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DOWN THE MACKENZIE
AND UP THE YUKON
IN 1906

Copyright Ernest Brown

S.S. WRIGLEY AT THE JUNCTION OF THE MACKENZIE AND LIARD RIVERS

DOWN THE MACKENZIE
AND UP THE YUKON
IN 1906

BY ELIHU STEWART
Formerly Superintendent of Forestry
for Canada

WITH A MAP AND THIRTY ILLUSTRATIONS
FROM PHOTOGRAPHS

LONDON : JOHN LANE : THE BODLEY HEAD
NEW YORK : JOHN LANE COMPANY
TORONTO : BELL AND COCKBURN : MCMXIII

SECOND EDITION

THE BALLANTYNE PRESS TAVISTOCK STREET COVENT GARDEN LONDON

TO
THE RIGHT HONORABLE EARL GREY

Former Governor-General of Canada who during his Term of Office found time to acquaint himself with much of our Northern Wilderness these pages are respectfully Dedicated

ERRATUM

The Photograph entitled “A Moose and Indian Tepee,” reproduced to face page 218 and on the wrapper, is the copyright of Ernest Brown of Edmonton

PREFACE

The following narrative is based on a report which I made to the Government of Canada, dated November 16, in the year 1906, shortly after my return to Ottawa from the far North.

In writing this report I had to resist the temptation to give many details which were present in my mind at the time but which would be scarcely warranted in an official document. In the following pages I have allowed myself more latitude and have also included several illustrations, the greater number of them being photographs taken by myself. Many of these were snapshots taken from the deck of one or other of the steamers on which I was a passenger, and for that reason are not as good as when time exposures were obtained.

I cannot allow this little narrative to pass out of my hands without expressing heartfelt thanks for the unfailing kindness and hospitality, as well as assistance, that I received from the officials of the Hudson Bay Company, as well as from the agents of the independent trading Companies, from the Missionaries, and also the natives of the country.

PUBLISHER’S NOTE

Mr. Elihu Stewart’s opening words are strangely significant. “Perhaps no portion of America has received greater attention from the explorer during the last three centuries than the sub-arctic regions of Canada, and yet they remain practically unknown to the present day.” The author relates his experiences in traversing what was practically virgin soil. That he should have carried out his immense programme without fear or accident is no mean feat, and this narrative should be found intensely interesting by all who recognise the great commercial and historical future in store for the vast Dominion, as well as those to whom the adventurous side of life especially appeals.

Mr. Stewart is well competent to do more than furnish a superficial travel book. As Managing Director of “Canada Timber and Lands, Limited,” he is actively concerned in the possibilities of the timber trade in Canada. There is no doubt that with the completion of the Panama Canal in sight and with the rapid settlement of the prairies and the increased railway facilities bound to eventuate, the superior timber of British Columbia can be exploited as never before. No other part of Canada produces timber in such abundance. Mr. Stewart was formerly Superintendent of Forestry for Canada, and much of the knowledge he thus acquired helps to form the present volume. Mr. Stewart gives many charming pen-pictures to relieve the more material side of “Down the Mackenzie and Up the Yukon,” and he shows a fine feeling of atmosphere for lands “where it is always afternoon,” where the late sun lingers in the quiet west; where the northern twilight embraces reluctant day, amid the profound silence of the gradual shadows. Only the cry of a loon or the hooting of an owl heard somewhere in the forest pierces the mournful calm.

Mr. Stewart wisely makes frequent reference to the soil conditions he has observed on his line of travel, and his impressions will be found most valuable. He insists, too, that before any accurate report can be given on the subject it will be most desirable—and indeed necessary—for the Government to have an exploration survey made by men competent to give an authoritative opinion. Canada is losing year after year from lack of information concerning its unoccupied areas. The difficulties of handling immense tracts of land are obvious, but not more so than the lack of enterprise which stays the country and delays its cultivation. In the present state of things the stray settler has little or no chance. “What would be thought,” asks Mr. Stewart, “of the settler who built his house and commenced to clear and till his land on the front of his lot without ever taking the trouble to examine the rest of his possessions? The chances are he would afterwards find that much of his labour had been misdirected. In many parts of the country land has been surveyed, and opened up for settlement, that was unfit for agriculture and which should have been left for the growth of timber for which it was well suited. Frequently this land looked attractive to the inexperienced, and in many cases the settler spent years of hard labour only to find at last that beneath the few inches of humus there was nothing but barren sand.”

In a country like Canada with its vast areas of wonderfully fertile land, it is unnecessary that any one should waste his labour on any part that is unproductive.

It is well that Mr. Stewart should express himself forcibly, without circumlocution, and his grave warning may perhaps act as a deterrent to the unwary and inexperienced, while bringing home to the Government the necessity not only of bringing agricultural immigrants into the country, but of directing them to fields where there is a known and excellent chance of labour and concentrated industry meeting with adequate reward.

Mr. Stewart pleads very earnestly for the establishment of a hospital somewhere in that vast region of the Mackenzie watershed. “Between Edmonton,” says Mr. Stewart, “and the Arctic Sea we pass over sixteen degrees of latitude, while the distance by the travelled route is over two thousand miles. Again, from the Rocky Mountains on the West to the Hudson Bay on the East the distance is almost equally as great. At Athabaska Landing and at Peace River in the Southern fringe of this great wilderness a few physicians have established themselves, but beyond these places the only medical aid available is from an occasional visit of the Government physician and what the missionaries are able to furnish. At practically every fort and Indian village on our way we were besieged for medicine by the afflicted.”

Probably most of the illnesses would have been relieved, if not actually cured, by proper surgical treatment. It is curious to note that the Indians of these regions are as susceptible to appendicitis as Europeans. Mr. Stewart goes on to suggest that if such a hospital at Fort Simpson or at some point on Great Slave Lake were established it could be reached by canoes in summer from points all along the Mackenzie, and it would be possible to ameliorate the sufferings of many whose only hope is death. If this little volume may serve even as a faint plea for the assistance of those who dwell at present so far beyond reach of some of civilisation’s essential requirements, Mr. Stewart will have performed a profound service.

CONTENTS

PART I

PART II

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

PART I

CHAPTER I
INTRODUCTION

Historical : Early History of the Sub-Arctic Regions of Canada : Formation of the Hudson Bay Company : Rise of the North-West Company.

“The days were bright, and the morning light was sweet with jewelled song;

We poled and lined up nameless streams, portaged o’er hill and plain;

We guessed and groped, North ever North, with many a twist and turn

We saw ablaze in the deathless days, the splendid sunsets burn.”

Service

Perhaps no portion of America has received greater attention from the explorer during the last three centuries than the Sub-Arctic regions of Canada, and yet they remain practically unknown to the present day.

As early as 1577, Martin Frobisher spent some time on the border of the Arctic. The name Frobisher in English history carries us back to the defeat of the Spanish Armada, in which he performed a distinguished part and for which he was honoured by his Queen.

Later, in 1611, Henry Hudson after sailing up the great river of the State of New York found a tragic death in that Canadian inland sea, which, along with the above river, bears his name.

Samuel Herne went down the Coppermine to the Arctic Ocean and wintered there in 1770 and 1771; and as a result of his travels wrote the first account of the North American bison and Indian methods of hunting.

Later, in 1789, Sir Alexander Mackenzie, one of the boldest and most resourceful explorers of modern times, made a journey in one short summer from Lake Athabaska, then called the Lake of the Hills, down the whole course of the Slave River, across Great Slave Lake and then all the way down the great, but then unknown river, the Mackenzie, 1000 miles to the frozen Ocean, returning the same season to Fort Chippewyan.

In the autumn of 1792 he commenced another voyage from Chippewyan; this time with the Pacific Ocean as his objective point going westward up the Peace River; and succeeded before winter overtook him, in reaching a point 600 miles up that stream near Dunvegan, where he wintered.

The next season he continued the ascent of the Peace to its headwaters; crossed the Rocky Mountains, and, after the greatest difficulties and hardships, reached the Pacific, returning again by the same route to his post at Chippewyan where he arrived on July 24, 1793.

Another name which stands high in the annals of Arctic exploration is that of Sir John Franklin, who accompanied by Dr. Richardson, made the journey down the Mackenzie to the sea and traversed part of the Coast in 1825. Many others, whose names I need not recall, also imbued with a spirit of adventure, have from time to time journeyed along the icebound coast and through that subarctic wilderness, which to-day forms part of the Dominion of Canada. And yet, except along a few water routes, the country is still an almost unknown land—unknown to all except the agents and employees of those pioneer trading Companies, that have for centuries blazed the path through unfrequented regions of vast extent. Any narrative concerning that portion of North America would be incomplete that did not make frequent reference to at least two of these Companies.

The first and oldest of them is the Hudson Bay Company, which under Prince Rupert received a Royal Charter from Charles the Second in 1670. This Company of adventurers obtained great privileges over the country surrounding Hudson Bay and the streams flowing into it. In 1785 a great rival corporation was formed, viz., The North-West Company. This organisation had its head-quarters in Montreal, and as one stands to-day on Beaver Hall Hill in that City, where once stood Beaver Hall—and the head-quarters of the Company—and looks down to the river, it requires no great stretch of the imagination to behold a vision of a century ago, with the hardy canoemen bearing on their backs up to the warehouse the peltries brought from the remotest parts of the far North-West and returning with merchandise to load again their canoes for the dusky natives of the far away Saskatchewan, Peace and Mackenzie.

This latter Company, not only established posts at various points on the great lakes of the St. Lawrence basin, but extended them into territory which the Hudson Bay Company regarded as belonging exclusively to themselves on the Red River and the Saskatchewan. Not only this, but they penetrated regions far beyond those into which the emissaries of the older Company had ventured, even to the Pacific Ocean on the one hand, and the Arctic on the other. It may be stated here that Sir Alexander Mackenzie immortal in the annals of exploration was himself an officer of the North-West Company. The presence of the New Company in waters tributary to the Hudson Bay soon resulted in conflicts sometimes sanguinary, between the employees of the two corporations, and this state of affairs continued till they were amalgamated in the year 1821.

CHAPTER II

Plan of the Journey: Early Stages : At Edmonton : A Peculiarity of Northern Rivers.

The area drained by the Mackenzie River is of vast extent, covering something over 450,000 square miles. Its principal tributaries flow from the west; they consist of the Athabaska, the Peace, the Liard and the Nahanni with many others of smaller size. To illustrate by comparison the size of the Mackenzie basin with that of some other streams, it is only necessary to say that the area of the St. Lawrence basin above the City of Montreal is about 310,000 square miles, while that of the Saskatchewan, including its two branches, is only 159,000 square miles; so that the Mackenzie basin exceeds that of the St. Lawrence above Montreal, including that of all the great lakes by 140,000 square miles, and is nearly three times as great in extent as the basin of the Saskatchewan, including both the north and south branches of that great river.

A journey down that immense valley with my objective a point near the Polar Sea was the last I had set myself to accomplish. I had also hoped, but scarcely dared to expect to find my way back again to civilisation by crossing the Rocky Mountains to streams, whose waters find their way to the Yukon. Thence South up the latter stream to Dawson and Whitehorse, thence over the White Pass Railway to Skagway and from there to Vancouver. However, notwithstanding many misgivings, this programme was literally carried out and that without encountering a single accident worthy of mention. Knowing that my plans could be best accomplished through the assistance of the Hudson Bay Company, I applied to my friend Mr. Chipman, the late Commissioner from whom I had previously received assistance on other trips in the North Country, and was soon in possession of a letter to their agents, which had merely to be presented to assure me all the hospitality that could be given, in a country where hospitality means so much.

On the last day of May, 1906, I found myself at Edmonton busily preparing for the journey. Edmonton, which but a few years ago was only known as the entrepôt of the Hudson Bay Company in the far West, is now, as the Capital of Alberta, putting on the appearance and assuming the airs of a modern City. Not only is it advancing commercially, but socially and intellectually it is not satisfied to remain in the background. With its semi-viceregal social establishment and its Provincial University, it already claims no inferior place to the Capitals of Sister Provinces. Edmonton’s resources are more varied and her population more cosmopolitan than most of them. By her doors flows one of the great rivers of America, with timber and coal along its banks all the way to its source, while stretching away on every side is the rich soil of that wonderfully fertile belt that is bringing riches to tens of thousands of pioneer settlers. To all this it may be added that this new northern City has tributary to it, the vast northern region even down to the Arctic Sea, with little fear of any future rival. In a word, Edmonton is destined to be at once the Moscow and St. Petersburg of Canada.

