Camp at Little Fork Pass.
Our tent was pitched in a ravine near a small stream. Immediately after lunch, Peyto and I ascended 1000 feet on a mountain north of the valley with the purpose of discovering a pass. From this point we saw Mount Hector due south, and the remarkable mountain named Mount Molar, nearly due east. Three possible outlets from the valley appeared from our high elevation. Peyto set off alone to explore a pass toward the north, in the direction of the Pipestone Pass, while I made an examination of a notch toward the east. Each proved impossible for horses, if not for human beings. The third notch lay in the direction of Mount Hector, and together we set out to examine it. A walk of about two miles across the rolling uplands of this high region brought us to the pass. It was very steep, but an old Indian trail proved that the pass was available for horses. The trail appeared more like those made by the mountain goats than by human beings, for it led up to a very rough and forbidding cliff, where loose stones and long disuse had nearly obliterated the path. We spent some time putting the trail in repair, by rolling down tons of loose stones, and making everything as secure as possible.
The next morning was threatening, and gray, watery clouds hung only a little above the summit of the lofty pass, which was nearly 8000 feet above sea-level. I started about an hour before the outfit, as I desired to observe the horses climbing the trail. I felt considerable anxiety as they approached. All my photographic plates, the result of many excursions and mountain ascents in a region where the camera had never before been used, were placed on one of the horses, for which purpose one of the most sure-footed animals had been selected. In case of a false step and a roll down the mountain side, the results of all this labor would be lost.
THE “BAY.”
The horses, however, all reached the summit in safety. These mountain pack-horses reveal a wonderful agility and sagacity in such difficulties as this place presented. In fact, the several animals in my pack-train had become old friends, for they had been with me all summer. Peyto, as packer, always rode in the saddle, for the dignity of this office never allows a packer to walk, and besides, from their physical elevation on a horse’s back they can better discern the trail. A venerable Indian steed, long-legged and lean, but most useful in fording deep streams, was Peyto’s saddle-horse. The bell-mare followed next, led by a head-rope. The other horses followed in single file, and never allowed the sound of the bell to get out of hearing. There were two horses in the train that were endowed with an unusual amount of equine intelligence and sagacity. The larger of the two was known as the “Bay,” and the other was called “Pinto,” the latter being a name given to all horses having irregular white markings. These animals were well proportioned, with thick necks and broad chests, and, though of Indian stock, they probably had some infusion of Spanish blood in their veins, derived from the conquest of Mexico.
The Pinto was remarkably quick in selecting the best routes among fallen timber, or in avoiding hidden dangers, but the Bay was far more affectionate and fond of human company. In camp, all the horses would frequently leave the pasture and visit the tent, where they would stand near the fire to get the benefit of the smoke when the flies were thick, or nose about in the hope of getting some salt. On the trail, it was always very interesting to watch the Bay and Pinto. They would unravel a pathway through burnt timber in a better manner than their human leaders, and would calculate in every case whether it were better to jump over a log or to walk around it. But one day I was surprised to see the Bay jump over a log which measured 3 feet 10 inches above the ground. With a heavy, rigid pack this is more of a feat than to clear a much greater height with a rider in the saddle. Sometimes when the trail was lost we would put the Pinto ahead to lead us, and on several occasions he found the trail for us.
The summit of the pass revealed to us one of those lonely places among the high mountains where silence appears to reign supreme. We were in an upland vale, where the ground was smooth and rolling, and carpeted with a short growth of grass and herbs. On either side were bare cliffs of limestone, unrelieved by vegetation or perpetual snow. Here no birds or insects broke the silence of the mountain solitude, no avalanche thundered among the mountains, and even the air was calm and made no sound in the scanty herbage. All was silent as the desert, or as the ocean in a perfect calm. The dull tramp of our horses, and the tinkling of the bell, were the only sounds that interrupted the death-like quiet of the place. It is said that such places soon drive the lost traveller to insanity, but in company with others these lonely passes afford a delightful contrast to the life and motion and sound of lower altitudes.
As we advanced and commenced to descend, the north side of Mount Hector began to appear. It was completely covered with a great ice sheet and snow fields. Mount Hector is a little more than 11,000 feet in altitude, and gives a good example of how the exposure to the sun affects the size of glaciers in these mountains. On the south and west sides of Mount Hector there is almost no snow, while the opposite slopes are flooded by a broad glacier many miles in area, and brilliant in a covering of perpetual snow.
