Red River Settlement—Origin of the colony—Opposition times and anecdotes—The flood of 1826—Climate—Being broken-in—Mr Simpson, the Arctic discoverer—The Mackenzie River brigade.
Red River Settlement is, to use a high-flown expression, an oasis in the desert, and may be likened to a spot upon the moon or a solitary ship upon the ocean. In plain English, it is an isolated settlement on the borders of one of the vast prairies of North America. It is situated partly on the banks of Red River, and partly on the banks of a smaller stream called the Assinaboine, in latitude 50 degrees, and extends upwards of fifty miles along the banks of these two streams. The country around it is a vast treeless prairie, upon which scarcely a shrub is to be seen; but a thick coat of grass covers it throughout its entire extent, with the exception of a few spots where the hollowness of the ground has collected a little moisture, or the meandering of some small stream or rivulet enriches the soil, and covers its banks with verdant shrubs and trees.
The banks of the Red and Assinaboine Rivers are covered with a thick belt of woodland—which does not, however, extend far back into the plains. It is composed of oak, poplar, willows, etcetera, the first of which is much used for fire-wood by the settlers. The larger timber in the adjacent woods is thus being rapidly thinned.
The settlers are a mixture of French Canadians, Scotchmen, and Indians. The first of these occupy the upper part of the settlement, the second live near the middle, and the Indians inhabit a village at its lower extremity.
There are four Protestant churches: the upper, middle, and lower churches, and one at the Indian settlement. There are also two Roman Catholic chapels, some priests, and a Roman Catholic bishop resident in the colony, besides one or two schools; the principal being, as before mentioned, under the superintendence of Mr McAllum, who has since been ordained by the Bishop of Montreal, during that prelate’s visit to Red River (see note 1).
For the preservation of the peace, and the punishment of evil-doers, a Recorder and body of magistrates are provided, who assemble every quarter at Fort Garry, the seat of the court-house, for the purpose of redressing wrongs, punishing crimes, giving good advice, and eating an excellent dinner at the Company’s table. There was once, also, a body of policemen; but, strange to say, they were chosen from among the most turbulent of the settlers, and were never expected to be on duty except when a riot took place: the policemen themselves generally being the ringleaders on those occasions, it may be supposed they did not materially assist in quelling disturbances.
The Scotch and Indian settlers cultivate wheat, barley, and Indian corn in abundance; for which the only market is that afforded by the Company, the more wealthy settlers, and retired chief factors. This market, however, is a poor one, and in years of plenty the settlers find it difficult to dispose of their surplus produce. Wild fruits of various descriptions are abundant, and the gardens are well stocked with vegetables. The settlers have plenty of sheep, pigs, poultry, and horned cattle; and there is scarcely a man in the place who does not drive to church on Sundays in his own cariole.
Red River is a populous settlement; the census taken in 1843 proved it to contain upwards of 5,000 souls, and since then it has been rapidly increasing.
There is a paper currency in the settlement, which obviates the necessity of having coin afloat. English pence and halfpence, however, are plentiful. The lowest paper note is one shilling sterling, the next five shillings, and the highest twenty shillings. The Canadian settlers and half-breeds are employed, during the greater part of the year, in travelling with the Company’s boats and in buffalo-hunting. The Scotch settlers are chiefly farmers, tradesmen, and merchants.
The rivers, which are crossed in wooden canoes, in the absence of bridges, are well stocked with fish, the principal kinds being goldeyes, sturgeon, and catfish. Of these, I think the goldeyes the best; at any rate, they are the most numerous. The wild animals inhabiting the woods and prairies are much the same as in the other parts of North America—namely, wolves, foxes, brown and black bears, martens, minks, musquash, rabbits, etcetera; while the woods are filled with game, the marshes and ponds with ducks, geese, swans, cranes, and a host of other water-fowl.