Amid all the evidences of an active bustling life an incident occurred during the few days I spent there, which cast a dark shadow across the path of some of the older residents. During the early days, before the present invasion of new-comers began, the scattered settlements of half breeds and whites here and there over a large extent of country formed a somewhat close community, among the members of which there grew up a very warm attachment. This was further cemented by frequent intermarriages, and it was truly pleasing to hear the eager inquiries, from these people when we visited their homes beyond the Arctic Circle, concerning their relatives at Edmonton and even Winnipeg.

It so happened that the wife of a Hudson Bay Official, well-known throughout the country, had come down to Edmonton from Fort Simpson on the Mackenzie by the last (and I might say, the only) boat of the previous year, intending to return by the first transport in the following one, (1906)—that on which I was also to travel. She had all preparations made for her return trip and was about ready to start, when a sudden illness intervened and she was called to make a journey to a land even less known than the one we were to penetrate. There was an old time funeral at Edmonton, and many were the expressions of sympathy heard on the street for the husband twelve hundred miles away, who, all unconscious of what had occurred, would be looking for his wife when our boat reached Fort Simpson. We realised throughout the long days of our journey to that point that we were carrying to the widowed husband the saddest of all messages.

On a bright morning on June 2, in a comfortable conveyance and with a good span of horses, we turned our faces to the North, bidding good-bye to the Railway and various other adjuncts of modern civilised life, and in less than three days arrived at Athabaska Landing, in round figures, one hundred miles distant.

Little need be said concerning this first stage in my journey, though the country passed over for some twenty miles would certainly be a surprise to any one familiar only with the new settlement in the wooded districts in the older Provinces. Certainly less than twenty years ago, this district was an unsettled part of a great wilderness. To-day, with its cultivated fields and with just enough woodland left to vary the monotony that characterises the treeless plains, as we looked across the country, really park like in appearance, we could almost fancy that we were passing through some of the rural districts of Old England. Early on the second day, we passed the height of land between the basin of the Saskatchewan and that of the Mackenzie River, though the land is so little elevated that it is imperceptible. Notwithstanding this, the waters of two neighbouring rivulets within almost a stone’s-throw of each other, finally find their outlet into two different oceans. The one by way of the Saskatchewan, Lake Winnipeg and the Nelson River to the Hudson Bay of the Atlantic, and the other via the Athabaska, Slave and Mackenzie Rivers to the Arctic.

Athabaska Landing is on a southerly bend of the Athabaska River. This stream was named the Elk River in Mackenzie’s time. At the “Landing” it is about sixty rods wide and the water is of the consistency and appearance of the Mississippi at St. Louis. Its general direction above this point is easterly, but here it takes a sharp turn north, which direction it maintains throughout its remaining course of 430 miles to Lake Athabaska, the latter called “The Lake of the Hills” by Mackenzie.

At Edmonton nearly every person met with had been talking land and town lots. The hotels were filled with “land lookers,” coming from various parts of Canada with a large percentage of visitors from the United States, most of them speaking the English language, varied in tone in accordance with the districts from which they came. There was the “blue nose” from the Maritime Provinces with a dialect not unlike that heard in parts of England: the French Canadian speaking French English: the man from Ontario, also with his distinctive mark branded on him, though not realising it himself: the Western American from Dakota, Montana, Idaho and Kansas, each also with his peculiar idioms, but all self-assertive and reliant.

At Athabaska Landing all was changed. The conversation here was of none of these things, but rather of last season’s hunt and the state of the river; conveyed largely in the language of the Cree Indian. This is certainly a border town consisting of two or three hundred inhabitants largely half breeds. It is perhaps worthy of remark that no offence is taken in applying the term “half breed” to one who by nationality deserves the name, while he will bitterly resent the epithet “breed.” A few years before I had made a journey from “The Landing” to Peace River, going from the latter place up the Athabaska some eighty miles, thence up a tributary, the Little Slave River into and across Lesser Slave Lake, thence overland eighty miles to the Peace River. I crossed near the entrance of Smokey River, where Sir Alexander Mackenzie had spent the winter to which I have already made reference.

Copyright Ernest Brown

TRACKING ON ATHABASKA RIVER

During this journey I came to admire those half breed river men. It is a peculiarity of most of those northern rivers that although the current is very strong there are few interruptions to their navigation with canoes, York boats or small barges. It is impossible to make much headway however in going up stream by means of paddles or oars, so “tracking” is resorted to. This consists of towing the boat by means of a line, one end of which is attached to the bow of the craft while to the other are usually harnessed four men, who walk or run along the shore, often making three or four miles an hour. On one of the usual river craft, the crew consists, at least, of ten men, four pulling for about half an hour, while the other four are resting in the boat during that time, then changing places. In addition to these there is a bow man and a steersman, the latter being the Captain. From twenty to twenty-five miles a day are frequently made in this manner. The discipline and order are as good as on any ship of His Majesty’s navy. The steersman’s orders are never interfered with, even if an official of the “The Company” is on board. These men will undergo the most fatiguing labour “from early dawn to dewy eve,” tugging away during those long northern summer days over slippery cut banks and fording or swimming tributary streams without murmur or complaint, and moreover without profanity. The half breed seems to take this as his work to do, and well it is that he is so persuaded, for few others would so cheerfully perform such labour. His reward comes on the return trip when the boat is simply left to drift down stream both night and day, and the time of making a journey down is often less than one quarter of that occupied by the up trip.

The land rises in terraces from the shore of the Athabaska to a height of from one to four hundred feet. In some places where the river is straight enough to give a vista of a mile or two, and where the fire has been merciful enough to leave the hill sides clothed with spruce, balsam, aspen and birch, with an occasional lobstick standing up as a sentinel on the water’s edge, the scenery, if not strikingly beautiful, is at least pleasing in effect. I might here mention that the lobstick is always a curiosity to a new visitor. It will meet his view on his arrival at Athabaska Landing, and along the banks of all the rivers of the north, will be a familiar sight. It is a tree, usually a spruce, from which the branches have been trimmed off from a point, commencing, say ten feet from the top and extending down the trunk for eight or ten feet. The tree chosen is generally a tall conspicuous one, standing on a point on the shore, and on it near the ground certain hieroglyphics are inscribed, which record the event for which the lobstick was made.

In passing it may be observed that in my trip from Athabaska Landing to Fort McPherson, a distance of 1854 miles, no part of it was up stream, and consequently, the line was not used.

CHAPTER III

From Athabaska Landing to Great Rapids : The Midnight Sun and its Voyage.

At Athabaska Landing we found the H.B.C Steamer, Midnight Sun loading with supplies, all going to the Northern posts. She also towed six small scows, each carrying from eight to ten tons. These scows are built from spruce lumber cut at a small saw mill here. They each cost about one hundred dollars and are seldom brought back up stream, but are broken up when unloaded and the lumber used for building purposes.

On the afternoon of June 8, we let loose from the shore, and assisted by the swift current, were soon moving down stream at a speed of about twelve miles an hour. The cargo of the Midnight Sun as well as that of the scows, contained almost every article found in a general country store, flour, bacon, tea, sugar, canned goods, guns, powder, shot, cartridges, blankets, kettles, axes, clothing, in fact everything that goes to make life even endurable in those isolated regions. The whole population of the village was on the bank and waved us bon voyage. The steamer was a flat-bottomed craft, 120 ft. long by 20 ft. beam, and propelled by a stern wheel, and drew when loaded about 2 ft. 6 ins. of water.

Once on our way we soon began to look around and make acquaintance with our fellow passengers. Among others were Chief Trader Anderson, the Superintendent of the Mackenzie River District for the H.B.C., Mr. Stefansson, a scientist on his first voyage to the Arctic, and from whom it is probable the public will have an interesting account when he returns again from his study of Esquimaux life; four young men, on their way to Fort McMurray to bore for oil; a Miss Wilgriss, returning to resume her work at the Anglican Mission at Hay River on the West shore of Great Slave Lake; Rev. Mr. Winch, a young missionary, en route to Fort Norman to take charge of the Anglican Mission there; a tall gaunt white man, reminding one of Abe Lincoln in his early days, and about half a dozen half breeds, some of them on their way to different points along the river and others going to their homes in regions beyond, while of the crew, the captain, engineer and cooks were white men, the rest half breeds.

We had left “The Landing” at 1.30 P.M. and at seven in the evening tied up for the night at Calling River about fifty miles from our starting point, having passed the mouth of Lac La Biche River an hour before. A half breed, named Piche Prudens, had made a clearing here, where we found wheat and vegetables growing. He claimed that he raised as good wheat there as can be grown anywhere on the prairie. We found also in abundance the pest of all this north land—the mosquito.

The country all the way is forest, though its great enemy, fire has done its work and left its scars to disfigure the landscape. The timber consists of spruce, aspen and balsam—poplar, birch, tamarac and willow. The best spruce lines the river and its tributary streams. Some of it being large enough for lumber. The soil in many places is sandy though probably a fair percentage will be found capable of producing crops. There is very little showing of rock on the surface. The average width of the river between “The Landing” and Pelican Rapids, which we reached the second day at 4 P.M., is about sixty rods and of sufficient depth so far as to afford fair navigation to such a craft as ours.

We tied up for the second night at the upper end of Pelican Rapids, 120 miles below Athabaska Landing. With these rapids we met the first obstruction to free navigation. It will be seen that this was the beginning of many annoying delays caused by lack of sufficient water in the numerous rapids met with all the way to Fort McMurray.

Copyright Ernest Brown

GRAND RAPIDS ON ATHABASKA RIVER

Within a short distance from our mooring place was observed a gas well, sunk by the Dominion Government, from which issued a flame of fire some fifteen feet in height. A few years ago the Dominion Government sank several wells in the hope of finding oil on reaching the tar sands, which will be referred to later on. In this case, after reaching a depth of 837 ft., 87 ft. being through these tar sands, gas was struck of such strength as to prevent further drilling. The Government also put down a hole at Victoria, Alberta, hoping also to strike oil on reaching the tar sands at a calculated depth of 2100 ft. At 1840 ft. the casing became wedged and the work was stopped. Another attempt was made at Athabaska Landing with a similar result at 1770 ft. and within 30 ft. of the calculated depth of the tar sands.

On Monday, June 11, we made a start down these rapids, but what with the strong current running rapidly over a boulder bottom, the speed of our boat being accelerated by a strong wind blowing down stream we soon feared for her safety and were rather pleased than otherwise when our pilot after an exciting experience of about an hour, ordered another halt, and we found ourselves again tied up to a tree on the bank.

Early the next morning, the wind having abated, we started again, but in less than an hour were again tied up. A stone had been stove through the planking of the bottom. After repairing the damage we made another attempt and reached House River Rapid. We were now beginning to realise the fact that the Athabaska in this part of its course scarcely deserves to be called a navigable stream, except, perhaps when it is swollen by the sudden melting of the snows in the mountains at its source.

For the next four days we waited longingly for the spring flood to overtake us, and finally succeeded on June 16 in reaching a point about four miles above Grand Rapids. Here again we spent four more weary waiting days, while the men were busy transferring cargo from the steamer to scows, taking it down to the head of Grand Rapids, where it was conveyed across an island in the rapids on a tram car pushed by the men. The descent in these rapids is about fifty feet, and the length of them one mile.

On the morning of the 20th the steamer, now considerably lightened, made a last attempt and came down three miles further to the head of the Rapids. This ended our voyage on the Midnight Sun.

LUNCH TIME ON THE ATHABASKA RIVER

CHAPTER IV

A Burial in the Wilderness : From Grand Rapids to Fort McMurray : Tar Sands.

