We were obliged to stay some time longer at the Fort, for the road before us lay through dense forest, affording but little pasturage, and it was necessary that the horses should be quite fresh and in the highest condition before setting out on such a journey. The time passed monotonously, the life in a Hudson’s Bay fort being most uneventful and “ennuyant.” We wandered from one window to another, or walked round the building, watching for the arrival of Indians, or the sight of some object of speculation or interest. At dusk the scores of sleigh dogs set up their dismal howling, and disturbed us in the same manner at daybreak, from slumbers we desired to prolong as much as possible, in order to shorten the wearisome day. In this habit of howling in chorus at sunset and sunrise, the Indian dogs present another point of likeness to wolves, which they so closely resemble in outward form. One of the pack commences with short barks, and the others gradually join in, and all howl with might and main for about five minutes. Then they cease as gradually as they began, and all is quiet again.
We found some amusement in visiting the tents of the Indians and half-breeds who were encamped near the Fort, and were much interested in a little Cree girl, who was a patient of Cheadle’s. She had been out to the plains with her family, and on the conclusion of peace between the Crees and Blackfeet, a party of the latter came on a visit to the Cree camp. On taking leave, a Blackfoot playfully snapped his gun at the child; the piece proved to be loaded with two bullets, which, entering the thigh of the unfortunate girl, shattered it completely. When we saw her she was wan and deathlike, but bore with wonderful fortitude the pain of the probe and knife. The parents were greatly disappointed with the Doctor’s skill, for common report had told them that he would be able not only to remove the broken bone, but also to replace it by an efficient substitute, and thus restore the limb to its original condition.
At this time we made the acquaintance of Mr. O’B., a gentleman of considerable classical attainments, on his way to British Columbia, whither, however, he progressed but slowly, having left Red River twelve months before. Mr. O’B. was an Irishman of between forty and fifty years of age, of middle height and wiry make. His face was long and its features large, and a retreating mouth, almost destitute of teeth, gave a greater prominence to his rather elongated nose. He was dressed in a long coat of alpaca, of ecclesiastical cut, and wore a black wideawake, which ill accorded with the week’s stubble on his chin, fustian trousers, and highlows tied with string. He carried an enormous stick, and altogether his appearance showed a curious mixture of the clerical with the rustic. His speech was rich with the brogue of his native isle, and his discourse ornamented with numerous quotations from the ancient classics. He introduced himself to us with a little oration, flattering both to himself and us, remarking that he was a grandson of the celebrated Bishop O’B., and a graduate of the University of Cambridge; we should readily understand, therefore, how delightful it must be for him, a man of such descent and education, to meet with two members of his own beloved university so intellectual as ourselves. He informed us that he was a man of peaceful and studious habits, and utterly abhorred the wild and dangerous life to which he was at present unfortunately condemned. He next astonished us by telling us almost as much about our relations, friends, and acquaintances as we knew ourselves; their personal appearance, where they lived, what property they had, their families, expectations, tastes, peculiarities, and his opinion of them generally. All his statements were correct, and a rigid cross-examination failed to confound him. He then proceeded to relate the history of his wandering and eventful life.
After leaving the university, he studied for the bar, and became connected with the press; then went out to India and edited a paper at Lahore. After a year or two he returned to England. Finding it somewhat difficult to succeed in the old country, by the advice of an old college friend, who had settled in Louisiana, he went out to seek his fortune there. Before long he obtained a situation as secretary to a wealthy planter, and for a time lived in happiness and ease. But the vicissitudes of his career had as yet only commenced. The civil war between the Northern and Southern States broke out, and the peaceful Mr. O’B. was startled out of his dream of rest and safety by the bustle and din of warlike preparations. Although sufficiently alarmed at the prospect of hostilities, he yet flattered himself that he would be considered a non-combatant. One day, however, his friend the planter came up to him in a great state of delight and excitement, and warmly shaking him by the hand, said, “My dear O’B., allow me to congratulate you most heartily on the compliment which has been paid you; you have been unanimously elected Captain of the Home Guard.”
