A Trip To Manitoba Part 7

Towards noon we turned westward into Clear Water Bay, and were soon at the landing. How changed from the night when we landed here nearly a year and a half before! Then it was only a forest traversed by a narrow path; now the scene is crowded with a log storehouse and well-used roads, several shanties, piles of glycerine cans, a barge waiting the arrival of the tug, swarms of boats and canoes, and groups of navvies standing round the storehouse, whence we hear the tw.a.n.g of a rudely played, but not unmusical, violin: Indians and squaws, beside their wigwams, complete the picture. Here we met our old friend Cahill, who came on board to say good-bye. He had been away haymaking when I left Lake Deception, and I regretted not seeing him. He had made up his mind to leave the country and return to Ontario. In despair because he had not his two trunks with him, so that he could accompany us, he implored us to wait until he went and fetched them, and when we tried to explain that we should have no means of conveying his trunks he drew himself up and informed us with dignity that he could afford to pay his way like any other honest man.

But at last, understanding that our mode of travelling would preclude any such weighty baggage as trunks, he bade us farewell and a hearty G.o.d-speed, muttering as he walked away that he would not be long after us in "this G.o.d-forsaken counthry, that all the gintlefolks were lavin'."

I have never heard if he carried out his threat, but wherever he may end his days, I am sure his kind Irish heart will be unchanged.

Taking the barge in tow and our Indians--Carriere, who was to act as guide, and a merry Iroquois named Frank Saddler--coming on board, we steamed out of Clear Water Bay, and in the fast-falling rain reached our landing-place, a large rock on a sandy, wooded sh.o.r.e, whence we were to make our first portage into Ptarmigan Bay. The captain let the tug run close up to this rock, and with little difficulty we disembarked on a spot that seemed to lead nowhere. Bidding us a cordial good-bye, good luck, and speedy return all round, the jolly old skipper left us, and we watched the little tug with the barge hugged close alongside to keep it off the sunken rocks, disappear in the rain.

We decided that it was too wet and late to make any further progress that night, so Carriere and Frank went in search of a camping-ground; and soon the merry ring of their axes, the crash of falling timber, and the crackling of fires, which sent ruddy gleams through the trees, raised our drooping spirits and dried our damp clothes, and no merrier party ever cl.u.s.tered round the welcome blaze. We enjoyed our pan of fried pork and cold roast beef, accompanied by tin pannikins of tea, more thoroughly than the most _recherche_ repast served in the most perfectly appointed dining-room. Spreading the waterproof sheets and robes on the ground in the tent, Mr. F---- made the bed over its entire width, then rolled the ends up, leaving us s.p.a.ce to dress. We had a huge fire across the doorway of our tent, and about ten or twelve feet off blazed another fire, behind which rose the tent of the gentlemen.

"Now we're in camp, away with the frivolities of civilized life," cried Mr. F----, as he took off his collar and necktie and tossed them into his wife's lap. "I'm not going to put those on again until I get to Winnipeg, and fas.h.i.+on demands the sacrifice; nor coat either--unless," he prudently added, "I'm caught in the rain;" and he looked up at the still weeping clouds.

No ribbons, no bows, no extra adornments, were to be allowed, and next morning, when I appeared with some, I was voted a rebel by the a.s.sembled travellers, and in mock politeness offered a stump to sit on, and a knife, fork, and spoon all to myself. Rising at seven, we made our toilets on the sh.o.r.e of the small bay where we had landed the night before, and it required some little practice to wash our faces, standing or kneeling on the slippery stones, without getting our skirts wet or letting the water run up our sleeves. After breakfast we packed up, and the men having taken over the canoes, we all followed, each carrying what we could, through a narrow belt of woods; then the path rounded a gra.s.sy swamp to a long, rocky point. Mr. M---- was some distance in front, with the frying-pan in one hand, and a basket containing the knives, forks, etc., in the other, while my load was the lantern, whisky-keg, and a small tin pail of pork. Just as I reached the rock, Mr. M----, who was feeling his way along the top, and warning me to be careful, slipped, turned, and, vainly trying to grasp the rock, went down on all fours with a run and splash into the lake. Away went Frank after him, shouting with a laugh, "I'll save the frying-pan!"

"What's that?" cried Mrs. F----, who was behind me with a load of shawls.

"Only Mr. M---- in the lake," said I; and adding conceitedly, "Wait a minute, Mr. M----, and I'll come and pull you out"--I stepped upon what was apparently firm ground, and sank to my knees in soft, slimy mud, from which I was with difficulty extricated. When the canoe loads were divided, it was voted unanimously that Mr. M---- and I should be put in the same boat, to sink or swim together.

