At Fort MacMurray we learned that there was no telling when the
steamer might arrive; Major Jarvis was under orders to proceed
without delay to Smith Landing; so to solve all our difficulties
I bought a 30-foot boat (sturgeon-head) of Joe Bird, and arranged
to join forces with the police for the next part of the journey.
I had made several unsuccessful attempts to get an experienced native
boatman to go northward with me. All seemed to fear the intending
plunge into the unknown; so was agreeably surprised when a sturdy
young fellow of Scottish and Cree parentage came and volunteered
for the trip. A few inquiries proved him to bear a good reputation
as a river-man and worker, so William C. Loutit was added to my
expedition and served me faithfully throughout.
In time I learned that Billy was a famous traveller. Some years
ago, when the flood had severed all communication between Athabaska
Landing and Edmonton, Billy volunteered to carry some important
despatches, and covered the 96 miles on foot in one and a half days,
although much of the road was under water. On another occasion he
went alone and afoot from House River up the Athabaska to Calling
River, and across the Point to the Athabaska again, then up to the
Landing-150 rough miles in four days. These exploits I had to find
out for myself later on, but much more important to me at the time
was the fact that he was a first-class cook, a steady, cheerful
worker, and a capable guide as far as Great Slave Lake.
The Athabaska below Fort MacMurray is a noble stream, one-third
of a mile wide, deep, steady, unmarred; the banks are covered with
unbroken virginal forests of tall white poplar, balsam poplar,
spruce, and birch. The fire has done no damage here as yet, the
axe has left no trace, there are no houses, no sign of man except
occasional teepee poles. I could fancy myself floating down the
Ohio two hundred years ago.
These were bright days to be remembered, as we drifted down
its placid tide in our ample and comfortable boat, with abundance
of good things. Calm, lovely, spring weather; ducks all along the
river; plenty of food, which is the northerner's idea of bliss;
plenty of water, which is the river-man's notion of joy; plenty
of leisure, which is an element in most men's heaven, for we had
merely to float with the stream, three miles an hour, except when
we landed to eat or sleep.
The woods were donning their vernal green and resounded with the
calls of birds now. The mosquito plague of the region had not yet
appeared, and there was little lacking to crown with a halo the
memory of those days on the Missouri of the North.
Native quadrupeds seemed scarce, and we were all agog when one of
the men saw a black fox trotting along the opposite bank.
