Kitabı oku: «The Perils and Adventures of Harry Skipwith by Land and Sea», sayfa 12
Chapter Seventeen
High state of Cultivation of Settlements – Rupert’s Land – The Rapids – Lake Winnipeg – Our Bivouac – Peter nearly “drowned and dead” – How we caught Fish – The Swampies, and their mode of Fishing – An Ojibway Missionary Station – The Salt Springs – Pas Mission – Fort à la Carne
As our object was to see as much as possible of Central British America, we sent John stalker with two of our carts laden with stores and provisions, on to Fort à la Carne, situated near the junction of the two branches of the Saskatchewan River, there to await our arrival, while we travelled back to Red River, there to embark in our canoes, and to voyage in them through Lake Winnipeg and up the North Saskatchewan. Travelling as we did with an abundance of food, and without any fear of knocking up our animals, we made rapid journeys, and were soon again at Red River. I will not stop to describe the really comfortable dwellings, the wheat-producing farms, the herds of fat cattle, and the droves of pigs we met as we approached the settlement. Neither Trevor nor I had any idea that a spot existed, so remote from the Atlantic on one side, and the Pacific on the other, containing a community possessed of so many sources of wealth. All the farmers we spoke to explained to us that they only wanted one thing, and that was a market, or in other words, settlers who would come and buy their produce.
“But if settlers come they will produce food for themselves,” remarked Trevor.
“So a few of them will,” answered the farmer. “But there will also come butchers, and bakers, and carpenters, and masons, and magistrates, and policemen, and soldiers, and numbers of other people who will produce nothing, and they will gladly buy what we have to sell. Just open up the country, sir. Make it easy for people to reach us from Canada; establish settlements from this to the westward to British Columbia, and not only we, but all who come here will be, ere long, on the fair way to wealth and prosperity.”
“Yes, sir, sure of it, certain of it,” cried Trevor. “It must become known before long, and appreciated. At least I should say so, if we were not so terribly slow to move in England. The next generation will accomplish the work if not this, that’s one comfort.”
“Small comfort to us, sir, in the meantime,” answered the farmer. “We shall be stagnating, growing old and rusty; or may be the Yankees will be beforehand and open up communication between the Atlantic and Pacific, while folks in England are only talking about it.”
“I’ll write a book as soon as I get home, and tell them all about it,” cried Trevor. “I’ll make your case known – the case of the country I should say, I’ll tell old and young – the boys of England if the men won’t listen – so that the boys may take it up when they grow older and able to act.”
The farmer shook his head, and thought that Jack was slightly cracked when he talked thus. For my own part I believe that the people of England will, before long, be made to understand the importance of the subject, though it may be said that neither Jack nor I writing about it for the rising generation will do much good, and therefore I will drop the subject and go ahead with our adventures.
We found Swiftfoot, with the rest of our men, eager to be off, and the two canoes in perfect order. I think that I mentioned that the Red River runs for two or three hundred miles, or more, from the United States territory, through Rupert’s Land, into Lake Winnipeg. For the whole of this distance it is navigable, with the exception of a portion near the mouth, where some fierce rapids exist, over which even canoes cannot pass. We consequently had to embark below these rapids. We slept for the last time in a house for many a day at the Indian settlement, and shoving off from the shore, soon passed through one of the reedy bank mouths of the Red River, into the open lake. The wind was contrary, but as there was not much of it, we paddled boldly on through the lake. It was curious to feel ourselves traversing what looked like an arm of the sea, in fabrics of a nature so frail as was that of our birch-bark canoes. What mere specks we must have appeared on the wide waters. The shore was clothed chiefly with aspens, birch and willow, and here and there bare limestone rocks appeared, the scenery having altogether a very wild and uncultivated look. There are many islands. On one of them we landed to rest and dine, intending to paddle on afterwards till it was time to camp for the night. While some of us were lighting fires, and making other preparations for a meal, Swiftfoot and three other men went out to fish, and soon returned with sufficient sturgeon, shad and bass, to feast the whole party.
