“The winter! the brightness that blinds you,
The white land locked tight as a drum,
The cold fear that follows and finds you,
The silence that bludgeons you dumb.
The snows that are older than history,
The woods where the weird shadows slant;
The Stillness, the moonlight, the mystery—
I’ve bade ’em good-bye—but I can’t.”

Robert W. Service.

It was with many such feelings that I turned finally into the South to depart from the strange North land that was so desperately stern in its character of wild overwhelming vastness and rigour of elements, although forever alluringly , attractive withal.

Unsettled in my ambition to go on by the news of my country involved in war—which had, perchance, come to me through a trapper about a month before—and by food problems confronting me at the edge of the Barren Grounds— which would take months, if not longer, to overcome—I had, on November 29, when I and my two Indian companions were out of food and losing our dogs and our courage, turned at the edge of the Barren Grounds, and regretfully abandoned the fond hope that I had entertained of spending the following summer right over on the Arctic coast.

Two entries in my diary at this date refer to the condition of my dogs:

“November 28.—Snowstorm all day drifting wickedly on a strong east-wind blizzard. Onward throughout the day, crouching like distressed animals, we fought our way ahead over shelterless lakes. Peesu, one of my dogs, will not eat to-night, so utterly done-up is the poor brute. He lies in his lair in the snow, unwilling even to raise his head. I finally coaxed him to swallow a few tit-bits of dried meat ere turning in to sleep.

“November 30.—Off on the trail at daylight. Mcadowsteuce—my lead-dog—dying, and had to be destroyed before leaving. Peesu somewhat recovered, but he, and Musquaw, and Whisky are all lame. I have but one sound dog. Travelling in yesterday’s blizzard was too much for them. Some of the Indians’ dogs are exhausted also.”

I fancy no one cares to give up and admit a total, or certain amount of, defeat in the midst of furthering a big enterprise; it is indeed heartbreaking to do so: and yet one can be so overwhelmed by circumstances that it becomes foolish to go on, and wise to bow to the grim hand of Fate.

Though, there were difficulties lying before me on the foodless, snow-covered wastes of the Barren Grounds, these were possible to surmount in time, but I could in no way, in this land where one has plenty of opportunity to think, and where one’s thoughts are prone to probe one’s conscience, justify the continuance of a personal ambition while I knew my country had need for my service, and kinsfolk expected my homecoming to rally to the Flag.

Therefore, abandoning further-north travel as I have said, I returned reluctantly to my base-cabin north of Fort Du Brochet and stayed in that neighbourhood until Christmas in the forlorn hope that the yearly Christmas packet, due from the south at that date, might contain some more favourable news of the War; hoping even that the astonishing storm of arms which had so quickly risen, had as quickly subsided—perhaps even ceased.

Vain, unnoticed hope!—doomed to be utterly wrecked as wave upon wave grew upon the rising tide of warfare, and engulfed every other thought or desire; its vast upheaval searching even to the far-distant doorstep of my log-cabin to find therein a victim.

Christmas came, but with it no packet; strange, unheard of delinquency that bore gravity to the hearts of the trader and the mission priest at the Fort. “There must be something seriously wrong,” they thought, and, most dreadful thought of all, “Could war possibly be going ill with our country?”

We gathered in grave consultation hour after hour, and our one topic was war; trapping, fur-trading, religion, had ruthlessly gone by the board. Hours were spent in conjecture; ideas constructed from our slim store of early war news; hopes and forebodings voiced of sheer imagination; but from all it was not in our power to raise one single conviction of comforting reliable substance—we were beyond the voice of our kind; conjecture as we might, there could be no answer, unless the vast snow waste was pierced, and jingling, joyful sled-bells should herald the packet from the south.

Each day we watched over the sea of lake ice to the south, each night sealed down the envelope of another span of expectancy and disappointment.

From the 23rd to the 27th I had waited at the Fort; on the night of December 27, which was a Sunday, I made final preparations to go—no hope of the packet remained, no gladsome transformation to justify my staying on and a renewal of north travel.

On the morning of the 28th a group of natives gathered about the sleds as we harnessed up.

