Читать книгу Canadian Adventurers and Explorers Bundle - John Wilson - Страница 27

An hour before sunset, the rain finally stopped. Daylight was slipping fast from the river as the sodden and weary brigade beached their canoes. The men found a flat place on the undulating granite that stretched from the water’s edge to the dark impenetrable wall of trees above the river. Here on the flat rock the canoes were turned belly-up, laid atop cargo bales, and arranged into a shelter for the night. Someone lit a fire using pitch-wood that had been carefully packed away and kept dry for the purpose. Soon a plume of billowing grey smoke arose like a twisted pillar high above the dank and mouldering forest.

Before long, Mitchel Oman, one of the brigade leaders, handed David a bowl of warm oatmeal and bacon. They both sat in the flickering light of the open fire, and David gratefully leaned his back against a bale and cradled the bowl in his lap. He was hungry, but fatigue overwhelmed him and he fell asleep before he could lift the first spoonful to his mouth. Oman, knowing the boy would need all his food to continue their journey, rescued David’s bowl and tucked it under a bale for the morning.

A month ago, in late July, when York Factory’s chief factor, Humphrey Marten, had told David he was assigned to the fur brigade going inland, the boy had been unable to stifle a joyful “hurrah!” The news was welcome after a monotonous winter and uneventful spring. David’s routine after coming to York Factory was the same as it had been at Churchill, long and tedious hours of clerical work interrupted only by firewood duties. In fact, York Factory and Churchill weren’t much different on any account. During the war with France, both factories had been sacked by La Pérouse in 1782 and later rebuilt. Both were major trading ports busy loading and offloading HBC ships.

Humphrey Marten, like Samuel Hearne, was a brutish factor with little patience for a green apprentice like Thompson. But Marten, at least, had reestablished good trading levels after the war. Still, the company’s trade was down. More than once, David heard Marten curse his competitors from Montreal as the gout-ridden factor hobbled about the post shouting orders. The “damned, cursed, bloody, peddlers!” had taken advantage of HBC setbacks from the war and established lucrative trading posts inland. The “loathsome bastards” had begun intercepting Cree and Chipewyan with furs bound for Churchill and York while these factories were still being rebuilt from their ashes.

The HBC had two posts inland: Cumberland House, built by Hearne in 1774 when he still had passion for the business, was over sixteen hundred kilometres’ travel from Churchill. Construction of Hudson House, some five hundred kilometres farther upstream on the Saskatchewan River, soon followed. But these posts were the company’s first reluctant attempts at building new trading depots. For over a century the HBC had relied on well-established trade routes to bring a steady flow of furs to the shores of Hudson Bay. The new posts were not enough, and Humphrey Marten was damned if he would send ships to London with their holds only half filled. He had no choice but to respond aggressively to the challenge from Montreal. In 1786, Marten ordered his trading brigade to build more inland posts and look for locations to recapture trade from the “peddlers.”

David was part of a three-man crew assigned to one of the canoes in the brigade. In all, twelve large canoes were assembled for the expedition. Each was loaded with six forty-kilogram bundles of trade goods. Loading was supervised by William Tomison, the brigade leader. He was making sure each bundle was stowed and lashed so the canoes lay safely in the water.

“Davie, get ye t’ the stores,” Tomison shouted in a rough Scottish brogue as he tugged a lashing line tight. “Get a good leather coat, a hat, stout mittens, and ye’ll need snowshoes too. These won’t cost ye laddie, but anything else ye might decide ye need comes out of your apprentice allowance.” Tomison then turned to Mitchel Oman. “Take young Thompson in your canoe Mitchel. He’ll be your trading clerk for this trip.”

Oman nodded dutifully, despite his concerns that he had a city lad from London and not one of his own countrymen to train. The middle-aged Oman had trained many recruits. He was a reliable veteran and, like Tomison and most others with the London-based company, he was not English but Scottish and from the Orkneys.