At the tree line a trail appeared, and led us in rapid descent to the valley. The scenery on all sides was magnificent. Many waterfalls came dashing down from the melting glaciers of Mount Hector and joined a torrent in the valley bottom. The great cliffs about us, and the lofty mountains, visible here and there through avenues in the giant forest trees, were illumined by a brilliant sun, ever now and again breaking through the clouds. About eleven o’clock we stopped to have a light lunch, as was our custom on all long marches. Peyto loosed the girdle of the horses, slipped off the packs, and turned the animals into a meadow near by. Meanwhile our cook cut firewood and made a large pot of tea, which always proved the most acceptable drink when a long march had made us somewhat weary. These brief rests of about forty minutes in the midst of a day’s march always proved very beneficial to men and horses.
A long straight valley led us southwards for many miles. In every clear pool or stream, trout could be seen darting about and seeking hiding-places, though we had no time to stop and catch them. At about one o’clock we reached the Pipestone Creek and obtained a view of Mount Temple and other familiar peaks about fifteen miles to the south.
We camped near the stream in a meadow, not far from the Little Pipestone Creek. As the march of this day had brought us back to the region covered by the map, we had little apprehension of losing our way in the future.
The next day we followed up the Little Pipestone Creek and enjoyed a fine trail through a dense forest. We camped near the summit of a pass south of Mount Macoun, which I partially ascended after lunch. The rugged peak named Mount Douglas lay due east, and presented some very large and fine glaciers.
Our camp was on a little peninsula jutting out into a lake, with water of a most brilliant blue color. The sunset colors this evening were heightened by the presence of a little smoke in the atmosphere, which gave a deep copper color to the western sky, while the placid lake appeared vividly blue in the evening light.
The following day, which was the first of September, we continued south over a divide and into the valley of Baker Creek, which we followed for several hours, and then took a branch stream which comes in from the east, and finally camped in a high valley. We were now in the Sawback Range, where the mountains are peculiarly rugged, and the strata thrown up at high angles. The weather was giving evidence of an approaching storm, and before we had made camp the next day in Johnston’s Creek, rain began to fall.
Hitherto the nature of the country since leaving the Upper Bow Lake had been such as to render the travelling very easy and delightful, but from this point on, we met with all sorts of difficulties. In the lower part of Johnston’s Creek, and in the valley of a tributary which comes in from the northeast, the trail was covered by fallen timber, and our progress was very slow and tedious. Moreover, the weather now became very bad, and we were caught near the summit of a pass between Baker Creek and Forty-Mile Creek in a heavy snow-storm, so that the trail was soon obliterated and the surrounding mountains could not be seen. Fearing that we might lose our bearings altogether, Peyto urged forward the horses at a gallop, so that we might get over the pass before the snow gained much depth.
The descent into the valley of Forty-Mile Creek was very steep, and we camped among some large trees with several inches of snow on the ground. The next day we urged our horses on again and followed down the valley of Forty-Mile Creek. In some parts of the valley we found absolutely the worst travelling I have anywhere met with in the Rockies. The horses were compelled to make long detours among the dead timber, and the axe was frequently required to cut out a passage-way. Frequent snow showers swept through the valley, and, though very beautiful to look at, they kept the underbrush covered with damp snow and saturated our clothes with water.
In the afternoon we reached the summit of the Mount Edith Pass, and once more caught sight of the Bow valley and the flat meadows near Banff. A fine wide trail or bridle-path, smooth and hard, led us down toward the valley. The contrast to our recent trails was very striking. We walked between a broad avenue of trees, each one blazed to such an extent that all the bark had been removed on one side of the tree, and some were practically girdled. This was very different from our recent experience where we had only found a small insignificant axe-mark on some dead tree, about once in every quarter mile, or often none at all during hours of progress.
On the fifth of September we reached Banff late in the evening, and found that the valley was free of new snow by reason of its lower altitude. We had been out for twenty-three days and had covered, in all, about one hundred and seventy-five miles.
CHAPTER XIII.
HISTORICAL.
Origin and Rise of the Fur Trade—The Coureurs des Bois and the Voyageurs—Perils of the Canoe Voyages—The Hudson Bay Company and the Northwest Company—Intense Rivalry—Downfall of the Northwest Company—Sir Alexander Mackenzie—His Character and Physical Endowments—Cook’s Explorations—Mackenzie Starts to Penetrate the Rockies—The Peace River—A Marvellous Escape—The Pacific Reached by Land—Perils of the Sea and of the Wilderness.
The history of the early explorations in the Canadian Rockies centres about the fur trade. From the date of the very earliest settlements in Canada, the quest of furs had occupied a position of chief importance, to which the pursuits of agriculture, grazing, or manufacture had been subordinate. The search for gold, which throughout the history of the world has ever been one of the most powerful incentives to hardy adventure and daring exploit, did not at first occupy the attention of those who were ready to hazard their lives for the sake of possible wealth quickly acquired.