Whether at home amidst all the comforts of civilisation, or out in the uncultivated wilds still almost untrodden by man, a good dinner is a pleasant and soothing thing, and little do I envy that person whose heart is dead to gratitude to the great Giver for the gift. Here in the wilderness, His oxen covering a thousand hills, and delicious fowl and fish daily furnishing our meal, we never separated from table without sending up thanks to Him in simple words.
Refreshed in mind and body, away we went at a great rate before the breeze, with our square sail of cotton set. The Indians make their sails of the same material that they do their canoes, of birch-bark. It will not stand a heavy gale, neither will their canoes, so they always keep in harbour, or rather hauled up high and dry on such occasions. Lake Winnipeg is like a wasp’s body, very narrow in one port and broad at the ends. It runs north-west and south-east, and is about two hundred and eighty miles long, and fifty-seven broad, at its widest part. Our course was along the centre of the widest part of the southern end. With a bright moon, not to lose the favourable breeze, we ran on all night, eager to reach the mouth of the Saskatchewan, which it is possible to do from Red River in three days, and which will be done regularly when steamers are placed on the lake. What very unromantic and common-place ideas – steamers and Red Indians, and the far-west and cornfields! – the truth is, that romance is disappearing before the march of civilisation; however, no fear but that we should meet with adventures before long. After passing the narrow part of the lake we were paddling on towards evening in the hopes of gaining an island, where it was proposed that we should camp. The sky had been clear but clouds began to appear in the north-east, increasing quickly in numbers till they covered the sky, and a heavy swell rolled in towards us, such as would not be thought much of by those on board the Great Eastern, but which to us, embarked in frail bark canoes, was somewhat formidable; and then foaming waves arose and tossed us about till we expected every moment that the canoes would be upset. We paddled on with all our might against the fast rising gale to reach the shelter of the island, which we saw in the far distance.
The matter was growing serious, for every instant the waves were increasing in height. It seemed scarcely possible that our light canoes could float much longer. The force of the water alone was sufficient to crumple them up. Peter looked very pale, but said nothing, and baled away perseveringly, while our voyageurs paddled bravely on, facing the danger like men. Now we rose on the top of a huge sea foaming and bubbling and curling round us, and then down we sank again in the hollow, and it appeared that the next sea which we saw rolling on fierce and angry must overwhelm us, and so it would had we stayed where we were, but our buoyant canoes rose up the watery hill, and there we were on the top ready to plunge down on the other side. It was an anxious time. An accident to one canoe would have proved the destruction of both, for unless we had deserted our companions, in attempting to save them both would probably have perished. Our only chance would have been to throw all the lading out of the canoes and to cling on to them till we might be washed on shore. All we could feel was that, by dint of great exertions, we were making progress towards the island. We encouraged each other also by guessing how many yards we had made during each ten minutes. More than once I thought that we should go down, and at length a sea higher than its predecessors came rolling on, and I heard Trevor’s voice cry out that the canoe was filling and that they were sinking, urging us to paddle on and not to attempt to save them. I looked round – they had disappeared – my heart sank – we were leading, we could not have turned back without certain destruction – our only chance was to keep working away head to wind. I knew that, yet I longed to make an attempt to rescue my friend and his companions. I dared not look back. I thought that I should see them struggling in the waves, and yet not be able to stretch out a hand to help them. Presently I heard a voice. It was Jack’s – in cheery tones singing out —
“All right, Jolly; we’ve got rid of our ballast and will soon be up with you.”
