Chapter I: Romance of Exploration

The progress of civilization and Christianity in the Canadian North-West, as in many other parts of the world, is due in a large measure to great fur-trading companies. With a wonderful devotion to the cause in hand, they pushed beyond the bounds of civilization and entered regions never before trodden by white man. They built forts, gained the respect of savage tribes, and ruled them with a firm hand. By their boats missionaries travelled over the noble streams into the wilderness, ministered to the natives who gathered round the forts, and received supplies from the companies’ stores.

As friction between bodies produces heat, fire, and light, so, by the rivalry of fur-trading companies, the northland of Canada was opened up, and a new era ushered in. Eager to outstrip one another, they were ever pushing farther and farther into the country, and, as has been well said, “the great explorers of the period (1763-1812) were all connected with the fur trade.”

Away to the north stretched a region, a land of wonder and strange stories. Indians told of a “great river” in the far North-West, and showed specimens of copper found along its banks. The Hudson’s Bay Company, acting upon these reports, decided to make a thorough investigation, with the object of solving the problem of the North-West Passage by land, to ascertain what mines were near the mouth of the Great River, “to smoke the calumet of peace with the Indians, and to take accurate astronomical observations.”

The man chosen for this work, Samuel Hearne, the “Mungo Park of Canada,” was a trustworthy servant of the Company, who, on November 6, 1769, started on his voyage of exploration from Prince of Wales Fort, on the shore of Hudson’s Bay. Owing to the desertion of over half his men, the attempt proved a failure, and he was forced to turn back.

Two months later he started again, and followed a northwesterly course over streams, lakes, and then inland across the “Barren Grounds.” Food was very scarce, and they were reduced to great straits. “For a whole week cranberries, scraps of leather, and burnt bones were their only food.” To add to their troubles, when 500 miles had been made, their only quadrant was blown over and broken. So again Hearne was forced to retrace his weary steps to the Bay.

Nothing daunted by these failures, this noble-hearted explorer once more started on his northward quest. This time he was more successful. With a strong band of Indians who were waging war against the Eskimo, he floated down-stream, and ere long gained the sea, the first white man to reach the Arctic Ocean from the interior.

“The most unpleasant part of Mr. Hearne’s story,” wrote Bishop Bompas in his book on the “Diocese of Mackenzie River,” “is that the party of Indians with whom he travelled, entirely without his sanction, made an unprovoked attack on a number of Eskimo encamped on the Coppermine River, and in the night barbarously massacred the whole body of men, women, and children, and spoiled their tents. The site of the massacre became known afterwards as the ‘Bloody Falls.’”

Miss Agnes C. Laut, in her most interesting book, “Pathfinders of the West,” speaking about this incident, says:

“The conduct of Hearne’s rascally companions could no longer be misunderstood. Hunters came in with game; but when the hungry slaves would have lighted a moss fire to cook the meat, the forbidding hand of a chief went up. No fires were to be lighted. The Indians advanced with whispers, dodging from stone to stone like raiders in ambush. Spies went forward on tiptoe. Then far down-stream below the cataracts Hearne descried the domed tent-tops of an Eskimo band sound asleep; for it was midnight, though the sun was at high noon. When Hearne looked back to his companions, he found himself deserted. The Indians were already wading the river for the west bank, where the Eskimo had camped. Hearne overtook his guides stripping themselves of everything that might impede flight or give hand-hold to an enemy, and daubing their skin with war-paint. Hearne begged Matonabbee to restrain the murderous warriors. The great chief smiled with silent contempt. He was too true a disciple of a doctrine which Indians practised hundreds of years before white men had avowed it—the survival of the fit, the extermination of the weak—for any qualms of pity towards a victim whose death would contribute profit. Wearing only moccasins and bucklers of hardened hide, armed with muskets, lances, and tomahawks, the Indians jostled Hearne out of their way, stole forward from stone to stone to within a gun-length of the Eskimo, then, with a wild war-shout, flung themselves on the unsuspecting sleepers.

