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Breakfast by Moonlight.—The
Bell-horse.—Mount Cheadle.—Blue River and Mountains. —Goose Creek—The
Headless Indian.—Porcupine Breakfast.—The Canyon.—Mule Train.—AtHell Gate,
meet friends.—Gathering at Camps U. and V.—Good cheer-— Still water.—Round
Prairie.—Exciting news two months old.—Change in the Flora. —Bunch
Grass.—Raft River.—Clearwater.—Boat to Kamloops—Assineboine Bluff. —Last
night under canvass.—Siwash Houses.—Signs of Civilization.—Stock
Raising-—Wages in British Columbia.—Arid aspect of country.—Darkness on
the river.— Arrival at Kamloops.
September 23rd.—Jack rose
this morning at 3 A.M., and made up the fire by kicking the embers
together and piling on more wood. In a quarter of an hour after, all hands
were up— folding blankets, and packing. We breakfasted by moonlight, and
would have been off by five, but two of the horses had wandered and it was
some time before they were found. Jack tracked them to an island in the
river and had to wade across for them. Notwithstanding the delay we left
camp at 5.45 A.M.
This was the first occasion
on which any of the horses had strayed even a short distance away from the
bell. They had always kept within sound of it on the journey and during
the night. The bell is hung round the neck of the most willing horse of
the pack, and from that moment he takes the lead. Till he moves on, it is
almost impossible to force any of the others forward. If you keep back
your horse for a mile or two when on the march, and then give him the
rein, he dashes on in frantic eagerness to catch up to the rest. Get hold
of the bell-horse when you want to start in the morning, and ring the bell
and soon all the others in the pack gather round.
We had never seen the
gregariousness of horses so strongly exhibited as in the case of those
Pacific pack-trains. And the mule shows the sentiment or instinct still
more strongly. A bell-horse is put at the head of the mule train, and the
mules follow him and pay him the most devoted loyalty. If a strange dog
comes up barking, or any other hostile looking brute, the mules often rush
furiously at the enemy, and trample him under foot, to shield their
sovereign from danger or even from insult. Altogether the bell-horse was a
novelty to us, though his uses are so thoroughly understood here, that
Jack and Joe were astonished at our asking any questions about so well
established an institution.
The night had been frosty,
and the ground in the morning was quite hard, but after we had been on the
road for an hour, the sun rose from behind Mount Cheadle, and warmed the
air somewhat, though it continued cold enough all day to make walking
preferable to riding. For the first four miles the road was similar to
Saturday's. We then came to a mountain stream, towards the mouth of which
the view opened and showed us Mount Cheadle rising stately and beautiful
from the opposite bank of the Thompson. What had seemed yesterday a great
shoulder stretching to the south was now seen to be a distinct hill, but
in addition to the cone or pyramid with the twin heads of Mount Cheadle, a
third and lower peak to the north east now appeared. Beyond the stream is
Cranberry marsh. The trail here goes along the beach for a short distance,
and then turns into the woods and hills again, giving us a repetition of
Saturday's experiences. Eight miles from camp we crossed another and
larger stream on the other side of which the valley widened and the
country beyond opened. The landscape was softer and the wild myrtle and
the garden waxberry mixed with the ruder plants that had held entire
possession of the ground farther up. Eight miles more brought us to open
meadows along the banks of the river, overgrown in part by willows and
alders, and in part covered with marsh grass. Here a halt of two hours for
dinner was called. We had travelled about sixteen miles in five hours, and
had only ten more to travel, to reach Goose Creek, where camp was to be
pitched for the night. It was expedient to get there as early as possible,
that the horses might have a good feed, for there would be no grass along
tomorrow's road, which was also said to be the worst between Yellow Head
Pass and Kamloops.
During the last two or
three days the river had fallen very much, and at our halting place it was
eight or nine feet below its high water mark. The valley was wide enough
to enable us for the first time to see on both sides the summits of the
mountains that enclosed it. At this point they are remarkably varied. A
broad deep cleft in the heavily timbered hills on the west side of the
river, showed an undulating line of snowy peaks, rising either from or
behind the wooded range; and the opposite side was closed in nearer the
river, by a number of separate mountains, probably from four to six
thousand feet high, that folded in upon or rose behind one another.