The day cleared, and we reached our next portage after a three-hours'

paddle, from Ptarmigan Bay to a nameless lake, one of the most beautiful I ever saw. The portage is about half a mile long, up a narrow path over a hill, and the men loaded and travelled so well, that in two trips they had carried everything over, while we, though more lightly laden, only accomplished one. Somebody here called attention to the wisdom with which I had chosen my load, as it got lighter at every trip, especially the whisky, which, by the way, was contraband. Of course we gave the lake a name--in fact, it had half a dozen before we left it, one being in honour of the dear little baby, who, through all the discomforts of our trip, enjoyed and bore it best among us. But the name it retained was Cedar Lake, from a lovely pa.s.sage, three or four hundred feet long, between the mainland and an island, each high, rocky bank being covered with large cedars, which almost met overhead.

Pa.s.sing out from among the cedars, Carriere paused a moment; then, steering the canoe in another direction, said--"This is the way, Mr. M----.

I doubted a moment, for I was only over this part of the trail once, nearly four years ago. Four years this Christmas."

"Why, how can you tell which way to take? All the points and islands look alike to me."

"By some landmarks. I paid an Indian a dollar to show me this road, and I never forget. I know the dry wood yonder, and I know the portage by a big stone I cooked my dinner on. There's an old tree fallen in the water by the landing, which will be troublesome," he added. Ten minutes afterwards we reached the spot, and had a great deal of difficulty in getting the said tree out of the way, and ourselves ash.o.r.e.

This portage is longer than the first, and over quite a steep hill, where, in spite of its diminis.h.i.+ng character, I found my load almost more than I could carry, and gladly gave the pork to Frank. It was noon when we reached the mouth of a creek in Shoal Lake. Sitting down comfortably upon a quant.i.ty of mown hay on the sh.o.r.e, we had our lunch, the first man over the portage having made a fire, and rested for an hour. The unfortunate Mr. M----, reaching from a log for water, and stumbling in again, afforded us some entertainment, but this time I did not propose to rescue him.

Shoal Lake is about twelve miles long and five wide, and is at times the roughest lake in the chain. Canoes are often wind-bound for days upon its sh.o.r.es, and we congratulated ourselves on our good fortune in having such a fine day to cross in. It was a long twelve miles' paddle. As we crossed the northern end, Carriere pointed out the winter trail to the "Nor'-west Angle," six miles from its southern sh.o.r.es, which could be followed for over nine miles by the lop-sticks in view. The Indians formerly made these lop-sticks only to commemorate some great event, but now they will make one in return for a bag of flour or a feast. Choosing one of the tallest trees, they cut off all the branches, except the very topmost, and their bare stems make them distinguishable from the rest of the forest a long way off.

There is a Hudson Bay Company's post on one of the islands on Shoal Lake, and we could hear the trained dogs there howling dreadfully. About six o'clock we reached Indian Bay, on the northern sh.o.r.e of Shoal Lake. Its entrance is guarded by an island, and round its western point lie the low meadow lands at the mouth of Falcon River. The Indian village on the sh.o.r.e of the bay comprises but a few scattered log-houses and untidy-looking wigwams of birch bark, most of them empty. The ground about the lodges was planted with potatoes, and upright poles with cross sticks stood near, to dry fish and skins upon. The Indians, with the exception of a few half-grown boys, were all away at the Hudson Bay trading-post to get their treaty-money, which varied in amount according to their rank in the tribe, the chief getting the immense sum of twenty-five dollars a year. A group of squaws turned out to greet the approach of our canoes, which excited far more interest than ourselves. We went up a long path to the chief's house, where an old squaw with five children, aged from sixteen to three years, lived. Another house close by was inhabited by Shashegheesh's youngest wife, a tall, slight, rather good-looking squaw, wearing a merino skirt and loose cotton jacket. Mr. F---- had commissioned Carriere to buy some potatoes of her; but before the bargain was completed, her old rival, a puffy-cheeked, but still handsome woman, came forward, a.s.serting her prior right, a.s.suring us that her potatoes were the best.

On this, the younger squaw, without a word of remonstrance, dropped the half-ap.r.o.nful she had gathered; and the old one, sending for a birch-bark tray, sold the potatoes off her rival's domains, and pocketed the twenty-five cents (1s. 3d.). Carriere tried hard to induce her to throw in one or two miserable-looking carrots for the same money; but, laughing derisively, she declined unless he would pay more. Anxious, however, to sell them, she followed us down to the sh.o.r.e, carrots in hand.