The unremitting and often ruthless destruction of the fur-bearing animals, in the immediate vicinity of the settlements, caused them to become exceedingly scarce, and at length to disappear altogether. But fortunately it was not difficult to induce the Indians to bring their furs from more distant regions, until at length even those who lived in the most remote parts of Canada became accustomed to barter their winter catch at the settlements.
As the trade gradually became more extensive, there sprang up two slightly different classes of men, the coureurs des bois, or wood rangers, and the voyageurs, each of Canadian birth, but who, by reason of constant contact with the Indians and long-continued separation from the amenities and refinements of civilized life, came at length to have more in common with the rude savages, than with the French settlers from whom they were sprung. Many of these wilderness wanderers married Indian wives, and, moreover, their plastic nature, a result of their French extraction, helped them quickly to assume the manners and customs of the swarthy children of the forest. The voyageurs, like the coureurs des bois, were accustomed to take long canoe voyages, under the employ of some fur company, or even of private individuals; sometimes alone, but more often several banded together, carrying loads of ammunition, provisions, and tobacco from the settlements and returning with their canoes laden down with beaver, marten, and other furs collected among the Indians. The vast domain of Canada is so completely watered by a network of large streams, rivers, and lakes, more or less connected, that it is not difficult to make canoe voyages in almost any direction throughout the length and breadth of this great territory. It is indeed possible to start from Montreal and journey by water to Hudson Bay, the Arctic Ocean, or the base of the Rocky Mountains.
The voyageurs were a hardy race, possessed of incredible physical strength and untiring patience, remarkable for an implicit obedience to their superiors, and endowed with a happy, careless nature, regardless of the morrow, so long as they were well-off to-day. While making their long and arduous journeys, the voyageurs would arouse their flagging spirits with merriment and laughter, or awaken echoes from the wooded shores and rocky cliffs along the rivers and lakes, by their characteristic songs, to the accompaniment of the ceaseless and rhythmic movement of their paddles.
How much of romance and poetry filled up the measure of their simple lives! Nature in all its beauty and grandeur was ever around them, and nature’s people—the Indians—were those with whom they most associated. They loved all men, and all men loved them, whether civilized or barbarian. The stranger among them was called Cousin, or Brother, and the great fur barons, the partners in the fur companies, on whom they gazed with awe and admiration, as they travelled in regal state from post to post, and to whom they bore almost the relation of serf to feudal lord, they called by their Christian names. The melodies which they chanted in unison as they glided along quiet rivers, with banks of changing outlines and constant variety of forest beauty, would hardly cease as they dashed madly down some roaring, snow-white rapid, beset with dangerous rocks, where a single false stroke would be fatal. For many days continuously they were wont to travel, with short time for sleep, working hour after hour at the paddle, or making the toilsome portages, when they were accustomed to carry on their backs loads of almost incredible weight. Nevertheless, on any opportunity for relaxation, they were ever ready for revelry, music, and the dance, which they would prolong throughout the night.
The usual dress of the voyageur consisted of a coat or capote cut from a blanket, a cotton shirt, moccasins, and leather or cloth trousers, held in place by a belt of colored worsted. A hunting knife and tobacco-pouch, the latter a most indispensable adjunct to the happiness of the voyageur, were suspended from his belt. Sometimes they would be absent from the settlements twelve or fifteen months, and many never returned from their perilous trips. Some were drowned while attempting to run dangerous rapids. Others were overtaken by the approach of winter, or were stopped by ice-bound rivers impossible to navigate, and perished miserably from exposure and starvation.
Those who returned, however, would be amply rewarded by the wealth suddenly acquired from the result of their long toil. The dissipation of their gains in the course of a few weeks, accompanied by all manner of revelry, licentiousness, and mad extravagance, was their compensation for long periods of privation. At length, their means being exhausted, a longing for the old manner of life returned, and with renewed hopes they would recommence their long journeys into the wilderness.
The value of the fur trade soon aroused the attention of a number of wealthy and influential traders, and in 1670 a charter was granted to Prince Rupert and a company of fourteen others, to “the sole trade and commerce” throughout all the regions watered by streams flowing into Hudson or James Bay. This region was henceforth known as Rupert’s Land. In addition to the right of trade, the Hudson Bay Company had the authority of government and the dispensation of justice throughout this vast territory.