On Wednesday, June 20, about 9.30 P.M., as we were sitting around a smouldering fire on the bank close to where the steamer lay, and watching the day darkening into night, a gun shot was heard at the Rapids, which meant the return from Fort McMurray of some of the river men, and we were soon possessed of the very welcome news that the steamer Grahame, which plied between McMurray and Smith’s Landing on the Slave River, was again in commission for the season, and would be waiting for us at McMurray as soon as we could get there. This news was very welcome, for it was the first tidings we had received regarding this boat. What if she had been burnt or had met some serious accident since she was last heard from the season before? I do not know whether any of the other passengers had feared the possibility of such a report, but now with only ninety miles in barges between us and McMurray, when we would be below the rapids and have smooth sailing, we all felt like rejoicing. In a few minutes, however, it was suddenly noticed that every voice on the steamer was hushed, and a moment later one of the crew came over the gang plank and whispered something to a man on the shore. We soon learned that the angel of death had visited the Midnight Sun and claimed as his victim Herbert Bray, our cook. We had just before listened to uncharitable words from one of the men to the effect that his illness was only feigned; that the night before he had seen him walking the deck when all were supposed to be asleep. While the poor fellow’s condition was too serious to permit us to believe that he was only acting a part, we rather hoped that this story might be true, and it may have been that in his delirious state he had wandered during the night from his room, for he had no nurse to watch over him. He was a young Englishman of good appearance, who had been a few years out, living in the neighbourhood of Edmonton. Like many others in the country he had by camp experience learnt something of the culinary art, and had engaged in this capacity with the Company. Only a few days after leaving “The Landing” he was taken ill. Many were the remedies proposed and a number tried, but all to no effect. It was probably a case of appendicitis, which even in expert hands often proves fatal, but it caused us to realise our situation here in the wilderness where no medical attendance was obtainable.

FUNERAL OF HERBERT BRAY ON THE ATHABASKA RIVER

The following day a rough coffin was made and we buried him on the bank of the river. I carved his name and date of death on a small tree near by and Mr. Stefansson made a lobstick from a spruce growing higher up the bank. As the grave was being closed over him, one could not but think of his relatives in the old country, who probably at that moment were going through their ordinary round of daily duty, while this wanderer, impelled by the spirit of adventure, was destined to make his long sleep in this sylvan solitude.

At eight o’clock in the evening of the 21st, we all very gladly took leave of the Midnight Sun. We had been nearly two weeks on board and had made but 160 miles. From this point to Fort McMurray the river is very rough and it was necessary to make the passage in scows. Two days were spent in getting the supplies over the Rapids, during which time a few of the men were out hunting and succeeded in killing a very large moose, the fresh meat of which was much relished, since it was the first we had tasted since leaving “The Landing.”

Specimens of petrified wood are found along the banks in the neighbourhood of Grand Rapids. Here, too, are seen protruding from the high sandstone banks and lying along the beach, stones which are accretions of the same formation, but apparently of a harder texture but quite separated from the stratified rock. They are of a perfectly spherical shape and vary in size from two to ten feet in diameter, and when viewed from the river, one might fancy they were huge bells that had been shot into the banks by some gigantic mortar.

STONES ON THE ATHABASKA RIVER

During the next eight days spent in reaching Fort McMurray, the weather was almost tropical, registering over 90° Fahrenheit in the shade, and the period of daylight was very long. The sun usually rose long before any of us, and in the evening lingered around the north-western horizon as if loath to sink below it. When finally the twilight set in, the ubiquitous mosquito never failed to sound his musical lay and to feast on his victims. It seems that as if to make up for the short summer in those northern latitudes, these pests are more industrious than farther south. They are certainly found in greater numbers as we go north, and are not less vicious in character. To illustrate their persistency it is only necessary to repeat the remark of a young Englishman of our party as he vigorously attempted to drive them away. He said they seemed “quoite determined to not go awoye.”

While it would be wearisome to relate the frequent delays on this part of the journey or to describe the numerous rapids that impeded our progress, I cannot refrain from mentioning the two cascades. The first appearance of limestone is met with near Boiler Rapid, about fifty-five miles below “Grand Rapids,” and the scenery along the banks becomes more picturesque. Both the Upper and Lower Cascade are formed by the cleavage in the limestone. It is as if some engineer had laid out a curved line entirely across the river, after which his workman had cut with a saw down into the rock, in one case, two feet, and in the other four, and then removed the rock below this point to that depth, causing the Cascades.

Owing to the dip of the rock formation, the limestone, which at “The Landing” is some 1800 feet beneath the surface, makes its first appearance at the surface of the river’s bed some 220 miles below, where we first meet the tar sands. These sands bear a good percentage of bitumen. They extend for about ninety miles along the Athabaska. This bitumen is, the geologists tell us, an inspissated petroleum, derived from the subjacent limestones, and reports state that indications of its presence extend over an area of 1000 square miles of country. It is more than probable that some day this may be one of the greatest oil producing districts in the world, though up to this time I am not aware that it has yet been found in paying quantities, and I would be sorry that any words of mine should tempt the small capitalist to invest in prospective oil shares in that wilderness region till further developments have been made. An analysis of these sands made by the Geological Department at Ottawa gives the following result:

and a cubic foot of this bituminous sand rock would give 41·59 pounds of bitumen. In the report accompanying the above analysis it is estimated that the area covered by this tar sand is, as I have stated, 1000 square miles in extent, and of sufficient depth to give a bulk of 6·50 cubic miles of bitumen. A further deduction is that the amount of petroleum, which must have issued from the underlying limestone, would produce by weight 4,700,000 tons of bitumen. I should say that in many places near McMurray the tar was oozing out along the banks of the river and emitted a very distinct odour.

It was the first of July, the natal day of the Dominion, that we arrived at Fort McMurray. Upwards of twenty large boats and barges, with boatmen and passengers numbering over 100 in all, made a rather imposing appearance as we rowed and floated down the river on that bright and exceedingly hot morning. Every craft had some kind of a flag flying in honour of the day, which caused us to realise that though we were in a wilderness beyond the borders of civilisation, we were still in our own country and viewing our own possessions.

About noon, on rounding a point where the Clearwater joins the Athabaska, a welcome object came in view, the steamer Grahame, tied to the bank at McMurray.

We soon shook off the dust of travel and entered once more upon a civilised state of existence. We had now been over three weeks in making the journey from Athabaska Landing, a distance of only 252 miles, while before us on the route to Fort McPherson lay 1600 miles. Unless we should make better time henceforth, we would find ourselves just about in time to be frozen in for the long arctic winter on our arrival there. We were, however, assured that our difficulties were now over and that with the exception of one portage, which will be referred to later, we would have hereafter uninterrupted navigation all the way down, and I may as well anticipate here by stating that on July 21, in precisely three weeks’ time, we arrived at McPherson.

Fort McMurray, situated at the junction of the Clearwater with the Athabaska, is not at present a post of very much importance, but it has a history of considerable interest. It was here that the weary voyageur in the early days from far away Montreal, figuratively speaking threw down his pack and gave a sigh of relief as he reached one of the great tributaries of the Mackenzie. Let us follow him on his journey from his leaving his home under Mount Royal. We need not fear that our imagination is misleading us as we see him push his bark canoe out from the shore and ascend the St. Lawrence, to the junction of the Ottawa, thence turning northwards he soon encounters the rapids of St. Annes, whose beauties have been extolled in immortal verse by the Irish poet, Tom Moore, in his “Canadian Boat Song.” Having made a portage here and offered up prayers to his patron saint in the little church hard by, he bids good-bye to his friends, who have accompanied him thus far. With his crew of canoemen as adventurous as himself (singing those songs that may still be heard by his compatriots from the St. Lawrence to the Yukon) they urge their frail craft against the stream. For over 300 miles they ascend the Ottawa with the familiar Laurentides to the right. Then turning to the left, they enter the Mattawa, which they ascend to its source near Lake Nipissing. A portage is made here into the latter lake. Crossing this sheet of water, they follow its outlet, the French River, down many rapids and cascades to the Georgian Bay and Lake Huron; up Lake Huron to Sault Ste Marie; over the rapids here to the largest body of fresh water in the world, Lake Superior; up this lake, over 300 miles to Grand Portage; thence up the Pigeon River, and numerous tributary streams and inland lakes, till the height of land dividing the St. Lawrence basin from that of the Hudson Bay is passed; thence down streams and lakes little known even at the present day, till Rainy Lake is entered and passed; until he finds himself at Fort Frances. Here he meets canoes laden with furs from far away Chippewyan on the Lake of the Hills. They exchange cargoes and each crew starts on his return journey, the one for Montreal with bales of peltries from the shadows of the Rocky Mountains, the other for the interior of the far North, his canoe laden with supplies, passes down that beautiful stream, the Rainy River, to the Lake of the Woods; across that lake, down Winnipeg River to Lake Winnipeg; up that lake to the mouth of the great Saskatchewan, thence up the latter to Cumberland House, and from there through lakes and rivers only known to him and the native Indian, till finally after a journey of 2500 miles he arrives at this far away post, McMurray.

But the name, McMurray, is now beginning to be heard in our Legislative Halls at Edmonton and at Ottawa. Politicians are commencing to search for it on the maps of the new Province of Alberta, and probably within two or three years, the whistle of the railway locomotive will awaken echoes on the surrounding hills. With a railroad completed from Edmonton to Fort McMurray, the easterner will be able to see the midnight sun within one month from the day he leaves Montreal or Toronto.

CHAPTER V

Fort McMurray to Smith’s Landing on the Slave River : The Grahame : Beauty of Northern Twilights : Fort Chippewyan : The Slave River : The Peace River Basin.

We found the Grahame a much larger and more comfortable boat than the Midnight Sun, though constructed on the same lines, both being flat-bottomed craft and propelled by stern wheels.

It was late in the afternoon of another very hot day, July 2, when we resumed our journey, and sitting on the deck, I watched a panorama of rare beauty unrolled to view as we descended the river. The Clearwater mingled its contents slowly and reluctantly with those of the turbid Athabaska. Islands clothed with green spruce receded from view as others appeared in the distance.

It was after seven o’clock in the evening, when we left McMurray and yet we sat for hours taking no note of time, till some one remarked it was getting late, though the sun, away around in the north-west, was still a little above the horizon, and seemed very loathe to sink below it. As in “The Lotos Eaters,” it seemed “a land where it was always afternoon.” There are two features that cannot fail to impress the stranger on his visit to these regions, especially in mid-summer; first, those northern twilights, and second, the profound silence that always seems to fall like a pall on the wilderness as the gathering shadows increase more and more till all nature is embraced in silent slumber.

Frequently we tied up to the shore for the few dark hours we enjoyed at this time and in this latitude, later we had none—and the deathlike tranquillity of those approaching nights was almost bewildering in its intensity. One actually seemed to have approached very near to the heart of nature.

This sensation brought back to mind the words of George Eliot in the scene from Adam Bede, where she pictures the absolute calm which prevailed on that night when Adam was engaged long after midnight in making a coffin for his father, and when resting for a moment, he looked across the starlit fields where “every blade of grass was asleep.”

Here, we beheld the wilderness in its lethean repose. Occasionally the cry of a loon would float over the woods from some inland lake, or the hooting of an owl would be heard somewhere in the forest. These, however, seemed rather to add to, than detract from the loneliness that surrounded us. Those who have seen nature in repose will sympathise with me in my feeble attempt to convey an impression of that which is really beyond description.

After the junction of the Clearwater, the Athabaska becomes a stream varying from a quarter to half a mile in width. Some good spruce timber is seen on the way. Asphalt and coal are found along the banks below McMurray. Seams of soft coal of considerable thickness are found in the neighbourhood of Fort McKay, which is used by the blacksmiths at some of the posts.

During our stay at McMurray the first flood from the upper sources of the river overtook us, and on leaving this post the water had risen about two feet. This accelerated our speed, and from here on we were running races with this mountain water. Sometimes we were with it, and then after several hours’ run we would leave it behind till we made another halt, when it would again overtake us. There was no mistaking it, as the colour of the new water was much more muddy than that of the original, which had in its slower course parted with a good portion of its alluvial matter.

In the course of some twenty-four hours’ run from McMurray the traveller finds evidences that he is approaching the mouth of the river. The stream increases to double or treble the width it is above McMurray. The banks become lower. Willows take the place of the poplar and spruce. Islands on every hand seem almost to block the passage. Then drowned land and great marshes, the home of wild fowl innumerable, stretch away to the horizon and at last the waters of the Lake of the Hills, now Lake Athabaska, are seen glistening to the east, while hills of red granite stretch far away to the north and below these along the shore, the whitewashed buildings of Fort Chippewyan appear.

