The Perils and Adventures of Harry Skipwith by Land and Sea

by William Henry Giles Kingston

Some days passed before we all again met on the banks of the Frazer River. Trevor and his party had met with numerous adventures, the most serious of which was the loss of one of our horses, laden with numerous valuables. Three horses had fallen over a cliff into the river. Two, after great exertions, had regained the bank; but the third was swept down the stream and never seen again. Our provisions were growing short, and though game was occasionally shot, it was not in quantities sufficient to make amends for the amount we exhausted, and we were unwilling to go on short allowance—thereby lessening our strength and power of endurance and impeding our progress. We accordingly determined to go on till we found some place where there was sufficient pasturage for our horses to give them a chance of life, to kill and dry the flesh of some of them to replenish our stock of meat, and, with ample provisions for the voyage, to commence our descent of the Frazer.

The matter was earnestly discussed over our camp fire the evening of our re-assembling. We all know that the navigation of an unknown river on a raft is a most dangerous proceeding. If once a strong current gets hold of a raft, it is almost impossible for those on it to guide it properly. I therefore proposed that, besides a raft, we should form two dug-out canoes—that one should go ahead as pilot, and the other he attached to the raft to carry a rope on shore, so as to stop the raft when necessary. We were fortunate in soon finding an open, well-grassed valley suited for our object, where we might leave the horses which we did not require to kill. Of course, it was very likely that they would be taken possession of by Indians of bears. In every other respect there was no fear about their being able to take cure of themselves during any ordinary winter. Stalker told us a story which shows that people can exist even during the most severe winter with very little shelter, if they have a moderate supply of food. The event occurred many years ago.

An officer of one of the fur trading companies of those days had received directions to establish a trading post on the banks of one of the rivers in that district. Either he or one of his brother officers had some time previously had to punish an Indian for some offence committed against the community. The man was hung; his tribe looked on, acknowledging the justice of his sentence, and took their departure without any expression of anger. The post was established, and as the natives in the neighbourhood were supposed to be friendly, it was only partly fortified. As soon as the house was built, a party of hunters was sent out to a spot four or five days’ march off, known to be well-stocked with beavers. One of them, a half-bred, Pierre Dorie by name, had his Indian wife and two small children with him, one three years old, the other only four mouths. Huts were built; and while the trappers were out, this faithful squaw of Dorie took charge of them. While she was occupied in her household affairs, one evening soon after winter had commenced, expecting the return of her husband and his companions, one of the hunters staggered into her hut mortally wounded. He had barely time to tell her that her husband and the rest were murdered by Indians, and to advise her to fly, when he fell down dead.

With that courage and presence of mind which Indian women possess generally in so remarkable a degree, she prepared to escape with her children. Immediately hurrying out, she caught, with some difficulty, two horses, and, returning with them, packed up all the provisions the hut contained and some blankets and clothes. These she placed on one horse, and, mounting the other with her two infants, set out for the newly-built post, hoping to arrive in time to give notice of what had occurred, and put the officer in charge on his guard. She had accomplished two days of her journey without meeting with enemies, when, on the third, as she was pushing on as fast as the strength of her horses would allow, she espied in the distance a large body of Indians on horseback, galloping towards the fort. Her heart misgave her. She instantly dismounted, just in time to conceal herself and her horses in a copse ere the Indians passed by. Still fearing that they might be in the neighbourhood, she dared not light a fire or go in search of water. Early the next day she again set out, and late in the evening approached the spot where she expected to find the fort. It had disappeared,—a heap of ashes alone marking the place where it had stood. Still hoping to find some of the inmates alive, she concealed her children and the horses in a thick wood, and, arming herself with an axe and knife, crept cautiously towards the spot. Everywhere, traces of blood met her view. Still she hoped that some one might be concealed near. She called over the names of those who had been left in the fort. No one replied. She waited. Again she called. The melancholy howl of the prairie wolf was the only reply. She drew a little nearer. By the light of smouldering timbers, which a puff of wind just then fanned into a flame, she saw a band of those voracious creatures engaged in a banquet on the remains of her friends. A new terror seized her. They might attack her infants, whom she had left sleeping on the ground. Hurrying back, her heart sinking with dread, she was just in time to drive several away who were approaching the spot. The next morning she set out for a range of hills in the neighbourhood, bordering a river which falls into the Columbia. Here she proposed to remain during the winter.

