While the accompanying map is approximately correct, the feeding ground was necessarily subject to food material. In such years, for instance, as the grasshoppers spread devastation over large tracts of the Northwest—when for miles and miles not a blade of grass could be seen—it is only reasonable to expect that the buffalo changed his regular stamping ground.
William T. Hornaday, the naturalist, estimated, January 1st, 1908, the number of wild bison in the Rocky Mountains at 25, and the number in Canada at 300. About 130 are captive in Europe, and 1116 in the United States, bringing the total number of pure bred bison up to 2047. A large herd is under the protection of the Canadian government in the park at Wainwright, Alberta. The more notable American herds are found in Corbin's game preserve, New Hampshire; in Oklahoma; in the Yellowstone national park; and on various private ranches in the western part of the United States.
FAMOUS H.B.C. CAPTAINS AND SHIPS
(Continued from the June issue)
By H. M. S. COTTER, Cumberland House
The "Pelican" once scraped the sunken ledges near Cartwright, but no H.B.C. ship has left her "bones" to rot on that iron-bound shore.
Little is known of the wrecks that do take place on this coast, but I have heard of appalling disasters amongst the hardy fishermen. On the Nova Scotian coast, collision with ice and subsequent loss of life is not infrequent. Every year there are wrecks of some kind. Ocean-going steamers have been forced ashore and become total wrecks. And so it is remarkable that H.B.C. ships have never met with disaster, especially considering their many ports of call.
In 1908 I was a passenger on the "Pelican" (Captain Alex. Grey) bound for Fort Chimo, Ungava. From the time we left Quebec till we passed Cape Harrison, North of Hamilton Inlet, Labrador, we had enjoyed fair weather. But the clouds and rising sea denoted a change.
We were then standing off the coast nearly twelve miles and steaming at about seven knots. The wind kept veering between N. and N.E., finally blowing straight down the coast about north. We stood farther out to sea. At nightfall it was blowing half a gale with rain coming down—and mist. Our speed then was not more than three knots and gradually getting less till about 2 o'clock in the morning when the wind increased to a living gale, screeching and howling through the rigging and stopping all progress. It was then decided to run for shelter, but the nearest harbour was forty miles south, a place named Webek. Captain Grey had been in this harbour only once, about twenty-five years before, and no one else aboard had ever anchored there. They turned the ship and we came scudding south in the blackness of night, then lay-to till dawn, and picking up the land approached at half speed.
To give some idea of the gale outside, when we finally came to an anchorage about 8 o'clock in the morning, the swell was so great in the harbour with the continued violence of the wind that we kept steaming to the anchors to prevent dragging and as the sailors say we were rolling "like maggots in an oak apple." Several fishing schooners had run in the day before and even in shelter the crews had abandoned some of the vessels, as they were dragging their anchors and in imminent danger of going ashore.
The Captain was on the bridge all night. For hours he stood in the bow of the boat hanging in the starboard davits peering through the gloom and mist, looking for landmarks and the harbour entrance. He had on a black sou'wester and oil-skin coat and great long sea-boots. His face was streaming with the rain and spray—a gigantic, picturesque figure, and on this particular morning, unusually silent.