The afternoon drive was
along a level, for the next six or seven miles to Blue River, where our
progress was slow from the stubs or short sharp stumps of the alders, that
dotted and sometimes completely filled up the trail. Blue River gets its
name from the deep soft blue of the distant hills, which are seen from its
mouth well up into the gap through which it runs. A raft is kept on this
river for the use of the survey. We made use of the Cache or shanty on the
bank, opening it for a small supply of beans and of soap. A diligent
search was made for coffee but without result.
The timber here is small
and much of it has been destroyed by fires. After crossing the river, the
trail winds round a bluff that extends boldly to the Thompson. Timber that
had fallen down the steep face across the trail delayed us several times.
Frank shot a large porcupine as it was climbing a tree, and pitched it on
the kitchen pack to be tried as food. Three miles more brought us to Goose
Creek where we camped an hour before sunset. This was the spot the Doctor
had been told to examine for the bones of " the headless Indian," and
therefore as soon as he had unsaddled his horse, he selected a shingle
shaped stick and, without saying a word, set off on his exploration with
all the mystery and deliberation of a resurrectionist In a few minutes he
came on a bit of board with the following inscription pencilled on it:—
"Here lie the remains of
the "Headless Indian," discovered by Lord
"Milton and Dr. Cheadle, A. D. 1863. At this spot we found an old
"tin kettle, a knife, a spoon, and fishing line; and 150 yards up the bank
"of the river we also found the skull, which was sought for in vain by
"the above gentlemen.
"T. Party, C. P. R. S.
"June 5th, 1872."
Scratching the ground with
his wooden spade the Dr. was soon in possession of the skull and of the
rusty scalping knife, that had been thrown in beside it, and finding the
old kettle near, he appropriated it too, and deposited all three with his
baggage, as triumphantly as if he had rifled an Egyptian tomb. Terry did
not like the proceedings at all, and could only be reconciled to them on
the plea that they might lead to the discovery of the murderers; for
nothing would persuade him that the man's head had dropped off, and been
carried to a distance by the wind or some beast. He had seen heads broken,
or cut off, but he had never heard before—and neither had we as far as
that goes—of a head rolling off; and therefore concluded that "there had
been some bad work here."
Frank and Jack skinned the
porcupine, and prepared it for cooking ; and Jack boiled some beans to be
eaten with it. A leg being spitted and broiled before the fire as a test
morsel, was pronounced superior to beaver; and the carcase was consigned
to Terry, who decided to cut it up, parboil, and then fry it for
breakfast. September
24th.—There was no need to look at the thermometer when we got up, to know
that there had been frost. Every one felt it through the capote and pair
of blankets in which he was wrapped. The Chief rose at midnight and
renewed the fire. Frank then got up and curled himself into a ball within
a few inches of the red embers. At 3 A.M., all rose growling, stamping
their cold feet, lingering about the fire, lighting pipes, and considering
whether washing the face wasn't a superstitious rule to be occasionally
honoured in the breach rather than the observance. Everything was done
slowly. It was nearly sunrise before any one even thought of looking at
the thermometer, which then indicated 17°: not so very low, but we had
been sleeping practically in the open air, and in a cold wind with rather
light covering. Three-quarters of an hour were spent in cooking the
porcupine ; and as it did not come up to our expectations, from inherent
defects or Terry's cooking, very little of the meat was eaten; and no one
proposing to carry a piece in his pocket for lunch, it was left
behind,—the only thing in the shape of food that had ever been wasted by
us on the journey. At
6.15 AM. we were on the march, expecting a heavy day's work, as the road
lay over the Great Canyon that had all but defeated Milton and Cheadle's
utmost efforts, and past the 'porte d' enfer' of the Assineboine. The
first three miles after crossing the Creek were partly round and partly
over a heavy bluff; and the next five along the river, which ran like a
mill-race between high hills. These hills on our side afforded space for
the road either along their bases, or on the first bench above. The next
ten or twelve miles were to be through the dreaded canyon; a pass as much
more formidable than Killiecrankie as the Thompson is greater than the
Garry. While climbing the first bluff near the entrance to the canyon, the
bell-horse of a pack-train was heard ahead. Fortunately there was space
for us to draw aside and let the train pass. It was on its way up to Tete
Jaune Cache with supplies, and consisted of fifty-two mules led by a
bell-horse, and driven by four or five men, representing as many different
nationalities. Most of the mules were, with the exception of the long
ears, wonderfully graceful creatures; and though laden with an average
weight of three hundred pounds, stepped out over rocks and roots firmly
and lightly as if their loads were nothing. This was the first train that
had ever passed through the cany6n without losing at least one animal. The
horse or mule puts its foot on a piece of innocent-looking moss;
underneath the moss there happens to be a wet stone over which he slips;
at the same moment, his broad unwieldly pack strikes against a rock,
outjutting from the bluff, and as there is no room for him to recover
himself, over he goes into the roaring Thompson, and that's the last seen
of him unless brought up by a tree halfway down the precipice. Two months
before a mule fell over in this way. The packers went down to the river
side to look for him, but as there was no trace to be seen, resumed their
march. Five days after, another train passing near the spot heard the
braying of a mule, and guided by the noise looked, and found that he had
fallen on a broad rock half way down, where he had lain for some time
stunned. Struggling to his feet, fortunately for him the apparaho got
entangled round the rock, and held him fast till he was relieved by the
men of the train from his razor bridge over the flood. This was a more
wonderful deliverance than that of Bucephalus when abandoned by Mr. O'B.