During the winter of 1783-4, however, a number of Canadian merchants, previously engaged in the fur trade, joined their several interests, and formed a coalition which assumed the name of the Northwest Company.
This organization, governed, as it was, by different principles from that of the Hudson Bay Company, soon became a powerful rival. The younger men in the Northwest Company were fired with ambition and assured of an adequate reward for their services. While for many years their older rivals had slumbered, content with the limits of their territory, the more enterprising Northwest Company, with infinite toil and danger, extended their posts throughout the interior and western parts of Canada, and opened up a new and hitherto undeveloped country. Another great advantage that the Northwest Company had over the Hudson Bay Company resulted from their employment of the suave and plastic voyageurs, in whose blood the French quality of ready adaptability to surroundings was especially well shown in their dealings with the Indians, with whom they had the greatest influence.
On the other hand, the greater part of the Hudson Bay canoe men were imported from the Orkney Islands. What with their obstinate, unbending nature, and mental sluggishness, these men presented a most unfavorable contrast to the genial voyageurs.
The establishment of the Northwest Company aroused the utmost jealousy and animosity of the Hudson Bay Company. While the various parties were engaged in dealings with the Indians, there not infrequently occurred open conflicts, bloodshed, and murder among the agents, in their attempts to outwit and circumvent one another.
At length the partners of the Northwest Company in the interior of Canada, realizing that all the profits were more than balanced by their endless and painful contest, determined to open a negotiation with their rivals, and for this purpose sent two delegates to London with full authority to close whatever agreement would be for the best interests of the company. Just at this time the directors of the two companies were about to sign a contract most favorable to the Northwest Company. Unfortunately, on the eve of this event, the two delegates from Canada made their appearance, and instead of communicating at once with their own directors, they showed their papers to the officers of the Hudson Bay Company. The Hudson Bay Company took advantage of the opportunity, and, instead of receiving terms from the other, now proceeded to dictate them. The outcome of this unfortunate manœuvre was, that the Northwest Company became merged in that of the Hudson Bay Company, together with the privileges and trade of all of the vast territory which the Northwest Company had developed by superior enterprise. Thus, in 1821, the Northwest Company ended its career.
The Hudson Bay Company’s territory was at length, from time to time, encroached upon as the colonies of British Columbia, Vancouver’s Island, and Manitoba were established. Finally, in 1869, the Company ceded all their governmental and territorial rights to the Dominion, receiving £300,000 in compensation. Their forts or posts, together with a small amount of land in the immediate vicinity, were reserved by them. The Hudson Bay Company still exists as a commercial organization, carrying on a thriving business in many of the principal cities and towns of Canada.
So much by way of introduction to the exploration of the Canadian Rockies.
Let us now turn to Sir Alexander Mackenzie, the hardy explorer who first crossed the continent of North America, after penetrating the grim and inhospitable array of mountains which had hitherto presented an impassable barrier to all further westward progress.
Mackenzie was born in the northern part of Scotland, in the picturesque and historic town of Inverness. The year of his birth is usually set down as 1755. In his youth he emigrated to Canada, and found employment as a clerk to one of the partners in the great Northwest Fur Company. Later on he went to Fort Chipewyan, on Lake Athabasca, and became one of the principal partners in the Northwest Company.
Mackenzie was endowed by nature with a powerful physique and a strong constitution, which enabled him to undergo the unusual hardships of his explorations in the wilderness. Beside these physical qualifications, he was inspired with the ambition necessary to the formation of great plans, and with an enterprising spirit which impelled him to carry them through to a successful termination. Great versatility of idea enabled him to oppose every novel and sudden danger with new plans, while a rugged perseverance, indomitable patience, and a boldness often bordering on recklessness, carried him through all manner of physical and material obstacles. In his dealings with the Indians and his own followers, he showed an unusual tact, a quality which more than any other contributed to his success. Nothing so quickly saps the strength and tries the courage of the explorer, be he ever so bold and persevering, as cowardice and unwillingness among his followers.
Nevertheless, Mackenzie was not a scientific explorer. Outside of the manners and customs of the various tribes with which he came in contact, only the most patent and striking phenomena of the great nature-world impressed him. No better idea of his views on this subject could be obtained than from a passage in the preface to his Voyages:
“I could not stop,” says Mackenzie, “to dig into the earth, over whose surface I was compelled to pass with rapid steps; nor could I turn aside to collect the plants which nature might have scattered on the way, when my thoughts were anxiously employed in making provision for the day that was passing over me. I had to encounter perils by land and perils by water; to watch the savage who was our guide, or to guard against those of his tribe who might meditate our destruction. I had, also, the passions and fears of others to control and subdue. To-day, I had to assuage the rising discontents, and on the morrow, to cheer the fainting spirits of the people who accompanied me. The toil of our navigation was incessant, and oftentimes extreme; and, in our progress overland, we had no protection from the severity of the elements, and possessed no accommodations or conveniences but such as could be contained in the burden on our shoulders, which aggravated the toils of our march, and added to the wearisomeness of our way.
