A few hours’ travelling in the morning of the 14th brought us to the Grand Fork of the Fraser, where an important branch from the north or north-east flows by five separate mouths into the main body of the Fraser, which we had been following thus far. Here we pulled up, in order to search carefully for safe fords by which to cross these numerous swollen streams. This Grand Fork of the Fraser is the original Tête Jaune Cache, so called from being the spot chosen by an Iroquois trapper, known by the sobriquet of the Tête Jaune, or “Yellow Head,” to hide the furs he obtained on the western side. The situation is grand and striking beyond description. At the bottom of a narrow rocky gorge, whose sides were clothed with dark pines, or, higher still, with light green shrubs, the boiling, impetuous Fraser dashed along. On every side the snowy heads of mighty hills crowded round, whilst, immediately behind us, a giant among giants, and immeasurably supreme, rose Robson’s Peak. This magnificent mountain is of conical form, glacier-clothed, and rugged. When we first caught sight of it, a shroud of mist partially enveloped the summit, but this presently rolled away, and we saw its upper portion dimmed by a necklace of light feathery clouds, beyond which its pointed apex of ice, glittering in the morning sun, shot up far into the blue heaven above, to a height of probably 10,000 or 15,000 feet. It was a glorious sight, and one which the Shushwaps of The Cache assured us had rarely been seen by human eyes, the summit being generally hidden by clouds. After leaving the old Cache, we entered upon fresh difficulties—deep streams to cross, timber to jump every ten yards, and the whole valley flooded. The horse which carried our flour took to swimming about in deep water, and one packed with pemmican wandered into the Fraser, and was borne down the stream for some distance. However, he managed to find foothold at last under the bank, and we were able to haul him out with ropes.

The next day, the 15th of July, still found us struggling through floods, logs, and débris, and was signalised by the occurrence of an irremediable misfortune. In order to prevent the possible loss or damage of provisions by the horses disporting themselves in deep water, we led those which carried flour and pemmican. Two of the others, however, who were running loose—a horse most aptly named Gisquakarn, or “The Fool,” and Bucephalus—strayed over the true river-bank into the stream, and were swept off in a moment. They soon disappeared from our view, and the Iroquois and boy went in pursuit, whilst we followed with the rest of the horses. About a mile down stream we caught sight of the animals, standing in a shallow in the middle of the stream, and as we came just at this time to one of the rare natural gardens of the mountains, brilliant with flowers and rich in strawberries, we camped in the open ground. We were in full view of the two animals in the river, and hoped they would be tempted to join their companions on shore. Bucephalus began to neigh, and eventually commenced swimming towards us; but Gisquakarn, “The Fool,” instead of following in the right direction, steered down mid-stream, and Bucephalus, after a moment’s hesitation, turned away and followed him into the fiercest strength of the irresistible flood. Away both went, far outstripping our utmost speed in pursuit, their packs only being visible in the distance, bobbing about like corks in the rolling waters.

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THE ASSINIBOINE RESCUES BUCEPHALUS.

The Assiniboine led the chase, and soon left all the rest of us far behind, for he had a wonderful facility in getting over obstructions, and the way in which he vanished amidst the closely-set trunks, and past the barriers of fallen timber, was marvellous. He did not rush and tear along, but glided out of sight, apparently unhindered by the obstacles which opposed our progress. We struggled on far in the rear, and occasionally caught a glimpse of the horses like specks in the distance, still borne down the middle of the torrent. About two miles below, another shallow gave them resting ground for a moment, and enabled The Assiniboine to come up. The current was so strong, however, that they were soon swept off again; but Bucephalus, observing The Assiniboine, attempted to reach the shore. The place was a fearful rapid, where the water poured madly in rolling billows over immense boulders. As the horse neared the land for an instant in passing, The Assiniboine leaped in, threw his arms round the animal’s neck, who neighed gratefully when he saw his deliverer come to the rescue, and the two, mutually supporting each other, eventually gained the shore. The escape of The Assiniboine seemed marvellous, and we did not fail amply to reward him for the intrepidity he had displayed. Few men would have dared to plunge into such a boiling torrent, and as we looked at the huge rolling waves after it was over, we could hardly believe it possible that the thing had in reality occurred.

