About ten days’ rapid travelling down the Elk River
brought our party into the Athabasca Lake—sometimes called the “Lake of
the Hills.” This is another of those great bodies of fresh water that
lie between the primitive rocks of the “Barren Grounds,” and the more
fertile limestone deposit upon the west. It is nearly two hundred miles
long from west to east, and is only fifteen miles in breadth, but in
some places it is so narrow and full of islands that it looks more like
a broad river than a lake. Its shores and many of its islands are
thickly wooded, particularly upon the southern and western edges; and
the eye of the traveller is delighted with many a beautiful vista as he
passes along. But our voyageurs took little heed of these things. A
gloom had come over their spirits, for one of their party had taken ill,
and was suffering from a painful and dangerous disease—an intermittent
fever. It was Lucien—he that was beloved by all of them. He had been
complaining for several days—even while admiring the fair scenery of the
romantic Elk—but every day he had been getting worse, until, on their
arrival at the lake, he declared himself no longer able to travel. It
became necessary, therefore, to suspend their journey; and choosing a
place for their camp, they made arrangements to remain until Lucien
should recover. They built a small log-hut for the invalid, and did
everything to make him as comfortable as possible. The best skins were
spread for his couch; and cooling drinks were brewed for him from roots,
fruits, and berries, in the way he had already taught his companions to
prepare them. Every day François went forth with his gun, and returned
with a pair of young pigeons, or a wood-partridge, or a brace of the
beautiful ruffed grouse; and out of these he would make delicate soups,
which he was the better able to do as they had procured salt, pepper,
and other ingredients, at the Fort. They had also brought with them a
stock of tea—the real China tea—and sugar; and as the quantity of both
was but small, this luxurious beverage was made exclusively for Lucien,
and was found by him exceedingly beneficial during his illness.
To the great joy of all the invalid was at length
restored to health, and the canoe being once more launched and
freighted, they continued their journey.
They coasted along the shores of the lake, and entered
the Great Slave River, which runs from the Athabasca into the Great
Slave Lake. They soon came to the mouth of another large river, called
the Peace. This runs into the Great Slave a short distance below Lake
Athabasca, and, strange to say, the sources of the Peace River lie upon
the western side of the Rocky Mountains, so that this stream actually
runs across the mountain-chain! It passes through the mountains in a
succession of deep gorges, which are terrible to behold. On both sides
dizzy cliffs and snow-capped peaks rise thousands of feet above its
rocky bed, and the scenery is cold and desolate. Its head-waters
interlock with those of several streams that run into the Pacific; so
that, had our voyageurs wished to travel to the shores of that ocean,
they might have done so in their birch-bark canoe nearly the whole of
the way. But this was not their design at present, so they passed
the débouchure of the Peace, and kept on for the Great Slave Lake. They
were still upon the same water as the Elk, for the Great Slave is only
another name for that part of the river lying between the two
lakes—Athabasca and Great Slave. Of course the river had now become much
larger by the influx of the Peace, and they were travelling upon the
bosom of a magnificent stream, with varied scenery upon its banks. They
were not so happy, however, as when descending the Elk—not but that they
were all in good health, for Lucien had grown quite strong again. No, it
was not any want of health that rendered them less cheerful. It was the
prospect before them—the prospect of coming winter, which they now felt
certain would arrive before they had got to the end of their journey.
The delay of nearly a month, occasioned by Lucien’s illness, had
deranged all their calculations; and they had no longer any hope of
being able to finish their voyage in what remained of the short summer.
The ice would soon make its appearance; the lakes and rivers would be
frozen up; they could no longer navigate them in their canoe. To travel
afoot would be a most laborious undertaking, as well as perilous in an
extreme degree. In this way it is only possible to carry a very small
quantity of provisions—for the traveller is compelled to load himself
with skin-clothing in order to keep out the cold. The chances of
procuring game by the way in that season are precarious, and not to be
depended upon. Most of the birds and many of the quadrupeds migrate to
more southern regions; and those that remain are shy and rare. Besides,
great snow-storms are to be encountered, in which the traveller is in
danger of getting “smoored.” The earth is buried under a deep covering
of snow, and to pass over this while soft is difficult, and at times
quite impossible. All these circumstances were known to our young
voyageurs—to Norman better than any of them—and of course the prospect
was a cheerless one—much more so than those unacquainted with the winter
of these dreary regions would be willing to believe.
It was the month of August, near its end, when they
reached the Great Slave Lake, in the latitude of 62 degrees. The days
had now become very short, and their journeys grew short in proportion.
They already experienced weather as cold as an English winter. There
were slight frosts at night—though not yet enough to cover the water
with ice—and the midday hours were hot, sometimes too hot to be
comfortable. But this only caused them to feel the cold the more
sensibly when evening set in; and all their robes and skins were
necessary to keep them warm during the night.
The Great Slave Lake, like the Athabasca, is very long
and very narrow. It extends full 260 miles from east to west, but at its
widest part is not over thirty, and in some places much less. Along its
northern shores lies the edge of the “Barren Grounds,” and there nothing
meets the eye but bleak and naked hills of primitive rock. On its
southern side the geology is entirely of a different character. There
the limestone prevails, and scarcely anything that deserves the name of
hill is to be seen. There are fine forests too, in which poplars, pines,
and birches, are the principal trees. The lake is filled with islands,
many of which are wholly or partially covered with timber of these
kinds, and willows also are abundant. There are fish of several species
in its waters, which are in many places of great depth—sixty fathoms
deep—and in some of the islands, and around the wooded shores, game
exists in abundance in the summer season. Even in winter it is not
scarce, but then it is difficult to follow it on account of the deep
snow. Many of the animals, too, at this season become torpid, and are of
course hidden in caves and hollow trees, and even in the snow itself,
where no one can find them. Notwithstanding all this, our voyageurs knew
that it would be the best place for them to make their winter camp. They
saw that to complete their journey during that season would be
impossible. Even had it been a month earlier it would have been a
difficult undertaking. In a few days winter would be upon them. They
would have to stop somewhere. There was no place where they could so
safely stay as by the lake. One thing they would have there, which might
not be found so plenty elsewhere, that was wood for their fire; and this
was an inducement to remain by the lake. Having made up their minds,
therefore, to encamp on some part of it, they looked from day to day for
a place that would be most suitable, still continuing their journey
towards its western end. As yet no place appeared to their liking, and
as the lake near its western point trends away towards the south, Norman
proposed that they should follow the shore no longer, but strike across
to a promontory on the northern shore of the lake, known as “Slave
Point.” This promontory is of the limestone formation, and as Norman had
heard, is well wooded, and stocked with game. Even buffaloes are found
there. It is, in fact, the farthest point to the north-east that these
animals range, and this presents us with a curious fact. It is the
farthest point that the limestone deposit extends in that direction.
Beyond that, to the east and north, lie the primitive rocks of the
Barren Grounds, into which the buffaloes never stray. Thus we observe
the connexion that exists between the fauna of a country and its
geological character.
Of course they all agreed to Norman’s proposal. The canoe
was, therefore, headed for the open waters; and, after a hard day’s
paddling—for there was a head-wind—the voyageurs landed upon a small
wooded island, about halfway over the lake, where they encamped for the
night, intending next day to cross the remaining part. |