“Though the events which compose my journals may have little in themselves to strike the imagination of those who love to be astonished, or to gratify the curiosity of such as are enamoured of romantic adventures; nevertheless, when it is considered that I explored those waters which had never before borne any other vessel than the canoe of the savage; and traversed those deserts where an European had never before presented himself to the eye of its swarthy natives; when to these considerations are added the important objects which were pursued, with the dangers that were encountered, and the difficulties that were surmounted to attain them, this work will, I flatter myself, be found to excite an interest and conciliate regard in the minds of those who peruse it.”
Thus Mackenzie writes in the preface to his journal. Nevertheless, there is no evidence throughout his works that he was learned or even interested in the sciences of botany or geology. The scientific mind becomes so much absorbed in the search for information, when surrounded by the infinite variety of nature’s productions, especially in regions hitherto unknown, that mere inconvenience, physical suffering, or imminent peril is incapable of withdrawing the attention from the chosen objects of pursuit. Whoever reads Humboldt’s narrative of travels in the equinoctial regions of South America, especially that part which pertains to his voyage on the Orinoco, will appreciate the truth of this. The stifling, humid heat of a fever-laden atmosphere, the ever present danger of sudden death from venomous serpents, ferocious alligators, or the stealthy jaguar, the very air itself darkened by innumerable swarms of mosquitoes and stinging insects, with changing varieties appearing at every hour of the day and night, were unable to force this great naturalist to resign his work.
Unfortunately, the explorer and the naturalist are not often combined in one person, notwithstanding that the fact of being one, implies a tendency toward becoming the other.
Mackenzie mentions one or two attempts previous to 1792 to cross the Rocky Mountains. No record of these expeditions is available, a circumstance that implies their termination in failure or disaster.
Up to this time the Rocky Mountains, with their awful array of saw-edged peaks covered with a dazzling white mantle of perpetual snow, had stood as the western limit of overland exploration, beyond which no European had ever passed. The Pacific Coast had already been explored by Captain Cook in 1778, and a few years later so accurately charted by Vancouver, that his work is still standard among navigators. The eastern border of the Rockies was vaguely located, but between these narrow strips there remained a vast region, four hundred miles wide, extending to the Arctic Ocean, about which little or nothing was known.
As in the case of other unexplored regions, there were vague and conflicting rumors among the Indians concerning the dangers of these upland fastnesses, accounts of hostile tribes, men partly human, partly animal in form and nature, and colossal beasts, endowed with fabulous strength and agility, from which escape was next to impossible. These Indian tales, though in great part the product of imagination or superstition, unfortunately did but partial justice to the reality, for although the reported dangers and terrors were mythical, there were real and material obstacles in the form of mountain ranges bewildering in their endless extent and complexity, between which were valleys blocked by fallen timber, and torrential streams rendered unnavigable by roaring rapids or gloomy canyons of awful depth. In fact, this region was one of the most difficult to penetrate and explore that the world could offer at that time.
Nevertheless, Mackenzie now turned his attention toward this region, resolved to traverse and explore it till he should reach the Pacific. Moreover, he was confident of success, perhaps realizing his many qualifications for such an enterprise, and certainly encouraged by the remembrance of the difficulties he had overcome during his former voyage, in 1789, to the mouth of that great river which bears his name.
Leaving Fort Chipewyan on Lake Athabasca, he soon reached that great waterway, the Peace River, and with several canoes began to stem the moderate current of this stream, which is at this point about one fourth of a mile in width and quite deep.
The origin of names is always interesting, and that of the Peace River is said to be derived from a circumstance of Indian history. The tribe of Indians called the Knisteneux, who originally inhabited the Atlantic seaboard and the St. Lawrence valley, migrated in a northwesterly direction. In the course of this tribal movement, after reaching the centre of the continent, they at length came in contact with the Beaver Indians, and a neighboring tribe called the Slaves, at a point some fifty leagues due south from Lake Athabasca. The Knisteneux drove these tribes from their lands, the Slave Indians moving northward down the Slave River to Great Slave Lake, from which circumstance the lake derives its name. The term Slave was not applied to indicate servitude, but by way of reproach on their unusual barbarity and destitution. The Beaver Indians moved in another direction, more to the westward, and on the ratification of peace between them and the Knisteneux, the Peace River was assigned as the boundary between them.
