It is no easy matter to place an exact picture of the topography of a country before a reader: we must, however, endeavour to do so.
Some fifty miles west of St. John, the Peace River issues from the cañon through which it passes the outer range of the Rocky Mountains. No boat, canoe, or craft of any kind has ever run the gauntlet of this huge chasm; for five-and-thirty miles it lies deep sunken through the mountains; while from its depths there ever rises the hoarse roar of the angry waters as they dash furiously against their rocky prison. A trail of ten miles leads across this portage, and at the western end of this trail the river is reached close to where it makes its first plunge into the rock-hewn chasm. At this point the traveller stands within the outer range of the mountains, and he has before him a broad river, stretching far into a region of lofty peaks, a river with strong but even current, flowing between banks 200 to 300 yards apart. Around great mountains lift up their heads dazzling with the glare of snow, 10,000 feet above the water which carries his frail canoe.
It was through this pass that I now proposed to journey westward towards the country which lies between the Pacific Ocean, Alaska, and the multitudinous mountains of Central British Columbia, a land but little known; a vast alpine region, where, amidst lakes and mountains nature reigns in loneliness and cloud.
CHAPTER XIX.
Start from St. John’s.—Crossing the ice.—Batiste La Fleur.—Chimeroo.—The last wood-buffalo.—A dangerous weapon.—Our raft collapses.—Across the Half-way River.
The 22nd of April had come. For some days we were engaged at St. John’s in preparing supplies for the ascent of the river, and in catching and bringing in from the prairie the horses which were to carry me to the point of embarcation at the west end of the cañon; the snow had nearly all disappeared from the level prairie. The river opposite the fort was partly open, but some distance below a bridge of ice yet remained, and on the 20th we moved our horses across this connecting link to the north shore. The night of the 20th made a serious change in the river, and when the 22nd came, it was doubtful whether we should be able to cross without mishap.
From the fort of St. John’s to the gold mines on the Ominica River was some twenty or thirty days’ travel, and as no supplies were obtainable en route, save such as my gun might afford, it became necessary to carry a considerable quantity of moose pemmican and dry meat, the sole luxuries which St. John’s could boast of.
By the 22nd all preparations were declared complete, and we began to cross the river over the doubtful ice-bridge. First went two men dragging a dog-sled, on which was piled the stores and provisions for the journey; next came old Batiste La Fleur, who was to accompany me as far as the Half-way River, a torrent which we would have to raft across on the second day of our journey.
Batiste carried a long pole, with which he sounded the ice previous to stepping upon it. I brought up the rear, also carrying a pole, and leading by a long line the faithful Cerf-vola. Spanker and his six companions here passed from my hands, and remained at St. John’s to idle through the approaching summer, and then to take their places as Hudson Bay hauling-dogs; but for Cerf-vola there was to be no more hauling, his long and faithful service had at length met its reward, and the untiring Esquimaux was henceforth to lounge through life collarless and comfortable.