I was thankful, indeed, to hear him, and little heeded the loss of the lading of which he spoke; though, as it consisted chiefly of our provisions, it was a serious matter. I did look round for an instant, and then he was paddling on as if nothing had been the matter. Still, we had a long way to go and darkness was coming on. My motto has always been “persevere – never give in while life remains.” So we paddled on. I had begun to fear, however, that we should never reach the island, when, on our port bow, as a sailor would say, appeared some low shrubs growing out of, not the water, but a sandbank which the dancing waves had before prevented us seeing. Had we gone on a few minutes longer and been driven on it to windward, though we might, for the moment, have escaped with our lives, our canoes must have been dashed in pieces and all our store and provisions destroyed and lost. I pointed it out to Trevor just in time; and now allowing our canoes to drop astern a little we found ourselves in comparatively smooth water, under the lee of the bank. Rather than risk proceeding further, especially as the channel between the bank and the island was rougher than any part, we agreed to land.
In a strong boat this is an easy matter, but a stone or a branch may drive a hole in an instant through a thin birch canoe. As soon, therefore, as we neared the shore we jumped out and lifted our canoes on to firm ground. I will not call it dry, for the spray completely covered it. Still we had reason to be thankful that we had escaped the great danger to which we had been exposed. We had very little light left us, but we picked out the highest and driest spot among the bushes we could find, though neither very high nor very dry, and there we managed to camp. We had no hopes of keeping our tent standing, and, indeed, before we could light a fire it was necessary to construct a screen to protect it from the wind. This we did with some sticks and birch-bark and shrubs washed on shore, and under it we all crouched down to try and dry our wet garments – when we had, after no little trouble, lighted our fire. The only wood we could get to burn was found under bushes and other sheltered places. Our crews were greatly fatigued with their exertions, and wrapping themselves up in their buffalo robes, they were soon asleep, as was Peter. Trevor and I also being very tired were preparing to follow their example – indeed, in spite of the storm, we could scarcely keep awake. We made up our fire as well as we could, hoping that it would continue burning till somebody awoke to replenish it. We persuaded ourselves that it was useless to keep watch, as no hostile Indians could approach us; nor could any wild beasts; our canoes were secured, and the fire was so placed that it could not injure us.
“Good night, old fellow,” said Trevor, drowsily. “Wake me when the storm is over, for we shall not be able to move till then.”
“Of course,” said I. “But if you wake first rouse me up.”
“Oh, yes. I say, Har – that’s it – just what – ”
Trevor’s attempt to speak more failed him – or, at all events, I did not hear him, and we were both asleep. In my sleep, however, I heard the storm raging and the water dashing against the sandbank. Suddenly I was conscious that I was lifted from the ground – there was a hissing noise, and I felt very cold. I sprang to my feet, shouting out to the rest of the party, who were soon spluttering and jumping and crying out, not knowing what had happened or was going to happen. I very quickly guessed; a wave had broken over the bank, and as yet we could not discover who or what it had carried off, as it had completely extinguished the fire. I shouted out, demanding if all hands were there. Trevor, Swiftfoot, Pierre Garoupe, and the other voyageurs answered; but Peter made no reply. Again I shouted – no one answered. We felt for the spot where he had lain, but he was not there.
“Poor fellow, he must be lost!” I exclaimed.
Just then I heard a cry, and Ready, who had disappeared, gave a bark. Guided by the sound, I stumbled on to the spot, and there, caught in a bush and half in the water, I found a human being whom I recognised as Peter, from his exclamation —
“Oh, sir, we shall all be drowned and dead!”
With considerable exertion I managed to drag him up to the top of the bank again; and it was some time before he recovered. Some of the party ran to the canoes – they were safe as yet – but the storm was raging more furiously than ever, and should another wave wash over our bank they might be carried bodily away, when, unless seen by passing Indians, we should be left to starve.
To light another fire was impossible, as by this time all the wood around was thoroughly saturated. So there we sat or stood the livelong night, holding on to bushes or to paddles or other pieces of wood stuck in the ground to enable us to resist any other wave which should be driven over the bank. I have passed several disagreeable nights in my life, but that was one of the most disagreeable. All I can say is that it might have been worse. I would rather have been there than racked with pain on a bed of sickness – or on an iceberg – or in an open boat in the South Pacific, parched with thirst – or in a dungeon, or in many other disagreeable places. So we sat quiet, and tried to amuse ourselves by talking. Wet damps the pipes, I have observed, of the most determined songster or whistler; so that although two or three of us began a tune, it speedily stopped.