Copyright Ernest Brown

FORT CHIPPEWYAN ON ATHABASKA LAKE

By reference to my diary, I find that it was July 4 that we reached Chippewyan, and I remember rising before four o’clock, so eager was I to catch the first glimpse of the lake. We had been for nearly a month following down a river through a wilderness, where the range of our vision was limited by the high banks on either side, and it was like entering a larger world and was really restful when we beheld a great expanse of blue water extending off to the east as far as the eye could reach. But here, too, was “loneliness unbroken.” Another of those excessively hot days, too, that had pursued us for some time, was again with us. The lake was as smooth as glass, but the most powerful telescope revealed nothing of life on its surface, save a few wild fowl, perfectly secure, for no fowler was in sight.

Lake Athabaska is about 200 miles in length from Chippewyan on the west to Fond du Lac on the east, while its average width is probably about twenty miles.

The appearance of Chippewyan was quite picturesque as we approached it from the south.

The Hudson Bay Company’s buildings are in the form of a quadrangle and appear very attractive from a distance. Those of the Roman Catholic Mission are quite imposing but lose some of their effect through being painted a very dull colour.

We only remained at Chippewyan about twelve hours and then started for the entrance of Slave River and Great Slave Lake. The distance from the mouth of Athabaska River to the entrance of Slave River is only eight or ten miles.

For the first ten miles after entering the Slave, the channel, or rather the one we took, winds in and out between islands and submerged land, covered with grass. These drowned lands and marshes extend apparently a long distance west, between the Athabaska and Peace River, which latter stream joins the Slave about twenty miles down the latter from the Lake. This is a hunter’s paradise, and when the railway reaches McMurray the wild goose will soon find its present security disturbed by the sportsman from the south.

SPRUCE TIMBER ON THE SLAVE RIVER

At 10 P.M. the steamer tied up for the night. This had been the hottest day yet experienced. The mercury stood at 100 in the shade at Chippewyan, but the appearance of the sky portended rain, and as we retired we heard rumblings of thunder and some lightning was to be seen. A little later, the welcome drops were heard pattering on the decks. All welcomed a relief from weather that would be more suitable to the tropics than to this latitude of 59 degrees north. On waking the following morning, July 5, we found the air refreshingly cool. It had rained nearly all night, and from this on we had no more such heat as we had heretofore experienced. At a distance of some fifteen miles from Chippewyan, the land becomes higher and is covered with timber, considerable quantities of which are seen from the river; the varieties being spruce, poplar, birch, tamarac and willow; some of the first named being of good quality, running in size up to twenty inches at the stump. This timber continues somewhat irregularly throughout the whole course of the Slave from here to Great Slave Lake.

At about twenty miles below Lake Athabaska, the Slave receives the Peace River, and the former at once becomes an immense stream, averaging perhaps a mile in width. The Peace itself is really a great river: rising on the eastern slope of that great Atlas chain of North America, the Rocky Mountains, it flows easterly and northerly for some 800 miles till finally at this junction its waters mingle with those coming from the same watershed via the Athabaska.

Ever since the mountain water overtook us, we had witnessed considerable drift timber, but immediately after passing the junction of the Peace this greatly increased; and cast up by previous floods on the shores, sand bars and islands were thousands upon thousands of spruce trees, sufficiently large for lumbering purposes.

The Peace River deserves more than a passing reference. It is much the largest of the many tributary streams whose waters find an outlet to the Arctic Sea through the Mackenzie. In fact, it and the Slave might be regarded as the Upper Mackenzie with Great Slave Lake as an immense expansion. It is something in the neighbourhood of 800 miles from where the Finlay and the Parsnip, under the shadow of the Rockies, join to form the Peace, and from here to its mouth it flows through a valley containing a large percentage of exceedingly fertile land. There have been different opinions as to the future of this valley as an agricultural district, but it is probable that with the exception of that portion near the source, where the elevation is considerable, the basin of the Peace will not be behind that of the North Saskatchewan in its yield of cereals and vegetables and quite equal to any portion of the great west as a grazing country, though it must be remembered that it is more or less wooded.

In the year 1902, I visited the Upper Peace, as before stated, and on September 16, at a point nearly 500 miles above the mouth, wheat was already cut, oats mostly cut, and I was informed that this was about the usual time of harvesting. I also saw at the Roman Catholic Mission, a few miles above Peace River Crossing, and almost opposite the mouth of Smokey River, potatoes, cabbage, beets, onions, pumpkins, tomatoes, muskmelons, etc., and also tobacco. The latter may not be equal to the famed Havanna leaf, but it possesses sufficient nicotine to gratify the appetite of those dependent on it for their supply.

The river at this point is considerably over a quarter of a mile wide, and the water at this season was clear and blue. The valley, which is here over two miles wide, about one mile on each side of the stream itself, is six or seven hundred feet lower than the table land above.

Copyright Ernest Brown, Edmonton

RAPIDS ON THE SLAVE RIVER AT THE SECOND PORTAGE

On the way in from Lesser Slave Lake, I had been told to have my camera ready as we approached the descent at Peace River Crossing. Even the stolid half breed who accompanied me was almost enthusiastic in his description of the view that awaited us, so that I was quite prepared for what I apprehended would be something like the view of Niagara River from Queenston Heights. It resembled more the Grand Canyon of Arizona. All at once there appeared before us something so gigantic in its dimensions and so bewildering in the beauty of the vista which it revealed, that I feel any words that I can pen would rather conceal than reveal any true conception of this wonderful picture. Looking from the upland in every direction and on both sides of the valley, the table land seemed to the eye as level as the proverbial billiard table, while beneath and extending east and west for distances which I hesitate to estimate, lay this great excavation, for such it really is, and far below, the blue water of the river was seen threading its way along the base, at times dividing itself between islands and sand bars and then reuniting in its hurried flow ever onward and downward in its course. A few miles above “The Smoky” was seen threading its way through a similar valley, while farther and farther away were other tributary streams flowing through other valleys till the vision was only lost by the interception of the horizon. One can form but a feeble conception of the energy that nature has expended in excavating this great canyon, through which now flows a navigable stream with but one obstruction in its course for some 700 miles. Evidently this has been accomplished simply by the water from the mountains seeking ever a lower level. The swift current of the stream was not only sufficient to delve out the enormous quantity of earth embraced in this valley over two miles wide and to the depth I have stated, but also to transport it for hundreds of miles down stream where it was deposited, forming sand bars and islands all the way to Great Slave Lake.

At the source of the Danube River at Donoueschingen stand two statuary figures, the one representing the country and the other, the river. The former is indicating to the latter the route to be taken, and the injunction is “Go this way and open the wilderness.”

Here we have a valley even greater than that through which the Danube flows, and the injunction is being obeyed in the opening up of a region of inestimable value for the benefit of those who will yet seek their homes in this part of our possessions.

We will now resume our narrative by returning to the Slave River, which connects Lake Athabaska with Great Slave Lake. It is about 300 miles in length, but navigation is obstructed by rapids that commence at Smith’s Landing, 100 miles from Athabaska, and extend down stream to Fort Smith, a distance of sixteen miles. For this reason, the steamer Grahame, with the scows that she had in tow from McMurray, proceeded no farther than the former place, and the cargo was freighted overland to Fort Smith on wagons drawn by oxen, which delayed us about a week. Most of the country passed over on this portage is very sandy, which made very heavy drawing. This will be spanned one of these days by an electric tramway, the motive power for which can easily be obtained from the rapids near by.

SMITH’S LANDING ON SLAVE RIVER

The prevailing rock formation between Chippewyan and Smith’s Landing is granite; that about Chippewyan being of a red colour, while as Smith’s Landing is approached it is grey, and the soil covering noted on this section of our journey proved less inviting to the agriculturist than that either above or below it, where there is a good deposit of alluvial soil.

At La Bute, forty miles above Smith’s Landing, we saw a good deposit of tar in the limestone rock on the west side of the river.

While we were staying at Smith’s Landing awaiting the transport of the cargo across the portage to Fort Smith, a tug towing several scows which we had passed farther up the river arrived. They were accompanied by Bishop Grouard and were the property of the Roman Catholic Church over which he presides in this district, and also in that of the Peace River country. I was glad of having an opportunity of meeting him again, especially as he had some years before made the trip which I proposed to take from Fort McPherson to Fort Yukon.

On July 9, we crossed the sixteen mile portage to Fort Smith just below the rapids. We had a comfortable carriage drawn by horses and made the trip in about three hours. Here we boarded the trim-built little steamer, Wrigley, which we found much smaller than the Grahame, but on the whole fairly comfortable. She differed from the Grahame and the Midnight Sun, being built on a different model, the former being like the Mississippi steamers, with flat bottoms, and drawing only about two feet of water, while the Wrigley is similar in construction to the steamers of the lower lakes of Canada, with a screw wheel, and drawing nearly six feet when loaded.

STEAMER “GRAHAME” AT SMITH’S LANDING

CHAPTER VI

More About the Slave River : On Steamer Wrigley : Fine Gardens at Resolution : A Nasty Experience : Bishop Reeves Comes Aboard for a Round Trip : Miss Wilgriss Leaves : Hay River : Fort Prudence : The Little Lake : Fort Simpson : A Pathetic Incident : An Imaginary Cabinet : We Reach Fort Wrigley.

The cargo having all been carted over the portage and loaded on the Wrigley and her consorts, we left Fort Smith at 3.15 P.M., Mountain or Pacific time, on this last stage of our journey to Fort McPherson, in round numbers, 1300 miles distant. The day was cloudy and quite cool. We were at last clear of all obstructions to navigation. Throughout the whole remaining distance there would also be very little darkness, and the steamer was to run both night and day. The country becomes more level than above the rapids. The banks at first thirty or forty feet high become gradually lower with the descent of the river, and the soil reveals a rich alluvial deposit, similar in appearance to that of the Western prairies. We passed Salt River at 5.30 P.M. and Bell Rock a little after, and later Gravel Point, where we saw the last gravel to be met with on these waters.

Thursday, July 12. The boat ran all night and at 8.30 A.M. we were well down the river, being opposite McConnell Island. After leaving Fort Smith the river expands to probably an average width of a mile and a half, in some places much more, with numerous islands on the way. As it widens out the current decreases and the soil held in solution yields to the law of gravity and is deposited, forming numerous islands all the way to the lake. The earth, that once rested securely along the present course of “the Peace” before the waters from the mountains found their way in that direction and commenced that great excavation, is here found in these islands, and the newly formed land that is pushing the southern shore line of Great Slave Lake near the mouth of this river, farther and farther north. How applicable to this situation are the words of Tennyson:

LEAVING FORT SMITH ON THE SLAVE RIVER

“The sound of streams that swift or slow

Draw down Æonian hills, and sow

The dust of continents to be.”

The land falls gradually away till it is submerged. Islands innumerable have been formed while others in embryo exist in the sand bars extending for long distances in the neighbourhood of the channel. It was difficult to follow the outlet and we grounded several times after we were well into the lake. However, by appliances peculiar to such navigation, we finally got into deep water, and an hour’s run brought us to a fine bay on the shore of which we beheld another whitewashed village with a hundred or more Indian lodges in the foreground. This was Fort Resolution, and the lodges were the temporary habitations of the Chippewyan and Slavey Indians, who were assembled here for the payment of “treaty,” as they call it, that is to say, the Federal Government’s grant to Indian tribes. It was late in the afternoon when we entered the lake. We lost two or three hours on the sand bars and another in putting on wood, so that when we went ashore at Resolution, it was near eleven o’clock at night. I remember thinking that we would have to make our journey short so as to get back before dark; but what with a visit to the tent of Indian Commissioner Conroy and Dr. West, and the exchange of information from outside which we possessed, for that of the interior which they could furnish, and with a visit to the Indian camps, I was astonished to find that we had passed from one day into another without having experienced any intervening night. A dull twilight was giving way to a bright dawn as we went aboard our ship after midnight. This was the beginning of constant daylight, that remained with us for several weeks.

I noticed some very well cultivated gardens at Resolution, containing most of the vegetables we would find in the gardens of Eastern Canada—potatoes, turnips, peas, cabbage, beets, etc. The potatoes were particularly good, and so far advanced that by August 1 they would certainly be fit for use. There were no evidences either that the “potato bug” had yet visited this district.

Copyright Ernest Brown

FORT RESOLUTION ON GREAT SLAVE LAKE

We had before us, between here and Hay River, a large sheet of open water of over seventy miles to traverse, and delays are frequently experienced here, especially when a steamer has, as in our case, several heavily-laden scows in tow.

