Indian Loyalty--A Nap on Falcon Lake--A False Alarm--The Power of
Whisky--Magnificent Water Stretches--A Striking Contrast--Picnic
Lake--How we crossed Hawk Lake--Long Pine Lake--Bachelors' Quarters at
Ingolf--We dress for Dinner--Our Last Portage--A Rash Choice--Grasp
your Nettle--Mr. F----'s Gallantry--Cross Lake--Denmark's Ranche--A
Tramp through the Mire.
Next morning the sun rose bright and clear, but as there was still a
good deal of wind, which was likely to increase as the day advanced, we
started early; not, however, before Mr. F---- had sent the strange
Indians to shoot some ducks we had heard on the lake. They returned with
one old and five young birds, for which they got five cents apiece, and
the remnants of our breakfast. We all set to work to pick them at once.
Carrière, at my instigation, tried every inducement in his power,
offering the Indians three times its value in money, to purchase the
little basket of wild rice they had in their canoe, but without success.
"It belonged to another Indian, and they had not leave to sell it," they
said, in answer to all his persuasions. We embarked on the Falcoln Lake
side of the point; the water was still so rough that the canoes had to be
held off the rocks to prevent their bumping. Mr. F---- and Frank struck
directly across the lake and hugged the western shore, but Mr. M---- and
Carrière, trusting to my being a good sailor, kept in the middle of the
lake in a direct course to the portage.
The waves were just high enough to give the canoe a cradle-like motion.
Settling myself comfortably, and being covered with a warm rug, I slept
soundly until we reached the portage--an hour's paddle--so that I knew
very little of the beauties of the lake. Looking back at it as we sat on
the shore waiting for the other canoe, its shores seemed hilly, and
devoid of bays or foliage. When the others came in, they expressed
astonishment that I could sleep when the water was so rough; they could
not see us at all times, and feared we were lost, and the reappearance of
the canoe, apparently without me in it, had puzzled them not a little.
Before we were ready to cross the portage our Indian visitors overtook us
and carried some of our baggage. When asked to take a canoe, they looked
at it, lifted it shook their heads, laughed and told Carrière it was 'too
heavy, they were not beasts.' Mr. F---- offered them a dollar to take it
over to the next lake--less than half a mile. 'No'--they lifted it again
carefully, taking everything out of it--"no, they wouldn't do it for five
dollars."
Then Mr. M---- and Frank, putting their folded coats on their shoulders
to rest the edge on, took up the canoe, one end on Mr. M----'s left
shoulder, and the other on Frank's right, and went off at an easy run,
the Indians watching them open mouthed. Then they again tried the weight
of the other, anxious to get the money, but too lazy to earn it. At last
Mr. F---- had a "happy thought". Showing the Indians the whisky keg, and
holding the open bunghole to their noses, he made them understand that if
they carried the canoe over they should have some of "the cratur" when
they returned. This worked like a charm, in two minutes the canoe was
hoisted on their shoulders, and they were off at double the pace of the
others. Before they returned, Mr. F---- emptied out most of the whisky
and replaced it with water, shaking the keg well to give it a flavour. It
is against the law to give Indians spirits, but he knew that this mild
draught could not hurt them. They were apparently quite satisfied, and
left us, promising to bring us some potatoes to the end of the next
portage. But either they detected the fraud, and did as Indians generally
do when cheated--said nothing at the time, but would rather starve than
give one a chance to cheat them again--or they were unable to procure the
potatoes; at all events, we saw no more of them.
The next lake at which we arrived was very picturesque. I asked Carrière
its name, but he laughed and replied, "It has no name, Miss F----. It is
only one of those 'magnificent water stretches' we hear MacKenzie talking
so much about." [Footnote: During the debate on the building of the Fort
Francis Locks, when justifying their immense cost to the country in order
to utilize the water communication, the Honourable Alexander MacKenzie,
then leader of the Government, and Minister of Public Works, spoke
frequently of the "magnificent water stretches between them and
Winnipeg."] We were determined not to allow it to be nameless any longer,
and unanimously decided to call it Otley Lake, after the brown-eyed baby.