Red River was first settled upon by the fur-traders, who established a trading-post many years ago on its banks; but it did not assume the character of a colony till 1811, when Lord Selkirk sent out a number of emigrants to form a settlement in the wild regions of the North-West. Norwegians, Danes, Scotch, and Irish composed the motley crew; but the great bulk of the colonists then, as at the present time, consisted of Scotchmen and Canadians. Unlike other settlements in a wild country inhabited by Indians, the infant colony had few difficulties to contend with at the outset. The Indians were friendly, and had become accustomed to white men, from their previous contact for many years with the servants of the Hudson Bay Company; so, with the exception of one or two broils among themselves and other fur-traders, the colonists plodded peacefully along. On one occasion, however, the Hudson Bay Company and the North-West Company, who were long at enmity with each other, had a sharp skirmish, in which Mr Semple, then Governor of the Hudson Bay Company, was killed, and a number of his men were killed and wounded.
The whole affair originated very foolishly. A body of men had been observed from the walls of Fort Garry, travelling past the fort; and as Governor Semple wished to ascertain their intentions, he sallied forth with a few men to intercept them, and demand their object. The North-West party, on seeing a body of men coming towards them from the fort, halted till they came up; and Cuthbert Grant, who was in command, asked what they wanted. Governor Semple required to know where they were going. Being answered in a surly manner, an altercation took place between the two parties (of which the North-West was the stronger); in the middle of which a shot was unfortunately fired by one of the Hudson Bay party. It was never known who fired this shot, and many believe that it was discharged accidentally; at any rate, no one was injured by it. The moment the report was heard, a volley was fired by the North-Westers upon the Hudson Bay party, which killed a few, and wounded many; among the latter was Governor Semple. Cuthbert Grant did his utmost to keep back the fierce half-castes under his command, but without avail; and at last, seeing that this was impossible, he stood over the wounded Semple, and endeavoured to defend him. In this he succeeded for some time; but a shot from behind at last took effect in the unfortunate governor’s body, and killed him. After this, the remainder of his party fled to the fort, and the victorious half-breeds pursued their way.
During the time that these two companies opposed each other, the country was in a state of constant turmoil and excitement. Personal conflicts with fists between the men—and, not unfrequently, the gentlemen—of the opposing parties were of the commonest occurrence, and frequently more deadly weapons were resorted to. Spirits were distributed among the wretched natives to a dreadful extent, and the scenes that sometimes ensued were disgusting in the extreme. Amid all this, however, stratagem was more frequently resorted to than open violence by the two companies, in their endeavours to prevent each other from procuring furs from the Indians. Men were constantly kept on the lookout for parties of natives returning from hunting expeditions; and those who could arrive first at the encampment always carried off the furs. The Indians did not care which company got them—“first come, first served,” was the order of the day; and both were equally welcome, provided they brought plenty of fire-water.
Although the individuals of the two companies were thus almost always at enmity, at the forts, strange to say, they often acted in the most friendly manner to each other; and (except when furs were in question) more agreeable or friendly neighbours seldom came together than the Hudson Bay and North-West Companies, when they planted their forts (which they often did) within two hundred yards of each other in the wilds of North America. The clerks and labourers of the opposing establishments constantly visited each other; and during the Christmas and New-Year’s holidays parties and balls were given without number. Dances, however, were not confined entirely to the holidays; but whenever one was given at an unusual time, it was generally for the purpose of drawing the attention of the entertained party from some movement of their entertainers.