We left Resolution at 2 o’clock on the morning of July 13, but had soon to seek shelter under an island and wait for the sea to subside, which it did sufficiently to allow us to start again about 4 P.M., but for several hours it seemed doubtful if one of the scows which was leaking badly could be kept afloat till we should reach Hay River, and we were glad to find when we arose in the morning that the crew of the leaky craft had been rewarded for their toil. She was among the other boats lying along the bank, and without showing much damage either to the scow itself or to the cargo. The latter was much the more important, as it contained food and other necessities brought such long distances and at such great expense, and besides there were anxious men, women, and children in far outlying posts in this great wilderness, whose very existence depended on supplies reaching them in good condition.

Awakening early in the morning and before the crew or inhabitants of the village had risen, I walked up the bank of the river, and finding a sandy beach was soon enjoying a bath. While engaged in this luxury, I noticed that I had attracted the attention of half a dozen rather large-sized and very hungry-looking husky dogs, that came rushing down the bank barking furiously, evidently thinking me a legitimate object of prey. In the whole course of my journey this is the only instance where I was the subject of an attack of any kind, and I must confess I felt greatly alarmed as I realised my situation, and cannot help thinking that had it not been for some Indians, the owners of the dogs, suddenly appearing in a canoe around a point in the river, paddling quickly to my rescue, the consequences might have been serious. The hungry creatures probably thought I was some animal from the forest who was trying to escape them by swimming the river.

Bishop Reeve, of the Anglican Diocese of the Mackenzie River, came aboard at Hay River for a round trip to McPherson and return, and Miss Wilgriss left us to resume her position at the Mission here. We were all impressed with the zeal of this lady in her work, which is certainly one of self-sacrificing devotion to a great cause.

Copyright Ernest Brown, Edmonton

DOG-RIBBED INDIANS ON GREAT SLAVE LAKE

Hay River is a stream of considerable size which enters Great Slave Lake from the west at a distance of some forty miles south of the entrance to the Mackenzie.

The morning was fine. The wind had subsided, and the great lake, which serves as a filtering basin for the turbid waters entering it from the Slave River, was here as clear as that of the great inland lakes of Eastern Canada—Huron, Erie or Ontario. Wherever a river contains muddy water, you may at once conclude that it has no large lake expansions above it. In nearly every stream pouring its waters into the great clear water lakes of the St. Lawrence basin the water is dark and more or less impure; very different both in quality and appearance from that which it assumes after having had a little time to settle. This is, of course, due to the process of precipitation which the river currents have previously prevented. The Saskatchewan, the Missouri and the Mississippi are streams whose waters are similar in appearance to that of the “Yellow Tiber” at Rome. So, also, are those of the Columbia and the Fraser of the Pacific slope, and in each case you will search in vain for any large lake expansions in their courses.

A few hours’ run brought us to a bay with many islands, which gradually contracted to a width of two or three miles and we now had entered the great river, the Mackenzie, into which all the waters we had traversed flow. No more delays were now anticipated, no lakes to cross, no rapids to encounter, and no darkness to delay us on our course for the rest of our journey, a thousand miles in all, to the delta of the Mackenzie.

Great Slave Lake impresses the visitor by its size, which approximates to that of the great lakes of Eastern Canada. For some time we were entirely out of sight of land. There is a bar at the mouth of the river which our steamer struck once or twice as she also did in two or three other places farther down.

After passing what might be called the entrance, the river widens out into expansions which deserve and receive the distinction of lakes. Islands covered with green timber are numerous, and the appearance is suggestive of the lower St. Lawrence. We had some difficulty in following the channel at the mouth of one of these expansions, named Beaver Lake, where we grounded twice on a soft bottom. This did no damage to the steamer but caused us several hours’ delay.

The blowing of the whistle of the Wrigley early on Sunday morning of July 15 announced that we were approaching Fort Providence, and as the boat rounded an island in the river, exclamations of astonishment at the beauty of the picture that lay before us were heard on every hand. There on the right bank of the river, its waters as clear as those of the St. Lawrence, lay a village, so strikingly similar in appearance to those along that familiar stream that we could almost forget the long distances we had journeyed and fancy ourselves approaching one of the parishes of old Quebec. The church bells were ringing out a call to the Sunday morning service. The convent hard by was decorated with flags betokening some joyful occasion, while the Indian pupils in their pretty costumes accompanied by their teachers, the sisters of the Mission, lined the bank to welcome the founder of the school, Sister Ward, of Montreal, who had accompanied us this far.

This devoted woman first went into the country upwards of forty years ago, where she became instrumental in organising this and several other schools during a residence there of more than thirty years. She was at this time making a visit of inspection to them, intending to return before the season closed, to the home of her novitiate, the Convent of the Grey Nuns of Montreal.

The banks of the river here are about thirty feet high. The land is level and the soil a rich clay loam, and this is the general character of the soil along the whole of this great river. In the Mission garden here were found at this time peas fit for use, potatoes in blossom, tomatoes, rhubarb, beets, cabbages, onions, in fact about the same type of kitchen garden as would be seen a thousand miles farther south. Besides the vegetables, were cultivated flowers and also fruit such as red currants, gooseberries, strawberries, raspberries and saskatoons, and more surprising still, near by, was a small field of wheat in the milk, the grain being fully formed, the seed of which had been sown on May 20. I was anxious to know whether this grain would ripen, and was fortunate enough to learn later from one of the passengers, who, returning by the Wrigley, visited this field again on July 28, that it had been harvested before the latter date, probably about two months after the sowing. This seems almost incredible to those who live in lower latitudes, but when we remember that during this whole period the earth had been subjected to almost constant sunlight and heat, coupled with constant moisture from the frozen ground beneath, the reason for its rapid, hot house growth is obvious.

FORT PROVIDENCE ON THE MACKENZIE RIVER

Leaving Fort Providence at 10.40 A.M. we soon entered “The Little Lake,” one of the numerous expansions of the Upper Mackenzie, and at 10 P.M. reached a point known as “The End of the Line,” so named from being the place where the boatmen coming up the river could dispense with the tracking line. As the river widens above this point, the current decreases so that boats and canoes can be propelled without outside assistance, while below here till the river widens again near its mouth, a distance of over 800 miles, the current is too strong for the general use of oar or paddle, and the line is necessary for the greater part of the distance. With no interruption from rapids or delay from darkness and assisted by the current, we reached Fort Simpson on the following morning at seven o’clock, the run from Providence, 161 miles distant, having been made in about twenty hours.

Fort Simpson is 1078 miles distant by the route we had taken from Athabaska Landing or 1175 miles from Edmonton. The latitude is 61° 52´ N.; in other words it is 900 miles due north of the international boundary. It is prettily situated on the left bank of the Mackenzie just below the mouth of the Liard. Evidently the waters of the latter stream have no filtering basin such as the Mackenzie has in Great Slave Lake, for instead of the clear waters through which we have passed so far on the Mackenzie, we see this great tributary coming from the west carrying down a segregated mixture of water and yellow soil which perceptibly changes the colour of the Mackenzie from here all the way to its mouth. We saw no more the clear sparkling waters of a greenish blue, so similar to that of the ocean, that had been before our eyes for the last 300 miles. The banks of the river at Fort Simpson are about thirty feet high and the stream here must be at least two miles wide.

Though the hour of our arrival was early, the bank was lined with the men, women and children of the village, all apparently delighted to see again the return of the Wrigley. Among others I noticed a well-dressed white man hurrying down from the Hudson Bay Company’s store, evidently looking for some one among the passengers. Though I had never seen him before, I at once surmised that this was Charlie Christie, whose wife was buried at Edmonton a few days before our departure. During the whole of our journey the thought of the message we were carrying to the expectant husband was ever with us, and the nearer we approached his home, the sadder seemed this message. How the information was to be broken to him had been talked over many times, but with his hurried steps up the gang plank and eager inquiry if his wife were aboard, evidently disappointed at not seeing her among the passengers, all plans were forgotten and the answer to his inquiry was in a few words which, though uttered in a sympathetic tone, went like a bullet to the heart of the poor man who had waited through the long months of the former autumn, winter and spring for the return of the mother of his children. Such is one of the tragic phases of life in this wilderness.

I have mentioned that Fort Simpson is about 900 miles in a due course north of the international boundary, and I repeat it in connection with the fact that the great staple of our north-west possessions is grown here, to a sufficient extent to show that we may, in calculating the width of the wheat zone, reckon it at least that width from north to south. I do not of course mean that all the land lying between the forty-ninth parallel and this latitude should be considered arable, but it is something to know that the climatic conditions up to this latitude are not too severe for the production of this cereal.

The soil resembles that at Fort Providence and the vegetable gardens are similar to those seen there. The increased sunlight of the summer months as we proceed north counterbalances the disadvantages of the higher latitude. This, however, does not continue indefinitely. Even at points far south of Simpson the frost never leaves the ground at certain depths and this depth decreases till it approaches so near the surface in the far north as to prevent the ripening of either cereals or vegetables.

Fort Simpson has been regarded for many years as the most noted of the H.B. Company’s posts in the north, and, though it has now, I believe, lost some of its importance, it is still a centre of trade for a wide district of country.

It was here that the supplies were distributed, not only to the outlying posts farther down the river, but also to those up the Liard and to numerous inland stations. From here, too, the “Coureurs Du Bois” or “Trippers” were sent out in winter to the Indian hunting grounds, carrying with them by dog trains, ammunition and blankets and bringing back the furs of the country.

It is the last point visited on the journey northward, containing the vestiges of modern civilised life. The village, which probably contains 300 or 400 inhabitants, can boast of a system of electric lighting, a needless luxury for a considerable part of the year when there is scarcely any darkness, but later when the sun declines so low in the heavens as almost to refuse to dispel the darkness even at noonday, it serves to somewhat lessen the gloom of the long winter night. It is perhaps unnecessary to say that the plant was installed by “The Company.” They have also established a museum here, containing stuffed exhibits of the animals and birds of the country. That of the latter is well arranged, and I presume gives a good representation of the feathered tribe of this north region. Of the former, scarcely as much can be said, though I remember among them a black bear that was very creditably set up. In the “Big House,” in other words, the Agent’s residence, we also found the unusual luxury of a small billiard table, which it must have cost a goodly sum to transport so far.

The principal buildings in this sub-Arctic “metropolis” are, of course, those of “The Company,” and the second those connected with the Anglican Mission. The latter consist of a good dwelling, occupied by the Rector of the parish, and which also serves as a schoolroom, while near by is the chapel, a very pretty edifice and creditable to the enterprise of those who erected it in this far away place.

The buildings of the village are of logs, the better ones being sided up with lumber and whitewashed. Much of this lumber I was informed had been cut with a whip saw, though a small mill was in operation for a time. I saw at Simpson some of the finest porcupine quill work that is made anywhere in the country, the women of one tribe of this region being famed as experts in this work.

We found the timber, since crossing Great Slave Lake, somewhat smaller in size, though lumber cut here and used in the buildings at Simpson is some twelve inches wide, but this is exceptional. One cannot but be struck with the vast quantities of spruce along the route that is a little under size for lumber, but which would make excellent pulp wood. The drift wood coming down the Liard is similar to that from the Peace, and indicates timber of a larger size farther up the stream than is found growing at its mouth.

Since leaving Fort Smith, we had been traversing territory beyond the north limit of the Province of Alberta. The sixtieth degree of latitude forms the north boundary of that Province and it is supposed to pass very near Fort Smith.

To wile away the weary hours, some one conceived the idea of forming a provisional government for this unorganised territory. Mr. Thos. Anderson, the Company’s Superintendent for this district who was with us, was, by popular acclaim, made Lieutenant-Governor. He immediately selected his cabinet from among those on board the Wrigley. The pilot, a very worthy Cree Indian, was chosen as Minister of Marine, while a countryman of his, who was of a somewhat martial appearance, was made Minister of War: the tall lank white man, before referred to as the counterpart of Abraham Lincoln in his rail-splitting days, was called to the high office of Minister of Justice. The latter had his blankets tied up with a long rope and His Honour gave as one reason for his selecting Mr. Leigh (for such was his name) to be that he carried with him the very article which has served to enforce British justice the world over.

BISHOP REEVE, STEFANSSON AND RESIDENT CLERGYMAN AT SIMPSON

After subscribing to a declaration in which allegiance to “The Company” (not the King) was the principal article, a cabinet council was held. Numerous grievances under which this fair portion of Canada had long suffered were discussed. All were of one mind regarding the existence of these disabilities, but there was a wide divergence of opinion as to how they were to be remedied. However, on one subject there was entire unanimity.

