, had shouldered their packs and gone, and only a few of the men
still lingered. One poor fellow had caught several fish, and on being
asked what he would take for them, replied that he would gladly exchange
a couple for a piece of fat and the loan of a frying-pan to cook his own
meal in. This offer was at once accepted, and before long we had some
nicely cleaned fish added to our repast. The fire being stirred up, and
the kettle set on, I heard groans of despair over the condition of the
larder. The tin box which contained all that was left of our supplies
became more difficult to pack the more empty it grew, and, being unloaded
the night before by hands ignorant of the necessity of keeping it right
side up, the salt was spilt into the tea, and the preserves were smeared
over all the spoons. There was no bread left, and at last we had to
content ourselves with a rather light meal of fish and salted tea,
consoled by the reflection that we were near the end of our journey.
The camping-ground did not look at all romantic in the morning. Furniture
was scattered everywhere, boxes of all sizes and descriptions were strewn
about amidst dead fires and charred branches, and a general air of
untidiness and discomfort pervaded everything. Mr. K---- left us soon
after breakfast, and we set out to walk over our first portage.
[Footnote: A "portage" is the shore of a cataract, rapid, or chute, along
which the Indians carry their canoes and luggage. The Winnipeg River, in
its course of 160 miles from the Lake of the Woods to Lake Winnipeg,
makes a descent of 360 feet, occasioning falls, rapids, chutes, and
cataracts, which make its navigation difficult. The portaging, or
carrying power of the Indians, says Major Butler, is remarkable; one man
often carrying two hundred-weight for several miles. The skill with which
they avoid whirlpools, land below the fall and re-launch their canoes
above it beyond the power of the current, is unerring, and indispensable
to travellers.] This led us up a narrow pathway, all hills and hollows;
then over a smooth rock with the trail scarcely visible. A narrow gully
succeeded, still wet from the spring rain; then we passed through a belt
of low-growing trees leading to a bare rock, its crevices filled with
moss white as the rock itself. On reaching the highest point we stopped
to rest and look back. Clearwater Bay lay far below us, glistening in the
sunlight, and beyond, over the point that forms the bay, the lake and its
numberless islands extended for miles. As we descended, we met the
packers returning for another load, coming at a light, easy run, one
after the other, in Indian file, their straps hanging loosely over one
arm. Mr. C----'s own man, a handsome, lithe, graceful Indian of the Brant
tribe, stepped out of the line to shake hands with us and bid us welcome
to the contract, with a natural politeness and grace which would have
adorned the drawing-rooms of civilization.
This Indian, rejoicing in the name of Youal Carrière, was tall and
slight, lithe as a tiger, and quick as lightning; never at a loss,
naturally intelligent, and an adept in almost everything he attempted.
Having had a fair commercial education when in Brantford among his own
people, he was as good a clerk in an office as guide in the bush or cook
in camp. He was a keen politician, and ready to discuss almost any
question, yet always respectful and attentive. Although never officious,
he managed to make himself indispensable. He was fonder of life in the
bush than in town, yet as ready to amuse himself when there as any of his
friends; rather inclined to brag of his doings and sayings, and able to
tell the best story in camp, whoever might be his comrades.
We soon found ourselves on the shore of a small lake, which obtained its
name oddly enough. The first party of surveyors who crossed it upset two
bags of rice in its waters, and thenceforward it was known as Rice Lake.
On reaching the opposite shore, we found a man waiting to cross. He had
come down the night before, but all the boats were on the other side.
The second portage was much shorter and more level than the first, and
consisted of a pretty woodland track of less than half a mile to Lake
Deception, so called from the many times and many ways in which the first
surveying party were misled when running the line along its shores. One
night, after a hard day's work, they had settled down round their camp
fires, and, while dozing over their pipes, were roused by a shrill halloo
from down the trail. Not having had a mail for weeks, and expecting one
hourly, they all turned out to meet the carrier, shouting loudly to guide
him to the camp; but they were answered only by the shrill scream of the
screech-owl, whose hooting had led them on their bootless chase. Lake
Deception is very beautiful, with deep shady bays, high rocky shores, and
fair green islands. At the head of one of the bays Mr. C---- had built
his house.
As we neared the wharf, where stood a small shanty called by the men "The
Fort," with a piece of red cotton doing duty as a flag flying from its
roof, a canoe came out to meet us, and a warm welcome from the doctor, an
old friend, followed. The Fort contained three rooms, each having a
narrow window, and the largest provided with a mud chimney and open
fireplace. The furniture comprised a couple of bunk-beds, a few shelves,
one table, several stools and benches, washstands built into the corners,
and a comfortable sofa, seeming very much out of place in what, to our
eyes, looked anything but a comfortable abode. Yet we were told it was
one of the most luxurious shanties on the line.
Our luggage could not be brought over until late in the afternoon, so
there was nothing to be done but to exercise our patience and wait,
enduring the discomfort of feeling as well as looking as if we had
travelled for a week, with all the dust of the Dawson road, as well as
all the mud of the muskegs, upon our persons.