It is a small lake, and soon crossed. A short portage follows, and on the
shores of the next and yet smaller lake we stopped for luncheon. The
portage was muddy; we had tucked up our skirts as high as we could to
keep them out of harm's way, and were standing idly about, watching the
maid wash, and Frank cook the ducks, when we heard distant shouting.
Before we could decide whence it came, Mr. F----, who had gone out in the
canoe to reconnoitre, reappeared; but not alone. Mr. K---- was with him,
in a new and spotless suit of Oxford grey, irreproachable collar and
cuffs, light-blue necktie, and new hat; looking clean, fresh, and
civilized. What a contrast! Mrs. F---- gave her dress a shake, and
straightened her hat, while I, in my anxiety to let down the loops in my
skirts, made sad havoc amongst the strings; and the maid exclaimed, in a
tone of personal injury--
"Law! and we're such figures!"
I reproached him for making us feel our position so keenly. The scene
would have made a good caricature: our travel-tossed party, with draggled
skirts, and hats shapeless from much drenching rain; the men coatless,
collarless, cuffless, with trousers rolled up and hair guiltless of
parting; remnants of provisions, dishes, rugs, shawls, and coats littered
over the ground,--all in sharp contrast with the perfect type and
finished product of civilization landing from the canoe. The very grace
with which he lifted his hat as he greeted us made us feel that contrast
more!
However, we soon forgave him, we were so glad to see him; especially as
he brought the mail-bag. While the men read their letters, I consoled
myself for having none with a can of Californian pears, which were among
the many things Mr. K---- brought. Don't misunderstand me, and think I
ate them all; but I confess to a fair share. The ducks, too, fried in
pork fat, were not bad, and we enjoyed our picnic very much, even though,
not having provided for visitors, one did without a fork and another
without a spoon, to make them go round. Before leaving the scene of our
meeting, the lake was dubbed Picnic Lake. It was only a hundred yards or
so across to Hawk Lake, which looked wild and stormy. But Mr. K---- had
crossed it in safety a few hours before, so there was really little
danger with good men and canoes. It was impossible to remain where we
were without provisions, and there was every prospect of the wind's
increasing instead of diminishing; so there was nothing for it but to
venture.
Our canoe, as usual, took the lead, and shooting beyond an island well
into the open, was soon joined by the others. Strict orders were given by
our commander-in-chief, Mr. F----, to keep together: Mr. K---- and his
two men in one canoe to the left towards the middle of the lake, about
half a canoe's length ahead, and three away from ours; Mr. F----'s being
about the same distance on the right, and nearest the shore. Thus Mr.
K----'s canoe broke the first dash of the wave, and ours made it still
less strong against Mr. F----'s. But before long the delight of dancing
over the waves made Mr. M---- and Carrière work to such purpose that we
regained the lead, Mr. M---- shouting, "Here comes another, Carrière!
Head her up!" as a great wall of white-capped water rushing down upon us
seemed to threaten destruction to our tiny boat; then, with a splash,
struck it, dashing the spray over us as we rose above it and were ready
for another. As the wave passed behind we could hear it strike the next
canoe, and then the wash of the water as it went under. It was great fun,
and I could have wished it to last longer, but for a glance at Mrs. F----,
who with white face and compressed lips clasped her baby closer in her
arms as each wave came. Though of too true metal to make a fuss or give
expression to her terror, one could see what she suffered every moment,
until, getting to leeward of a large island, the lake became calm and the
tension of her nerves relaxed. It took from an hour and a half to two
hours to cross Hawk Lake, but to me it seemed only a few minutes.
Turning into a bay to the east, we landed on our last portage before
reaching Ingolf. It was a long, wet track, with a narrow ravine in the
middle, over which a rude road of loose logs had been made, while down
the hills trickled tiny streams and a brawling, moss-bordered brook.
There were two trails, and while the Indians and canoe-men took the lower
and shorter, we pursued the upper. We were too tired to notice the beauty
of the country, and were glad to reach the canoes on Long Pine Lake. We
passed parties of men returning from their work, some of whom took charge
of our luggage; and all crowding into one canoe, we were soon at Ingolf,
the most western station on Contract 15.