The Orkneys, a cluster of barren Islands off the north coast of Scotland, supplied three out of every four men working the fur trade for the HBC. They were recruited at Stromness, the Orkney port where David, on the Prince Rupert, had stopped. Tucked out of the stormy North Atlantic weather, Stromness was the last provisioning port for HBC and other ships destined for the New World. From Stromness, ships could follow winds due west along the sixty degrees north latitude to Greenland. From there, they went through Davis Strait and into Hudson Bay.

Captains and commanders had long used Stromness to load supplies and the much-valued water from Login’s famous well. Henry Hudson had taken on the well’s sweet water more than a century before David Thompson, when the renowned navigator first discovered the great bay named after him. Captain James Cook filled his ship’s barrels from the well. Sir John Franklin used the Logins’ well water, almost a century after Thompson, when Franklin’s ill-fated expedition went in search of the Northwest Passage through the Arctic ice.

But the most valuable cargo taken on at Stromness was not provisions or even Login’s water but the small, tough island men. These hardy souls, accustomed to eking out a threadbare life on a rugged and unforgiving landscape, made ideal recruits for the harsh demands of the New World.

David helped load the last of the provisions, thirty kilograms of oatmeal, ten kilograms of flour, and fourteen kilograms of bacon, into his canoe. He scrambled aboard and settled into a middle seat between Oman and the bow as they shoved off. The flotilla of canoes, with Union Jacks and HBC flags fluttering off their stern posts, caught the wind and the rising tide, which carried them on an easy paddle six kilometres up the Hayes River delta. This was the last of the easy paddling. The river became shallow, and David had to take his turn hauling the heavy canoes up the rapids by tracking lines. Oman ordered him into the knee-deep water. David slung the thick sisal rope over his shoulder and leaned into it, hauling the 450-kilogram pay-load by its bow. They pressed slowly upstream. Oman, gripping the gunnels, waded behind and pushed steadily. A second line was strung to a crewman ashore. He was the safety, who helped guide their fragile craft through the rocks.

The river was low and the shoreline trail normally used for tracking was far from the water. The men were forced to wade over algae-slickened rocks. From watching Chipewyan guides, David learned to step between the submerged rocks, thereby avoiding the painful stumbles that came from trying to balance on the rocks’ slimy surface. Still, he fell often, and the tracking line slipped loose. When this happened, the second line took up the slack, without which the bark-hulled craft would be quickly swept downstream and smashed. Losing their canoe would mean the three-man crew would have to walk back to York Factory empty handed.

Tracking was backbreaking work in midsummer heat. Swarming mosquitoes attacked their exposed, sweating skin. They rotated duties, alternately tracking, pushing, and lining upstream. David was thankful the river’s cold water numbed his aching and rock-bruised feet. The slow ascent went uninterrupted for the next seven days until they finally reached a haulout. The cargo was unloaded and, bale by heavy bale, portaged over a root-strewn trail to the shore of a small lake.

David hoisted a forty-kilogram bale on his back. He slung a trump line over his forehead to help support the load and staggered up to the trail. Then he staggered back for another bale and finally helped shoulder the canoe for the last trip. The heavy tracking was over, but ahead lay nearly two hundred kilometres of lakes, portages, and slow-moving streams, until the divide. Then they would at last travel downstream and westward to Lake Winnipeg.

From David’s stumbling gait, Oman knew the lad was in need of several days’ rest. He had earned it, but there were no days for rest. David would have to endure the punishing workload until his body hardened into the lean toughness required for the trade. He might not be an Orkneyman, but Oman had to admire the boys dogged determination.

The 160-kilometre paddle along the shores of Lake Winnipeg offered no release from hardship for the young recruit. He exchanged an aching back for painful arms and blistered hands. David almost looked forward to the next portage, but his anticipation of relief soon faded. The steep three-kilometre portage took three days of hard labour before the brigade reached Cedar Lake, the last large body of water they would cross before entering the Saskatchewan River. The Saskatchewan was their highway across the western plains, and just a week upstream the river brought them to Cumberland House. They had travelled over eleven hundred kilometres from York Factory. They stopped just long enough to take on a few dried provisions. Tomison wanted to press westward. It was already late August.