Those who travelled in what were known as the North-West Territories before the Provinces of Saskatchewan and Alberta were organised, will remember that intoxicating beverages were prohibited by the laws of the Dominion. This “tyrannical rule” obtains even at the present day in this Mackenzie District, and we soon realised that even if the cabinet had not been personally favourable to the free importation of this essential article, it would have been impossible for them to command the confidence of the people unless they passed an ordinance abolishing this legislation. This was at once done, and received the immediate assent of the Lieutenant-Governor.

This bit of pleasantry was continued for some time, till it began to seem almost real, and in some measure to resemble the initial stages of the uprising many years before of Riel on the banks of the Red River. The Indian is not incapable of a kind of dry humour, but, at the same time, he does not always discern whether you are in earnest or merely jesting, and the result was that the Lieutenant-Governor, in the name of the Company, dismissed all his Ministers and resumed the intelligent autocratic control, which he had long exercised over the country.

A Change of Scenery

After remaining about twenty-four hours at Simpson, we resumed our journey at five o’clock in the morning, and at nine caught the first sight of the Rocky Mountains (Nahanni Range) with their snow-capped peaks, which attain a height of 5000 ft. above sea level. This change of scenery was welcomed after six weeks of travel through a vast wilderness of comparatively level land.

The weather had continued quite hot, with only an exception of a day or two, from our start, but whether from the effect of the mountains or not, we experienced a very decided change in the temperature immediately we reached their vicinity, and from this on we suffered no more from the excessive heat, which had been as unpleasant as it was unexpected. We had counted on escaping the usual July heat, but for the greater part it had really been more oppressive and certainly more constant, extending right through the long twenty-four-hour day, than I had ever before experienced.

It strikes the observer as extraordinary that the Mackenzie in its way to the sea from Great Slave Lake should bear off to the west, so far as to necessitate its cutting its way between two ranges of the Rocky Mountains, where a much shorter course and apparently one through a more level country lay open to the east into Coronation Gulf.

I do not know the opinion of geologists, but it seems probable that the original outlet of Great Slave Lake has been changed from this course to the longer one now followed, in the same way as the Niagara has become the outlet of the waters of Lake Huron instead of the Northern River of past ages, which flowed directly across country from the Georgian Bay to Lake Ontario.

At the distance of 136 miles below Simpson, we reach Fort Wrigley. This is a new post; the old one of the same name twenty-five miles above having been abandoned owing to its unhealthy locality. The country about Fort Wrigley is fairly well wooded. I noticed a spruce log, cut in the vicinity which measured twenty inches in diameter.

The Nahanni river, which is a considerable stream, flows from the west and joins the Mackenzie about halfway between Simpson and Wrigley. Just north of it rises Mount Camsell, a snow-clad peak 5000 ft. high.

Below Wrigley the river narrows to from a half to three quarters of a mile in width. This continues for some distance and then widens out as we proceed down the stream. Two noted mountain peaks, Mount Bompas and Mount Wrigley, are seen between Wrigley and Norman. About twenty miles above Fort Norman and on the left side of the river the clay banks assume a very red appearance, and the people use the earth as paint. This condition of the earth has been produced by fire in the coal seams. For several miles along the route the fire is now apparently extinct, but as we reached a point eight miles above Fort Norman, for upwards of two miles along the right bank of the river smoke was distinctly observed from fires still burning far down in the seams of coal. It is worthy of note that Sir Alexander Mackenzie makes mention of these fires in his narrative, as existing in 1789 when he explored and gave his name to the river.

About sixty miles below Wrigley we passed the mouth of Salt river which flows from the east. It is so named from deposits of salt that exist some miles above the mouth. Rock salt is said to exist on the Great Bear river above Norman, but the salt in use in the country is from another Salt River sixteen miles below Fort Smith.

At 7 P.M., July 18, we reached Fort Norman at the mouth of the Great Bear River which is the outlet of Great Bear Lake. Fort Norman is distant from Fort Wrigley 184 miles and 1398 miles from Athabaska Landing. Its situation is very picturesque. The mountain peaks stand up in bold relief out of a vast level plain. Bear Mountain on the north side of Great Bear River and east of the Mackenzie is the most conspicuous.

While the steamer lay at Fort Norman, I started down the shore hoping to reach Great Bear River, but I soon found it dangerous to attempt to walk along the water’s edge owing to the banks being in some places too precipitous. I then tried the land farther up from the shore but was unable to find a trail and soon got into a wet swamp and had, very much to my regret, to give up the attempt. The width of the river, I understand to be some 150 or 200 yards and the water clear. This might be expected as it is the outlet of a lake with an area nearly if not quite that of Great Slave Lake.

At Fort Norman a fellow passenger in the person of Rev. H. C. Winch, left us to assume his duties here as a Missionary of the Anglican Church. He had been my room mate on the Wrigley, all the way from Fort Smith.

In company with several of the passengers I went up to the little house which was to be his home and remained till about eleven o’clock at night, and as we bade him good-bye in the twilight the loneliness of the life that was before him impressed itself on my mind.

Fancy the weird situation here in this wilderness with none but the native Indians and a few half breeds for companions. This during the few summer months when the days were long and when the birds and the wild geese had not left for the South might not be altogether unpleasant, but when the days would grow short, when the canoeing on the river was over and the long nights of winter approached, it certainly would require a good deal of fortitude to bear the part that he was to endure.

CHAPTER VII

Leaving Fort Norman : A Sad Case : In Arctic Regions : Arrival at Fort McPherson.

We left Fort Norman about midnight; had a good run, and on rising the next morning the 19th, were more than half way to Fort Good Hope. At 2 P.M. and at a distance of about six miles above Fort Good Hope we noticed that all our fellow-passengers who knew the river were on deck. This meant something, and as we looked forward and on each side it seemed as if we were in a cul-de-sac. We knew the river must find a passage somewhere but so far as one could see it seemed impossible that there could be an opening anywhere of sufficient size to permit the escape of the waters of this mighty stream. As we were watching and wondering where the outlet could be the steamer suddenly turned sharply to starboard and before us lay a narrow strip of shining water apparently only a few hundred feet in width. Down this we glided at great speed between cliffs of limestone on either side of great heights. We had reached the upper ramparts of the Mackenzie. These walls of perpendicular sandstone resemble huge fortifications, like another Gibraltar but one which no enemy is likely to approach.

For about four miles we were hurried down this great gorge at almost railway speed, so it was not long till the waters again expanded to a width of a mile or more and revealed on the right bank another picturesque whitewashed village, Fort Good Hope. Its situation on a level plateau is charming. The banks are about thirty feet high and the soil is similar to that all along the river, being a rich deposit very much resembling that of our great prairies. I saw potatoes in blossom, cabbage, onions and other vegetables in the gardens here, but this was the last we saw going North. As we proceeded farther the frost in the soil reached too near the surface to permit their maturing. Spruce timber of sufficient size for sawing into lumber is obtained on an island in the river.

Copyright Ernest Brown

THE RAMPARTS, MACKENZIE RIVER

A Sad Case

Some time in April before leaving home I received a letter from an old friend named Slean. It had been written on Christmas Day from Arctic Red River Post, some 300 miles beyond Fort Good Hope. The writer, who had gone north the previous summer from Edmonton was engaged with an independent fur trading company, and being a young man of good education was desirous of having some diversion from the everlasting talk of “Furs and Supplies,” to beguile his lonely life and requested me to endeavour to get the Government to establish a Meteorological Office there, and to say that if they would send him a few instruments and the necessary forms he would be glad to report as frequently as possible, adding a most unusual proposition for an applicant for a government position that he would not expect any salary. This request I forwarded on to my friend Mr. Stupart, Director of the Meteorological Observatory, and on my way down I had the satisfaction of seeing these requisites en route.

I did not reply to the letter inasmuch as I was going by the first transport and would reach his post in person at the same time as a letter would, and I looked forward with a good deal of pleasure to surprising him in his distant home.

Just as we were entering Great Slave Lake, a week before reaching Good Hope, we passed the scows owned by Slean’s Company, also going North as far as Fort Good Hope, which point we would reach some time before they would. I was informed by the man in charge that Slean would probably come up to Good Hope to get the scow containing his supplies which they pointed out to me as “No. 11,” and that he would likely be there on our arrival.

Our steamer had been expected at Fort Good Hope for several days and her arrival was anxiously looked for, so that when she did appear at a convenient hour all the village was on the bank to greet us. I looked anxiously among the dusky faces to see the fair complexion of my friend but he was not present, so I inquired for the buildings of his Company. A few whitewashed houses were pointed out a little down the river to which I at once repaired, and on inquiry from a white man whom I met was informed that my friend was in one of the houses, but that he was very ill. On entering I was told that he had reached Good Hope two weeks previously from his own post after a ten days’ journey up stream, but in such a weak condition that he had to be helped up the bank from his canoe. Since that time he had continued to get worse and that there was no hope of his recovery. I was informed that he was sleeping in an adjoining room. A few moments later he awoke and I entered the room. It had little the appearance of a sick room except that of the occupant. We are so accustomed to associate with the sick chamber clean linen, comfortable bedding, with all the little delicacies of nourishment and soothing cordials, that the contrast in this case was disheartening. Not that his two white friends were not less attentive than a trained nurse would have been. On the contrary they were doing all that mortals could under the circumstances. One of these men was a Mr. Darrell, who had accompanied Hanbury, on his trip around the shore of the Arctic Sea a year or two before, and whose excellent qualities are mentioned in Hanbury’s narrative of that expedition, and I know he refused a good offer for the season rather than leave the sick man. The other young man, Slater, who was also with him I have no reason to think was less attentive, but it was impossible to obtain, especially before the arrival of the supplies which our boat brought, food that would tempt the palate of a white man even in good health. He recognised me at once and commenced his conversation by informing me in broken accents that he had taken a little cold on his way up the river but that he was all right and would get up the next morning, take a good cold bath and be around again; but I saw at once that he was in a delirious condition and that in all human probability his wanderings would soon be over. I spent an hour with him which I repeated before our steamer left at midnight. His death came even sooner than I expected, for I afterwards learned that he passed away the next day, and when our steamer called on her return trip shortly after, the passengers visited a lonely grave in the Catholic Cemetery in which lay the remains of William John Slean. This was another reminder that the bright Arctic summer days sometimes have their dark shadows.

It was a little after midnight of July 20, when we left Good Hope and on rising next morning I found we had passed the Arctic Circle. The river is now widening, the banks are getting lower and the timber is growing smaller, all these indicate that we are fast drifting down towards the Arctic Sea. Some time in the evening we stopped at Arctic Red River at the entrance of a stream of the same name. It certainly was the least desirable place for any civilised man to choose for a home, that I had yet seen in all this Northland. A few houses, the church and the graveyard were all crowded on the side of a hill rising abruptly from the river. Perpetual frost was found only a foot beneath the surface of the soil, and we no longer beheld the emblems of civilised life, the vegetable and flower gardens, that go so far to make many of those lonely posts seem somewhat cheerful.

I wandered up to the log shack which poor Slean had occupied during the previous winter and which he had left only a few weeks before. A more dreary habitation it would be difficult to imagine. I looked around the room to see if there was any memento that I might carry home to his friends, but the only thing I could see was a little green flag pinned to the wall, a touching tribute of patriotic devotion to the far away island which had given him birth. It seemed like desecration to remove it, so I allowed it to remain where he had placed it.

We only stopped an hour or two at this dreary place and then started for our last and the most northerly post in the country, Fort McPherson. At 1.30 the next morning, July 21, I rose as we were rounding Point Separation, so named from the parting here of Sir John Franklin and Dr. Richardson in 1825, when they separated for their perilous trips around the shores of the frozen ocean, Franklin going west from the mouth of the Mackenzie, and Richardson, coasting easterly towards Coronation Gulf. The sun was just skirting the northern horizon and I endeavoured to get a photo of it which I am sorry proved rather a failure.

Copyright Ernest Brown

THE MIDNIGHT SUN

Point Separation lies at the junction of the Peel River with the Mackenzie, and is in latitude about 67° 50´ N. Below this point lies the delta of the Mackenzie which is many miles in width, with numerous islands between here and the sea about 100 miles distant. At the point where Franklin and Richardson camped two spruce trees were pointed out marked as lobsticks which are said to have been so marked by them in commemoration of the event. Both are still standing, though one is now dead. The Indians have a tradition that a quantity of spirits were cached somewhere in this vicinity, which they say they have never been able to discover. Personally, I have very grave doubts of the accuracy of this report. The Indian is a good hunter, and I know of nothing that would excite him to greater activity than the prospect of such a reward.