“The Eskimo were taken unprepared. They staggered from their tents, still dazed in sleep, to be mowed down by a crashing of fire-arms which they had never before heard. The poor creatures fled in frantic terror, to be met only by lance-point and gun-butt. A young girl fell coiling at Hearne’s feet like a wounded snake. A well-aimed lance had pinioned the living form to earth. She caught Hearne round the knees, imploring him with dumb entreaty; but the white man was pushed back with jeers. Sobbing with horror, Hearne begged the Indians to put their victim out of pain. The rocks rang with the mockery of the torturers. She was speared to death before Hearne’s eyes. On that scene of indescribable horror the white man could no longer bear to look. He turned toward the river, and there was a spectacle like a nightmare. Some of the Eskimo were escaping by leaping to their hide boats, and with lightning strokes of the double-bladed paddles dashing down the current to the far bank of the river; but sitting motionless as stone was an old, old woman—probably a witch of the tribe—red-eyed as if she were blind, deaf to all the noise about her, unconscious of all her danger, fishing for salmon below the falls. There was a shout from the raiders; the old woman did not even look up to face her fate; and she, too, fell a victim to that thirst for blood which is as insatiable in the redskin as in the wolf-pack.”

“It is remarkable,” says Bishop Bompas, “that there is a bird in those parts which the Indians there call the ‘alarm bird,’ or ‘bird of warning’—a sort of owl which hovers over the heads of strangers and precedes them in the direction they go. If these birds see other moving objects, they flit alternately from one party to the other with screaming noise, so that the Indians place great confidence in the alarm bird to apprise them of the approach of strangers, or to conduct them to herds of deer or musk oxen.

“Mr. Hearne remarks that all the time the Indians lay in ambush, preparatory to the above-mentioned horrid massacre, a large flock of these birds were continually flying about and hovering alternately over the Indian and Eskimo tents, making a noise to awake any man out of the soundest sleep. The Eskimo, unhappily, have a great objection to being disturbed from sleep, and will not be awakened—an obstinacy which seems to have cost that band their lives.”

Hearne, like Columbus, was not to have the honour of giving his name to the great river he discovered. This was reserved for another intrepid explorer, Alexander Mackenzie, of the North-West Company. In 1789 he started from Fort Chipewyan, on Lake Athabasca, in search of the “Western Sea.” He, too, was confronted with great difficulties. Wild Indians told “of demon-haunted caves and impassable falls.” Terrified by these tales, his Indians refused to go farther. With infinite patience Mackenzie induced them to continue seven days longer, and if in that time they did not discover the sea, he promised to turn back. Before the end of the week the mouth of the river was reached, and the explorer knew it was the Arctic Ocean he had gained instead of the Western Sea.

“It is hard,” says Bishop Bompas, “to overpraise the intrepid courage, cool prudence, and inquiring intelligence of that noble traveller.... Sir Alexander Mackenzie took the greatest pains to conciliate all Indians whom he met by presents and promises of peaceful trade, and he energetically restrained all attempts at murder or rapine made by the Indians who accompanied him. He did not meet with Eskimo, and it is little wonder that these and the Mackenzie River Indians were shy of him, as it was then customary for the Athabasca Indians to make annual war expeditions down the Mackenzie for purposes of plunder, massacre, and rapine, as well as for the kidnapping of women and slaves.”

In after-years many eminent explorers, such as Franklin, Richardson, Simpson, and Rae, entered the country, the accounts of whose journeys and thrilling adventures may be read elsewhere.

Several years after the discovery of the Mackenzie River trading-posts were established at various places along this stream and its tributaries. To these the Indians brought their furs, and a thriving business was carried on. For a time there was a keen rivalry between the Hudson’s Bay Company and the North-West Company, but at length a union was effected under the name of the former.

