The Great Lone Land: A Narrative of Travel and Adventure in the North-West of AmericaButler, William Francis, Sir
History
The Great Lone Land: A Narrative of Travel and Adventure in the North-West of America
Butler, William Francis, Sir
Northwest, Canadian -- Description and travel
The chief of the party now came forward, and asked what I had got to say
to the Indians; that he would like to hear me make a speech; that they
wanted to know why all these men were coming through their country. To
make a speech! it was a curious request. I was leaning with my back
against the mast, and the Indians were seated in a line on the bank;
every thing looked so miserable around, that I thought I might for once
play the part of Chadband, and improve the occasion, and, as a speech was
expected of me, make it. So I said, "Tell this old chief that I am sorry
he is poor and hungry; but let him look around, the land on which he sits
is rich and fertile, why does he not cut down the trees that cover it,
and plant in their places potatoes and corn? then he will have food in
the winter when the moose is scarce and the sturgeon cannot be caught."
He did not seem to relish my speech, but said nothing. I gave a few plugs
of tobacco all round, and we shoved out again into the river. "Where the
road comes down to the lake" the Indian had seen the troops; where was
that spot? No easy matter to decide, for lakes are so numerous in this
land of the North-west that the springs of the earth seem to have found
vent there. Before sunset we fell in with another Indian; he was alone in
a canoe, which he paddled close along shore out of the reach of the
strong breeze which was sweeping us fast up the river. While he was yet a
long way off, Samuel declared that he had recently left Fort Francis, and
therefore would bring us news from that place. "How can you tell at this
distance that he has come from the fort?" I asked. "Because his shirt
looks bright," he answered. And so it was; he had left the fort on the
previous day and run seventy miles; he was old Monkman's Indian returning
after having left that hardy voyageur at Fort Francis.
Not a soldier of the Expedition had yet reached the fort, nor did any man
know where they were.
On again; another sun set and another sun rose, and we were still running
up the Rainy River before a strong north wind which fell away towards
evening. At sundown of the 3rd August I calculated that some four and
twenty miles must yet lie between me and that fort at which, I felt
convinced, some distinct tidings must reach me of the progress of the
invading column. I was already 180 miles beyond the spot where I had
counted upon falling in with them. I was nearly 400 miles from Fort
Garry.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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