After rounding Point Separation we enter the Peel River which at this point is over a mile wide. We soon noticed that our speed was much slower than heretofore and the reason was obvious. For the first time in our long journey of over 1800 miles we were going against the current. Heretofore we have been constantly sailing down the Arctic slope. Shortly after entering the Peel our steamer stopped to take on wood, this reminded me of the frequent habit of railway trains which, after running for hundreds of miles on time stop all at once just outside the station of their destination. We were all anxious to see this far northern village at the end of our long river journey and anxiously waited for a final start. After about two hours’ delay a start was made, and soon after we beheld in the distance on the high bank of the east side of the Peel, the houses of Fort McPherson with the white tents of the Esquimaux on the beach below. These Esquimaux had come over in their whale boats from Herschel Island in the Arctic Sea to meet the Wrigley. Their complexion is almost white with a dash of ruddy colour that indicates health. They are very cheerful and good natured, are not at all diffident like so many of our Indian tribes. On the contrary, they are very inquisitive and disposed to make themselves almost too familiar. They are of fair stature and do not show any of the marks of the struggle for existence that is so observable in their neighbours, the Indians, in this part of the country.

AT MCPHERSON: INDIANS, HALF-BREEDS AND ESQUIMAUX IN FOREGROUND

At Fort McPherson, as at all points visited in the last 1300 miles of our journey, no news from the outside world had been received since the last winter mail in March. For over four months the news passed on from post to post was purely local, hunting parties returning from their winter quarters, whose accounts frequently were of hardships endured, among which the phrase, “short of meat,” were familiar words even in the mouths of natives who knew very little English. Another item would come from the ice bound whalers out on the Arctic Sea.

We were the first to inform them of the eruption of Mount Vesuvius and of the San Francisco earthquake both of which had happened months before. Another message was one of sadness to all throughout the Mackenzie and Yukon Valleys, namely, the death of Bishop Bompas, truly named the Apostle of the North, who was familiarly known to every inhabitant and as universally esteemed.

Fort McPherson is as stated the most northerly of the Hudson Bay Company’s Posts. Its latitude is 67° 25´ and it is truly an Arctic Village. For six weeks in summer the sun never sets and is constantly below the horizon for the same time in winter. The thermometer went as low as 68° below zero (Fahrenheit) the winter before. The inhabitants are in close touch with the Esquimaux of the Arctic Sea and with the whaling ships that annually visit these waters. These whalers are mostly from San Francisco, coming up through Behring Strait in the early summer and returning in the autumn. In the season of 1905 most of them were trapped in the ice that blocked the Straits and were compelled to remain there till the next season. They went into winter quarters at Herschel Island where there is a detachment of the Royal North-West Mounted Police. They were not sufficiently supplied with provisions for this emergency, and they, too, soon became familiar with the common phrase, “short of meat,” and had to rely largely on what could be obtained in the country. They engaged the Indians of the Mainland to supply them with meat from the chase with the result that the shipment of fur from McPherson for that season was very much smaller than usual.

CHAPTER VIII

Ice Conditions of the Summer of 1905.

The report by the whalers of the ice conditions of the summer of 1905 is of interest to Arctic navigators. They say that the ice that drove into Behring’s sea from the north-east and prevented their exit left that part of the ocean almost free of ice, a very unusual thing; and one of the captains is reported to have said that he was strongly tempted to set sail for the pole, as in his experience of twenty or twenty-five years he had never seen what seemed so good an opportunity of winning fame by such a venture. But on consideration he decided to stick to his commission which was to capture whales and not the Pole. That these reports are correct is borne out by the fact that Captain Amundsen, who has since discovered the South Pole, was exploring along the north-east coast, in 1905, finding open water to the west set sail in that direction, and to his surprise soon found himself in the company of these whalers near the mouth of the Mackenzie. He was compelled to go into winter quarters, and laid up with them at Herschel Island till the summer of my visit when he succeeded in getting out through Behring’s Strait, being the first to make the entire north-west passage. During the previous winter he made an overland journey out to the Yukon and returned again to his ship, the Gjoa.

The following season he succeeded along with the whalers in navigating Behring’s Strait into the Pacific and thence proceeded around Cape Horn and back to Denmark.

Strange to say that after so many attempts to make the north-west passage it was accomplished at last quite unexpectedly. Captain Amundsen’s Mission into these Arctic waters was made for the purpose of locating the position of the magnetic pole. He succeeded in this and found it where Ross had located it many years before.

The arrival of the Wrigley was hailed with great rejoicing by the people of the village, but the arrival of the “Permits,” accompanied also by the article permitted rather demoralised the community during my few days’ sojourn there, but I was informed that the limited supply brought in had been exhausted before I left, and that for the next twelve months McPherson would be a model prohibition town.

The Indian thinks not of the morrow and certainly obeys the injunction not to lay up treasures on earth whatever provisions he may make for his future home.

The Wrigley was to remain only a couple of days at this post and then start back on her return trip, and the time had not arrived when I had to decide whether I would return with her or find my way back to civilisation by a different route. I chose the latter, fully realising that in one sense my journey was only now commencing, and as I watched her disappear from sight and walked alone up the bank at midnight the weirdness of the situation seemed all at once to dawn vividly upon me. The sun just a few degrees below the horizon cast its after-glow all over the northern sky. The old familiar polestar barely discernible hung high in the Arctic heavens, while other stars unfamiliar to me lay low along the northern horizon. I was now here alone, and certainly in a strange land. Turning to the south I could not help reflecting on the vastness of the wilderness, made up of mountains and plain, of forest, lake and river that lay between this lonely village and the settlements of this Dominion 2000 miles away, occupying a mere fringe along the southern border of our possessions.

Copyright Ernest Brown

FORT MCPHERSON

CHAPTER IX

From Fort McPherson to Rampart House : Crossing the Peel River : An Attempt at Intimidation : The Summit of the Rocky Mountains : In Pacific Waters : The Porcupine : John Quatlot Departs.

The following day I commenced to make preparations for the next stage in my trip.

I had hoped to be able to proceed first up Rat Creek to near the summit of the Rocky Mountains where I would make a portage of some ten miles over the summit into the waters of the Bell River, a tributary of the Porcupine, the latter a tributary of the Yukon, all flowing to the Pacific, and I had brought along a good Peterborough canoe for the purpose.

There were a few Indians at McPherson who had recently come over from near Rampart House on the Alaskan boundary and who were willing to engage in assisting me on my way, but they said that owing to the low state of the water it would take us three weeks to get to Bell River via Rat Creek with my canoe. They had come over the long portage of eighty miles leaving their birch bark canoes at Bell River, and they advised me to allow them to carry my outfit and supplies over this trail to their landing place, and that as one of their canoes was a large one I could have room in it while making the journey down to Rampart House. This seemed a wise course and I arranged with them for the trip.

On Tuesday, July 24, at 3.30 P.M., we crossed the Peel River to where the trail starts. Here we made up our packs. Altogether our party consisted of four Indians and one squaw. The latter carried only a small pack but took charge of our three dogs, the latter also each carrying a pack of about thirty pounds.

It was 5.30 P.M. when all was arranged and we climbed up the steep bank of the Peel and commenced our overland journey. The weather was sultry and threatened rain which finally overtook us. Our path was for a few miles through a rather stunted forest which to a certain extent protected us, but as we got away from the river the trees became smaller and more scattered till finally at about ten o’clock we found ahead of us a dreary Arctic swamp covered only with a short growth of grass mixed with low shrubbery. This was the tundra so often mentioned by Arctic travellers. The grass grows in hummocks known as tête de femme (woman’s head). The trail is generally covered with some water, and one is often tempted to try to step from one to another of these tufts of grass, but as the somewhat larger head rests on a slender neck you will soon prefer to wade along the narrow path, after perhaps having a few tumbles, which, to any one loaded with a pack, is not a pleasant experience.

Before entering the open at about 10 P.M. and seven miles from our starting-point, as the rain was increasing, we determined to camp for the night. This was accomplished with some difficulty as the wind had great strength as it blew uninterruptedly in from the dreary waste stretching away to the north and west of us. However, with the assistance of Mr. Stefansson, who accompanied me this far we finally succeeded in getting my tent up and made fast in the swampy soil.

I have already referred to Mr. Stefansson, as one who no doubt will be heard more of in the future. It is now over five years since we bade each other good-bye on that dreary night, and ever since he has lived almost constantly along the Arctic coast, collecting information which it is hoped he may return to publish. He is at present somewhere in that barren region busily studying the ethnological characteristics of that strange race which probably at some time in its past history was driven by its enemies beyond the habitable land to seek shelter on these islands and capes which they have now grown to love so dearly that they would not exchange them for any other.

There seems no reason for this except the sentiment that is enshrined in the word “Home.” A sentiment that is world wide and which every race on earth holds dear.

“The shuddering tenant of the frigid zone

Proclaims the happiest land his own,

The naked negro panting on the line

Boasts of his golden sands and palmy wine.”

It rained all night and during the early morning, but cleared up about ten o’clock when we prepared to resume our journey.

I had engaged the Indians to carry my outfit across the portage, thence in their canoes to Rampart House, for a certain sum, and had paid them in advance at Fort McPherson. In addition to the four Indians and squaw whom I have mentioned, a young man had joined the party on starting, and assisted thus far on the journey.

While we were packing up in the morning this individual in a rather defiant manner approached me and in fair English informed me that it would be impossible, without his assistance, for the others to carry all that I was bringing; at the same time asking me what I proposed to pay him for helping them across. I realised that I had to act firmly. I would gladly have engaged him, but I felt that it was, to use a common phrase, “a hold up,” and that if I allowed him to intimidate me at this early stage in the journey there was no telling what he might attempt next. My authority with the others would be weakened and they would look on him rather than myself as leader of the party. I told him that all the loads had been weighed before starting from the post, that his people had been given all they asked for the work, and that if they wanted his assistance it rested with them to pay him. In a somewhat angry tone he said “that was not the way for a white man to talk, and that if I did not pay him he would go ahead light and make the journey in half the time we would.” I then told him that he must provide for himself, as I did not want him in our party. With this he hurriedly gathered up his blankets and a little dried meat he had, and with his gun started ahead, and we saw no more of him. I felt greatly relieved when he left, and after this I heard not the slightest complaint from any one of the party, though they were heavily loaded; so much so that I could not refrain from assisting them myself, and the fact was that from this point across I believe I bore my fair share with the rest, according to my strength, though in real weight I only took a small fraction of what one of the men carried. This particular Indian and his wife, who was with us, were really fine specimens of their race. Both were young, of splendid stature, and really good looking, and though he must have carried over 100 pounds across that eighty miles, it was all done without any show of irritability but with the utmost good nature, while the wife also bore her share without complaint.

We did not get started on this, our second day on the trail, till 11 o’clock, but travelled till 8.30 P.M. and camped on the bank of a small stream flowing southerly and emptying into a larger one flowing easterly into the Peel. The latter is known as La Pierre or “Stony Creek,” and our trail lay in the valley of this stream all the way to the “great divide.” The small stream where we camped was at this time only two rods wide and fifteen inches deep, but evidently is one of considerable size at other seasons of the year.

The weather was hot till late in the afternoon, when it turned cooler. My Indians informed me that on their trip across this portage a few weeks before they had suffered with the intense heat and lost some of their dogs in consequence of it.

This was about the same time that we had experienced the excessive heat on the Athabaska. Perhaps the reader will recall the extreme hot weather that I am informed was general throughout what I may call Southern Canada as well as the United States in the early part of July 1906. It would seem that this hot wave had extended from the Gulf of Mexico to the Arctic Ocean.

During this second day’s journey the trail was generally through what might be called an Arctic swamp, but occasionally we would ascend an eminence, and on each occasion I cast a glance back where I could see Fort McPherson, but each successive time it grew more indistinct, till finally it was lost to view and the last link with civilisation in that direction was broken. It had seemed to me up to this time that something might happen which would prevent my getting across the portage and cause me to return to McPherson by the same route which I had previously taken. But the return would not have been by steamers, but in my canoe, which was still at McPherson. From now on, however, there was fortunately no looking backward.

