Towards the beginning of June 1843, orders arrived from headquarters, appointing me to spend the approaching winter at York Factory, the place where I had first pressed American soil. It is impossible to describe the joy with which I received the news. Whether it was my extreme fondness for travelling, or the mere love of change, I cannot tell, but it had certainly the effect of affording me immense delight, and I set about making preparation for the journey immediately. The arrival of the canoes from Canada was to be the signal for my departure, and I looked forward to their appearance with great impatience.
In a few days the canoes arrived; and on the 4th of June, 1843, I started, in company with several other gentlemen, in two north canoes. These light, graceful craft were about thirty-six feet long, by from five to six broad, and were capable of containing eight men and three passengers. They were made entirely of birch bark, and gaudily painted on the bow and stern. In these fairy-like boats, then, we swept swiftly over Playgreen Lake, the bright vermilion paddles glancing in the sunshine, and the woods echoing to the lively tune of A la claire fontaine, sung by the two crews in full chorus. We soon left Norway House far behind us, and ere long were rapidly descending the streams that flow through the forests of the interior into Hudson Bay.
While running one of the numerous rapids with which these rivers abound, our canoe struck upon a rock, which tore a large hole in its side. Fortunately the accident happened close to the shore, and nearly at the usual breakfasting hour; so that while some of the men repaired the damages, which they did in half an hour, we employed ourselves agreeably in demolishing a huge ham, several slices of bread, and a cup or two of strong tea.
This was the only event worth relating that happened to us during the voyage; and as canoe-travelling is enlarged upon in another chapter, we will jump at once to the termination of our journey.
Chapter Eight.
York Factory—Winter amusements—Intense cold—The seasons—“Skylarking”—Sporting in the woods and marshes—Trading with Indians—Christmas doings—Breaking-up of the ice in spring.
Are you ambitious, reader, of dwelling in a “pleasant cot in a tranquil spot, with a distant view of the changing sea?” If so, do not go to York Factory. Not that it is such an unpleasant place—for I spent two years very happily there—but simply (to give a poetical reason, and explain its character in one sentence) because it is a monstrous blot on a swampy spot, with a partial view of the frozen sea!
First impressions are generally incorrect; and I have little doubt that your first impression is, that a “monstrous blot on a swampy spot” cannot by any possibility be an agreeable place. To dispel this impression, and at the same time to enlighten you with regard to a variety of facts with which you are probably unacquainted, I shall describe York Factory as graphically as may be. An outline of its general appearance has been already given in a former chapter, so I will now proceed to particularise the buildings. The principal edifice is the “general store,” where the goods, to the amount of two years’ outfit for the whole northern department, are stored. On each side of this is a long, low whitewashed house, with green edgings, in one of which visitors and temporary residents during the summer are quartered. The other is the summer mess-room. Four roomy fur-stores stand at right angles to these houses, thus forming three sides of the front square. Behind these stands a row of smaller buildings for the labourers and tradesmen; and on the right hand is the dwelling-house of the gentleman in charge, and adjoining it the clerks’ house; while on the left are the provision-store and Indian trading-shop. A few insignificant buildings, such as the oil-store and lumber-house, intrude themselves here and there; and on the right a tall ungainly outlook rises in the air, affording the inhabitants an extensive view of their wild domains; and just beside it stands the ice-house. This latter building is filled every spring with blocks of solid ice of about three feet square, which do not melt during the short but intensely hot summer. The inhabitants are thus enabled to lay up a store of fresh meat for summer use, which lasts them till about the commencement of winter. The lower stratum of ice in this house never melts; nor, indeed, does the soil of the surrounding country, which only thaws to the depth of a few feet, the subsoil being perpetually frozen.