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Chapter VIII - Over the Great Divide
THE great voyage was
now begun (May 9th, 1793). The party started out full of hope. On
the Peace River, as the travellers Butler, Gordon, and others have
told us, the scenery is beautiful, the banks are fertile, and animal
life is abundant. An elk killed and a buffalo wounded were the
achievements of the young men as they landed for the night
encampment.
Mackenzie thus
describes the river:—"This magnificent theatre of nature has all the
decorations which the trees and animals of the country can afford
it; groves of poplars in every shape vary the scene; and their
intervals are enlightened with vast herds of elks and buffaloes; the
former choosing the steeps arid uplands, and the latter preferring
the plains. . . . The whole country displayed an exuberant verdure;
time trees that bear a blossom were advancing fast to that
delightful appearance, and the velvet rind of their branches
reflecting the oblique rays of a rising or setting sun, added a
splendid gaiety to the scene, which no expressions of mine are
qualified to describe."
The men of the voyage
were, however, too intent on this enterprise to be delayed by the
hunt or by the fertile valleys. The banks soon rose to greater
heights, and the navigation became even more difficult. The cascades
and rapids became correspondingly more trying, and soon the first
band of Rocky Mountain Indians who were questioned failed to tell
anything of the route beyond the first mountains, though they took
much interest in the proposed expedition. Within three days of
starting it became evident that bears were very numerous. Along the
bank footprints were seen of the great grizzly, the terror of Indian
and trader alike. The monotony was varied by the voyageurs having to
gum their canoe, which had already met hard usage; by stopping to
examine an island with .canoe-birch growing upon it; by passing the
entry of a tributary river; and by watching the shore for bears and
buffaloes.
A dangerous rapid
well-nigh put an end to their canoe on the tenth day out, and thus
some delay occurred. Again en route the party saw the strength of
the stream increase. The shore rose three hundred feet above the
water, and on the following day the members of the party were
compelled to cut steps in a soft stone wall around a boiling rapid,
in doing which their canoe was broken. No bark was found with which
to mend it, and poles were used to steady the canoe till at last in
a bottomless whirlpool all help failed. The river became one
continuous rapid, and even the well-trained voyageur's were
thoroughly alarmed.
Discontent now very
naturally began to prevail among the men. Mackenzie had little hope
himself. Further progress up the river by canoe seemed impossible.
Clambering with his Indians to the heights above the river the
explorer took observations, and his own account of the situation is:
"The river is not more than fifty yards wide, and flows between
stupendous rocks, from whence huge fragments sometimes tumble down,
and falling from such height form the beach between the rocky
projections."
It seemed as if an
impassable barrier had been reached. Mackenzie sent Mackay and the
men up the steep banks to explore, and they returned through woods,
over steep hills, and through deep valleys, with the news that the
rapids extended for three leagues. They were not, however,
discouraged, and the narrator states that a "kettle of wild rice,
sweetened with sugar, along with the usual regale of rum," renewed
their courage.
After the return of
this scouting party, the resolve was taken to fight a way through
the obstacles, and persevere in the ,journey. Cutting a road through
the thicket, and up rocky steeps, slow progress was made—a mile on
one day, three miles the next—over steep hills, dragging the canoe
on the toilsome march, until, after making about eight miles in
three days, they succeeded in passing above the falls of the river,
and in bringing up all their baggage. A longer route taken by the
Indians could have been followed. It was probably a foolish thing to
take the more direct way, but it was certainly an exhibition of
British endurance. The fall that had been passed was the one of
which the River Indians had asserted that it was equal to Niagara.
Iii this they were of course mistaken.
The rapids passed,
the canoe was again committed to the opposing stream, and the
journey resumed. They were now completely surrounded by mountains,
whose tops were perhaps fifteen hundred feet above the stream. The
altitude was beginning to influence the temperature. The journey,
though near the end of May, was sometimes interrupted by the party
landing to build a fire, on which occasion what the commander
continues to call a "regale" of rum was always indulged in with
satisfaction.
On the last day of
the month the forks of the Peace River were reached, and the party
was much troubled as to which branch of the stream should be
followed. Mackenzie was anxious to take that coming from the
north-west, but the old Indian guide insisted that by taking that
from the south-east a carrying-place would soon be reached by which
another large river would be accessible. On one of the last days of
the month the commander himself began to feel that his voyage was
becoming a heavy burden. Thoughts of the lower country recurred to
him, and he took an empty rum-keg, and after writing a full account
of his voyage thus far, placed it in the keg, which he carefully
sealed up and committed to the rushing river to be carried perhaps
to some kind friend, or to be picked up by some other explorer as
his last memorial. The crew, also driven nearly to desperation, in
their fancy heard It discharge of firearms, which arose entirely
from their disturbed imaginations. They were quite mistaken as to
its being a war party of the Kinistineaux, as no Indians appeared.
Mackenzie, Mackay,
and all their followers were now becoming sceptical as to there
being any carrying-place over the mountain height. The leader and
his lieutenant, leaving the canoe, betook themselves to a mountain
on the river bank, laboriously clambered to the top of it, and
Mackenzie climbed the highest tree on the height. He saw only a vast
wooded expanse before him. The mid-day sun proved very hot to the
party shut up in the forest, and mosquitoes were a continual plague.
On the return of the
two spies their canoe was gone, whether up or down stream they could
not tell. Great anxiety and many gloomy surmises filled their minds,
but in time the crew, which had found tI1e river exceedingly
difficult, appeared. The strong current had broken their canoe, and
thus delayed them.
