In North- West Can d. 13 



for some miles; the river is broad and deep, and the scenery is 

 very interesting as we pass the foot of McKay's mountain. 

 Some miles further on we touch the river again at Pointe de 

 Meuron, and look down upon it flowing swiftly between high 

 wooded banks. In a tree-top overlooking the river a pair of 

 large hawks have their nest, and the passing train disturbs the 

 birds. Turning a corner sharply, some deer are seen a mile 

 away in the distance, which ran off on the approach of the 

 train. 



At Linkooping a couple of Indians signal the train to stop, 

 and were taken on board with their canoes. At Savanne, 11 

 miles further, one of their canoes came to grief by striking a 

 telegraph post, and became a total wreck. The train stopped, 

 and the Indians got off and were joined by other Indians who 

 were at the station. I picked up a piece of birch bark from 

 the broken canoe and took it along with me as a memento of 

 the event. There is a tribe of Indians at Savanne, and the 

 chief, a tall, grey-haired man, was at the station to see the 

 train pass through. We saw a number of their birch-bark 

 canoes along the banks of the river. There are also a couple 

 of boats that were used by Wolseley in 1870, when he led an 

 army from Fort William to Fort Garry (now Winnipeg), to 

 suppress a rebellion of the half-breeds on Red River. 



Leaving Savanne we move westward and enter a wild, 

 strange country, with rapid rivers and numerous lakes. Here 

 a wilderness of interlaced lakes, or rather huge tarns in granite 

 basins, fringed with forests, divides the country with primi- 

 tive rock and almost bottomless muskegs. Over this vast 

 region silence and desolation reign supreme. A semi -arctic 

 winter clings to it for seven months in the year. For two 

 hundred and fifty miles not a dwelling is seen except the sta- 

 tion houses at a distance of ten to fifteen miles apart. The 

 railway track is bounded on both sides by dense forests, and 

 scarcely a bird or any living creature was to be seen. The 

 country is so monotonous that we are glad when evening 

 closes the scene and we climb into our bunks, and after several 

 efforts we manage to close our eyes in sleep. 