For several miles, the river here is one long
rapid, dashing over hidden and half-hidden rocks scattered over every part
of its bed. The great point of danger is reached at 'Hell Gate.' A huge
arch had once stretched across the present channel, and had been rifted
asunder, leaving a passage for the river not more than thirty feet wide.
The rock looked as if it had recently parted, a depression on the one side
exactly fitting into an overhanging rock opposite, as if it were possible
for a counter convulsion to groove and tongue the two together again.
Through this passage the river raged, and the whole force of the current
ran under the overhanging black rock, so near its roof that at high water
the river is forced back. From this point the Canyon continues for six or
seven miles down, at one point the opposing rocks being only fifteen feet
apart. The river there boils and spurts up as if ejected from beneath out
of an hydraulic pipe.
Half a mile below 'Hell Gate,' a bell was
again heard ahead. This, to our great delight belonged to a mule train
accompanying Mr. Marcus Smith—the deputy of the Engineer in chief on the
Pacific side. Our pack-horses were sent on while we halted to exchange
greetings and news. Mr. Smith was on his way to Tete Jaune Cache to try
and find a Pass across the Gold range. He had spent the greater part of
the summer on the Pacific coast, in the Cascades, and the Chilcoten
District in order to find a practicable line for the railway from Bute
Inlet through to Tete Jaune Cache. After a long consultation and a lunch
of bread and cheese—cheese produced by Smith and eaten so freely by us who
had not tasted any for two months, that Smith ruefully declared our lunch
to be "cheese—and bread," the Chief advised him to return with us to
Kamloops, as it was too late in the season to adventure into the heart of
the Gold range from the east side. It being also of importance that the
two should compare notes for a few days, the two parties became one.
Following up our pack-horses, we came in the
course of the next few miles to the bottom of the Canyon, and all at once,
to a totally different aspect of the river and road. The river ceases to
descend rapidly for the next twelve miles, and the valley opens out to a
breadth of two or three miles. The road runs through this level; but,
though a great improvement on the breakneck hills we had been going up and
down all day, the clumps of willow and alder stubs and roots kept the
horses from venturing on much beyond a walk,—except the Secretary's, a mad
brute called "the fool" which dashed on after the "bell' at such a rate
that the rest of the party in following more slowly looked round to pick
up the remains. The river here, as if exhausted with its furious racing,
subsides into a smooth broad lake-like appearance, and calmly reflects
everything on its banks-Hence the name of this district—"Stillwater." Four
miles along this brought us to our men unpacking the horses at the point
agreed on in the morning. Half a mile ahead, they said, were the tents of
the U. and V. parties who had been surveying all summer between Kamloops
and Tete Jaune Cache. They had met at this central point, the work on both
sections being just finished. Going on to their camp, we found Mr. John
Trutch, the engineer in change of both parties, and our friend V. Their
encampment seemed to us a great affair, unaccustomed as we had been for
weeks to new faces. Each party consisted in all of sixteen or eighteen
men, with two Indians,—one the cook's slavey, and the other—slavey to the
officer in charge, cabin boy, and general messenger. Besides the two
parties there was a third in charge of a pack train, so that the valley
was alive with men and mules;—all busy packing up to start for Kamloops in
the morning. Most cordial were the greetings on both sides. They at once
set to work to prepare supper for us, though they had had their own
already, and men were sent back to bring our tent down beside their
encampment. The latest news was eagerly asked and given. We heard for the
first time scraps of general election news, the item of most recent
interest being the election of Sir Francis Hincks as M.P. for the
Vancouver District; but the one that delighted us most being the victory
of the Canadian team at Wimbledon in the competition for the Rajah of
Kolapore's cup against the eight picked shots of the United Kingdom. The
names of the eight were read out, and a special cheer given for Shand of
Halifax who scored highest.