Even though only a month had passed, to David, York Factory and his clerical life seemed a world away. The dark conifers and the bug-ridden shield had gradually opened into an expanse of shimmering aspens and sweet-smelling poplar. On the river’s bank, ash saplings pushed through tall grasses to reach toward an expansive blue sky. They were averaging forty kilometres a day, and in the evenings, David now had enough energy to rustle up boughs for a soft bed. On these gentle summer nights he heard the haunting bugle of elk and the lulling flow of the river. He wrapped the sounds of the wilderness around him and drifted into deep sleep. This new wild place was giving him strength and confidence and each passing night seduced him further. He never wanted to go back.

The brigade split up at the south branch of the Saskatchewan. Tomison and most of the canoes continued up the main branch to their wintering place at Hudson House. David and the remaining men followed Oman. They took four canoes and tracked up the south branch. On the third day they discovered log buildings under construction on the bank above them. Men, wearing long red and blue caps that hung halfway down their heads, were busy with axes and spoke-shaves. Their grey blanket coats were drawn tight around the middle with wide leather belts.

“Canadians” muttered Oman as he steered close to shore to meet them. They were all French speaking except for one they called Thorburn. Oman and Thorburn exchanged courtesies, but the tension between them was apparent. Thorburn told them the Canadians were trading for two different companies under the management of Simon McTavish from Montreal. The next day, Oman, following Tomison’s instructions should he come across the “peddlers from Montreal,” started construction of an HBC post just slightly upstream. “Build on top of them if you have to!” Tomison had ordered. Oman named the new post South Branch House.

Trading with the local Cree began before the posts were complete. David enjoyed the Crees’ company and listened attentively when they spoke. He began to pick up more than the simple trade words Oman had taught him along the way. In time, he was able to communicate easily with them. He found the Cree to be proud and independent, unlike the Chipewyan at the Factory. These men were tall and fine looking in leather clothes painted with red and yellow dyes. Some were draped in shining buffalo robes. They had high cheekbones, prominent noses, and dark eyes. These features emphasized what David saw as a dignified and self-reliant bearing. The women dressed much the same as the men and were fond of the bright cloth David sold. The Cree had only a few horses, which they kept for hunting and bringing meat to their tents. Dogs were fitted with side bags to carry belongings or harnessed to long poles for hauling buffalo or elk hides to camp.

The Cree found their beaver and wolf skins could be sold for prized sewing awls and strong needles to replace the troublesome thorns the women used for sewing leather. Flint and steel could be used to make fire on demand. Now the old Cree, instead of anxiously guarding glowing embers in a wooden bowl and constantly feeding sticks to the coals, could move fire easily. Most of all, guns and ammunition could be bought. Victory over an enemy tribe now depended more on the number of guns than on the number or the bravery of warriors. To the Cree, it was unbelievable that white men would trade such valuable items for only a few animal skins.

The Canadians also took their quantity of furs. In fact, they were out-trading the HBC post. Although the goods from Montreal were inferior, they had brought four times as much as the HBC brigade had. The Canadians had brought many iron pots and cloth coats. Oman had brought copper pots and heavy wool blankets, which he knew the Cree preferred. Most notably, one-quarter of all the Canadians’ trade goods were barrels of strong liquor. Drunk straight, it was too strong and was like poison to the Aboriginal Peoples, but when diluted with water, they found it irresistible.

By the beginning of April, trade with the Cree was over. They had followed the buffalo to the open plains. As David and the others waited for the river ice to break, they sorted furs and pressed them into bundles. The Canadians had done very well. At break-up, they paddled their loaded canoes toward Lake Superior and Montreal. The HBC brigade paddled in another direction. They set out for Cumberland House, where they would rendezvous with Tomison for the return trek to York Factory.

For David, returning to York Factory would be a sentence to months of boredom. Oman knew this and put in a word with Tomison. When Tomison’s canoes left for York Factory he let David stay behind at Cumberland House with two HBC men.

“You’ll spend the summer here, Davie me lad. Barter the remainder of the trade goods and help set in fish and game provisions. We’ll need food for the gang returning this fall,” instructed Tomison.

