Hudson’s Hope.—A lover of literature.—Crossing the Peace.—An unskilful pilot.—We are upset.—Our rescue.—A strange variety of arms.—The Buffalo’s Head.—A glorious view.
Dismounting from our tired horses, we loosened saddles and bridles, hobbled the two fore-legs together, and turned them adrift in the forest. Then we cached our baggage in the trees, for wolves were plentiful around, and a grey wolf has about as extensive a bill of fare in the matter of man’s clothing and appointments as any animal in creation, except perhaps a monkey.
In my early days, in Burmah and India I once possessed a rare specimen of the last-named genus, who, when he found the opportunity, beautifully illustrated his descent from the lower orders of man by devouring a three-volume novel in less time than any young lady of the period could possibly accomplish it. He never knew a moment’s starvation as long as he had a photograph album to appease his insatiable love of literature. But to proceed:—
By the time we had cached our baggage, two men had come forth from the house on the other side of the river, and started out upon the ice, dragging a very small canoe; when they reached the open water at our side, they launched their craft and paddled across to the shore; then, ascending the hill, they joined us at the cache.
Their news was soon told; the river was open at the west end of the portage (ten miles away). Jacques Pardonet, a French miner, who had been trapping during the winter, was about to start for the mines on the Ominica River; he was now patching up an old canoe which he had found stranded on the shore, and when it was ready he would be off: for the rest, no Indians had come in for a very long time, and moose meat was at a very low ebb in Hudson’s Hope.
We descended to the river, and Kalder and Charette (a half-breed in charge of the fort) crossed first in the beaver canoe; it was much too small to carry us all. When they had disembarked safely on the ice, they fastened a long line to the bow of the canoe and shoved her off to our side; as she neared our shore she was caught by an English miner who had been living with Charette for some days, and whom I had engaged to accompany me to the mines. He had declared himself a proficient in the art of canoeing, and I was now about to experience my first example of his prowess.
We took our places and shoved from the shore. I lay low in the canoe, with legs stretched under the narrow thwarts to steady her as much as possible. I took in no baggage, but placed gun and revolver in the bottom alongside of me. Cerf-vola was to swim for himself.
A——, the miner, took a paddle at the stern. We had scarcely left the shore when the canoe lurched quickly to one side, shipping water as she did so. Then came another lurch on the other side, and I knew all was over. I heard the men on shore shouting to the miner to sit low—to keep down in the canoe—but all was too late. There came another lurch, a surge of water, and we were over into the icy quick-running river. I could not free myself from the thwarts which held me like a vice; the water gurgled and rushed around, about, and above me; and the horrid sensation of powerlessness, which the sleeper often experiences in a nightmare, came full upon my waking senses.
Of struggling I have but a faint recollection; at such times one struggles with a wild instinct that knows no rule or thought; but I vividly recollect the prevalent idea of being held head downwards in the icy current, in a grasp which seemed as strong as that of death.