A mighty supper was soon announced, and as we
looked at the tent floor, laden with what to us were the rarest
delicacies, and knew that we had appetites to do full justice to them all,
one after the other, our hearts warmed within us. Never were men in better
condition for the table. Beefsteak, bacon, stuffed heart, loaf bread and a
bottle of claret; a second course of fried slices of the remains of a
plum-pudding with which they had entertained Mr. Smith the day before,
seasoned with blueberry jam made by themselves,—a feast for a king,—a
feast the memory of which shall long gladden us. There was so much to talk
and hear about, such a murmur of voices, the pleasant light of so many
fires, the prospect of a warm sound sleep, and of more rapid journeying
hereafter, that there was nothing wanting to make our happiness complete,
except letters from home, and those were at Kamloops, not far away.
September 25th.—Rose at 5.30 refreshed, and as
ready for a Highland breakfast as if we had not eaten an English dinner
last night. It was arranged that Mr. Trutch should accompany us to
Kamloops, V. remaining behind to bring on everything, and that at the
Clearwater River, sixty-two miles distant, we should take the survey boat,
and go down the Thompson for the remaining seventy-three miles to Kamloops.
As the Chief had letters to write to different
parties, it was nine o'clock before we got away from the pleasant
Stillwater Camp, bidding good-bye to V., not without the hope of soon
meeting him in Ottawa, for we heard that there was a probability that in
his absence, and without canvassing, he would be elected on this very day
as a member of the House of Commons. Our pack-horses had gone on two hours
before with instructions to camp at Round Prairie, twenty-five miles from
Stillwater. Soon
after starting, we caught up to the beef-cattle and the pack-train of
mules that had gone in advance with U's camp. As the trail is narrow and
mules resent being passed on the road —occasionally flinging their heels
back into the face of the too eager horse, it took some time and
engineering to get ahead; but when this was accomplished we moved at a
rapid walk, breaking now and then into a trot. From the canyon to Kamloops
the trail steadily improved. Our morning journey was for ten miles along
the grassy or willow covered meadow on the west side of the Thompson's
Stillwater. The river looked like a long lake. The sand over the trail and
the debris strewn around showed that, in some years at any rate, the river
overflowed the low meadow; but an embankment of very moderate height would
protect a railway line from all danger.
We halted for lunch at the south end of the
Stillwater, fortunately coming on U's advance party who supplied us with
some bread, while the Doctor produced two boxes of sardines he had
prudently "packed." One of the men, an old Ontarian, was diligently
perusing the Toronto Globe of August 9th; and as it contained the latest
news, he kindly presented it to the Chief. The paper, as was natural at
the season, was filled with electioneering items; but though we would have
preferred a larger infusion of European news, very little was left unread.
Another of the men gave Mr. Trutch a pair of willow grouse he had shot the
day before. British Columbia boasts of having seven or eight varieties of
the grouse kind, the most abundant being the sage hen, the blue grouse,
the ptarmigan, and the spruce partridge or fool-hen, that is oftener
knocked over with a stick than shot.
After its long repose the Thompson now begins
to brawl and prepare for another rush down hill. Its height above sea
level at the bottom of the canyon is 2,000 feet and at Kamloops 1,250. It
falls more than two-thirds of this 750 feet of difference in the
forty-five miles immediately above Clearwater. In the seventy-three miles
below Clearwater the fall is only 240 feet. The meadow now ceased, and the
valley contracted again. We could easily understand the dismay with which
Milton and Cheadle beheld such a prospect. The valley had opened before,
below Mount Cheadle, as if the long imprisonment of the river, and with it
their own, was coming to an end; but the Great Cany6n had hedged it in
again more firmly than ever. Next at Stillwater and down for twelve or
fourteen miles, everything looked as if the river wearied with its long
course between high overhanging hills, was at last about to emerge into an
open country of farms and settlements; but again the hills closed in, and
the apparently interminable narrow valley recommenced.