Thus, upon one occasion the Hudson Bay Company’s lookout reported that he had discovered the tracks of Indians in the snow, and that he thought they had just returned from a hunting expedition. No sooner was this heard than a grand ball was given to the North-West Company, Great preparations were made; the men, dressed in their newest capotes and gaudiest hat-cords, visited each other, and nothing was thought of or talked of but the ball. The evening came, and with it the guests; and soon might be heard within the fort sounds of merriment and revelry, as they danced, in lively measures, to a Scottish reel, played by some native fiddler upon a violin of his own construction. Without the gates, however, a very different scene met the eye. Down in a hollow, where the lofty trees and dense underwood threw a shadow on the ground, a knot of men might be seen, muffled in their leathern coats and fur caps, hurrying to and fro with bundles on their backs and snow-shoes under their arms; packing and tying them firmly on trains of dog-sledges, which stood, with the dogs ready harnessed, in the shadow of the bushes. The men whispered eagerly and hurriedly to each other as they packed their goods, while others held the dogs, and patted them to keep them quiet; evidently showing that, whatever was their object, expedition and secrecy were necessary. Soon all was in readiness: the bells, which usually tinkled on the dogs’ necks, were unhooked and packed in the sledges; an active-looking man sprang forward and set off at a round trot over the snow, and a single crack of the whip sent four sledges, each with a train of four or five dogs, after him, while two other men brought up the rear. For a time the muffled sound of the sledges was heard as they slid over the snow, while now and then the whine of a dog broke upon the ear, as the impatient drivers urged them along. Gradually these sounds died away, and nothing was heard but the faint echoes of music and mirth, which floated on the frosty night-wind, giving token that the revellers still kept up the dance, and were ignorant of the departure of the trains.
Late on the following day the Nor’-West scouts reported the party of Indians, and soon a set of sleighs departed from the fort with loudly-ringing bells. After a long day’s march of forty miles, they reached the encampment, where they found all the Indians dead drunk, and not a skin, not even the remnant of a musquash, left to repay them for their trouble! Then it was that they discovered the ruse of the ball, and vowed to have their revenge.
Opportunity was not long wanting. Soon after this occurrence, one of their parties met a Hudson Bay train on its way to trade with the Indians, of whom they also were in search. They exchanged compliments with each other, and, as the day was very cold, proposed lighting a fire and taking a dram together. Soon five or six goodly trees yielded to their vigorous blows, and fell crashing to the ground; and in a few minutes one of the party, lighting a sulphur match with his flint and steel, set fire to a huge pile of logs, which crackled and burned furiously, sending up clouds of sparks into the wintry sky, and casting a warm tinge upon the anew and the surrounding trees. The canteen was quickly produced, and they told their stories and adventures while the liquor mounted to their brains. The Nor’-Westers, however, after a little time, spilled their grog on the snow, unperceived by the others, so that they kept tolerably sober, while their rivals became very much elevated; and at last they began boasting of their superior powers of drinking, and, as a proof, each of them swallowed a large bumper. The Hudson Bay party, who were nearly dead drunk by this time, of course followed their example, and almost instantly fell in a heavy sleep on the snow. In ten minutes more they were tied firmly upon their sledges, and the dogs being turned homewards, away they went straight for the Hudson Bay Fort, where they soon after arrived, the men still sound asleep; while the Nor’-Westers started for the Indian camp, and this time, at least, had the furs all to themselves.
Such were the scenes that took place thirty years ago in the northern wildernesses of America. Since then, the two companies have joined, retaining the name of the richer and more powerful of the two—the “Hudson Bay Company.” Spirits were still imported after the junction; but of late years they have been dispensed with throughout the country, except at the colony of Red River, and the few posts where opposition is carried on by the American fur-companies; so that now the poor savage no longer grovels in the dust of his native wilderness under the influence of the white man’s fire-water, and the stranger who travels through those wild romantic regions no longer beholds the humiliating scenes or hears of the frightful crimes which were seen and heard of too often in former days, and which always have been, and always must be, prevalent wherever spirituous liquors, the great curse of mankind, are plentiful, and particularly where, as in that country, the wild inhabitants fear no laws, human or divine.
In the year 1826, Red River overflowed its banks, and flooded the whole settlement, obliging the settlers to forsake their houses, and drive their horses and cattle to the trifling eminences in the immediate vicinity. These eminences wore few and very small, so that during the flood they presented a curious appearance, being crowded with men, women, and children, horses, cattle, sheep, and poultry. The houses, being made of wood, and only built on the ground, not sunk into it, were carried away by dozens, and great numbers of horses and cattle were drowned. During the time it lasted, the settlers sailed and paddled among their houses in boats and canoes; and they now point out, among the waving grass and verdant bushes, the spot where they dwelt in their tents, or paddled about the deep waters in their canoes, in the “year of the flood.” This way of speaking has a strangely antediluvian sound. The hale, middle-aged colonist will tell you, with a ludicrously grave countenance, that his house stood on such a spot, or such and such an event happened, “a year before the flood.”