J’Pierre and Mistewgoso were to accompany me to Pelican Narrows, which was a post in touch with Cumberland House on the Sturgeon-weir River Route, which, in turn, was not very far from The Pas, which terminated the newly projected Hudson Bay Railway. They were to drive two dog-sleds loaded with specimens: chiefly Caribou, Barren-ground Wolves, and Foxes, for most of the bird-skins collected had previously been sent south by arrangement with the Fur-trader.

With warm hand-shake I bade good-bye to the untrammelled, upright redskin children of the wild who were standing almost shyly about on the snow to wish me bon voyage and au revoir for all had told me they hoped I would some day come again amongst them. It was a somewhat touching farewell to me, for it bore the final goodwill of rude men, not easy of approach, who had come to acknowledge me their friend, and theirs was friendship I valued. Only a day or two before the priest at the Fort had taken upon himself the task of telling me of the feeling of the Indians toward the white stranger. He had summed up his kindly meant remarks with: “If at any time you come back to this territory, you will have many friends among the natives ready to help you in your work, and glad to go with you on the trail, for they feel you are as one of them, and they understand and trust you—all say the same, and they are quick to distinguish.” Who would not feel, who had lived among a strange race, touched and deeply grateful for such acknowledgment of comradeship?

Thus warm hand-shakes, which had nothing of conventionality about them, sent me on my way, while a parting volley of rifle shots followed from the shore as we mushed the dogs and sped out over the frozen lake on the trail into the South.

As we drew away I looked back on that diminutive settlement of cabins, husbanded together and wholly human in that vastly desolate land, and loving the strange wild North and its freedom, and its people, was disposed to repeat: “I’ve bade ’em good-bye—but I can’t.”

Gewgewsh and Napisis, who had also harnessed their dogs, ran with us till we camped at our first “fire,” breaking the trail thus far, and making the going for our sleds easier; a final act of good-fellowship arranged by the people at the Fort. Gewgewsh had trailed with me to the edge of the Barren Grounds and had taken Upon himself this delicate manner of showing friendship which is typical of the refinement and chivalry of the best of the Indians, who are sometimes, at heart, true men.

With a purpose I have dwelt at some length on the friendship of natives, for I believe that anyone who wishes to enjoy travel or sport far afield in any land should always try to accept the native as a well-meaning character, no matter how strange their lives and manners may be in contrast to our own; they are, after all, but children of circumstance, with colour, character, environment, irrevocably inherited. Their seeming stupidity, or sullen nonchalance, especially if confused by overbearing command or reproach, does often, it seems to me, come about through lack of full understanding, particularly in language, for one may not be able, in their native tongue, to say explicitly that which one means, and they, on their part, may not be capable of phrasing their own language to convey to the stranger addressed the full significance of their reply.

In any case, if early contact with natives prove difficult and trying, it is well not to be disheartened and suspicious of them, but to persevere while accepting them as strange, rude people. In the end, if this is done, there will result at least a measure of mutual understanding, and the stranger will find in the native many good points to counterbalance the bad. And much really good service can thereby be gained, to further the enjoyment and results of any undertaking, for undoubtedly the natives can give one valuable information of their country, which is open as a book to them, if they are anxious to be friendly, and to serve.

I have on rare occasions heard impatient people express the opinion that natives are fools; and in such cases I have been prompted to think that they have taken the natives, for the most part, in the wrong way; and that such an opinion can seldom be altogether justified. It is surely much more fair to begin with the idea that they are not fools, but just simple and untutored people, and I feel sure that if that is done in the right spirit the result in the end will bring its reward, and at the same time full appreciation be gained from the native of the standard the true white man upholds of fair play; which is also the standard he will attribute to our country.

Furthermore, dealing now with native ability, as far as the North American Indian is concerned, few white men, unless they are bred on the edge of civilisation or long accustomed to life beyond the frontiers, in my humble opinion, can compare with the red man in travelling great tracts of unmapped territory when they enter country they themselves have not known before. The speed at which they can cover rough country, and their instinctive sense of true direction, are incomparable and little short of miraculous; and often leave the white man’s prowess far in rear. Nor is this logically to be wondered at, for the nomad primitive Indian is born and brought up to bush travel; it is to him second nature, while to our more gently cultured race it often carries the experience of an unexpected robust education.

Creatures of the wild, and akin to animals in their adaptability to their surroundings, Indians have from their beginning been a race of able hunters and wanderers; lithe of sinew, sound of lung—enduring, and, most highly developed characteristic of all, endowed with peculiar, unerring, intuitive scent for trail or direction.