On July 26 we started at 9 A.M. and travelled till 7 P.M., making about eighteen miles, and crossing another small stream in the afternoon. Our course still lay westerly up the same valley, with Stony Creek far below us to the left. The day was quite cool and the night decidedly so. We were now well up the mountains and some snow was seen in the ravines. This was the most fatiguing day of the trip. Though there was really no mountain climbing in the usual sense of the term, the continual gradual ascent was most wearisome, and right glad was I when the Indians threw off their packs on the bank of another small creek.

We left camp at 8.30 A.M. on Friday the 27th, and at 1 P.M. reached “the summit” of the Rocky Mountains at a height of 2600 feet above sea level in the pass, though the mountains on each side are from two to three thousand feet higher. Shortly after this we crossed a stream which flowed into one further south, similar in size to Stony Creek, but, of course, flowing westerly with its waters coursing on their way into the Pacific Ocean.

Immediately after crossing the height of land we found the travelling much easier, for we were now on the descent and though to the eye this was scarcely discernible, and the swamp was just as wet as before, yet, when we rested for the night I was by no means so tired as on the previous night, though we had travelled several miles farther. The weather was cool and (blessed boon) there were no mosquitoes. We passed over some snow on the hill sides, but without the least difficulty, as it was almost as hard as ice.

On Saturday the 28th we started at 8 A.M. and immediately forded the stream by which we had camped and in the valley of which we had been travelling since crossing the summit; it was of considerable size, but at this season was easily forded. Four miles further on we crossed the same stream again. The mountain scenery here was very beautiful, though the peaks are not so high as further south, though they probably attain an elevation of 5000 feet above sea level. No large glaciers are to be seen in this region, but considerable snow remains the year round on some of the peaks. At noon a high mountain lay directly in front of us to the west with great valleys both north and south of it. Following our trail as it bore off to the north to avoid this mountain, we finally came to the same stream again which we now crossed for the last time, now flowing to the north. It had evidently received a tributary since our last crossing, for its contents were much greater, and though its depth was not over eighteen inches the current was very rapid, and without the assistance of one of the Indians I fear I would have had trouble in making the ford. We camped immediately after crossing.

So far we had experienced no rain after the first night out, but this afternoon showed symptoms of an approaching storm, which I greatly feared, the swamps being bad enough even in dry weather. As we were wading through one of these the squaw asked me if I would travel the next day (Sunday). I did not wish to show them a bad example, while at the same time I disliked halting a whole day when the weather was threatening and our supplies of food were growing short, so I told her they could do as they chose in the matter. She immediately replied that Archdeacon Macdonald always told them it was not wrong to walk on Sunday when they were short of “grub.” I told her Archdeacon Macdonald was a good man. She said “yes,” and I knew then what they would do.

On the following morning old John Quatlot, as faithful a man as I ever met, was up at an unusually early hour and had breakfast ready by about six o’clock. After this was over and before starting, I walked down along the stream a short distance, and, on my way back heard an old familiar hymn, and on approaching found all had joined in the religious service for this particular day. Each of them had his prayer and hymn book, while one who was a lay reader had with him Archdeacon Macdonald’s translation of a portion of the scriptures. After the service was concluded they shouldered their packs and started again on the trail, and soon entered one of the worst swamps we had encountered. After this we made a slight ascent and then commenced the descent of a steep hill partially wooded, at the foot of which flowed the Bell River. We had at last, in less than five days, reached the end of the portage, the length of which was, as has been previously said, about eighty miles. I have only one further word to say about this trail, and it is to warn any one not to attempt the journey without a guide, even in summer, for there is very little travel over it, and the marks made in the swamps one year will be almost obliterated the next. In many places the path is covered with water, but there is no fear of miring anywhere, as perpetual frost is found less than a foot below the surface.

On the bank of the Bell we left the Indian, Charlie Fox, and his wife with their dogs, he having given us his canoe. After resting a day or two he intended to build a raft on which they would float down stream over a hundred and fifty miles to his home, at the junction of the Old Crow River with the Porcupine.

It was a pleasant sight to behold the calm waters of the Bell in front of us and to realise that by our journey of less than five days we had reached the waters flowing into the Pacific Ocean, but this pleasure was soon marred when I saw the canoes in which we were about to embark.

I had been assured that one of the three was a large craft capable of carrying two men with a lot of “dunnage,” I had also expected that this one would be constructed on lines similar to those used in the east, where my man would sit in the stern and steer while I would have the pleasure of a comfortable seat in the bow and be able to assist with my paddle. But I soon realised that this would be impossible, as this canoe was built on the same lines as those I had seen at McPherson and at other points along the Mackenzie. They are very long and narrow with the bow and stern decked over similar to the Esquimaux kayak. In other respects they resemble a single scull without the sliding seat. The Captain, and the propeller of the craft, took his seat near the centre, and I was assigned one immediately behind him, so near him as to make it impossible for me to use a paddle. All I had to do was to sit perfectly still while my man did all the paddling and steering. The latter was done by his making about four strokes on one side and then changing his paddle to the other side. However, before starting, at my instance, they lashed the three canoes together by cross pieces, making a sort of catamaran, and we were soon gliding down stream at the rate of about four miles an hour, without any danger of capsizing, but with some feelings for poor Charlie Fox and his wife, who waved us good-bye until a turn in the river hid them from view. But this feeling of security did not last long. After a couple of hours we went ashore for lunch, and, to my dismay, on starting they insisted on disengaging the canoes and by no manner nor means could I induce them to desist from this determination. Finally we compromised on their agreeing to try how they would go separately, and if not satisfactory to again lash them together. With great reluctance I took my place in the largest canoe, weighed down in the centre to about three inches of the water. In a steady craft this would have been ample, but ours was about the most cranky of its species. On starting I thought it would be utterly impossible for us to continue this, but, once under way, the impetus made it a little steadier, and, as the water this afternoon was perfectly calm, we succeeded in making a landing in the evening without any accident, but with the firm determination on my part that we would revert to our former plan the next morning. In the evening we discussed the matter as best we could, considering their limited knowledge of English and my ignorance of their language. They tried to persuade me that there was less danger separately than when hitched together if the water became rough, as in that case it would splash up between the canoes and swamp them, but I soon learned that the real reason for their refusal was that they could go much faster separately, and they were in a great hurry to get to their homes before the run of the salmon was over.

Game and Fish

Heretofore the principal talk all down the Mackenzie Valley has been of the bear, the moose and the caribou but once the Pacific waters are reached the salmon occupies the same place with the natives that the wheat crop does with the prairie settler. It forms the great staple of the country and stands between the inhabitants and starvation. Sir Alexander Mackenzie tells us of how he intimidated an Indian chief near the Pacific by informing him that Great Britain owned the ocean and that unless he treated him properly he would inform his king, who would stop the salmon from coming up the rivers. His threat had the desired effect.

The day was cloudy with some rain, but the men paddled hard and on till ten o’clock at night, and when we went ashore we were probably between twenty-five and thirty miles from where we started with the canoes.

The next morning, finding it useless to try to persuade them to connect their canoes, and seeing that they were making such fast time with them separated, I docilely took my place again, but I can never forget the few days during which I occupied this position. I was aware that there was perhaps little danger if I sat perfectly still, providing we did not strike a rock or snag in the river, but to sit perfectly still for about sixteen hours out of the twenty-four was most trying. If I made the slightest move my man would look round and though he said nothing there was an expression on his face which conveyed at once a reproof and a warning. If I could have had anything to do it would have been a great relief, but to sit upright without moving was exceedingly wearisome and moreover, after the fatiguing trip across the portage, once I was relieved of exercise, the monotony of the river journey made it almost impossible for me to resist falling asleep. This I dared not do, for the chances would be that once consciousness was gone I would make a move that would upset our frail craft. I have since read an account of a canoe trip made across Great Slave Lake over a hundred years ago, by one of the early traders, in a craft of the same kind, which graphically describes a similar experience, and in which the difficulty of keeping awake is emphasised.

Shortly after starting on the first day the Indians killed three wild geese, which made us an excellent meal, and, strange to say, during the excitement of the shooting, notwithstanding the greater risk, I forgot all sense of danger that was otherwise constantly with me.

We reached the mouth of the Bell and entered the Porcupine about 10 o’clock of the second day. The Bell at our start was perhaps a hundred yards or less in width, which increased as we approached its mouth, while the Porcupine where we entered it must have been three or four times as large. The colour of the water in the Bell, too, is darker than in the larger stream. Both streams, following the character of many of these northern rivers, have strong currents, but very few rapids. So much is this the case that even with our small canoes we had not a single portage to make all the way from our starting point down to Rampart House on the Alaska boundary, a distance of not less than 225 miles. Not only this, but from Rampart House down to the Yukon, a distance equally great, was made in a small row boat without a single interruption.

A fringe of small timber, principally spruce, lines the banks of both streams but does not extend far back.

The day was cool and cloudy with occasional light showers. The Indians, however, cared not for these, but paddled very hard all day, and till 9.30 at night, when we went ashore and camped at the mouth of Driftwood River, having made probably sixty miles. The land along the route so far was clay and gravel, but no matter what its quality the climate forbids successful agriculture. At less than a foot below the surface the ground is constantly frozen, even during the hottest summer months. The Indians killed several wild geese with very little effort. Most of them, notwithstanding the fact that they were full size, were unable to fly, owing to their wings not having yet attained sufficient strength. They merely chased the fowls to the shore and killed them when they attempted to climb the steep banks of the river.

On Tuesday, July 31, we left camp at 7 A.M. and made another long journey about the same distance as the day before, arriving at Old Crow River at 7 P.M., and killing eight or ten geese on the way; another twelve wearisome and uneasy hours. A raw wind with showers made travelling very uncomfortable during the whole day, but the Indians had set their hearts on reaching their home that night and nothing would stop them.

Both the Bell and Porcupine are very crooked, so much so that the distance is probably three times as great by following the windings of the stream as it would be in a straight line, and while the wind assisted us on certain stretches, this was more than counter-balanced by the delay it caused us on others, and I was in almost constant fear that our canoes would be swamped.

The high cut banks of the Porcupine when seen at a distance through a haze or light fog take on the most fantastic shapes, frequently resembling great buildings of all styles of architecture, and it is impossible for me to adequately describe an illusion of this kind that met our view as we approached the Indian encampment at the mouth of the Old Crow River.

It was a cloudy hazy evening with a stiff wind from the north and, as we rounded a point leading up to the encampment, a great city apparently lay a few miles away, with piers and vessels in front and buildings of various kinds extending far back from the shore. There was a church with its spire so real in its appearance as almost to persuade me that my Indians had been over modest in not informing me of their skill in architecture. It was a most bewildering sensation and gave me some anxious thoughts. Could it be that the strain that I had undergone, especially during those last few days, produced by fear and anxiety, was causing such visions to appear, or was it the prelude of a catastrophe that seemed any moment likely to happen as our little canoe was at this very time attempting to ride waves on this stretch of the river which it seemed foolhardy to attempt?

Altogether the situation was to me most perplexing.

This illusion was kept up for fully half an hour, though varying somewhat in appearance. I watched the panorama till finally through the haze one portion of the high bank after another gave up its fancied appearance and resumed its true character, when, instead of the castellated city, which in this vision I had pictured as the home of the Indians, I saw only about forty half-starved creatures out on the bank to welcome us, while behind among the trees were a dozen dilapidated tents; the entire surroundings indicating want and starvation, sickness and a struggle for existence known only to those who are condemned to live in this Arctic land.

An Indian Camp

Before reaching the village one of my men fired off his gun as a signal of our approach. This was quickly answered, and shortly after our three canoes landed and John Tizzard, his son Jacob, and old John Quatlot, my three companions, were welcomed by their friends.

One old squaw, the wife of John Quatlot, instead of exhibiting joy at their return seemed overcome with grief and commenced a fearful tale of woe, which led me to think that some, if not all their family had died during her husband’s absence. I soon perceived that old John paid little attention to what she said. I had not yet become acquainted with the practice of these people on meeting each other, which is first to tell all the troubles they have had since parting.

The first thing done was to make tea. Then all partook of a meal, which under the circumstances was a very scanty one indeed. Then a hymn was sung and a thanksgiving service offered up, which certainly seemed very appropriate. After this there was so much to relate that the short twilight had given place to the dawning of another day before they retired to rest.