CHAPTER II 

 DOWN THE NOISY RIVER WITH THE VOYAGEURS 



AT Athabaska Landing, on May 18, 1907, 10.15 A. M., 

 we boarded the superb Peterborough canoe that I had 

 christened the Ann Seton. The Athabaska River was 

 a-flood and clear of ice; 13 scows of freight, with 60 

 half-breeds and Indians to man them, left at the same 

 time, and in spite of a strong headwind we drifted 

 northward fully 3J miles an hour. 



The leading scow, where I spent some time, was in 

 charge of John MacDonald himself, and his passengers 

 comprised the Hudson's Bay Company officials, going 

 to their posts or on tours of inspection. They were a 

 jolly crowd, like a lot of rollicking schoolboys, full of 

 fun and good-humour, chaffing and joking all day; but 

 when a question of business came up, the serious busi- 

 ness man appeared in each, and the Company's interest 

 was cared for with their best powers. The bottle was 

 not entirely absent in these scow fraternities, but I 

 saw no one the worse for liquor on the trip. 



The men of mixed blood jabbered in French, Cree, 

 and Chipewyan chiefly, but when they wanted to 

 swear, they felt the inadequacy of these mellifluous or 

 lisping tongues, and fell back on virile Saxon, whose 

 tang, projectivity, and wealth of vile epithet evidently 

 supplied a long-felt want in the Great Lone Land of 

 the Dog and Canoe. 



10 