The storm raged as furiously as ever, the waves coming one after the other rolling up the bank; and, as we watched them, it appeared as if each successive one must advance beyond its predecessors and sweep us away. Poor Peter, after his former experience, was very much alarmed.
“Here it comes again, sir; here it comes. ’Twill be all over with us!” he cried out, as a huge roller capped with foam, looking vastly higher than it really was, came onwards towards the bank. It struck the solid ground, which it palpably shook. Then on it came, curling over, up, up, up. The water reached us; we sprang to our feet, holding each other’s hands and bending forward to resist its power united to the fury of the wind. It scarcely, however, reached to our ankles. While some of the mass rushed over the bank, the greater part flowed back, to be again hurled forward yet with diminished strength against the opposing barrier.
The dawn will come in spite of the darkness of the longest night; and as this was a short one, we were agreeably surprised to find it breaking, though, in the uncertain light, the waters looked more foaming and agitated than they appeared to be when the day was more advanced.
Gradually, too, the wind fell, the rollers ceased to strike the bank with their former fury, and though after a storm on the ocean days pass before it becomes calm, scarcely had the wind dropped than the surface of the lake became proportionately smooth. The sun came out, and its powerful rays dried our clothes and sticks sufficient to boil our kettle. After a hearty breakfast, we repaired our canoes with fresh gum, and continued our voyage.
As Trevor had been compelled to throw overboard so much of our provisions, we were anxious to secure some more to prevent the necessity of sending back to Red River. Swiftfoot told us of a river near at hand where large quantities of fine fish can always be caught – the Jack-fish River. Towards it we steered, and, after proceeding up a little way, came upon a weir, or “basket,” as it is called, erected across it by the Indians. It was much broken; but a number of Turkey buzzards hovered around, ready to pounce on any fish which might get into it. Our Indians immediately set to work to repair it. Indians, like other savages, are very industrious when hungry, and idle in the extreme when their appetites are satisfied. Our fellows were, fortunately for us, hungry, and so they worked with a will. The weir consisted of a fence of poles stretching completely across the river and doping in the direction of the current, so that the water could pass freely through. On one side there was an opening in this palisade, near the bank, about a yard in width, leading into a rectangular box with a grated bottom sloping upwards, through which the water flowed with perfect ease. The fish in the day-time see the weir, and either swim back or jump over it; but at night, hoping to avoid it, they dart through the opening, not observing the impediment beyond. Swimming on, they at length find themselves high and dry on the upper part of the grated trap or pound. The fisherman sits by the side of it with a wooden mallet in his hand, with which he knocks the larger fish on the head as they appear, and then pitches them out on the bank to be in readiness for his squaw, who appears in the morning to clean and cut them up.
We repaired the weir before dark, and, camping near it, after supper set to work to catch fish in this, to us, novel manner. We divided the party into watches, so that fish-catching and cleaning went on all night. I began, with Swiftfoot to assist me. I knocked the fish on the head, and he threw them out, while a whole gang were employed in splitting and cleaning them. No sooner were the shades of evening cast over the river than the hapless fish began to dash into our trap. The masque-alonge, a huge pike, first made his appearance, his further progress being effectually stopped; and he was soon on the grass in the hands of the cleaners. Five or six gold-eyes next appeared, and then a sucking-carp and three perch, or, more correctly, well-eyed pike. The voyageurs had lighted a fire, and those not engaged in fishing sat up to eat the fish caught by their companions as fast as they could cook them. Ready, who had been on short commons lately, especially relished his share. As we had formed two pounds, one on each bank of the river, and had relays of fish-catchers, we entrapped between three and four hundred fish of the sorts I have mentioned. Had we possessed a sufficient supply of salt, we might have effectually preserved them. We pickled all we could, and dried in the sun and with smoke those we did not immediately eat.