One could not wish for better henchmen on the trail, but, at the same time, it is difficult to enlist their service, particularly if the journey proposed is to be a long one. There are two prominent reasons why the red man, on most occasions, hesitates to accompany a white stranger on a long trail. Firstly, it is seldom the red man’s custom to leave his lodge of women and children for any lengthy period, for they are largely dependent on him for food and management of camp life; while, at the same time, the man’s presence is to his women-folk a safeguard against danger of any kind. Secondly, they are dubious that the white man may possess strange ideas in his pursuit of his objective, and that he may not foresee the dangers and hardships ahead as clearly as they do in their fuller experience; which prompts the fear that the white man might lead them into a tight corner and needless dangers, against which they, when by themselves, would accurately forecast and avoid. All of which is of course reasonable from the Indian’s point of view, and should be understood and considered if one meets with rebuffs when setting out to look for guides. They are, however, individually open to the persuasion of a stranger, and it is nearly always possible to find the right man in the end. And once this initial step is accomplished toward mutual understanding, and the stranger becomes known and trusted on a territory, his difficulties in that direction largely cease.

And now, to return from this brief digression to the south-bound sleds that had left Fort Du Brochet, we were soon far out on Reindeer Lake beyond all sight of dwelling or fellow-mortal; wc might have entered a land of the dead, so soon had all vestige of that tiny, closely infested settlement been overwhelmed by vast surroundings.

This journey undertaken, so far as I was concerned, was now simply a question of straight trailing. Four hundred miles away, following a route almost due south, lay the Pas and the Hudson Bay Railway: for that point I was heading. The first stage on the way was Pelican Narrows ; thus far were J’Pierre and Mistewgoso to transport the sled-loads of specimens, and thence return on their back trail.

But from day to day I will briefly deal with my onward-hurrying journey to the south over frozen lakes and forests lain deep with snow.

December 29.—Travelled all day on Reindeer Lake, Frozen-over icc floes were very bad all along the north shore of Porcupine Point, where wind-pressure, before the ice was very thick, had broken through the weak areas and piled up angular blocks on the resisting lake surface. There, accordingly, progress for the sleds was for some considerable distance awkward and slow, and some time was lost.

The day was bitterly cold, so cold that when I took a photograph in an exposed position on the lake, and removed my right-hand mitten to do so, I had my finger frozen in but a brief time. Application of snow rubbed on vigorously soon restored circulation.

Ten Caribou were sighted between our second fire and night camp, and we gave chase to secure dog-food. Both Indians (one of whom used my rifle) brought down a buck apiece, and at long range I, later, dropped a third from the same herd. Each then hoisted a dead animal on the top of the sled-loads, and roped them securely; and when this was done we resumed our way until it was time to camp for the night. At camp the Caribou were off-loaded and cut up, and the dogs well fed, while the remainder, excepting that which was required for our personal needs, was cached by the Indians for use on their return journey.

In camp we slept on spruce boughs on the snow, snug in our Caribou-skin sleeping-bags before a great log-fire, as was ordinary custom on the winter trails.

December 30.—Left our night camp about an hour before daylight, and made good progress throughout the day. There had been no snowstorm so far, but the air to-day was heavy, and fog hung over the lake in the distance, while it remained bitingly cold, and the dogs, as usual, were white with the back-flung frozen moisture of their breathing.

A few Caribou were sighted far off at dusk, but we did not attempt to follow them. At no other time this day did we sec a single living creature on the great motionless wastes of snow.

December 31.—To-day heavy white fog enwrapped Reindeer Lake until late afternoon, and all landmarks were hidden. After our first fire the Indians lost their true direction and were for a time at a loss. Soon, however, they doubled back on their tracks, and eventually picked up old signs to eastward.

This night we camped at a Cree’s wigwam on the east shore of Reindeer Lake, about half a day’s journey from the south end. Here we partook of the Indian’s hospitality within the crowded smoke-filled confines of his primitive dwelling. Food was soon forthcoming from the large black pot which hung in the centre of the teepee over a good fire from which the wood-smoke leisurely ascended, to finally percolate through the opening at the peak overhead or sneak through the seams of the small door-flap. When food was ready, we strangers were first served, 'with vessels piled to mountainous heights, with Caribou meat, which was placed on the ground before us by the women-folk. Soon the two men of the Croc family also commenced their meal, after withdrawing a little apart; and I passed on to them a portion of my sugar store and bannock, as was customary, and they in their turn, as they invariably do, reserved some of these dearly loved delicacies for their women and children, to whom the leavings of the men’s repast is always finally passed.