Having unpacked Bucephalus, and spread all the soaked baggage out to dry in the sun, we started forward again to learn the fate of the other horse Gisquakarn, who had obstinately pursued the middle course—in this case certainly not the safest. After another mile’s run, we descried him under the opposite bank, where it was too abrupt to climb, his head buried in the bushes which fringed the shore, and hardly able to stand against the rush of water. It seemed madness to attempt to cross the stream on a raft in its present swollen state, and we were reluctantly compelled to abandon him to his fate for the present. The Iroquois started immediately for Tête Jaune Cache, which he calculated could not be more than seven or eight miles distant, in order to obtain the assistance of the Shushwaps there, who possessed canoes in which the river might be crossed. The rest of us returned to camp with our injured property, and employed ourselves in investigating the extent of our losses. Early the next morning the Iroquois returned with two young Shushwaps, who crossed the river, and proceeded to the place where the horse had been last seen. From the marks on the bank it was evident that the animal had made frantic but futile endeavours to climb the bank, but had at last rolled back and been carried off, nor did we ever find any further traces of him.

This misfortune was no light one. We had now neither tea, salt, nor tobacco, for our whole store of these luxuries had been carried by the horse which was lost. All our clothes, matches, and ammunition were gone, except what we carried on our persons at the time. All our papers, letters of credit, and valuables, Milton’s buffalo robe and blanket, Cheadle’s collection of plants, the instruments and watches, had set out on their voyage towards the sea. But there was much reason for congratulation as well as lamentation. No actual necessaries of life had gone; we had still the pemmican and flour. The journals, too, without which the present valuable history could never have been published, were saved with Bucephalus.

Mr. O’B. lost his letters of introduction, his tin kettle, and a pair of spectacles; but his Paley, carefully carried in his breast-pocket, still remained to him. The loss of the spectacles, however, obliged him to pursue his studies under great disadvantages, for he was now reduced to reading with one eye only, for the only pair he had left boasted of but a single glass. As we sat over the camp fire at night, talking about our losses, drinking the last of our tea, and smoking some of the last pipes we were destined to enjoy for many weeks, Mr. O’B. improved the occasion with a certain characteristic philosophy. He directed our attention to the consideration of how much worse the misfortune would have been if he, or one of us, had been riding the animal which was lost. Then the loss of his kettle was, after all, of little consequence, for the tea to use in it was gone too. “No,” said he, “what grieves me is the loss of your tobacco; it’s a very serious thing to me, as well as you; for, do you know, my own was just finished, and I was on the very point of asking you to lend me some till we get through.” Milton being the only man who had any tobacco left, some four small plugs, smilingly took the hint, and shared it with the rest of the party.

On the following day we moved on towards The Cache with the Iroquois and Shushwaps, whilst The Assiniboine and his son searched the river closely for traces of the lost horse or baggage. As we were following along the track with the train of horses, in single file, Cheadle, who was driving some of the rearmost pack-horses, heard loud cries behind—“Doctor, Doctor! Stop, stop!” and was presently overtaken by Mr. O’B., who came up out of breath, gasping out, “Doctor, Doctor! You had better go back directly, something’s happened; don’t you hear some one shouting for assistance? I expect it is Mrs. Assiniboine with one of the horses fast in a bog.” Anathematising Mr. O’B. for not having himself gone back to help her, and receiving in reply a tribute to the greater value of his own aid, Cheadle ran hastily back a few hundred yards, and there came upon the woman, endeavouring perseveringly, but vainly, to extricate a horse, which was almost buried in a morass, by first beating him vigorously, and then hauling at his tail. By cutting off the packs, and one hauling at the head and the other the tail, the horse was at last got out, and then Mrs. Assiniboine relieved her feelings by a torrent of violent language in the Cree tongue, eminently abusive of Mr. O’B., who she declared was close behind her when the accident happened, but instead of coming to her, took to his heels and bolted, afraid lest he should be left behind with only a female protector! She was very indignant, and declared she would never lift a finger to help him in anything for the future; and from that time neither the man, his wife, or son could ever be induced to oblige “Le Vieux” in the smallest matter, and were quite unable to understand the considerations of humanity which prevented us once from abandoning Mr. O’B. to his fate—far the wisest course, they assured us, to take with so timid and useless a member of the party.