There was no gloom, however, in our party. No
matter what the road, the country, or the weather, everything was on our
side; fair trail, friendly faces, commissariat all right, and the prospect
of a post office before the end of the week. The day too was warm and
sunny; the climate altogether different from the rainy skies and cold
nights higher up the slope; and we were assured that an hundred miles
farther down stream, no rain ever fell except an occasional storm or a few
drops from high passing clouds,—an assurance more welcome to us than to
intending settlers.
The aspect of the hills too was changing. They were lower and more broken,
with undulating spaces between, giving promise of escape to the imprisoned
traveller, sooner or later. Distinctly defined benches extended at
different points along the banks, and on these the trail was comparatively
level. About 4 P.M. we came to a bit of open called "Round Prairie," and
found the men unpacking for the night, as there was no other good place
for the horses nearer than sixteen miles off.
This had been the easiest day's journey since
entering the mountains, for though we had travelled twenty-four miles,
there was no fatigue, so that it was really like one of the pic-nic days
of the plains. The early camping gave another chance to read the papers,
of which every one took advantage, though it seemed odd to be devouring
with avidity papers nearly two months old.
September 26th.—It rained
heavily this morning, and the start from camp was made with the delays and
discomforts that rain produces. The cotton tent weighes thrice as much as
when dry. The ends of the blankets, clothes, some of the food, the
shaganappi, etc. get wet. The packs are heavier and the horses' backs are
wet; and it is always a question whether or not water-proofs do the riders
any good. This morning one of the pack-horses could not be found.
Everything had to be packed on the three others; Jack remained behind to
look for the fourth, and soon found the poor brute sheltered from the
rain, in a thicket near where "the bell" had been.
The country to-day resembled that of
yesterday; but even where it opened out, the steady drizzle and the heavy
mists on the hills hid everything. Cedars had entirely disappeared, and
the spruce and pines were comparatively small. The aralea gave place to a
smaller leaved trailer with a red berry like the raspberry; and a dark
green prickly-leaved bush like English holly, called the Oregon grape, and
several grasses and plants new to us covered the ground.
Six miles from camp we came to Mad River, a
violent mountain affluent of the Thompson, crossed by a good bridge; and
ten miles farther on to "Pea Vine Prairie," where as the rain ceased and
enough blue sky "to make a pair of breeches" showed, the halt for dinner
was called. Here we saw for the first time the celebrated "bunch-grass,"
which has no superior as feed for horses or cattle; especially for the
latter, as the beet that has been fed on it is peculiarly juicy and
tender. The name explains its character as a grass. It consists of small
narrow blades—ten to fifty of them growing in a bunch from six to eighteen
inches high, and the bunches so close together in places that at a
distance they appear to form a sward. The blades are green in spring and
summer, but at this season they are russet grey, apparently withered and
tasteless, but the avidity with which the horses cropped them, turning
aside from green and succulent marsh grass and even vetches, showed that
the virtue of the bunch grass had not been lost.
The clouds now rolled up like curtains from
the hills, and the sun breaking out revealed the river, three or four
hundred feet below, with an intervale on each side that made the valley at
least two miles across to the high banks that enclosed it. There was a
bend in the river to the west, so that we saw not only a little up and
down, which is usually all that can be seen on the North Thompson, but
round the corner; a wide extent of landscape of varied beauty and soft
outlines. The hills were wooded, and the summits of the highest dusted
with the recent snow, that had been rain-fall in the valley. Autumn hues
of birch, cottonwood, and poplar blended with the dark fir and pine,
giving the variety and warmth of colour that we had for many days been
strangers to, and which was therefore appreciated by us all the more. The
face of the bank on which we stood presented a singular appearance. It was
of whitish clay mixed with sand, the front hard as cement by the action of
the weather; there had been successive slides of the bank behind in
different years, but the old front had remained firm, and was now standing
out along the face, away from the bank, in pyramidal or grotesque forms,
like the trap or basalt rocks, spires, and columns along the east coast of
Skye, springing from debris at the base. Similar strange forms of cemented
whitish clay are to be found in several places on the Fraser.