The full meal over, pipes were brought out and filled from my store of tobacco, and we sat and talked in low Indian voice in an atmosphere that was thick, and hot, and stifling, and decidedly uncomfortable to a European, though unremarked by the Indians, to whom it is habitual—small wonder they breed consumption! The meanwhile the two elderly women squatted cross-legged on the floor in the Indian fashion and patiently laced with sinews the snow-shoes they were making, much as a white woman employs herself with knitting; also one of the men whittled wood for sled-pieces, while three girls amused themselves over the ornamentations which one of them was sewing on a pair of moccasins for a lover.

Exchanging stories to pass the evening, the eldest Indian of this camp told the following: “There was once an Indian on Jack Fish Lake who successively married six wives, each of whom died within a year after marriage. When the sixth wife died he despaired, and said: 'Is there a Great Spirit?’ Furthermore, in his distraction, he told his kinsfolk that he would go in his canoe down the Cochrane River, avoiding not the awful rapids down which no man had been known to pass; “for if there is a Great Spirit, as people say, he must be strong enough to protect me from the hungry waters.” Launching his canoe, caring for nothing in the world, he set off on his hazardous journey. Miraculously—so the story goes—he made the voyage, and reached Reindeer Lake in safety, and thereafter firmly believed that there was a Great Spirit. Moreover, he married a seventh wife, who did not die as the others had done.”

January 1, 1915.—In the afternoon we reached the Fur Post at the south end of Reindeer Lake, after having been almost five successive days in travelling down the great lake.

At the Post we took on sufficient frozen fish to feed our dogs to Pelican Narrows; then pulled out again and trailed onward until an hour after dark, when we camped for the night at the first rapid on the upper reaches of the Reindeer River.

January 2.—Travelled hard all day overland through rough, hilly country west of Reindeer River, while it snowed incessantly.

Reindeer River course is not used as a winter route by the Indians, a more direct and untwisting course being chosen in preference to the west of it.

January 8.—In the dark of early morning, as was customary, we moved out to take up the trail again. When day broke the sky was dull and despondently grey, but the snowstorm had ceased. The trail to-day was like that of yesterday: hard and difficult when traversing the country overland between the lakes, seven of which we travelled through before making connection to Reindeer River, which we reached about noon.

Toward evening we passed out of Reindeer River on to the Churchill River, and thence through an overland route east of Frog Portage, on to the Lake of the Woods; where we camped for the night within one day’s journey of Pelican Narrows.

The inland country which we passed through to-day was irregular and mountainous, necessitating steep climbing and awkward descents for our sleds. Poplar trees are now encountered in plenty, which trees were rarely seen in Fort Du Brochet territory.

January 4.—Pushing onward, we kept the sleds going steadly all day, often over long and bad overland bush-trails.

This day was dull in the morning, but the afternoon broke particularly fine; bright sunshine shone in a soft, wistful sky, and there was no bitter wind; fresh-fallen snow lay unruffled on the lakes, white as the finest linen; sunbeams glittered; and to add to this, we were passing through particularly picturesque country—narrow lakes lying peacefully between high, forest-covered hills.

About twelve miles north of Pelican Narrows we crossed fresh tracks of Woodland Caribou, which was the first and only retreat of this animal encountered throughout the expedition.

About 5 p.m., considerably excited at the prospect of reaching a settlement, we neared Pelican Narrows, and soon afterwards drew up before the Hudson Bay trading store, to be made cordially welcome by the Factor.

Before reaching the Post, J’Pierre had pointed to some horse-tracks in the snow; in some excitement, and with a broad smile, saying: “Not dog, not deer—what you call it?” Meaning that here was something closely associated with the white man, and therefore drawing my attention to that which he thought must be dear to me. At Du Brochet horses were unknown, but in full winter they travel over the ice to the post we had now reached with substantial loads of such stores as once a year recuperate the Far North Trading Posts.

