The Perils and Adventures of Harry Skipwith by Land and Sea

by William Henry Giles Kingston

“But if settlers come they will produce food for themselves,” remarked Trevor.

“So a few of them will,” answered the farmer. “But there will also come butchers, and bakers, and carpenters, and masons, and magistrates, and policemen, and soldiers, and numbers of other people who will produce nothing, and they will gladly buy what we have to sell. Just open up the country, sir. Make it easy for people to reach us from Canada; establish settlements from this to the westward to British Columbia, and not only we, but all who come here will be, ere long, on the fair way to wealth and prosperity.”

“Yes, sir, sure of it, certain of it,” cried Trevor. “It must become known before long, and appreciated. At least I should say so, if we were not so terribly slow to move in England. The next generation will accomplish the work if not this, that’s one comfort.”

“Small comfort to us, sir, in the meantime,” answered the farmer. “We shall be stagnating, growing old and rusty; or may be the Yankees will be beforehand and open up communication between the Atlantic and Pacific, while folks in England are only talking about it.”

“I’ll write a book as soon as I get home, and tell them all about it,” cried Trevor. “I’ll make your case known—the case of the country I should say, I’ll tell old and young—the boys of England if the men won’t listen—so that the boys may take it up when they grow older and able to act.”

The farmer shook his head, and thought that Jack was slightly cracked when he talked thus. For my own part I believe that the people of England will, before long, be made to understand the importance of the subject, though it may be said that neither Jack nor I writing about it for the rising generation will do much good, and therefore I will drop the subject and go ahead with our adventures.

We found Swiftfoot, with the rest of our men, eager to be off, and the two canoes in perfect order. I think that I mentioned that the Red River runs for two or three hundred miles, or more, from the United States territory, through Rupert’s Land, into Lake Winnipeg. For the whole of this distance it is navigable, with the exception of a portion near the mouth, where some fierce rapids exist, over which even canoes cannot pass. We consequently had to embark below these rapids. We slept for the last time in a house for many a day at the Indian settlement, and shoving off from the shore, soon passed through one of the reedy bank mouths of the Red River, into the open lake. The wind was contrary, but as there was not much of it, we paddled boldly on through the lake. It was curious to feel ourselves traversing what looked like an arm of the sea, in fabrics of a nature so frail as was that of our birch-bark canoes. What mere specks we must have appeared on the wide waters. The shore was clothed chiefly with aspens, birch and willow, and here and there bare limestone rocks appeared, the scenery having altogether a very wild and uncultivated look. There are many islands. On one of them we landed to rest and dine, intending to paddle on afterwards till it was time to camp for the night. While some of us were lighting fires, and making other preparations for a meal, Swiftfoot and three other men went out to fish, and soon returned with sufficient sturgeon, shad and bass, to feast the whole party.

Whether at home amidst all the comforts of civilisation, or out in the uncultivated wilds still almost untrodden by man, a good dinner is a pleasant and soothing thing, and little do I envy that person whose heart is dead to gratitude to the great Giver for the gift. Here in the wilderness, His oxen covering a thousand hills, and delicious fowl and fish daily furnishing our meal, we never separated from table without sending up thanks to Him in simple words.

Refreshed in mind and body, away we went at a great rate before the breeze, with our square sail of cotton set. The Indians make their sails of the same material that they do their canoes, of birch-bark. It will not stand a heavy gale, neither will their canoes, so they always keep in harbour, or rather hauled up high and dry on such occasions. Lake Winnipeg is like a wasp’s body, very narrow in one port and broad at the ends. It runs north-west and south-east, and is about two hundred and eighty miles long, and fifty-seven broad, at its widest part. Our course was along the centre of the widest part of the southern end. With a bright moon, not to lose the favourable breeze, we ran on all night, eager to reach the mouth of the Saskatchewan, which it is possible to do from Red River in three days, and which will be done regularly when steamers are placed on the lake. What very unromantic and common-place ideas—steamers and Red Indians, and the far-west and cornfields!—the truth is, that romance is disappearing before the march of civilisation; however, no fear but that we should meet with adventures before long. After passing the narrow part of the lake we were paddling on towards evening in the hopes of gaining an island, where it was proposed that we should camp. The sky had been clear but clouds began to appear in the north-east, increasing quickly in numbers till they covered the sky, and a heavy swell rolled in towards us, such as would not be thought much of by those on board the Great Eastern, but which to us, embarked in frail bark canoes, was somewhat formidable; and then foaming waves arose and tossed us about till we expected every moment that the canoes would be upset. We paddled on with all our might against the fast rising gale to reach the shelter of the island, which we saw in the far distance.