Not satisfied with the great advance which had thus been made, these “lords of the forest and lakes” turned their attention in another direction. Ever before their vision rose the majestic peaks of the Rocky Mountains; beyond these barriers were unknown regions. What possibilities lay in that _terra incognita_ they could only conjecture. News reached them of a great river flowing to the west, the estuary of which had been explored by the Russians several years before, and named by them the “Quickpak.” This stream they knew must drain a large territory, which might prove valuable for fur-trading purposes.

There was a man in the Company’s service especially fitted for the task of pathfinder into the new region. This was Robert Campbell, a Scotchman by birth, over six feet of upstanding flesh, bone, muscle, and iron nerve, as dauntless a pioneer as ever shot a swirling rapid or faced a howling blizzard. To him, therefore, the task was consigned in the spring of 1840 by Sir George Simpson, Governor of the Company.

At once he began the undertaking, and after a hard and dangerous voyage up the Liard River, over lakes and portages, a stream was reached, which Campbell named the Pelly, in honour of Sir H. Pelly. A raft was hurriedly made, on which they floated several miles down the river to view the country. Considering they had gone far enough from their base of supplies, they abandoned the raft, but not before Campbell had cast into the stream a sealed tin can with notice of his discovery, the date, and other information.

The discovery of the Pelly River only served to increase the interest of the Company, and it was resolved to push forward the investigation. In 1842 birch-bark in sufficient quantity for the building of a canoe was sent up to the Pelly River, and the same year the construction of a fur-trading post was begun, and named Fort Pelly Banks. Early in June, 1843, Mr. Campbell started down the stream in the canoe which had been built, accompanied by two French Canadians and an Indian interpreter.

Concerning this exciting journey Mr. Campbell has given us a vivid description which should be of great interest to all.

“As we advanced,” he says, “the river increased in size, and the scenery formed a succession of picturesque landscapes. About twenty-five miles from Pelly Banks we encountered a bad rapid—‘Hooles’—where we were forced to disembark everything, but elsewhere we had a nice flowing current. Ranges of mountains flanked us on both sides. On the right hand the mountains were generally covered with wood; the left range was more open, with patches of poplar running up the valleys and _barnsides_, reminding one of the green brae-face of the Highland glens. We frequently saw moose-deer and bears as we passed along; and at points where the precipice rose abrupt from the water’s edge, the wild sheep—‘big-horn’—were often seen on the shelving rocks. They were very keen-sighted, and when once alarmed they file swiftly and gracefully over the mountains. When we chanced to get one we found it splendid eating, delicate enough for an epicure.

“In this manner we travelled on for several days. We saw only one family of Indians—‘Knife’ Indians—till we reached the junction of the Pelly with a tributary, which I named the ‘Lewes.’ Here we found a large camp of Indians—the ‘Wood’ Indians. We took them by no ordinary surprise, as they had never seen a white man before, and they looked upon us with some awe as well as curiosity. Two of their chiefs, father and son, were very tall, stout, handsome men. We smoked the pipe of peace together, and I distributed some presents. They spoke in loud tones, as do all the Indians in their natural state, but they seemed kind and peaceable. When we explained to them as best we could that we were going down-stream, they all raised their voices against it. Among other dangers, they indicated that inhabitating the lower river were many tribes of ‘bad’ Indians—‘numerous as the sand’—who would not only kill us, but eat us; we should never get back alive, and friends coming to look after us would unjustly blame them for our death. All this frightened our men to such a degree that I had reluctantly to consent to our return, which, under the circumstances, was the only alternative. I learned afterwards that it would have been madness in us to have made any further advance, unprepared as we were for such an enterprise.