It is 230 miles from Fort Du Brochet to Pelican Narrows on the map; possibly it is 250 miles, or more, by the trail we followed. We had trailed the distance in one straight run in eight days, thereby averaging thirty-one miles a day ; accomplishing under thirty miles a day when the country or weather conditions were distracting, and over thirty miles when the trail was favourable. Such steady travelling, with formidable loads, is tribute to the endurance of sled-dogs, and to Indian skill in keeping, unguided by map or mechanical record, on a direct course to a far-off destination.

January 5 and 6 I spent at Pelican Narrows; resting the first day, and delayed on the second on account of the Indians who I had arranged were to go with me to transport my specimens, for here my Du Brochet Indians had completed their task, and would return home.

At Pelican Narrows I found letters from home —those that should ordinarily have travelled by the Christmas packet to Du Brochet. The delay of the packet was here solved: the war had dislocated the fur trade, and the Hudson Bay Company were not anxious to continue buying until the world-wide confusion in commerce steadied, and pointed to some definite stability. Prices of furs were away down, which the Fur Posts already knew. There was no change at Christmas, and thus the officials m authority were waiting and hoping for change in the prospects of the trade; if that came, then would they send forth their sled-packets to carry news and instructions that their Posts would welcome.

My letters were enlightening in regard to the war, and brought relief in that all was well at home; but they left me more restless than before to hurry on to the south.

At daylight on the 6th I bade good-bye to J’Pierre and Mistewgoso, and watched those sturdy travellers and their splendid dogs start back north on their long trail home. Should they go back as quickly as they came (and they would probably now go faster without loads) they would have covered five hundred miles in sixteen days, with but one day’s rest.

John and Philip, two half-bred Indians, have here taken over my sled-loads of specimens, and so I resume my journey, to-morrow, with strangers.

I passed the day very agreeably with the Hudson Bay Factor at Pelican Narrows, and greatly enjoyed conversing with a fellow-countryman. He was a man who fully came up to one’s pictured ideal of the fine old type of Hudson Bay servant; strong and of the outdoors, yet gentlemanly without the telling or prompting of neighbourly society. He was one of the fine old school of pioneers, for he had served all his life with the Company, as had his father, before him. He had had one break in his life, when he had as a boy been sent to Scotland to be educated. A point which proved the Factor’s worth was the fact that he was popular among the Indians, not only at his own Post, but far out on the trails: indeed, in this way I had heard of him long before I met him. And Indians are sure in their judgment, for they are gifted with extraordinarily keen penetration, and are, moreover, very exacting critics.

In the early morning of January 7, with strange companions and fresh dogs, I resumed my journey south on Heron Lake.

We travelled hard all day and camped at night at a settlement of Cree Indians, a little above Birch Portage on the Sturgeon weir River. Here, at this settlement, one could surely tell, in the manners of the Indians, of nearer approach to civilisation, for in small but essential ways they differed from the natives in the Far North; their reserve and inherent culture—if I may use the word—were less.

Especially were the children more bold. In the Far North they were wont to retire, at a white man’s approach, to hiding within their teepees, like frightened rabbits to their warrens; here, however, they ventured outdoors to stand in awed groups some distance in the background, gazing in wonderment, at the white man and his belongings, the while their eyes, and downcast glances at each other, plainly told their full curiosity.

January 8.—Two hours before daylight we left the Cree settlement and travelled overland the greater part of the day, thus avoiding the indirect course of the Sturgeonweir River, which we did not again come out on, until late afternoon, when we followed its course until after dark, to camp finally on the north shore of Beaver Lake.

I might here note, since we are travelling longer hours to accomplish a full day’s run, that the dog-trains of the Indians now with me are a very mixed lot in breed, and of diminutive size; and far below the standard of the stalwart Du Brochet huskies. It is but another omen of approaching civilisation; and, had I wanted further evidence, I saw to-day, on passing some cabins, a cow— which, without mistake, brings one near to the old familiar world.

January 9.—We passed through Beaver Lake when setting out this morning; a lake where gold was discovered late last Fall, but which, I learned at Pelican Narrows, had not so far realised the great things that were hoped for by those who rushed to the claims. Nevertheless shacks had sprung into being, and those and other signs of human occupation invested the lake, even in the dead of winter. And it was here that a husky in John’s train, the only pure looking dog in the lot, grew wildly excited as we passed a horse-sled, and strained on the traces to give chase, apparently mistaking the horses for deer. I asked John where the dog had come from, and he replied “Patatawogan,” a post on the Lower Churchill River, where Caribou frequent. The dog was a beast of the wild places and yet untamed to civilisation.