After proceeding for three weeks up the Peace River, Mackenzie camped for the winter at a point previously decided on, and early in the following spring recommenced his “voyage,” as these inland water journeys are called. Mackenzie was accompanied by Alexander Mackay, one of the officers of the Northwest Company. The crew consisted of six Canadian voyageurs, and the party was completed by two Indians, who, it was intended, should act as interpreters and hunters. A single canoe, twenty-five feet long and not quite five feet in extreme breadth, served to carry the entire party, in addition to three thousand pounds of baggage and provisions.
It would be entirely aside from our purpose to narrate in detail the many interesting adventures and narrow escapes of the party. A single incident will serve to throw some light on the perils and toils that were encountered. At the time of the incident in question, they had crossed the watershed by following the south branch of the Peace River to its source, and were now descending a mad torrent which runs westward, and is tributary to the Fraser River, which latter Mackenzie mistook for the Columbia.
It was on the morning of the 13th of June, and the canoe had proceeded but a short distance, when it struck, and, turning sidewise, broke on a stone. Mackenzie and all the men jumped into the water at once, and endeavored to stop the canoe and turn it round. But almost immediately she was swept into deeper water, where it became necessary for everybody to scramble aboard with the greatest celerity. In this uncertain contest, one of the men was left in mid-stream to effect a passage to shore in the best way he could.
“We had hardly regained our situations,” writes Mackenzie, “when we drove against a rock, which shattered the stern of the canoe in such a manner that it held only by the gunwales, so that the steersman could no longer keep his place. The violence of this stroke drove us to the opposite side of the river, which is but narrow, when the bow met with the same fate as the stern. At this moment the foreman seized on some branches of a small tree, in the hope of bringing up the canoe, but such was their elasticity that, in a manner not easily described, he was jerked on shore in an instant, and with a degree of violence that threatened his destruction. But we had no time to turn from our own situation to inquire what had befallen him; for, in a few moments, we came across a cascade, which broke several large holes in the bottom of the canoe, and started all the bars, except one behind the scooping seat. If this accident, however, had not happened, the vessel must have been irretrievably overset. The wreck becoming flat on the water, we all jumped out, while the steersman, who had been compelled to abandon his place, and had not recovered from his fright, called out to his companions to save themselves. My peremptory commands superseded the effects of his fear, and they all held fast to the wreck; to which fortunate resolution we owed our safety, as we should otherwise have been dashed against the rocks by the force of the water, or driven over the cascades. In this condition we were forced several hundred yards, and every yard on the verge of destruction; but, at length, we most fortunately arrived in shallow water and a small eddy, where we were enabled to make a stand, from the weight of the canoe resting on the stones, rather than from any exertions of our exhausted strength. For, though our efforts were short, they were pushed to the utmost, as life or death depended on them.”
At this juncture, the Indians, instead of making any effort to assist the others, sat down and shed tears, though it is considered a mortal disgrace among Indians to weep except when intoxicated.
On the 22d of July, after encountering countless trials and the dangers of savage foes, no less than the obstacles of nature, Mackenzie reached an arm of the sea in latitude 52° 20′ 48″, where on a rocky cliff he inscribed this brief legend in vermilion: “Alexander Mackenzie from Canada by land, the 22d of July, one thousand seven hundred and ninety-three.”
The next day, when alone, he was nearly murdered by a band of Indians, but escaped by his agility and by a fortunate momentary hesitation on the part of the savages.
Mackenzie’s return journey was over the same route that he had first taken, and required but four weeks to traverse the mountains.
In reading a detailed account of this voyage, one is impressed with the many perils encountered, no less than the ofttimes remarkable and fortunate escapes from them. It is so with the journals of nearly all great travellers. They recount an endless succession of dangers and adventures by sea and land, from which, though often in the very jaws of death by reason of the operations of nature and the elements, the traveller ever eventually escapes, apparently in defiance of the laws of chance and probability. But we must bear in mind the great host of travellers who have never returned, and whose unfinished journals are lost forever to mankind.
The remotest corners of the earth have been mute witnesses to these tragedies. The inhospitable, rock-bound shores of lonely islands, or low-lying sands of coral reefs, where the ceaseless ocean billows thunder in everlasting surf, have beheld the expiring struggles of many a bold navigator. The colossal bergs and crushing ice of polar seas; hurricanes and typhoons in tropic latitudes; the horrors of fire at sea; the broad wastes of continents; trackless desert sands, where, under a scorching sun, objects on the distant horizon dance in the waving air, and portray mirage pictures of lakes and streams to the thirsty traveller; deep, cool forests bewildering in the endless maze of trees; piercing winter storms, with cutting winds and driving snows; the blood-thirsty pack of famishing wolves; rivers, dangerous to navigate, with impetuous current swirling and roaring in fearful rapids,—all these have their records of death and disaster.