We peeped into the house; it was bare of all furniture, a roll of skins and some matting which they make themselves being the only things we could see. Yet Shashegheesh is one of the richest chiefs in that part of the country, and has two wives, because he can afford to build and keep two houses. Several other houses, well built and with good mud chimneys, were empty, but, Carriere said, only during the summer.

A tattered birch-bark wigwam near the landing was inhabited by a squaw and half a dozen children. A papoose, laced in his birch-bark cradle, his face covered with blood, was roaring l.u.s.tily. The squaw said his face was sore, and he had scratched it. His screams increasing at our appearance, she seized hold of the strap the cradle is carried by, and gave it a violent shake, making a queer guttural remark that silenced him at once.

The inside of this wigwam was more comfortable than Shashegheesh's house.

The floor was strewn with clean cedar boughs, leaving a round s.p.a.ce in the centre, where there were still remains of a fire. The squaw and the girls here, too, were better dressed than the chief's family. One child about ten had a bright pink merino dress, profusely trimmed with narrow black velvet and small white china b.u.t.tons; her hair was braided with coloured ribbons and beads, strings of beads also encircling her wrists, neck, and ankles. She came out and danced for our entertainment, twisting and whirling about, snapping her fingers over her head, and tossing her long braids about. Her friends all regarded her performance with evident admiration.

While we looked on, a canoe, laden with cedar boughs, and paddled by two pretty young squaws, came gliding in along the sh.o.r.e. Frank, who could not understand a word of their language, sat on a log near, and soon peals of merry laughter betrayed a lively flirtation. Close together, the girls sidled up to him; and he, casting insinuating glances at them, poked them in the ribs, when they ran laughing away, hiding behind the low bushes that skirted the sh.o.r.e. Presently they peeped out, to find an expression of utter indifference on Frank's face, as he idly kicked the pebbles at his feet. When they gradually returned to the charge, Frank, with a laughing look at us, said something in his own tongue, to which they listened with finger on lip, looking at each other, as though saying--

"What does it mean? Shall we remain or fly?"

Before they could decide, Frank made a feint to spring after them, at which they turned, and fled like frightened fawns. Not being followed, they ventured to return, coming closer and closer, until Frank, watching his opportunity, really sprang after them, grasped the prettiest by the elbows, and bent her lithe body back until he could look close into the brown eyes. Then, as she struggled violently, with a laugh he let her free. It was time to embark, and kissing his hand to the girls, he leaped into the canoe and pushed off, we following more slowly, taking a last look of the group on sh.o.r.e--the Indian wigwam, the pretty squaws, leaning sadly against each other as they watched Frank's canoe round the point; the stout matron, still flouris.h.i.+ng the emaciated-looking carrots, and shrilly vociferating their perfections to Carriere; and the dancing-girl waving a farewell with a huge cedar bough.

Carriere told us that during the previous winter the village was full, and when he stopped a night there, _en route_ from Winnipeg, some of the Indians took his dog-train over to an opposite point for a fiddler who lived there, and all spent the night in a grand "spree" of dancing and drinking. But in the morning only the shattered remains of his toboggan and dogs were to be found, the half-starved native animals having devoured provisions and robes, and gnawed the toboggan to pieces, so that he had to make the best of his way home on foot--a sadder, if not a wiser, man.

CHAPTER XVI.

Falcon River--An Unlucky Supper--The Fate of our Fried Pork--A Weary Paddle--A Sundial in the Wilderness--A Gipsy Picnic--"Floating away"--The Dried Musk-rats--Falcon Lake--How can we land?--Mr. M---- "in again"--Surprised by Indians--How we dried our Clothes--The Last Night in Camp.

Half an hour after leaving the Indian village we reached Falcon River, a narrow winding stream running in a swamp between hills. About half a mile down we struck our camp for the night, at a spot where a rude wharf or landing of logs had been built by the contractors' haymakers. Inside a rude "corelle," or paddock, where they had kept their cattle, we pitched our tent and made a fire. The night set in so dark and cloudy that, unless within the immediate blaze, it was impossible to see what we were doing. We were hungry, and the added luxury of potatoes made us anxious to have dinner as soon as possible. Carriere brought in wood for the night, Mr. F---- made up our tent, and Mr. M---- superintended the stowage of the canoes, while Frank put our precious potatoes in a tin kettle over the fire, and, in mistaken zeal, the frying-pan of pork at the same time. The latter, of course, was cooked long before the former, so, taking it off the fire, he set it on the ground hard by. Mr. M---- coming up a moment after, and yielding to the universal desire to "poke the fire," stepped into the pan of pork. While we were laughing over his propensity for tumbling into things, Carriere, who, poor fellow, was still suffering terribly from rheumatism, limped up with a log on his shoulder, and also fell foul of the pork. At the same moment a lantern appeared in the distance, carried by Mr. F----, on his return from the canoe. Jumping over the fence, he exclaimed, "By Jove! that blaze is good. I'll get warm before I do anything else," and stepped back splash into the ill-fated pan of pork, making what was left of the contents fly in every direction.