Long Pine Lake looked still and pond-like; the weeds and slimy tendrils
in the water were too visible, the bank we landed upon was too muddy, and
the scattered _débris_ of recent building did not add to its
attractions. Although the engineers had but lately moved into the house,
and one wing of it was still in the workmen's hands, everything was as
comfortable and well arranged as good taste could make it. Bachelors'
quarters they were--the only house on the contract uninhabited by
woman--but the ingenuity and industry with which they had been fitted up
more than compensated for her absence.
The walls of the sitting, smoking, and general lounging room were hung
with trophies of the chase--Indian work, pictures and photographs of
lovely faces from the artist world; while books, papers, and easy chairs
tempted one to linger. The dining-room and kitchen were still unfinished.
So, when we had shaken ourselves straight, and resumed our despised
collars and neckties, Mr. K---- took us over in the canoe to the
contractor's shanty to dinner. The pretty woman who waited upon us could
not complain of the fare not being appreciated. We did full justice to
it; lingering until long after dark, telling our adventures and
sharpening our wits against each other. The doctor also joined our party.
But a six-o'clock breakfast and early departure being decided upon, we
had to break up at a reasonable hour.
In the morning we found we must keep to the canoe route, instead of going
by waggon to Cross Lake as we had intended. Rain had fallen all night,
but it was then bright and clear. Long Pine Lake looked better in the
sunlight, and the portage to Hawk Lake, to which we had to return in
order to reach Cross Lake, unnoticed the night before, was fully enjoyed
now. The ground was carpeted ankle-deep with moss of endless variety, and
ferns sparkling with raindrops. Hawk Lake was calm, only a light ripple
glittering in the sun where had been white-capped waves before. Crossing
the north-west end, we struck a short portage to a tiny lake, across
which a few minutes' paddle carried us. It was now comparatively easy
work for the men, all the heavy camping baggage having been left at
Ingolf, and the remainder, except our hand-satchels, sent on by packers
going through to Cross Lake. As Mr. K---- and his men accompanied us, no
double trips were necessary.
Our last portage showed many signs of active life; there were several
boats left by packers--glycerine cans, large racks on which
whitefish-nets were drying, a shanty with a rugged garden round it,
besides the well-worn paths which tell of frequent traffic. The men went
briskly up the hill with our canoe, and were soon out of sight; but
thinking that the lower path was likely to be the coolest and most
sheltered, we followed that. It was so pretty and dry for the first
half-mile that we congratulated ourselves upon our choice, and pitied
the poor men toiling up the rocks in the heat. But our self-satisfaction
was short-lived. A few yards further the path began to descend, getting
wetter and more swampy at every step. Mr. K----, who carried his paddles,
threw them across the mud as bridges, and by taking advantage of all the
fallen trees and stumps, we got on pretty well for a time. But the task
became more and more difficult every minute. Once, while scrambling along
a half-submerged log, I grasped some tall weeds to save myself from
falling; they tinned out to be stinging nettles, and I do not feel called
upon to recommend them as a means of support. Presently Mr. F----, who
was in front, called out--
"Hallo! here's a jolly puddle!" and plunged in up to his knees. It was
too wide to bridge, the paddles were too narrow to afford us foothold;
and before we guessed his intention, Mr. F---- deposited the satchels he
carried on the other side, came back and took his wife on his back,
saying I was to wait till he returned. The extra weight made him sink
deeper in the swamp; and as Mrs. F----'s dress floated on the slimy
surface, Mr. K---- followed, and raising it tenderly on the blade of the
paddle, the procession moved on; while I, the sole spectator, stood, like
a stork, on a stump barely wide enough to support one foot at a time,
awaiting my turn.
When we arrived at the lake, a few minutes afterwards, we found the maid,
who had gone on with Mr. M---- and the baby, while we were loitering at
the last landing, busy removing the mud which encased her clothes.