As Smith and Trutch now messed with us, the
different cooks contributed to the common stock and to the cooking, with
the two advantages of greater variety to the table, and greater speed in
the preparation. After a short halt at "Pea Vine" we got into the saddle
again, and made ten miles before sunset; the trail leading across sandy
benches intersected by numerous little creeks, the descent to which was
generally so direct that every one had to dismount, both for the down and
the up hill stretch. Camp for the night was pitched at one of these
creeks, twelve miles to the north of the Clearwater, and Frank who had
become quite an adept at constructing camp fires, built up a mighty one,
at which we dried wet clothes and blankets. Our camp presented a lively
scene at night. Great fires before each tent lit up the dark forest, and
threw gleams of light about, that made the surrounding darkness all the
more intense. Through the branches of the pines, the kindly stars—the only
spectators— looked down on groups flitting from tent to tent, or cumbered
about the many things that have to be cared for even in the wilderness,
cooking, mending, drying, overhauling baggage, piling wood on the fire,
planning for the morrow, or "taking notes." How like a lot of gypsies we
were in outward appearance, and how naturally every one took to the wild
life! A longing for home and for rest would steal over us if we were quiet
for a time, but a genuine love for camp life, for its freedom and
simplicity and rude happiness, for the earth as a couch and the sky for a
canopy, and the wide world for a bed-room, possessed us all; and we knew
that, in after days, memory would return, to dwell fondly over many an old
camping ground by lake or river side, on the plains, in the woods, and
among the mountains.
September 27th.—Six miles travel like yesterday's brought us this morning
to Raft River, a broad stream, whose ice cold pellucid waters, indicated
that it ran from glaciers, or through hard basalt or trap rock that
yielded it no tribute of clay to bring down; and six miles more along
gravelly benches to the Clearwater, whose name is intended to express a
similar character, and the difference between itself and the clay coloured
Thompson it empties into. The Clearwater is so large a stream that after
its junction, the Thompson becomes clearer from the admixture. At the
junction there is a depot of the Canada Pacific Railway Survey, with a man
in charge, and a three ton boat used to bring up supplies from Kamloops,
which we had arranged with V. to take down, leaving Jack and Joe to bring
along the horses, at a leisurely pace. From Clearwater to Kamloops by the
trail is between seventy and eighty miles, and by the river probably
ninety. Aided by the current we hoped to row this in a day and a half, and
so get to Kamloops on Saturday night. V. had given us four men to row the
boat, and as she lay at the river bank, the loads were taken from the
horses' backs, and thrown in without difficulty.
After dining in front of the shanty, we said
"good-bye" to Jack and Joe, and gave ourselves up to the sixth lot of men,
we had journeyed with since leaving Fort Garry, and the fourth variety of
locomotion; the faithful Terry still cleaving to the party, and really
seeming to get fond of us, from force of habit, and the contrast of his
own long tenure of service with the short periods of all the others.
At two P.M., twelve got into the boat; our
five, the crew, Smith, Trutch, and his man Johnston who was to steer and
help Terry. Up to two o'clock the day had been cloudy and cold, but the
sun now came out, and we could enjoy the luxury of sitting in comfort,
talking or reading, knowing too that no delay was occasioned by the
comfort. The oars were clumsy, but the men worked with a will, and the
current was so strong that the boat moved down at the rate of five or six
miles an hour, so that after four and a half hours, Trutch advised
camping, though there was still half an hour's twilight, for at the same
rate we would easily reach Kamloops on the morrow.
In this part of its course the river did not
seem materially larger, or different from what it was much farther up. It
still ran between high rugged hills, that closed in as canyons at
intervals. Its course was still through a gorge rather than a valley. Any
expanse was as often up on a high terrace, that had once been its bed, as
down along its present banks. Seventeen miles from the Clearwater we
passed the "Assineboine's bluff," a huge protuberance of slate that only
needs a similar rock on the other side, to make it a formidable canyon. At
some points the forms of the hills varied so much that the scene was
picturesque and striking, but these hills are merely outliers, and not
high enough to impress, or to do away with the feeling of monotony.
Besides, we had been so sated with mountains that it needed much more to
attract our admiration now than would have sufficed a month ago.
Our crew were expert in managing a boat and in
putting up a tent. Before dark everything was secured, and we were
enjoying our pork and beans, with a plate of porridge before and after the
heavier dish; and soon after supper lay down, as we expected, for the last
time in this expedition—in our "lean to"—sub Jove frigido. This—our
'Thompson River Camp'—was the 60th from Lake Superior, and as we wrapped
the blankets round us, a regretful feeling that it would probably be the
last, stole into every one's mind.
