Few things are more beautiful or delightful than crossing a lake in the woods on a lovely morning at sunrise. The brilliant sun, rising in a flood of light, pierces through the thin haze of morning, converting the countless myriads of dewdrops that hang on tree and bush into sparkling diamonds, and burnishing the motionless flood of water, till a new and mighty firmament is reflected in the wave; as if Nature, rising early from her couch, paused to gaze with admiration on her resplendent image reflected in the depths of her own matchless mirror. The profound stillness, too, broken only by the measured sweep of the oars, fills the soul with awe; whilst a tranquil but unbounded happiness steals over the heart of the traveller as he gazes out upon the distant horizon, broken here and there by small verdant islets, floating as it were in air. He wanders back in thought to far-distant climes; or wishes, mayhap, that it were possible to dwell in scenes like this with those he loves for ever.
As the day advances, the scene, though slightly changed, is still most beautiful. The increasing heat, dispelling the mists, reveals in all its beauty the deep blue sky speckled with thin fleecy clouds, and, imparting a genial warmth to the body, creates a sympathetic glow in the soul. Flocks of snow-white gulls sail in graceful evolutions round the boats, dipping lightly in the water as if to kiss their reflected images; and, rising suddenly in long rapid flights, mount in circles up high above the tranquil world into the azure sky, till small white specks alone are visible in the distance. Up, up they rise on sportive wing, till the straining eye can no longer distinguish them, and they are gone! Ducks, too, whir past in rapid flight, steering wide of the boats, and again bending in long graceful curves into their course. The sweet, plaintive cry of the whip-poor-will rings along the shore; and the faint answer of his mate floats over the lake, mellowed by distance to a long tiny note. The air is motionless as the water; and the enraptured eye gazes in dreamy enjoyment on all that is lovely and peaceful in nature.
These are the pleasures of travelling in the wilderness. Let us change the picture.
The sun no longer shines upon the tranquil scene. Dark, heavy clouds obscure the sky; a suffocating heat depresses the spirits and enervates the frame; sharp, short gusts of wind now ruffle the inky waters, and the floating islands sink into insignificance as the deceptive haze which elevated them flies before the approaching storm. The ducks are gone, and the plaintive notes of the whip-poor-will are hushed as the increasing breeze rustles the leafy drapery of the forest. The gulls wheel round still, but in more rapid and uncertain flight, accompanying their motions with shrill and mournful cries, like the dismal wailings of the spirit of the storm. A few drops of rain patter on the boats, or plump like stones into the water, and the distant melancholy growl of thunder swells upon the coming gale. Uneasy glances are cast, ever and anon, towards clouds and shore, and grumbling sentences are uttered by the men. Suddenly a hissing sound is heard, a loud clap of thunder growls overhead, and the gale, dashing the white spray wildly before it, rushes down upon the boats.
“A terre! à terre!” shout the men. The boats are turned towards the shore, and the bending oars creak and groan as they pull swiftly on. Hiss! whir! the gale bursts forth, dashing clouds of spray into the air, twisting and curling the foaming water in its fury. The thunder crashes with fearful noise, and the lightning gleams in fitful lurid streaks across the inky sky. Presently the shore is gained, amid a deluge of rain which saturates everything with water in a few minutes. The tents are pitched, but the fires will scarcely burn, and are at last allowed to go out. The men seek shelter under the oiled cloths of the boats; while the travellers, rolled up in damp blankets, with the rain oozing through the tents upon their couches, gaze mournfully upon the dismal scene, and ponder sadly on the shortness of the step between happiness and misery.
Nearly eighteen days after we left York Factory we arrived in safety at the depôt of Norway House. This fort is built at the mouth of a small and sluggish stream, known by the name of Jack River. The houses are ranged in the form of a square; none of them exceed one story in height, and most of them are whitewashed. The ground on which it stands is rocky; and a small garden, composed chiefly of sand, juts out from the stockades like a strange excrescence. A large, rugged mass of rocks rises up between the fort and Playgreen Lake, which stretches out to the horizon on the other side of them. On the top of these rocks stands a flagstaff, as a beacon to guide the traveller; for Norway House is so ingeniously hid in a hollow that it cannot be seen from the lake till the boat almost touches the wharf. On the left side of the building extends a flat grassy park or green, upon which during the summer months there is often a picturesque and interesting scene. Spread out to dry in the sun may be seen the snowy tent of the chief factor, lately arrived. A little further off, on the rising ground, stands a dark and almost imperceptible wigwam, the small wreath of white smoke issuing from the top proving that it is inhabited. On the river bank three or four boats and a north canoe are hauled up; and just above them a number of sunburned voyageurs and a few Indians amuse themselves with various games, or recline upon the grass, basking in the sunshine. Behind the fort stretches the thick forest, its outline broken here and there by cuttings of firewood or small clearings for farming.
Such was Norway House in 1841. The rocks were crowded when we arrived, and we received a hearty welcome from Mr Russ—the chief factor in charge—and his amiable family. As it was too late to proceed any further that day, we determined to remain here all night.
From the rocks before mentioned, on which the flagstaff stands, we had a fine view of Playgreen Lake. There was nothing striking or bold in the scene, the country being low and swampy, and no hills rose on the horizon or cast their shadows on the lake; but it was pleasing and tranquil, and enlivened by one or two boats sailing about on the water.
We spent an agreeable evening; and early on the following morning started again on our journey, having received an agreeable addition to our party in the person of Miss Jessie Russ, second daughter of Mr Russ, from whom we had just parted.
On the evening of the first day after our departure from Norway House, we encamped on the shores of Lake Winnipeg. This immense body of fresh water is about three hundred miles long by about fifty broad. The shores are generally flat and uninteresting, and the water shallow; yet here and there a few pretty spots may be seen at the head of a small bay or inlet, where the ground is a little more elevated and fertile.