On the following morning we were somewhat enlightened. At daybreak the men got up, and fired off a great many shots in honour of the new year. Then ensued a general shaking of hands all round, and a kissing of the women and children. The latter part of the ceremony we, however, very ungallantly omitted. We subsequently learnt that it is the custom for those who have nothing wherewith to feast, to visit their friends who may be in greater plenty; and our neighbours thought that they could not do better than with us. As they had come, we hastened our departure, and set out with Keenamontiayoo and his son, leaving old Kekekooarsis and the women in charge of the house until our return. We took with us two dog-sleighs, and travelled in snow-shoes, for the snow had now become far too deep to move without them. We had used them for short distances for some time, and had become tolerably expert, but found marching all day long in them very fatiguing at first. The Hunter led the way, his son followed driving one train of dogs, and we came next with the other.
After travelling a day and a half, we diverged from the track that La Ronde had taken, and steered a point or two more west. The country was, as before, a mixture of woods, lakes, and patches of open prairie, somewhat hilly, and difficult for sleighs. The weather turned intensely cold—far more severe than any we had before experienced. Light showers of snow fell in minute particles, as it were frozen dew, when the sun was shining brightly and the sky without a cloud. Clothed in three or four flannel shirts, one of duffel, and a leather shirt; our hands encased in “mittaines,” or large gloves of moose-skin lined with duffel, made without fingers, large enough to admit of being easily doffed on occasion, and carried slung by a band round the neck; our feet swathed in bands of duffel, covered by enormous moccasins; and our ears and necks protected by a curtain of fur, we were yet hardly able to keep warm with the most active exercise; and when we stayed to camp, shivered and shook as we essayed to light a fire.
Masses of ice, the size of a man’s fist, formed on Cheadle’s beard and moustache—the only ones in the company—from the moisture of the breath freezing as it passed through the hair. The oil froze in the pipes we carried about our persons, so that it was necessary to thaw them at the fire before they could be made to draw. The hands could hardly be exposed for a moment, except when close to the fire. A bare finger laid upon iron stuck to it as if glued, from the instantaneous freezing of its moisture. The snow melted only close to the fire, which formed a trench for itself, in which it slowly sank to the level of the ground. The steam rose in clouds, and in the coldest, clearest weather, it almost shrouded the fire from view. The snow was light and powdery, and did not melt beneath the warmth of the foot, so that our moccasins were as dry on a journey as if we had walked through sawdust instead of snow. The parchment windows of our little hut were so small and opaque, that we could hardly see even to eat by their light alone, and were generally obliged to have the door open; and then, although the room was very small, and the fire-place very large, a crust of ice formed over the tea in our tin cups, as we sat within a yard of the roaring fire. One effect of the cold was to give a most ravenous appetite for fat. Many a time have we eaten great lumps of hard grease—rancid tallow, used for making candles—without bread or anything to modify it.[4]
When well sheltered by woods, and with an enormous fire blazing at our feet, sleeping in the open air was pleasant enough. Tents are not used for winter travelling, as the huge fire could not be made available. On arriving at the ground we selected for a camp, every one set to work as quickly as possible. One unharnessed the dogs and unpacked the sleighs; another collected dry logs; a third cut fine chips, and started the fire; whilst the fourth shovelled away the snow in front of the fire with a snow-shoe, and strewed the bare ground with pine branches. Then all squatted down, smoking and superintending the cooking of supper, the hungry dogs seated round, waiting anxiously for their share. A pipe and talk followed, and then each rolled himself in his blankets or buffalo robe, covering head and all, placed his feet as near to the fire as he dare, and slept. All huddled together as closely as possible, and when silence had reigned some time, the dogs crept softly in towards the fire, and lay between us, or at our feet. Before sleeping, however, it was necessary to secure out of reach of the dogs not only provisions, but snow-shoes, harness, and everything with any skin or leather about it. An Indian dog will devour almost anything of animal origin, and invariably eats his own harness, or his master’s snow-shoes, if left within his reach.