But of them all, man has ever been the worst destroyer. The hostile savage, the mutinous crew, or treacherous guide have proved far more cruel, revengeful, and cunningly destructive than the catastrophes of nature, whose mute, dead forces act out their laws in accordance with the great plan of the universe, unguided by motives of hate, and envy, and the wicked devices of human passions.
CHAPTER XIV.
HISTORICAL.
Captain Cook’s Explorations—The American Fur Company—First Exploration of the Fraser River—Expedition of Ross Cox—Cannibalism—Simplicity of a Voyageur—Sir George Simpson’s Journey—Discovery of Gold in 1858—The Palliser Expedition—Dr. Hector’s Adventures—Milton and Cheadle—Growth of the Dominion—Railroad Surveys—Construction of the Railroad—Historical Periods—Future Popularity of the Canadian Rockies.
The early explorations of Captain Cook had an almost immediate effect on the development of the fur trade. Upon the publication of that wonderful book, Cook’s Voyages round the World, wherein were shown the great value and quantity of furs obtainable along the northwest coast of America, a considerable number of ships were fitted out for the purpose of carrying on this trade. Three years after, or in 1792, there were twenty American vessels along the Pacific Coast, from California northward to Alaska, collecting furs, especially that of the sea otter, from the natives.
Of these “canoes, large as islands, and filled with white men,” Mackenzie had heard many times from the natives met with on his overland journey across the Rocky Mountains. Mackenzie’s journal was not published till 1801. In this book, however, he outlines a plan to perfect a well regulated trade by means of an overland route, with posts at intervals along the line, and a well established terminus on the Pacific Coast. Should this plan be carried out, he predicted that the Canadians would obtain control of the fur trade of the entire northern part of North America, and that the Americans would be compelled to relinquish their irregular trade.
While the agents of the American Fur Company, a rival organization controlled and managed by Mr. John Jacob Astor, were preparing to extend their limits northwards from their headquarters at the mouth of the Columbia, the Northwest Company was pushing southward through British Columbia, and had already established a colony called New Caledonia near the headquarters of the Fraser River. Thus Mr. Astor’s scheme of gaining control of the head waters of the Columbia River was anticipated. The war of 1812 completely frustrated his plans, when the post of Astoria fell temporarily into the hands of the English.
A very good idea of the hardships of life at one of these western posts, together with a brief account of the first exploration of the Fraser River, may be obtained from a letter written in 1809 by Jules Quesnel to a friend in Montreal. The letter is dated New Caledonia, May 1st, 1809, and after a few remarks on other matters, Mr. Quesnel goes on to say: “There are places in the north where, notwithstanding the disadvantages of the country in general, it is possible sometimes to enjoy one’s self; but here nothing is to be found but hardship and loneliness. Far away from every one, we do not have the pleasure of getting news from the other places. We live entirely upon salmon dried in the sun by the Indians, who also use the same food, for there are no animals, and we would often be without shoes did we not procure leather from the Peace River.
“I must now tell you that I went exploring this summer with Messrs. Simon Fraser and John Stuart, whom you have met, I believe. We were accompanied by twelve men, and with three canoes went down the river, that until now was thought to be the Columbia. Soon finding the river unnavigable, we left our canoes and continued on foot through awful mountains, which we never could have passed had we not been helped by the Indians, who received us well. After having passed all those bad places, not without much hardship, as you may imagine, we found the river once more navigable, and got into wooden canoes and continued our journey more comfortably as far as the mouth of this river in the Pacific Ocean. Once there, as we prepared to go farther, the Indians of that place, who were numerous, opposed our passage, and we were very fortunate in being able to withdraw without being in the necessity of killing or being killed. We were well received by all the other Indians on our way back, and we all reached our New Caledonia in good health. The mouth of this river is in latitude 49°, nearly 3° north of the real Columbia. This trip procured no advantage to the company, and will never be of any, as the river is not navigable. But our aim in making the trip was attained, so that we cannot blame ourselves in any manner.”
This letter throws some light on the history of this period, and shows whence the names of certain rivers and lakes of British Columbia were derived. It would be in place here to say that when Mackenzie first came to the Fraser River, after crossing the watershed from the Peace River, he entertained the idea that he was on the Columbia.