Fort Garry, the principal establishment of the Hudson Bay Company, stands on the banks of the Assinaboine River, about two hundred yards from its junction with Red River. It is a square stone building, with bastions pierced for cannon at the corners. The principal dwelling-houses, stores, and offices are built within the walls, and the stables at a small distance from the fort. The situation is pretty and quiet; but the surrounding country is too flat for the lover of the grand and picturesque. Just in front of the gate runs, or rather glides, the peaceful Assinaboine, where, on a fine day in autumn, may be seen thousands of goldeyes playing in its limpid waters.
On the left extends the woodland fringing the river, with here and there a clump of smaller trees and willows surrounding the swamps formed by the melting snows of spring, where flocks of wild-ducks and noisy plover give animation to the scene, while through the openings in the forest are seen glimpses of the rolling prairie. Down in the hollow, where the stables stand, are always to be seen a few horses and cows, feeding or lazily chewing their cud in the rich pasturage, giving an air of repose to the scene, which contrasts forcibly with the view of the wide plains that roll out like a vast green sea from the back of the fort, studded here and there with little islets and hillocks, around which may be seen hovering a watchful hawk or solitary raven.
The climate of Red River is salubrious and agreeable. Winter commences about the month of November, and spring generally begins in April. Although the winter is very long, and extremely cold (the thermometer usually varying between ten and thirty degrees below zero), yet, from its being always dry frost, it is much more agreeable than people accustomed to the damp thawy weather of Great Britain might suppose.
Winter is here the liveliest season of the year. It is then that the wild, demi-savage colonist leads the blushing half-breed girl to the altar, and the country about his house rings with the music of the sleigh bells, as his friends assemble to congratulate the happy pair, and dance for three successive days. It is at this season the hardy voyageurs rest from their toils, and, circling round the blazing fire, recount many a tale of danger, and paint many a wild romantic scene of their long and tedious voyages among the lakes and rapids of the interior; while their wives and children gaze with breathless interest upon their swarthy, sunburned faces, lighted up with animation as they recall the scenes of other days, or, with low and solemn voice, relate the death of a friend and fellow voyageur who perished among the foaming cataracts of the wilderness.
During the summer months there are often very severe thunderstorms, accompanied with tremendous showers of hail, which do great mischief to the crops and houses. The hailstones are of an enormous size—upwards of an inch in diameter; and on two or three occasions they broke all the windows in Fort Garry that were exposed to the storm.
Generally speaking, however, the weather is serene and calm, particularly in autumn, and during the delicious season peculiar to America called the Indian summer, which precedes the commencement of winter.
The scenery of Red River, as I said before, is neither grand nor picturesque; yet, when the sun shines brightly on the waving grass and glitters on the silver stream, and when the distant and varied cries of wild-fowl break in plaintive cadence on the ear, one experiences a sweet exulting happiness, akin to the feelings of the sailor when he gazes forth at early morning on the polished surface of the sleeping sea.
Such is Red River, and such the scenes on which I gazed in wonder, as I rode by the side of my friend and fellow-clerk, McKenny, on the evening of my arrival at my new home. Mr McKenny was mounted on his handsome horse “Colonel,” while I cantered by his side on a horse that afterwards bore me over many a mile of prairie land. It is not every day that one has an opportunity of describing a horse like the one I then rode, so the reader will be pleased to have a little patience while I draw his portrait. In the first place, then, his name was “Taureau.” He was of a moderate height, of a brown colour, and had the general outlines of a horse, when viewed as that animal might be supposed to appear if reflected from the depths of a bad looking-glass. His chief peculiarity was the great height of his hind-quarters, In youth they had outgrown the fore-quarters, so that, upon a level road, you had all the advantages of riding down-hill. He cantered delightfully, trotted badly, walked slowly, and upon all and every occasion evinced a resolute pig-headedness, and a strong disinclination to accommodate his will to that of his rider. He was decidedly porcine in his disposition, very plebeian in his manners, and doubtless also in his sentiments.