"That's a bad place for it!" said Carriere, coolly picking up the pieces, and putting it on the other side of the fire.

"Are those potatoes boiled yet?" Frank shouted from the darkness, and, being answered in the affirmative, made his appearance with the bag containing our dinner service of tin and other table necessaries. Tea made, drawn, and the potatoes boiled to a turn, Frank prepared to serve up the dinner, but looked in vain for the pork. "I say, Carriere, what have you done with the frying-pan? I left it just here!" he cried, seizing a brand from the fire for a torch. Scarcely had he uttered the words when a stumble and "O Lord!" told us that the pork was really done for this time.

Rain fell heavily all night, but held off in the morning long enough for us to get breakfast and start, which we lost no time in doing as there was a long paddle before us to our next camping-ground. Oh, the windings of that Falcon River! In some parts not more than a canoe's length wide, and in none more than two, it wound in and out, up and down, this way and that. For a hundred feet we were dead against the wind, then a sharp turn sent us spinning along before it, when, standing up, I held the waterproof in my outstretched arms as a sail. Each bend of the sh.o.r.e was so abrupt that the impetus of turning drove the canoe half a length into the long gra.s.s, and it was with some difficulty backed out. We were cut off from our companions' canoe, but could see their heads apparently only a few feet from us, as the crow flies; but so numerous were the turns of the river between us, that they were really half a mile behind.

At noon we stopped at another haymaker's deserted camping-ground, and took shelter from the now pouring rain under a lean-to of poles covered with bark. A low shanty near having a rude crank for holding a kettle over the fire, we had a comfortable lunch. Out in the open, where there were remnants of rough cultivation, was a sundial made of a jagged-edged flat piece of tin, the figures scratched with a knife. Carriere said that it was the best camping-ground on the river, and while a gang of men were there was very comfortable. Had any one from the more civilized world seen us idly lolling about on the logs or ground in our travelling costumes, the Indians leaning against the uprights, the baby as happy as a queen on an outspread buffalo robe, the tin plates and mugs, knives, forks, and kettles, to say nothing of the whisky-keg, and general _debris_ of a finished feast, and at the same time heard the steady, drenching rain descending round us, he might have wondered at the laughter, fun, and chaff in which we all indulged.

But we could not stay there all day, and the rain showing no signs of abating, we set out again. Not far from the camping-ground we pa.s.sed an Indian standing on the bank near two birch-bark canoes, while up on the hill a wretched wigwam sent forth the usual number of squaws, children, and dogs to greet our approach. The Indian had no potatoes, no ducks, no fish, no anything to sell; so, with a "Bon jour, nitchee," we sped on.

About this time I noticed that my hat, a brown straw with green leaves somewhere amongst the tr.i.m.m.i.n.g, was weeping blue tears all down my ulster. Taking the drenched and now almost colourless leaves out, I sent them afloat on the river, mentally resolving that if I ever undertook a journey of the kind again, I would have a casing of waterproof, and leave voluminous skirts and useless adornments at home.

At one of the landing spots was an upright pole, from the top of which hung half a dozen musk-rats, tied together with a red string; and such is the honesty of the Indians, that they might hang there until they rotted off, before any but the rightful owner would touch them.

Carriere said the swamp was full of traps, and pointed out many spots where he knew they were placed to catch the musk-rats, but which to our eyes were undistinguishable from the rest of the swamp.

On, on, down the interminable river. The rain was still falling, and we were all gradually getting numbed and quiet; running into the sh.o.r.e, or spinning before the wind, no longer affording any excitement. We got so far ahead of the other canoe that we could not hear even Mr. K----'s "Whoop it up!" as he called a wild halloo he indulged in whenever he thought our spirits needed raising. Pulling up under the shelter of some bulrushes, for the wind was becoming keener every moment, we waited with chattering teeth until our comrades joined us, when we kept together better for the remainder of the way. During the afternoon we several times crossed the south or first line surveyed for the Canada Pacific, which has been proved by recent inquiries the most inexpensive route. But I could not help pitying the "party" that had to work through such a wretched country.