Our new attendants showed us the greatest attention, and indeed were extremely proud of serving the Soniow Okey Mow, and the Muskeeky Okey Mow, as they had named us, which, being interpreted, signifies the “Great Golden Chief,” and “My Master, the Great Medicine.” And we found constant amusement over our camp-fire at night in teaching them English words, and learning Cree. The circumstance that there were some words which were almost identical in the two languages—words which had been adopted from one language into the other—struck them as very ludicrous, and they never tired of laughing over pemmicàrn, “pemmican;” mùskisin, “moccasin;” shùgow, “sugar;” and the like. And when we used wrong words for others very similar, as we frequently did purposely—calling the old man Kekekooarsis, Kekwaharkosis, or the “Little Wolverine;” or an Indian named Gaytchi Mohkamarn, or “The Big Knife,” Matchi Mohkamarn, “The Evil Knife”—the joke was always irresistible, and they rolled about and held their sides in fits of laughter.
On the fourth day after leaving La Belle Prairie, we reached the camping ground, where we expected to meet Indians, but found the camp broken up, and saw by the tracks that the party had dispersed in various directions. We therefore kept on in a straight line for the prairie. The weather had become colder and colder, and as we passed over a large lake just before dark, the wind blew so keenly that our faces ached again, and our teeth chattered, although we hurried over it into a little wood as rapidly as the dogs could go. Milton’s nose and cheeks were frost-bitten, and required careful rubbing to restore them. On the morrow, by the Hunter’s advice, we stayed in camp, while he went out alone to reconnoitre, and try and kill a buffalo. Our provisions were by this time reduced to a few handfuls of flour, and a little pemmican—hardly more than sufficient for that day’s consumption. We had started with a fair supply of white-fish and pemmican; but six dogs rapidly reduced it. Two fish a day, or three pounds of pemmican, is the regular allowance for a sleigh-dog when travelling; and the quantity required to satisfy a man in the cold winter is greater still. We therefore spent an anxious day, waiting for Keenamontiayoo’s return, wondering whether he would be successful in obtaining meat. We put ourselves upon short commons, and the dogs upon still shorter, and even went to the length of fixing upon one useless, toothless old fellow as a victim to our appetites, in case of extremity.
The day wore on slowly and monotonously, the cold was severe as ever, and we diligently cut and stacked a large supply of wood for the night fire. Night closed in around us, and we still watched in vain for the Hunter, and speculated whether the delay was a sign of his good luck or the reverse. Hours of darkness passed away, and yet we listened anxiously, expecting to hear the footfall of the returning Indian. Misquapamayoo became very uneasy, and sat silent and absorbed, listening intently for his father’s step, and at last took to firing his gun at short intervals, to signal our whereabouts. No answering shot replied, but about midnight Keenamontiayoo appeared, bending beneath a load which, on nearer view, showed to our gloating eyes the heart, tongue, and other tit-bits of buffalo. These were soon cooked and eaten, and over our supper he told us that he had hunted all day without resting, but had not found a trace of buffalo. On his return, however, just before dark, he discovered a solitary bull, which he killed. The cold had so benumbed him that he was quite unable to cut any meat until he had made a large fire, and afterwards was detained a long time covering up the carcase with timber and snow, to protect it from the wolves.
The next morning we moved camp close to the dead buffalo, and spent that day in cutting him up, and collecting a good supply of dry wood, which was scarce at this place.
The following day we found two more buffalo, and succeeded in badly wounding one of them. Darkness came on before we could overtake him, but we found him next morning, having been pulled down and partly eaten by the wolves during the night.
At this time Milton’s face, which had been frost-bitten two days before, swelled up with erysipelas in a most alarming manner. We were 80 or 100 miles from home, without any protection from the extreme severity of the weather. We decided to cache a great part of the meat, and travel back to La Belle Prairie as fast as the dogs could go.