Such was the Bucephalus upon which I took my first ride over the Red River prairie; now swaying to and fro on his back as we galloped over the ground; anon stotting, in the manner of a recruit in a cavalry regiment as yet unaccustomed to the saddle, when he trotted on the beaten track; and occasionally, to the immense delight of McKenny, seizing tight hold of the saddle, as an uncertain waver in my body reminded me of Sir Isaac Newton’s law of gravitation, and that any rash departure on my part from my understanding would infallibly lay me prostrate on the ground.
Soon after my arrival I underwent the operation which my horse had undergone before me—namely, that of being broken-in—the only difference being that he was broken-in to the saddle and I to the desk. It is needless to describe the agonies I endured while sitting, hour after hour, on a long-legged stool, my limbs quivering for want of their accustomed exercise, while the twittering of birds, barking of dogs, lowing of cows, and neighing of horses seemed to invite me to join them in the woods. Often, as my weary pen scratched slowly over the paper, their voices seemed to change to hoarse derisive laughter, as if they thought the little misshapen frogs croaking and whistling in the marshes freer far than their proud masters, who coop themselves up in smoky houses the livelong day, and call themselves the free, unshackled “lords of the creation.”
I soon became accustomed to these minor miseries of human life, and ere long could sit:—
“From morn till night
To scratch and write
Upon a three-legged stool;
Nor mourn the joys
Of truant boys
Who stay away from school.”
There is a proverb which says, “It is a poor heart that never rejoices.” Now, taking it for granted that the proverb speaks truth, and not wishing by our disregard of it to be thought poor-hearted, we—that is, McKenny and I—were in the habit of rejoicing our spirits occasionally—not in the usual way, by drinking brandy and water (though we did sometimes, when nobody knew it, indulge in a glass of beer, with the red-hot poker thrust into it), but by shouldering our guns and sallying forth to shoot the partridges, or rather grouse, which abound in the woods of Red River. On these occasions McKenny and I used to range the forest in company, enlivening our walk with converse, sometimes light and cheerful, often philosophically deep, or thinking of the “light of other days.” We seldom went out without bringing home a few brace of grey grouse, which were exceedingly tame—so tame, indeed, that sometimes they did not take wing until two or three shots had been fired. On one occasion, after walking about for half an hour without getting a shot, we started a covey of seven, which alighted upon a tree close at hand. We instantly fired at the two lowest, and brought them down, while the others only stretched out their long necks, as if to see what had happened to their comrades, but did not fly away. Two more were soon shot; and while we were reloading our guns, the other three flew off to a neighbouring tree. In a few minutes more they followed their companions, and we had bagged the whole seven. This is by no means an uncommon exploit when the birds are tame; and though poor sport, yet it helps to fill your larder with somewhat better fare than it would often contain without such assistance. The only thing that we had to avoid was, aiming at the birds on the higher branches, as the noise they make in falling frightens those below. The experienced sportsman always begins with the lowest bird; and if they sit after the first shot, he is almost sure of the rest.
Shooting, however, was not our only amusement. Sometimes, on a fine evening, we used to saddle our horses and canter over the prairie till Red River and the fort were scarcely visible in the horizon; or, following the cart road along the settlement, we called upon our friends and acquaintances, returning the polite “Bonjour” of the French settler as he trotted past us on his shaggy pony, or smiling at the pretty half-caste girls as they passed along the road. These same girls, by the way, are generally very pretty; they make excellent wives, and are uncommonly thrifty. With beads, and brightly-coloured porcupines’ quills, and silk, they work the most beautiful devices on the moccasins, leggins, and leathern coats worn by the inhabitants; and during the long winter months they spin and weave an excellent kind of cloth from the wool produced by the sheep of the settlement, mixed with that of the buffalo, brought from the prairies by the hunters.