Before trailing far to-day, Philip’s dogs began to give out, and consequently the loads had to be altered and his sled much lightened.

After leaving Beaver Lake we crossed overland for twenty miles through forest country to Cumberland Lake, which lake we crossed before finally drawing up at Cumberland House. It was then so far into the night that all the inmates of the Fur Post were in bed, but necessity of food and desire for shelter forced me to awake the inmates, who in due course, in spite of my rude intrusion, bid me welcome in by the light of flickering candles.

We had trailed forty-five miles this day and, moreover, had run incessantly behind the sleds on account of the played-out dogs—truly we were ready for food and rest.

Here ended, in memorable fashion, my travels with dogs, 350 miles south of Fort Du Broehet, or 550 miles south of the edge of the Barren Grounds.

January 10.—I remained at Cumberland House during the day, while arrangements were made for a sled drawn by horses to carry myself and my specimens to the Pas on the morrow.

Cumberland House had lost much of the old character of a Fur Post, and had the appearance of fast becoming a white man’s frontier station: a change no doubt aggravated by the discovery of Gold at Beaver Lake, and the consequent invasion of miners and prospectors: while also it is influenced to change by the advent of the new Hudson Bay Railway to the Pas, which brings a measure of civilisation in proximity.

Nevertheless I spent a very pleasant day there, conversing with people of my own kind in my own tongue; even though I missed the rarer atmosphere of the wilds, and the wild man’s ways, that appertain in the Further North.

January 11.—The remainder of my journey south was of little account and may be briefly told.

Leaving Cumberland House, I travelled all day by horse-sled, and camped for the night in the Saskatchewan valley about fifteen miles west of the Pas; and next day completed the distance to the railway terminus.

The following day I boarded the train and, via Prince Albert, reached Regina, my destination, at midnight on January 14.

One or two peculiar and amusing incidents occurred in those first days of my return to civilisation.

I had, of necessity, no European clothing, and was therefore, to my embarrassment, clad in my rude Eskimo costume. I will not readily forget the steward on the dining-car on the train when, in this garb, I first entered for a meal; nor his subsequent astonishment when I requested him to bring me vegetables only—first one course; then another; and yet another, while his face lengthened in perplexity; and he finally told me there were no more vegetables on the train. I probably looked a grim customer, but by the time he had finished serving me I felt satisfied that he thought I was mad. Nor did he look altogether credulous when I told him at the end of the meal that I had not tasted vegetables for nine months, and that prolonged fish and meat diet had given me a tremendous craving for them; and that therefore he had given me the finest meal I had ever enjoyed.

At Prince Albert my clothing afforded me further embarrassment, for I was an odd figure among the city population, but particularly were the dogs in the streets disconcerting, for they scented the strange smell of the Caribou skins (for they retain a peculiar, ineradicable scent of the type one associates with Harris tweed) and would circle behind me to follow curiously, and sometimes to bark alarmingly. At times as many as half a dozen dogs had gathered about me in this way, until I found it expedient to turn down a side street and chase them away.

Still further, my home and worldly belongings of the previous year were at Craven, twenty miles away from Regina, so when I reached the latter city, I had to spend the day in Arctic garb. In the evening I dined with some old friends, who were amused and kind enough to take my Eskimo clothing in good part. Moreover there was a fancy-dress Carnival at the skating-rink that night, and they persisted in persuading me to accompany them there. This, in the end, I consented to do, and on reaching the rink skated on the ice until the costumes were judged, whereupon I was awarded the first prize—and 1 had not .changed an article of my everyday Far North Caribou clothing.

So had I come off the long trail to my own people. Soon was I speeding east, and to England, and to war, but carrying memories that nothing could erase of the wonderful country I had seen in a virgin land of the Wild.

The years of war have passed since then, yet so great is the attraction of that vast lone land that sleeps in the lap of a mighty Destiny, through endless summers of lovely garbing, and winters of drear snow wastes, that I still can repeat, “I’ve bade ‘it’ good-bye—but I can’t.”

Some day, if I live, I will go back.