The lake being calm, the following day we continued our voyage to the mouth of the Little Saskatchewan River, which, it will be seen, communicates with Lake Manitobah, close to which there are some valuable salt works. The wind was fair up the river, but foul for proceeding to the works by the lake. Setting sail, we ran merrily along under sail, overtaking a fleet of Indian canoes belonging to a tribe of Swampies, each with a birch-bark sail. At night we camped, and our Swampy friends coming up with us, did the same near a rapid, where they immediately began to fish. This they did from their canoes. One man paddled and another stood in the bow of the canoe with a net like a landing net at the end of a long pole. As his quick eye detected a fish he dipped his net as a scoop or ladle is used, and each time brought up a fish three or four pounds weight. I may safely say that I saw an Indian, in the course of a few minutes, catch twenty-five white fish. If these people better knew the method of preserving their fish they need never suffer, as they often do, from hunger.
That morning, the wind being foul, the poor squaws were employed in tracking the canoes along the banks of the river. After watching them for some time as they came up towards our camp Peter went forward, and in dumb show, offered to help them, whereat he was treated by the ladies with silent contempt, while his companions saluted him with shouts of hearty laughter. I cannot describe the scenery fully of this curious mixture of lake and stream through which we passed. The banks are generally low – now the water rushed through a narrow passage formed of huge boulders of rocks – now it expanded into a fine lake. Once we forced our way through a vast natural rice field extending for miles, affording food for birds innumerable, and to as many Indians as took the trouble to collect it. They run their canoes into the midst of a spot where the rice is the thickest, and bending down the tall stalks, shake them till they have a full cargo. At length we reached, what we little expected to find in that remote region, a large comfortable cottage in the midst of a well-cultivated and productive farm, surrounded by a number of smaller but neat dwellings. This was an Indian missionary station, where upwards of a hundred and fifty Indian men, women, and children, permanently reside under the superintendence of a devoted English missionary and his wife, assisted by a highly-educated young lady who had lately come out from England to join them. She has learned the Ojibway language, so as to devote her attention most profitably to the education of the children. We visited the school, and it was interesting to see the way in which the little dark-skinned creatures listened to the words which came from the young lady’s lips, and the intelligent answers they gave, as our interpreters translated them, to the questions she put.
There was a service in Ojibway, consisting of prayers, a chapter in the Bible, singing, and a short address, which we attended. The congregation was most attentive, and a considerable number of heathen Indians came in to listen. The service was rather short, but I have no doubt that the excellent missionary considered it wiser to send his hearers away wishing for more, and resolved to come again to listen, than with a feeling of weariness, and declaring that it should be the last time they would set foot within those walls. The missionary’s own cottage was excessively neat and pretty, both inside and out, he feeling, evidently, that it must serve as a model, as he himself, in a degree, was to his converts. Their abodes were, indeed, very superior to those of heathen Indians, while their fields, cultivated in a much better manner than are those found generally among the Indian tribes, are made to produce Indian corn, potatoes, and a variety of other vegetables. There was nothing very curious or romantic in the short visit we paid to this missionary station in the wilderness, yet it was truly one of the most really interesting, thus to find a church in the wilderness performing its duty effectually of converting the heathen from their gross ignorance and sin to a knowledge and practice of the truth. Not far off was a Hudson’s Bay Company’s post, and, like some previous travellers we afterwards met, we had to complain of the scenes of drunkenness and vice which took place among the heathen Indians encamped outside it. The Company prohibits the sale of liquor to Indians; but notwithstanding this large quantities are given away to induce them to sell their peltries cheap, and to gamble away their property, so that they must go forth again to hunt. Thus the missionaries are unable to obtain an influence over them, and the unhappy race are dying from three causes – from drunkenness, from hardships, and from scarcity of food, which, as hunters for fur-bearing animals, they are unable to provide for themselves and families. In my opinion, by means of missionaries who can impart Christian knowledge, and instruction in agricultural and other useful arts, with the opening up of markets for the result of their industry, can alone the rapid decrease of the Indian race be arrested.