September 28th.—Raining this morning again,
but as there were no horses to pack, it was of less consequence. By 7.30
the boat was unmoored and we were rowing down the river, having fifty-two
miles by the survey line and probably sixty-five by the river to make, if
at all possible, before night. Behind and above us the clouds were heavy,
but we soon passed through the rainy region, to the clearer skies that are
generally in the neighbourhood of Kamloops. For the first half of our way
the river scenery was very similar to that of yesterday, except that the
flats along the banks were broader and more fertile, and the hills covered
more abundantly with bunch grass. A few families of "Siwashes," as Indians
on the Pacific slope are universally called; in the barbarous
Chinook,—probably from "Sauvages," are scattered here and there along the
flats. Their miserable little tents looked like salmon smoking
establishments ; for as the salmon don't get this far up the river till
August and September, the Siwashes have to catch and dry them for winter
use very late in the year.
Small pox has reduced the number of Siwashes
in this part of the country to the merest handful. A 6ight of one of their
winter residences, is a sufficient explanation of the destructiveness of
any epidemic that gets in among them. A deep and wide hole is dug in the
ground, a strong pole with cross sticks like an upright ladder stuck in
the centre, and then the house is built up with logs, in conical form,
from the ground to near the top of the pole, space enough being left for
the smoke and the inmates to get out. Robinson Crusoe like, instead of a
door, they use the ladder, and go in and out of the house during the
winter, by the chimney. As this is an inconvenient mode of egress they go
out as seldom as possible; and as the dogs live with the family, the filth
that scon accumulates can easily be estimated, and so can the consequence,
should one of them be attacked with fever or small pox. They boast that
these houses are "terrible warm," and when the smoke and heat reach
suffocation point, their simple remedy is to rush up the ladder into the
air, and roll themselves in the snow for a few minutes. In spring they
emerge from their hybernation into open or tent life; and in the autumn,
they generally find it easier to build a new house or bottle to shut
themselves up in, than to clean out the old one. This practice accounts
for the great number of cellar-like depressions along the banks of the
river; the sites of former dwellings resembling the sad mementoes of old
clans to be seen in many a glen in the Highlands of Scotland, and
suggesting at the first view that the population in former years had been
very large. But as one Siwash family may have dug out a dozen residences
in as many years, the number of houses is no criterion of what the tribe
numbered at any time.
For the first ten or fifteen miles of to-day's
course, the river ran rather sluggishly. The current then became stronger,
and as it cut for several miles through a range of high hills that had
once stretched across its bed, there was a series of rapids powerful
enough to help us on noticeably, and of course to hinder much more a boat
going upstream. The valley here became a gorge again. Emerging from the
range at mid-day, Trutch pointed out blue hills in the horizon, apparently
forty or fifty miles ahead, as beyond Kamloops. We halted for twenty
minutes to take a cold lunch, and then moved on.
An hour before sunset we came to the first
sign of settlers,—a fence run across the intervale from the river to the
mountain, to hinder the cattle from straying farther up. Between this
point and Kamloops there are now ten or eleven farms or "ranches" as they
are called on the Pacific slope, all of them taken up since Milton and
Cheadle's time. The first building was a saw-mill about fifteen miles from
Kamloops, the proprietor of which was busy sawing boards to roof in his
own mill, to begin with. Small log cabins of the new settlers, each with
an enclosure for cattle called "the corral" close to it, next gladdened
our eyes, so long unused to seeing any abodes of men. For all time, the
names and technical expressions on the Pacific coast are likely to show
that settlement proceeded from the south and not across the mountains. But
such Californian terms as 'ranch,' 'corral' and others from the lips of
Scotchmen sounded strangely in our ears at first.
Stock raising is the chief occupation of
farmers here; for though the ground produces the very best cereals and
vegetables, irrigation is required as in the fertile plains and valleys of
California; and the simplest methods of irrigating—even where a stream
runs through the farm—are expensive in a country where farm labourers and
herdmen get from $30 to $75 a month and their 'board'; and where stock
raising pays so well on account of the excellence of the natural grass.
Common labourers on the roads in British Columbia get $50 a month, about
$20 of which they pay for 'board'; and teamsters and packers from $100 to
$150. The farmers who
have settled on the North or South Thompson are making money; and beef
commands higher prices every year. As there are very few white women, most
of the settlers live with squaws, or Klootchmen as they are called on the
Pacific ; and little agricultural progress or advance of any kind can be
expected until immigration brings in women, accustomed to dairy and
regular farm-work, to be wives for white men.