About the middle of autumn the body of Mr Thomas Simpson, the unfortunate discoverer, who, in company with Mr Dease, attempted to discover the Nor’-West Passage, was brought to the settlement for burial. Poor Mr Simpson had set out with a party of Red River half-breeds, for the purpose of crossing the plains to St. Louis, and proceeding thence through the United States to England. Soon after his departure, however, several of the party returned to the settlement, stating that Mr Simpson had, in a fit of insanity, killed two of his men, and then shot himself, and that they had buried him on the spot where he fell. This story, of course, created a great sensation in the colony; and as all the party gave the same account of the affair upon investigation, it was believed by many that he had committed suicide. A few, however, thought that he had been murdered, and had shot the two men in self-defence. In the autumn of 1841 the matter was ordered to be further inquired into; and, accordingly, Dr Bunn was sent to the place where Mr Simpson’s body had been interred, for the purpose of raising and examining it. Decomposition, however, had proceeded too far; so the body was conveyed to the colony for burial, and Dr Bunn returned without having discovered anything that could throw light on the melancholy subject.
I did not know Mr Simpson personally, but, from the report of those who did, it appears that, though a clever and honourable man, he was of rather a haughty disposition, and in consequence was very much disliked by the half-breeds of Red River. I therefore think, with many of Mr Simpson’s friends and former companions, that he did not kill himself, and that this was only a false report of his murderers. Besides, it is not probable that a man who had just succeeded in making important additions to our geographical knowledge, and who might reasonably expect honour and remuneration upon returning to his native land, would, without any known or apparent cause, first commit murder and then suicide. By his melancholy death the Hudson Bay Company lost a faithful servant, and the world an intelligent and enterprising man.
Winter, according to its ancient custom, passed away; and spring, not with its genial gales and scented flowers, but with burning sun and melting snow, changed the face of nature, and broke the icy covering of Red River. Duffle coats vanished, and a few of the half-breed settlers doffed their fur caps and donned the “bonnet rouge,” while the more hardy and savage contented themselves with the bonnet noir, in the shape of their own thick black hair. Carioles still continued to run, but it was merely from the force of habit, and it was evident they would soon give up in despair. Sportsmen began to think of ducks and geese, farmers of ploughs and wheat, and voyageurs to dream of rapid streams and waterfalls, and of distant voyages in light canoes.
Immediately upon the ice in the lakes and rivers breaking up, we made arrangements for dispatching the Mackenzie River brigade—which is always the first that leaves the colony—for the purpose of conveying goods to Mackenzie River, and carrying furs to the sea-coast.
Choosing the men for this long and arduous voyage was an interesting scene. L’Esperance, the old guide, who had many a day guided this brigade through the lakes and rivers of the interior, made his appearance at the fort a day or two before the time fixed for starting; and at his heels followed a large band of wild, careless, happy-looking half-breeds. Having collected in front of the office door, Mr McKenny went out with a book and pencil in his hand, and told L’Esperance to begin. The guide went a little apart from the rest, accompanied by the steersmen of the boats (seven or eight in number), and then, scanning the group of dark athletic men who stood smiling before him, called out, “Pierre!” A tall, Herculean man answered to the call, and, stepping out from among the rest, stood beside his friend the guide. After this one of the steersmen chose another man; and so on, till the crews of all the boats were completed. Their names were then marked down in a book, and they all proceeded to the trading-room, for the purpose of taking “advances,” in the shape of shirts, trousers, bonnets, caps, tobacco, knives, capotes, and all the other things necessary for a long, rough journey.
On the day appointed for starting, the boats, to the number of six or seven, were loaded with goods for the interior; and the voyageurs, dressed in their new clothes, embarked, after shaking hands with, and in many cases embracing, their comrades on the land; and then, shipping their oars, they shot from the bank and rowed swiftly down Red River, singing one of their beautiful boat-songs, which was every now and then interrupted by several of the number hallooing a loud farewell, as they passed here and there the cottages of friends.
With this brigade I also bade adieu to Red River, and, after a pleasant voyage of a few days, landed at Norway House, while the boats pursued their way.
Red River Settlement is now (1875) very much changed, as, no doubt, the reader is aware, and the foregoing description is in many respects inapplicable.
Note 1. The reader must bear in remembrance that this chapter was written in 1847.