After a pleasant stay of a couple of days at this promising station, we proceeded on our voyage to the Salt Springs. After passing into Lake Winnepegosis, we reached the springs, which are situated about four hundred yards from the lake shore, on a barren area of about ten acres of extent, but a few feet above the level of the lake. The whole shore of the lake is said to contain salt springs. At this spot there are some forty or fifty springs, though rather less than thirty wells have been dug by the manufacturers, whose works consist of three log-huts, three evaporating furnaces, and some large iron kettles or boilers. When a fresh spring is discovered a well five feet broad and five deep is excavated and a hut and furnace erected near it. The brine from the wells is ladled into the kettles, and as the salt forms it is scooped out and allowed to remain a short time to drain before it is packed in birch-bark baskets for transportation to the settlements. The brine is so strong that thirty gallons of brine produce a bushel of salt; and from each kettle, of which there are eight or nine, two bushels can be made in a day in dry weather. Some freighters’ boats were taking in cargo at the portage on Lake Manitobah for the Red River as well as for other parts, and we here also took on board as much as we could carry; having purchased several bushels besides, to be brought on to the mouth of the Little Saskatchewan, that we might salt some white fish to serve us for future use.
We might have proceeded by a more direct route – through Lake Winnepegosis – to the mouth of the Great Saskatchewan, but we wished to navigate the large lake from one end to the other. We accomplished all we proposed in five days – reached the mouth of the rapid and gold-bearing Great Saskatchewan. Near the entrance is a long and fierce rapid, which it was necessary for us to mount, before we could again reach water on which we could navigate our canoes. It is nearly two miles in length. The water from above comes on smoothly and steadily; then, suddenly, as if stimulated to action by some sudden impulse, it begins to leap and foam and roll onward till it forms fierce and tumultuous surges, increasing in size till they appear like the rolling billows of a tempestuous sea, ready to engulf any boat venturing over them. In the one case, on the ocean, the movement is caused by the wind above; in the present instance by that of the water itself passing over an incline of rough rocks beneath.
Having partly unladen our canoes, leaving two men in alone, one to steer and the other to fend off the rocks, the rest of us harnessed ourselves to the end of a long tow line, with straps round our bodies, and commenced tracking them up the rapid along a path at the top of the cliffs. It was very hard work, as we had to run and leap and scramble along the slippery and jagged rocks alongside the cataract.
It was curious to know that we were still in the very heart of a vast continent, and yet to be navigating a river upwards of half-a-mile in width. After proceeding twenty miles we passed through Cross Lake, and soon afterwards entered Cedar Lake, which is thirty miles long and twenty broad. We had now to proceed for some hundred miles up this hitherto little-known river, which, rising in the Rocky Mountains, is navigable very nearly the whole distance from their base. As we were sailing we were agreeably surprised, on turning a point, to see before us on the right bank of the river, in the midst of fields of waving corn, a somewhat imposing church, whose tall spire, gilt by the last rays of the evening sun, was mirrored in the gliding river; a comfortable looking parsonage; a large and neat school-house, and several other dwelling-houses and cottages. This proved to be the Pas Mission, one of the many supported by the Church Missionary Society. Here we were most liberally and hospitably received. Above it is Fort Cumberland, a trading post of the Hudson’s Bay Company. An upward voyage of a hundred and fifty miles, aided by a strong breeze, brought us to Fort à la Carne, another Hudson’s Bay Company’s post, where we found Stalker and our carts, and were joined by Pierre Garoupe, who had come across the country from Red River with a further supply of provisions and stores.