The summer passed quickly enough. David tended three long gill nets strung out on Cumberland Lake. The fish were smoked or rendered for lamp oil by the men at camp. Cree hunters supplied all the meat they could want. Their women hung out strips of fresh red meat to dry in the sun. David helped pound dried buffalo meat into powder, which the Cree women then mixed with fat and berries to make pemmican, the staple food for the trail. Pemmican fuelled the brigades far better than oatmeal and bacon did. Less than a kilogram would provide a man all the energy and nutrients he needed for a day’s travel. In years to come, a wilderness industry developed to supply pemmican for the fur trade. Plains communities of mixed French, First Nations, and Scottish ancestry, called the Métis, would emerge and thrive on pemmican production. Each year Métis hunters killed and quartered buffalo by the thousands. They dragged the meat and hides to camp where the rest of the community efficiently processed the animals into pemmican bricks for sale, barter, or trade.

In late August of 1787, Tomison returned to Cumberland House with another brigade and canoes packed with goods. Some of his men were in poor health or lame, and they were left at Cumberland House. David joined the remainder of Tomison’s party, heading farther inland to Manchester House, the company’s new post 160 kilometres up the Saskatchewan River. They journeyed west through gently rolling hills and crossed the paths of never-ending herds of buffalo. Wave after wave of the huge beasts swam across the river, striving for fresh grasslands on the other side. More than once, Tomison and his men were forced to beat the animals with paddles to fend them off and avoid being swamped.

The canoes pushed upstream to the steady rhythm of paddles until they reached Manchester House. The post was simply a rough log building on the riverbank. In front, a lone figure in full native dress stood squarely with feet apart and both hands on his hips. James Gady, bearded and stocky, looked as if he not only owned this post but everything west of Lake Winnipeg. Gady had spent two years in this country living with the Peigan. He had learned their language, customs, and ways of survival. He could sustain himself in these grasslands without the support of either Peigan or white man, and because of this, he was well respected. He was a friend of the Peigan and a valuable asset to Tomison and the HBC.

“It’s about time you sore-assed tenderfoots got here,” bellowed Gady, as the first of the canoes gently buried its keel into the sandy beach. He’s right , David thought, my ass is sore. Fourteen-hour days of paddling on a hard canoe seat will do that. Like drunks leaving a tavern, Tomison and his men staggered from their canoes until their legs regained circulation. Tomison shook Gady’s hand as David and the crew busied themselves hauling cargo-up the shore to the grassy bench by the house.

That night, by lamplight, Tomison and Gady prepared a plan for an overland trading expedition deep into Peigan country. A party under Gady would take horses and enough trade goods to secure positive relations with the Peigan. David overheard his name spoken as a possible member of the party. Gady lifted the lamp to see the young recruit in better light. He looked Thompson over with a critical eye then nodded his okay to Tomison as they resumed the discussion of details. David swelled with pride and excitement. In the last two years he had gone from a pale company clerk to become a member of one the HBC’s farthest reaching explorations.

Gady took six men. Each were loaned trade goods and two horses at a discount and expected to repay their debt and make any personal profit from the furs they would sell to the Company. They rode out in the first days of September. David followed behind Gady on foot. As the newest fur trader, he had only enough borrowing power for one horse, and it was fully loaded. He was thankful Tomison had given him a new leather coat and a buffalo robe as well as ammunition and two long knives to help him on his way.

“The Peigan,” Gady told David as he jogged beside the leader’s mount, “will be different from other Indians you’ve known. They won’t be found begging for handouts around the factory walls. These are Plains Indians. Like the Blackfoot and Blood, they’re warriors. They raid other tribes and fight battles on open ground. You need not fear having your throat slit while you sleep. They’re too proud for that. If they take a mind to kill you, they’ll do it face to face. And remember, they don’t need us except for the guns and the few luxuries we trade. They can travel across these plains free and easy, following the buffalo for thousands of miles, and they find all that they need or want.”

David trotted beside Gady day and night to learn about the Peigan and their language as the fur traders entered the magnificent homeland of the Plains people.

Living with and befriending the Aboriginal Peoples of the Plains gave Thompson an advantage over other explorers like the Americans Lewis and Clark.