On Sunday, Junk 9th, the party was surprised to hear confused sounds
in front of them. They proceeded from some Indians who had chanced
to see them, and had become much alarmed. Not knowing how strong or
in what mood their unseen neighbours might be, Mackenzie directed
his boatmen to cross to the opposite side of the river. When they
were not more than half way across the river, two men appeared upon
the cliff brandishing their spears, and showing their bows and
arrows in token of defiance, meanwhile shouting loudly. After
parleying, however, they were reassured, and the party joined them
on the shore. They had never seen white men before. They examined
the newcomers with the greatest care. The whole Indian encampment
proved small. There were only three men, three women, and seven or
eight boys and girls.
Mackenzie's hopes of
finding the carrying-place, and the way over the height, now began
to rise again. The Indians, however, professed the utmost ignorance
of any such thing. The explorer plied them , with presents, gave
sweets to the children, and made himself most friendly. They still
denied any knowledge of the road he sought. Time is of value in
dealing with Indians, and so Mackenzie continued to delay, hoping to
gain the much desired information. Their reticence was probably
ignorance and mental obliquity rather than any studied concealment.
One evening one of
the men lingered by the fire after the others had retired. In
talking he let fall a reference to a great river, and pointed
significantly up the river on which they were. Pressed by Mackenzie
he at length admitted that there was a great river flowing towards
the mid-day sun (south), of which a branch flowed near the river up
which they were proceeding. He stated also that there was a small
river leading from the Peace River into three small lakes connected
by portages, and that these emptied into the great south river. He
denied any knowledge, however, that the great river emptied into the
sea.
Before giving up the
matter with the Indian, Mackenzie succeeded in getting a map of the
region, with its rivers and lakes drawn on a strip of bark by a
piece of coal. One of the Indians was now induced to act as guide to
the desired spot.
On the day after the
interview with the friendly Indian the party started, and two days
afterwards quitted the main branch, and, working their way in the
canoe painfully up the encumbered stream, reached the first small
lake. The whole country in the neighbourhood was flooded, so that
the canoe passed among the branches of the trees. They were
surrounded by the evidences of life. No Indians were met, but
beavers abounded; swans were numerous ; ducks and geese were
plentiful in this secluded re--treat; tracks of the moose were
visible; blue jays, yellow-heads, and one humming-bird cheered their
hearts; and wild parsnips, of which the voyageurs were fond, grew in
abundance.
On June 12th, 1793,
Mackenzie makes the important announcement:—"The lake is about two
miles in length, east by south, and from three to five hundred yards
wide. This I consider as the highest and southernmost source of the
Unijah or Peace River " (latitude 54° 24' north, longitude 121'
west). It was a long way from this mountain jungle to the mouth of
the river which he had seen when approaching the Arctic Sea.
Hope had now reached
fruition. The height of land had been gained. The boat crew landed
and unloaded their canoe, and here they saw running over a low ridge
of land—eight hundred and seventeen paces long—a beaten path to
another lake. On each side of the lake was a mountain, the space of
the lake between them being about a quarter of a mile. A cache of
Indian supplies—nets, hooks, and some implements—was found.
Mackenzie took what lie wanted of them, and left in exchange a
knife, fire steels, beads, awls, etc. At this point two streams
tumble down the rocks from the right and flow eastward towards the
other lake; and from the left two other streams pour down the rocks
and empty into the lake they were approaching. Proceeding west the
water was now flowing with them, and they were beginning to descend
the western slope. Six miles from the third lake a careful and
painful effort was made, and the western side was reached. The river
ran with "great rapidity, and rushed impetuously over a bed of flat
stones." Beside this far west stream they encamped for the night.
The boiling waters of
this treacherous river were worse than anything they had seen on
Peace River. On the resumption of the journey after their long
portage the canoe had been dashed with fury on the rocks. Then a few
holes were stove in the bottom, and the sad condition of the
voyageurs was such that the "Indians without attempting to help, sat
down and gave vent to their tears." The canoe escaped destruction,
although ammunition and some utensils of value were lost. While
mending the shattered canoe Mackenzie despatched two of his men
through the westward thickets to find the great river they were
seeking.
On June 19th
Mackenzie makes this announcement: "The morning was foggy, and at
three we were on the water."
The story of the
succeeding days need hardly be given. The travellers were on the
stream which Simon Fraser descended in 1806, this has always been
regarded as one of the most dangerous feats ever undertaken by Ivan.
With every variety of anxiety and hardship they courageously braced
themselves to the effort, and for three days continued the descent.
On the way a band of
intelligent Indians was met, whose chief was a sagamore of great age
and wisdom. The old chief informed the explorer that he was not on
the way to the western sea. He was going southward, and the sea lay
to the west. Provisions were getting short, and the prospect was
that, if any time were lost, there could be no return to Lake
Athabaska during the season then in progress. He was informed that
he should have left the Nechaco, or Fraser River, a considerable
distance up, by a small tributary flowing into it from the west.
To turn back is not
easy for any one, much less to a man of Alexander Mackenzie's stamp.
But the Indians adhered to their former statements, and startled him
with their frankness. One said, "What can be the reason that you are
so particular and anxious in your enquiries of us respecting a
knowledge of this country? Do not you white men know everything in
the world?"
These were hard
questions for the explorer. Mackenzie gathered his company around
him, and laid before them the alternative of going back, or of going
on and proceeding by the land route to the sea. To his surprise and
gratification they all, declared in favour of the march to the sea.
Mackay, the faithful lieutenant, engraved the explorer's naive and
the date of arrival at this farthest point down the Fraser River on
a tree upon the banks of the stream.
Arid now on the west
side of the great divide the party is pausing before the return
journey up the furious Fraser. |