“Much depressed, we that afternoon retraced our course up-stream; but before doing so I launched on the river a sealed can containing memoranda of our trip, etc. I was so dejected at the unexpected turn of affairs that I was perfectly heedless of what was passing; but on the third day of our upward progress I noticed, on both sides of the river, fires burning on the hill-tops far and near. This awoke me to a sense of our situation. I conjectured that, as in Scotland in the olden time, these were _signal fires_, and that they summoned the Indians to surround and intercept us. Thus aroused, we made the best use of paddles and ‘tracking-line’ to get up-stream and ahead of the Indian signals. On the fourth morning we came to a party of Indians on the further bank of the river. They made signs to us to cross over, which we did. They were very hostile, watching us with bows bent and arrows in hand, and would not come down from the top of the high bank to the water’s edge to meet us. I sent up a man with some tobacco, the emblem of peace, to reassure them, but at first they would hardly remove their hands from their bows to receive it. We ascended the bank to them, and had a most friendly interview, carried on by words and signs. It required, however, some finesse and adroitness to get away from them. Once in the canoe, we quickly pushed out and struck obliquely for the opposite bank, so as to be out of range of their arrows, and I faced about, gun in hand, to observe their actions. The river was there too broad either for ball or arrow. We worked hard during the rest of the day, and until late; the men were tired out, and I made them all sleep in my tent while I kept watch. At that season the night is so clear that one can read or write throughout. Our camp lay on the bank of the river, at the base of a steep declivity, which had large trees here and there up its grassy slope. In the branches of one of these trees I passed the greater part of the anxious night, reading Hervey’s ‘Meditations’ and keeping a vigilant lookout. Occasionally I descended and walked to the river-bank, but all was still. Two years afterwards, when friendly relations had been established with the Indians in the district, I learned, to my no small astonishment, that the hostile tribe encountered down the river had dogged us all day, and, when we halted for the night, had encamped behind the crest of the hill, and from this retreat had watched my every movement. With the exactitude of detail characteristic of Indians, they described me sitting in the tree, holding ‘something white’ (the book) in my hand, and often raising my eyes to make a survey of the neighbourhood; then descending to the river-bank, taking my horn cup from my belt, and, even while I drank, glancing up and down the river and towards the hill. They confessed that, had I knelt down to drink, they would have rushed upon me and drowned me in the swift current, and, after thus despatching me, would have massacred the sleeping inmates of my tent. How often, without knowing it, are we protected from danger by the merciful hand of Providence! Next morning we were early in motion, and were glad to observe that we had outwitted the Indians and outstripped their signal fires.”

The canoes are made of birch-bark over a light framework, and are consequently very frail. They are, however, light and portable, a great advantage when navigating rivers with falls or rapids. Those places where the canoe must be carried from one navigable piece of water to another are known as portages.]

In the spring of 1848 Campbell once more returned, and erected a post for trading purposes at the confluence of the Lewes and Pelly Rivers. This place was called Fort Selkirk, and occupied a dangerous position, owing to the animosity of a tribe of Indians, known as the Chilcats, along the Pacific Coast. From time immemorial they had kept the natives of the interior in abject submission, having defeated them in a great battle. They refused to allow them to cross the mountains to trade with the white men on the coast, as they themselves did a thriving business as “middlemen.” When they beheld the hated white race establishing a post in what they considered their rightful domain, and drawing away the principal part of the trade, their anger knew no bounds. Crossing the mountains, they floated down the river, and, without a word of warning, attacked the fort and razed it to the ground. Campbell was not present at the destruction of his trading-post, as, two years after its erection, he had started down the river to see, at any cost, what lay beyond.

In the meantime another entry had been made into the Yukon region away to the north. In 1842, Mr. J. Bell, in the employ of the Hudson’s Bay Company, crossed the Rocky Mountains, and descended the Porcupine River for three days’ journey. In 1846 he returned, and moved down the river to its mouth till he reached a great stream, which the Indians told him was the Yukon. Believing this to be in British territory, Mr. A. H. Murray established a trading-post at this spot the following year, and called it Fort Yukon. It was here that the first missionary work was carried on by the Church Missionary Society, the scene of Archdeacon McDonald’s wonderful labours for the Master.

In this brief outline of the discovery of the Mackenzie and the Yukon Rivers we have seen the brave efforts of these noble pioneers. We shall see now how they were followed by the great King’s messengers with the glorious Gospel of salvation.