_She_ had found no friendly back on which to rise above the swamp,
and had accordingly fared badly. While waiting for the canoes, we spread
our shawls on the grassy shore under some trees and sat down. Presently
some one regretted the absence of the provision-bag, and the maid
regretted that she had not asked how to make the buns we had for
breakfast. (She amused us much by her anxiety to collect receipts.) To
soothe these mourners, Mr. M----, with some little trouble, produced from
one of his pockets a can of salmon.
"Hungry! Oh yes, we were hungry enough to eat anything." But when the tin
was opened, we found that canned salmon, without bread or vinegar, went a
long way. Even our hunger could not tempt us to take more than one taste,
after which we unanimously resolved not to spoil our appetites for
dinner.
Cross Lake is long, narrow, and uninteresting, and the surrounding
country flat, though rocky. When we crossed it was quite calm, but
Carrière said that it was one of the roughest of the lakes in a storm,
the west wind having a clear sweep over it. After paddling for about an
hour and a half, when we reached the spot where the railway line crossed
a narrow part of the lake, and the embankment was partly filled in, we
turned to our left into a narrow, winding creek, very like Falcon River,
and in five minutes were at Denmark's Ranche.
Then we climbed up a very muddy bank, and along a still muddier dump, or
railroad embankment, to the shanty, a large log-hut with several
additions, one of a single room ten feet square. The cook, his wife--a
delicate-looking woman--and two children lived here. They welcomed us
kindly, and with many apologies for the want of space. Their room was
neat and clean, and the inmates seemed contented with everything except
the mud, which was so deep all round the shanty that it was impossible to
go out with any comfort, and the absence of exercise was very much felt.
The ranche was always full of people coming and going, so there was no
lack of society or news. The room we dined in was large, about twenty
feet by sixteen. The table was covered with brown oil-cloth, and had
benches along it at one end. The other was filled with temporary bunks
like the berths in a steamer, one above the other. The _menu_
contained, among other things, a wild goose, roasted and stuffed with a
mixture of breadcrumbs and raisins, more like an imitation plum pudding
than anything else, flat pies filled with dried apples, and the
inevitable plates of fresh, sliced cheese, which is the chief peculiarity
of Ontario farmhouse tables.
While at dinner a heavy shower fell, and we were told that we could form
no idea of the state of the road in consequence of so much rain. No
vehicle could traverse it, and we must walk the remaining six miles to
the end of the track. Mr. M---- went immediately to detain the train until
we could reach it, and after saying good bye to Mr. K----, who returned to
Ingolf, we followed, Mr. D---- coming with us to "carry the baby," he
said. And so he did, the whole distance, and his own bairns, miles away,
had many a hug that day by proxy, I fancy.
Poor Carrière, too, though very lame, rather than let the baggage be left
behind and Mr. K---- inconvenienced, also came. For the first mile it
_was_ muddy, but, thinking it better than our expectations, we slipped
and plodded along very contentedly, stopping every now and then to scrape
our boots, but this made our progress slow, and we had no time to waste.
Soon the path, or what had once been one, terminated, and we had to jump
the drain to the embankment, and climb that. In five minutes our feet
weighed pounds, and we understood the navvies' saying that they "took up
land wherever they worked." Goloshes were useless, and we soon discarded
them, and, but for fear of hurting my feet with hidden stones or sticks, I
would have discarded my shoes too. Still on we plodded, sinking to our
ankles at almost every step; it was warm work. At the end of the second
mile, near a group of shanties, the road was a little dryer, and a pile
of ties gave us a resting-place for a few minutes. After this the road
got worse and worse, and trying to walk on the greasy, slippery railway
ties scattered about was even more difficult than plodding through the
mud. The maid, who entered a protest against the country at every
opportunity, was sliding and slipping over these ties in front; glancing
down the embankment, three or four feet in depth, she uttered a heartfelt
"Thank God! a path at last," and, giving one jump, she sank nearly to her
knees in the marsh. The doleful expression of her face, and the hopeless
disappointment with which she scrambled up the muddy bank back to the
slippery ties, was too much for my gravity. I am afraid my laughter
offended the poor girl, and it was scarcely fair, either, as she had
borne all the disagreeables far better than people in her class generally
do.