Then back home by moon or Northern Light, making this ice-bound land like day. Ah! those were great times for the cultivation of wind and muscle and speed—and better, sympathy and trust.
Father, when home, held an English service at the fort once a week, and the largest room available was always full. Then we organized a literary society, which met weekly at the fort. Thus many a night we drove to and fro with our quick-moving dogs.
At times we were surrounded by the "Aurora." Sometimes they seemed to touch us. One could hear the swish of the quick movement through the crisp, frosty atmosphere. What halos of many-colored light they would envelop us in! Forest and rock, ice and snow, would become radiant as with heavenly glory. One would for the time almost forget the intense cold.
No wonder the Indian calls these wonderful phenomena "The Dancers," and says they are "the spirits of the departed." After all, who knows? I do not.
CHAPTER IX.
First real winter trip—Start—Extreme fatigue—Conceit all gone—Cramps—Change—Will-power—Find myself—Am as capable as others—Oxford House—Jackson's Bay.
During our first winter I accompanied father on a trip to Jackson's Bay and Oxford House. This is about 180 miles almost due north of Norway House, making a trip of 360 miles.
Our manner of starting out on the trip was as follows: William Bundle, father's hired man, went ahead on snow-shoes, for there was no track; then came John Sinclair, the interpreter, with his dogs hitched to a cariole, which is a toboggan with parchment sides and partly covered in, in which father rode, and on the tail of which some of the necessary outfit was tightly lashed; then came my train of dogs and sleigh, on which was lashed the load, consisting of fish for dogs and pemmican and food for men; kettles, axe, bedding—in short, everything for the trip; then myself on snow-shoes, bringing up the rear.