The Great Lone Land / A Narrative of Travel and Adventure in the North-West of America

by Sir William Francis Butler

"What were they like?" I asked again, half incredulous after so many disappointments.

He thought for awhile: "They were like the locusts," he answered, "they came on one after the other." There could be no mistake about it, he had seen British soldiers.

The chief of the party now came forward, and asked what I had got to say to the Indians; that he would like to hear me make a speech; that they wanted to know why all these men were coming through their country. To make a speech! it was a curious request. I was leaning with my back against the mast, and the Indians were seated in a line on the bank; every thing looked so miserable around, that I thought I might for once play the part of Chadband, and improve the occasion, and, as a speech was expected of me, make it. So I said, "Tell this old chief that I am sorry he is poor and hungry; but let him look around, the land on which he sits is rich and fertile, why does he not cut down the trees that cover it, and plant in their places potatoes and corn? then he will have food in the winter when the moose is scarce and the sturgeon cannot be caught." He did not seem to relish my speech, but said nothing. I gave a few plugs of tobacco all round, and we shoved out again into the river. "Where the road comes down to the lake" the Indian had seen the troops; where was that spot? No easy matter to decide, for lakes are so numerous in this land of the North-west that the springs of the earth seem to have found vent there. Before sunset we fell in with another Indian; he was alone in a canoe, which he paddled close along shore out of the reach of the strong breeze which was sweeping us fast up the river. While he was yet a long way off, Samuel declared that he had recently left Fort Francis, and therefore would bring us news from that place. "How can you tell at this distance that he has come from the fort?" I asked. "Because his shirt looks bright," he answered. And so it was; he had left the fort on the previous day and run seventy miles; he was old Monkman's Indian returning after having left that hardy voyageur at Fort Francis.

Not a soldier of the Expedition had yet reached the fort, nor did any man know where they were.

On again; another sun set and another sun rose, and we were still running up the Rainy River before a strong north wind which fell away towards evening. At sundown of the 3rd August I calculated that some four and twenty miles must yet lie between me and that fort at which, I felt convinced, some distinct tidings must reach me of the progress of the invading column. I was already 180 miles beyond the spot where I had counted upon falling in with them. I was nearly 400 miles from Fort Garry.

Towards evening on the 3rd it fell a dead calm, and the heavy boat could make but little progress against the strong running current of the river, so I bethought me of the little birch-bark canoe which I had brought from Rat Portage; it was a very tiny one, but that was no hindrance to the work I now\ required of it. We had been sailing all day, so my men were fresh. At supper I proposed that Samuel, Monkman, and William Prince should come on with me during the night, that we would leave Thomas Hope in command of the big boat and push on for the fort in the light canoe, taking with us only sufficient food for one meal. The three men at once assented, and Thomas was delighted at the prospect of one last grand feed all to himself, besides the great honour of being promoted to the rank and dignity of Captain of the boat. So we got the little craft out, and having gummed her all over, started once more on our upward way just as the shadows of the night began to close around the river. We were four in number, quite as many as the canoe could carry; she was very low in the water and, owing to some damage received in the rough waves of the Lake of the Woods, soon began to leak badly. Once we put ashore to gum and pitch her seams again, but still the water oozed in and we were wet. What was to be done? with these delays we never could hope to reach the fort by daybreak, and something told me instinctively, that unless I did get there that night I would find the Expedition already arrived. Just at that moment we descried smoke rising amidst the trees on the right shore, and soon saw the poles of Indian lodges. The men said they were very bad Indians. firom the American side--the left shore of Rainy River is American territory--but the chance of a bad Indian was better than the certainty of a bad canoe, and we stopped at the camp. A lot of half-naked redskins came out of the trees, and the pow-wow commenced. I gave them all tobacco, and then asked if they would give me a good canoe in exchange for my bad one, telling them that I would give them a present next day at the fort if one or two amongst them would come up there. After a short parley they assented, and a beautiful canoe was brought out and placed on the water. They also gave us a supply of dried sturgeon, and, again shaking hands all round, we departed on our way.

This time there was no mistake, the canoe proved as dry as a bottle, and we paddled bravely on through the mists of night. About midnight we halted for supper, making a fire amidst the long wet grass, over which we fried the sturgeon and boiled our kettle; then we went on again through the small hours of the morning. At times I could see on the right the mouths of large rivers which flowed from the west: it is down these rivers that the American Indians come to fish for sturgeon in the Rainy River. For nearly 200 miles the country is still theirs, and the Pillager and Red Lake branches of the Ojibbeway nation yet hold their hunting-grounds in the vast swamps of North Minnesota.

These Indians have a bad reputation, as the name of Pillager implies, and my Red River men were anxious to avoid falling in with them. Once during the night, opposite the mouth of one of the rivers opening to the west, we saw the lodges of a large party on our left; with paddles that were never lifted out of the water, we glided noiselessly by, as silently as a wild duck would cleave the current. Once again during the long night a large sturgeon, struck suddenly by a paddle, alarmed us by bounding out of the water and landing full upon the gunwale of the Canoe, splashing back again into the water and wetting us all by his curious manoeuvre. At length in the darkness we heard the hollow roar of the great Falls of the Chaudiere sounding loud through the stillness. It grew louder and louder as with now tiring strokes my worn-out men worked mechanically at their paddles. The day was beginning to break. We were close beneath the Chaudiere and alongside of Fort Francis. The scene was wondrously beautiful. In the indistinct light of the early dawn the cataract seemed twice its natural height, the tops of pine trees rose against the pale green of the coming day, close above the falls the bright morning star hung, diamond-like, over the rim of the descending torrent; around the air was tremulous with the rush of water, and to the north the rose-coloured streaks of the aurora were woven into the dawn. My long solitary journey had nearly reached its close.

Very cold and cramped by the constrained position in which I had remained all night, I reached the fort, and, unbarring the gate, with my rifle knocked at the door of one of the wooden houses. After a little, a man opened the door in the costume, scant and unpicturesque, in which he had risen from his bed.

"Is that Colonel Wolseley?" he asked.