A few years later, the agents of the fur companies had established certain routes and passages across the mountains, which they were accustomed to follow more or less regularly in their annual or semi-annual journeys. One of the largest of these early parties to traverse the Rockies was under the management of Mr. Ross Cox, who was returning from Astoria in the year 1817. There were, in all, eighty-six persons in his party, representing many nationalities outside of the various Indians and some Sandwich Islanders.
A striking incident in connection with this expedition illustrates the hazard and danger which at all times attended these journeys through the wilderness. The party had pursued their way up the Columbia River, and were now on the point of leaving their canoes and proceeding on foot up the course of the Canoe River, a stream that flows southward and enters the Columbia not far from the Athabasca Pass. The indescribable toil of their passage up the Columbia, and the many laborious portages, had sapped the strength of the men and rendered some of them wellnigh helpless. Under these circumstances, it seemed best that some of the weakest should not attempt to pursue their journey farther, but should return down the Columbia. There were seven in this party, of whom only two were able to work, but it was hoped that the favorable current would carry them rapidly towards Spokane, where there was a post established. An air of foreboding and melancholy settled upon some of those who were about to depart, and some prophesied that they would never again see Canada, a prediction that proved only too true. In Ross Cox’s Adventures on the Columbia River the record of their disastrous return is thus vividly related:
“On leaving the Rocky Mountains, they drove rapidly down the current until they arrived at the Upper Dalles, or narrows, where they were obliged to disembark. A cod-line was made fast to the stern of the canoe, while two men with poles preceded it along the banks to keep it from striking against the rocks. It had not descended more than half the distance, when it was caught in a strong whirlpool, and the line snapped. The canoe for a moment disappeared in the vortex, on emerging from which it was carried by the irresistible force of the current to the opposite side, and dashed to pieces against the rocks. They had not had the prudence to take out either their blankets or a small quantity of provisions, which were, of course, all lost. Here, then, the poor fellows found themselves, deprived of all the necessaries of life, and at a period of the year in which it was impossible to procure any wild fruit or roots. To return to the mountains was impossible, and their only chance of preservation was to proceed downwards, and to keep as near the banks of the river as circumstances would permit. The continual rising of the water had completely inundated the beach, in consequence of which they were compelled to force their way through an almost impervious forest, the ground of which was covered with a strong growth of prickly underwood. Their only nourishment was water, owing to which, and their weakness from fatigue and ill-health, their progress was necessarily slow. On the third day poor Maçon died, and his surviving comrades, though unconscious how soon they might be called to follow him, determined to keep off the fatal moment as long as possible. They therefore divided his remains in equal parts between them, on which they subsisted for some days. From the swollen state of their feet their daily progress did not exceed two or three miles. Holmes, the tailor, shortly followed Maçon, and they continued for some time longer to sustain life on his emaciated body. It would be a painful repetition to detail the individual death of each man. Suffice it to say that, in a little time, of the seven men, two only, named La Pierre and Dubois, remained alive. La Pierre was subsequently found on the borders of the upper lake of the Columbia by two Indians who were coasting it in a canoe. They took him on board, and brought him to the Kettle Falls, whence he was conducted to Spokane House.”
“He stated that after the death of the fifth man of the party, Dubois and he continued for some days at the spot where he had ended his sufferings, and, on quitting it, they loaded themselves with as much of his flesh as they could carry; that with this they succeeded in reaching the upper lake, round the shores of which they wandered for some time in vain, in search of Indians; that their horrid food at length became exhausted, and they were again reduced to the prospect of starvation; that on the second night after their last meal, he (La Pierre) observed something suspicious in the conduct of Dubois, which induced him to be on his guard; and that shortly after they had lain down for the night, and while he feigned sleep, he observed Dubois cautiously opening his clasp knife, with which he sprang on him, and inflicted on his hand the blow that was evidently intended for his neck. A silent and desperate conflict followed, in which, after severe struggling, La Pierre succeeded in wresting the knife from his antagonist, and, having no other resource left, he was obliged in self-defence to cut Dubois’s throat; and that a few days afterwards he was discovered by the Indians as before mentioned. Thus far nothing at first appeared to impugn the veracity of his statement; but some other natives subsequently found the remains of two of the party near those of Dubois, mangled in such a manner as to induce them to think that they had been murdered; and as La Pierre’s story was by no means consistent in many of its details, the proprietors judged it advisable to transmit him to Canada for trial. Only one Indian attended; but as the testimony against him was merely circumstantial, and was unsupported by corroborating evidence, he was acquitted.”