The ranches taken up are near little creeks
that supply water to irrigate them. In the valley of the South Thompson
are large extents of excellent land beside, fit at once for the plough,
that will not be settled on, till it is proved that water can be
profitably raised from the river, or be had from wells in sufficient
quantity. Neither way has yet been tried, simply because all the land
along the creeks has not yet been taken up, and there has been no
necessity for experimenting.
As we drew nearer Kamloops, characteristics of
a different climate could be noted with increasing distinctness. A milder
atmosphere, softer skies, easy rolling hills ; but the total absence of
underbrush and the dry grey grass everywhere covering the ground were the
most striking differences to us, accustomed so long to the broad-leaved
underbrush and dark green foliage of the humid upper country. We had
clearly left the high rainy, and entered the lower arid, region. The
clouds from the Pacific are intercepted by the Cascades, and only those
that soar like soap-bubbles over their summits pass on to the east. These
float over the intervening country till they come to the second range, a
region high enough to intercept them. Thus it is that while clouds hang
over Kamloops and its neighbourhood, little rain or snow falls. The only
timber in the district is a knotty red pine, and as the trees grow widely
apart, and the bunch-grass underneath is clean, unmixed with weeds and
shrubs, and uniform in colour, the country has a well-kept park-like
appearance, though there is too little of fresh green and too many signs
of aridity for beauty.
The North Thompson runs smoothly for ten miles
above Kamloops, after rippling over a sudden descent, and making a sharp
bend round to the north-west and back again to the south. In the afternoon
a slight breeze had sprung up, and a tent was hoisted for a sail: but the
wind shifted so frequently that more was lost than gained by it, and at
sunset we took it down and trusted to the heavy clumsy oars. We had only
four or five miles to make when it became so dark that the shoals ahead
could not be seen; and as none of the crew knew this part of the river,
the steering became mere guess-work, and the doctor as the lucky man was
put at the helm. We grounded three or four times, but as the boat was
flat-bottomed, and the bed of the river hard and gravelly, she was easily
shoved off. The delays were provoking, all the more because there might be
many of them; but about 8 o'clock, the waters of the South Thompson,
running east and west, gleamed in the darkness at right angles to our
course. The North branch, though the largest, runs into the South branch.
A quarter of a mile down stream from the junction is Fort Kamloops.
The boat was hauled in to the bank; and Trutch
went up to the Fort. Mr. Tait, the agent, at once came down, and with a
genuine H. B., which is equivalent to a Highland, welcome, invited us to
take up our quarters with him. Gladly accepting the hospitable offer, we
were soon seated in a comfortable room beside a glowing fire. We were at
Kamloops! beside a Post Office, and a waggon road ; and in the adjoining
room, the half-dozen heads of families resident in or near Kamloops were
holding a meeting with the Provincial Superintendant of Education, to
discuss the best means of establishing a school. Surely we had returned to
civilization and the ways of men!
Were we to judge from what we have seen of the
country along the Fraser and Thompson rivers, the conclusion would be
forced on us that British Columbia can never be an agricultural country.
We have not visited, however, the Okanagan and Nicola Districts, or the
Chilcoten Plains; and we have heard good accounts of the fertility of the
former, and the rich parklike scenery of extensive tracts in the latter.
But the greater part of the mainland is, "a sea of mountains"; and the
Province will have to depend mainly on its rich grazing resources, its
valuable timber, its fisheries, and minerals, for any large increase of
population. Even that part of the country lying between the second range
of "the Rockies" and "the Cascades" where we now are, is an elevated
plateau, broken by hills. The indications are that it once was submerged
under water, with the hill tops then showing as islands, and with the long
line of the Cascades separating the great elevated lake from the sea. In
process of time clefts riven in the Cascades made ways for the waters to
escape. By these clefts the Fraser, the Homathco, the Skeena, and the
Bella Coula now run in deep gorges through granite and gneissic or trap
and basalt rocks to the sea. Originally the waters emptied by a series of
falls the magnificence of which it is scarcely possible to conceive. The
successive subsidences of the water are now shown by the high benches of
gravel and silt along the river valleys, and on account of the great depth
cut down by the rivers, there are no bottom
lands or meadows worth speaking of. As a general rule, with only a few
exceptions, all the water channels are found in deep gorges, and for this
reason the great rivers of the Province cannot overflow their banks. They
must be content with rising higher up the steep hill-sides, between which,
for the greater part of their course, they are pent. |