After looking about on all sides, she selected as her abode for the winter a rocky recess in the hills, near which a stream bubbled forth. She had in her possession a large buffalo robe and two deer skins. With these, aided by fir bark and cedar branches, she constructed a hut sufficiently large to afford shelter for herself and children. She soon, however—finding that her provisions would not last her during the winter—killed the two horses, and smoke-dried their flesh. Their skins further improved her tenement. In this cheerless and wretched abode, the poor widow with her infants spent the livelong winter, not even seeing at a distance a human being passing by finding, towards the end of March, that her stock of provisions was growing short, she packed up the remainder, and, with as much covering as she could carry in addition to her youngest child on her back, set out, holding the other by the hand, towards a spot on the Columbia river, by which she knew the Company’s canoes would certainly pass. Fortunately, she met a tribe of friendly Indians, who treated her and her children with the greatest kindness, and after residing with them for some weeks, she saw the looked-for trading canoes arrive, and was ultimately restored to her friends.

We had plenty to occupy us in the construction of our raft and two canoes. The raft was to be just large enough to carry six men and Ready. Each canoe was to be capable of carrying two men, though the ordinary crew was to consist only of one man. Not one of us had ever before made a dug-out, and as the huge trunks of two trees which we had felled for the purpose lay prostrate before us, the undertaking seemed almost hopeless. “Nothing try, nothing have,” cried Trevor, seizing an axe and chopping away at the branches. We next cut the first tree into the proposed length, and smoothed off the upper part for the gunwale. On their flat surface I marked off the shape, as I used to do when cutting out a vessel as a boy.

“Let us give her good floors and all the beam we can, and she will be stiff,” said Trevor.

This we did; and as we proceeded with our work, we were well satisfied with it, and found that we could get on far more expeditiously than at first. While Trevor and I worked away on the canoes, the other men were progressing with the raft, and preparing the other log for our finishing. The first canoe was completed and launched with due ceremony under the name of the Hope. The next was called the Beauty. They both swam pretty well, but the sides being rather thick they were deeper in the water than was desirable. Still, as they were much more manageable than a raft could be, I regretted that we had not time to build more canoes large enough to carry all the party, and our provisions and goods. We made several additional paddles, as also a supply of poles, which were loaded on to the raft. The last thing I thought of was a mast and sail for the raft, as, under many circumstances, it might enable us to guide the raft, especially if the wind was against us, and a rapid near at hand.

One lovely bright morning we cast off from the shore, and commenced our perilous undertaking. Quick-ear had been down the river in his youth, but it was so long ago that he had forgotten the distances. All he could say was, that there were several dangerous rapids; but he could not say where they occurred. Stalker went first, and acted as pilot, and Garoupe had charge of the tender. The raft was tolerably heavily laden, and required careful handling. Each man on the raft had a pole as well as a paddle, to be used as circumstances required. I acted as captain, for I certainly knew as much about the navigation as any one on board, and it was necessary that some one should be in command. I also steered with a long oar fixed on a triangle at one end of the raft, while the rest of the party were arranged with paddles on either side. In the centre we placed the stores, and close to them Ready generally took his post, while the stores and provisions were placed round it. The scenery was grand—much as I have before described it—lofty, rugged mountains, their summits covered with snow, sometimes near, sometimes in the far distance; steep precipices, rugged wild rocks, and forests of trees of every size, with many fallen ones, some just uprooted, others soft from decay; here and there green glades, marshes, and other open spaces; while, by the sides of the rivers, and frequently in mid current, huge water-worn boulders, which it was often no easy matter, in our downward course, to avoid.

For several days the weather was fine, and we went on smoothly enough—camping at night on convenient spots. To prevent accidents, we unloaded our raft, placed the goods in the centre of the camp, and drew up our canoes. On the fourth night of our voyage, Ready, who was our most vigilant watcher, suddenly broke into a loud bark, and started towards a copse close to us. I sprang to my feet; so did Peter, who said that he saw a dark form moving among the trees. Whether it was a bear or a human being he could not tell. Whatever it was, it made its escape before Ready could come up with it, and I called him back lest he should be injured if allowed to be without support. Of course, the whole camp was aroused. Two scouts crept out cautiously, but could discover nothing, and the opinion was, that some small animal had aroused Ready and that Peter’s imagination had conjured up the figure in the wood. I thought it better, however, to keep on watch during the remainder of the night. Ready was far from easy, and several times started up and uttered low growls and short shrill barks.