The newly-elected captain was horror-struck—visions of sharp-pointed bayonets directed against his abdomen, and keen swords flashing in descent upon his cranium, rose before his mental eye; the roar of cannon and musketry, and the whistle of bullets, seemed already to sound in his affrighted ears; wounds, agony, and death to stare him in the face. Stammering out thanks, less warm than seemed appropriate to the warlike Southerner, he stole away from his disappointed friend, and secretly made preparations for escape. That night he took what little money he had in hand, and, leaving all the rest of his property behind, fled from the honour proposed for him. He succeeded in getting across the lines into the Northern States, and there obtained an appointment as Classical Professor at one of the colleges. This institution was, however, supported by voluntary subscriptions, which failed under the pressure of the war, the staff was reduced, and Mr. O’B. again cast adrift. He next anchored for a short time near St. Paul, in Minnesota, and thence proceeded to Fort Garry, with the intention of establishing a school in the Red River Settlement. Classics were, however, at a discount amongst the half-breeds, and consequently Mr. O’B.’s merits as a pedagogue were not properly appreciated by the colonists. The projected academy utterly failed, and after spending some time in Red River, at a dead lock, he was fitted out by the kindness of Archdeacon Cockran, the veteran missionary of this country, with necessaries for a journey across the mountains, in search of a more congenial community on the Pacific coast.
He set out with the band of Canadian emigrants before alluded to, but they appear to have discovered that he was helpless and requiring, and left him at Carlton. From thence he was forwarded by the Company’s boats going back to Edmonton. A prejudice against him arose amongst the men, and they refused to proceed with him further than Fort Pitt. He was therefore left behind at that place, and afterwards reached Edmonton by a train of carts. At Edmonton he had remained nearly a year when we met him, unable either to advance or to return, and in a state of complete destitution. He had, however, received every kindness from the officers of the Fort, who supplied him with food and tobacco.
Having narrated his history, he propounded the real object of his visit, which was to beg of us to allow him to accompany our party to British Columbia. Had it been an ordinary journey, or had we possessed the means of obtaining a proper number of men and horses, and plenty of provisions, we should not have hesitated to take him with us, in spite of his helplessness. But such an addition to our company was anything but desirable, and we accordingly begged to reserve our decision. Mr. O’B. had wintered with some miners, who had built a cabin about a quarter of a mile from the Fort. Left alone by their departure in the spring, he lived a solitary and anxious life, oppressed by fears of wolves, which howled close by every night, and of grisly bears, reported to be in the neighbourhood. He assured us that it was not safe for him to remain longer at the cabin, since it was built near some willows which were known to be much frequented by these dangerous animals, and he accordingly took up his quarters under one of our carts.
He was now attacked by a number of ailments which required the Doctor’s advice daily, and seized these opportunities to urge his request. After submitting unflinchingly to active treatment for several days, he at last confessed that his malady was imaginary, and merely assumed as an excuse for obtaining private interviews. But Cheadle maliciously refused to believe it, assured him he was really seriously unwell, and compelled him to swallow a tremendous dose of rhubarb and magnesia.
After holding out several days, we were overcome by his importunity, and agreed that he should form one of our party, in spite of the rebellious grumbling of Baptiste and the Assiniboine. Mr. O’B. thanked us, but assured us that we had in reality acted for our own interest, and congratulated us upon having decided so wisely, for he should be very useful, and ask no wages.
Mr. Hardisty, and the other officers of the Fort, tried earnestly to dissuade us from attempting to cross by the Leather Pass, alleging that the season was not yet far enough advanced, and the rivers would be at their height, swollen by the melting of the mountain snows. They assured us that many of the streams were fierce and rocky torrents, exceedingly dangerous to cross, except when low in the autumn, and that the country on the West of the mountains, as far as it was known, was a region rugged and inhospitable, everywhere covered with impenetrable forest; and even if we descended the Fraser, instead of attempting to reach Cariboo, we should find that river full of rapids and whirlpools, which had often proved fatal to the most expert canoemen. This pass, known by the several names of the Leather, Jasper House, Cowdung Lake, and Yellow Head Pass, had been formerly used by the voyageurs of the Hudson’s Bay Company as a portage from the Athabasca to the Fraser, but had long been abandoned on account of the numerous casualties which attended the navigation of the latter river.