As we neared the mouth of the river we felt the wind very much, and vague fears of what the weather would be like outside, and what chance there was of landing, began to a.s.sail us. However, there was nothing for it but to persevere. When nearly dusk, the wash of the waves on the sh.o.r.e warned us that we were on the Falcon Lake. Subdued by atmospheric woes, we heard the sound without comment, but it revived the drooping energies of our canoe-men, and, putting on a spurt, we were soon across the bay. Beyond the point great white capped waves tossed and raged before the fury of the wind. If we could only round the point, a good camping-ground awaited us, but it was a question whether the canoes could live through the turn.

However, the alternative of landing in a swamp made it worth the attempt.

Asking me if I was afraid to venture, and being answered, "Not if _you_ are not!" Mr. M---- headed the canoe towards the lake, and in a moment we were abreast of the point, when Carriere said--"Better not try it, sir; it is too dark to cross the lake, and on this sh.o.r.e the canoe would be dashed to pieces before we could unload her."

So we turned, and a few vigorous strokes drove the canoe well up into the long gra.s.s, where we sat a moment waiting for the next scene of the tragi-comedy. It was Mr. M---- "in again"--but purposely this time.

Rolling up their trousers as high as they could, the men jumped into the swamp, and though sinking nearly to their waists, they with a "Heave-ahoy!" pulled the loaded canoe well up to the bank. Then bidding us stay quiet until they got the tents pitched and the fire alight, they left us in the fast-gathering darkness to do that hardest work of all, which generally falls to woman's lot--to wait. As we sat silently there, the baby asleep, the maid telling her woes over the side of the canoe in the most heart-rending manner, we were nearly startled out of our wits by the sudden appearance of a birch-bark canoe propelled by two s.h.a.ggy-haired Indians, which glided into the swamp alongside of us. Listening to the ring of axes and voices on sh.o.r.e, then pointing to us, they asked some question in their own tongue, which we answered by pointing to the land and nodding. With an "Ugh!" they left their canoe and went on sh.o.r.e, where they were immediately pressed into the service to unload and gather hay for our beds. They had a "tom-tom"--an instrument something between a drum and a tambourine, which they play at all their feasts and gambling bouts--a scarlet top knotted c.o.c.k of the woods, a small fish, a little birch bark basket with the lid tightly sewed down, and an old worn-out blanket in their canoe.

It was quite dark by the time we landed, cramped and cold from our long day on the river. I, however, was the best off, as I had the width of the canoe to myself, and was not afraid to move about a little, while Mrs.

F---- had to share her seat with the maid and the baby. We floundered helplessly up the wet path, sinking over our ankles in many places, but a glorious fire on the top of the height greeted us, and a mug of hot whisky and water--taken medicinally, of course--made us quite ready to eat a hearty dinner and dry our wet clothes. The tent was prepared, and, drying under its folds, we divested ourselves of one garment, and after drying it dived under again, to put it on while we dried the next.

Hammering sticks into the ground round the fire, we soon surmounted them with an array of different-sized boots and various-coloured stockings. We held more voluminous articles to the fire ourselves, avoiding the sparks as best we might, and closing our eyes to let the smoke-drawn tears roll slowly down our cheeks, to be opened suddenly by an outcry from the other side of the fire of--

"Look out there, Miss F----; your flannel skirt is burning!"

And as I grasp the precious article, and quench the sparks with my hands, I see through the flames some of his own garments floating into the fire.

The wind blows the sticks down and prostrates an impromptu clothes-line with all its load, while the maid's lugubrious countenance, as she dries petticoat after petticoat and skirt after skirt, set me speculating how much there would be left of her if she took them _all_ off. Our Indian visitors sit hugging their knees and holding their bare feet to the fire, gazing at all the trouble we take over our absurd superfluities of clothing with stolid indifference. Frank is lying on the hay near, threatening them with the dire vengeance he will wreak on their backs if they get up in the night and burn the dry wood be has had such difficulty in collecting, and which is to be kept for cooking breakfast; and of how little value their life will be to them if they so much as lay a finger on the tent he is going to leave standing there ready to occupy on his way back. The wilder his threats become, the more expressionless are their faces; not a gleam of intelligence crosses them when he says he knows well enough they can talk English as well as he can.

"Wasn't he taken in once? But never will Redskin impose on him again."

And he laughs scornfully at the idea.

We sat up late that night, as the rain had ceased, and we had been so dull all day that we felt bound to make up for it now, especially as this was to be our last night in camp. Frank and Carriere vied with each other in relating their narrow escapes from accidents and scarcity of provisions, when Hudson Bay fare of "one pound of flour, half a pound of tea, and one pound of fat pork, or one jack-fish six mile long," would have been appreciated. These stories were varied by anecdotes of people they had travelled with; some trick of speaking or peculiarity of expression or action, cleverly mimicked by the Indians, pointing their story and giving pungency to their wit.