



Produced by Al Haines.




[Illustration: Cover]




                          BY CANADIAN STREAMS


                                   BY

                           LAWRENCE J. BURPEE




                                TORONTO
                    THE MUSSON BOOK COMPANY LIMITED




                              _Entered at_
                           _Stationers Hall_
                                  1909




                          THE RIVERS OF CANADA


Who that has travelled upon their far-spreading waters has not felt the
compelling charm of the rivers of Canada? The matchless variety of their
scenery, from the gentle grace of the Sissibou to the tempestuous
grandeur of the Fraser; the romance that clings to their shores--legends
and tales of Micmac and Iroquois, Cree, Blackfoot, and Chilcotin;
stories of peaceful Acadian villages beside the Gaspereau, and fortified
towns along the St. Lawrence; of warlike expeditions and missionary
enterprises up the Richelieu and the Saguenay; of heroic exploits at the
Long Sault and at Vercheres; of memorable explorations in the north and
the far west?  How many of us realise the illimitable possibilities of
these arteries of a nation, their vital importance as avenues of
commerce and communication, the potential energy stored in their rushing
waters?  Do we even appreciate their actual extent, or thoroughly grasp
the fact that this network of waterways covers half a continent, and
reaches every corner of this vast Dominion?

Two hundred years ago little was known of these rivers outside the
valley of the St. Lawrence.  One hundred years later scores of new
waterways had been explored from source to outlet, some of them ranking
among the great rivers of the earth.  The Western Sea, that had lured
the restless sons of New France toward the setting sun, that had
furnished a dominating impulse to her explorers, from Jacques Cartier to
La Verendrye, was at last reached by Canadians of another race--and the
road that they travelled was the water-road that connects three oceans.
In their frail canoes these tireless pathfinders journeyed up the mighty
St. Lawrence and its great tributary the Ottawa, through Lake Nipissing,
and down the French river to Georgian Bay; they skirted the shores of
the inland seas to the head of Lake Superior, and by way of numberless
portages crossed the almost indistinguishable height of land to Rainy
Lake and the beautiful Lake of the Woods.  They descended the wild
Winnipeg to Lake Winnipeg, paddled up the Saskatchewan to Cumberland
House, turned north by way of Frog Portage to the Churchill, and
ascended that waterway to its source, where they climbed over Meythe
Portage--famous in the annals of exploration and the fur trade--to the
Clearwater, a branch of the Athabaska, and so came to Fort Chipewyan, on
Lake Athabaska.  Descending Slave River for a few miles, they came to
the mouth of Peace River, and after many days' weary paddling were in
sight of the Rocky Mountains.  Still ascending the same river, they
traversed the mountains, and by other streams were borne down the
western <DW72> to the shores of the remote Pacific.

The world offers no parallel to this extraordinary water-road from the
Atlantic to the Pacific; nor is the tale all told.  From that great
central reservoir, that master-key to the whole system of water
communications, the traveller might turn his canoe in any direction, and
traverse the length and breadth of the continent to its most remote
boundaries: east to the Atlantic, west to the Pacific, north to the
Arctic or to Hudson Bay, and south to the Gulf of Mexico.

The story of Canadian rivers would fill several volumes if one attempted
to do justice to such a broad and varied theme. One may only hope, in
the few pages that follow, to give glimpses of the story; to suggest,
however inadequately, the dramatic and romantic possibilities of the
subject; to recall a few of the memories that cling to the rivers of
Canada.




                                CONTENTS


      I. The Great River of Canada
     II. The Mystic Saguenay
    III. The River of Acadia
     IV. The War Path of the Iroquois
      V. The River of the Cataract
     VI. The Highway of the Fur Trade
    VII. The Red River of the North
   VIII. The Mighty Mackenzie




                          By Canadian Streams



                                   I


                       THE GREAT RIVER OF CANADA


    He told them of the river whose mighty current gave
    Its freshness for a hundred leagues to ocean's briny wave;
    He told them of the glorious scene presented to his sight,
    What time he reared the cross and crown on Hochelaga's height,
    And of the fortress cliff that keeps of Canada the key,
    And they welcomed back Jacques Cartier from his perils over sea.
      McGEE.


If we abandon ourselves to pure conjecture, we may carry the history of
the St. Lawrence back to the beginning of the sixteenth century, when
daring Portuguese navigators sailed into these northern latitudes; or to
the latter half of the fifteenth century, when the Basque fishermen are
said to have brought their adventurous little craft into the Gulf of St.
Lawrence; or, if you please, we may push the curtain back to the tenth
century and add another variant to the many theories as to the course of
the Northmen from Labrador to Nova Scotia.  But while this would make a
romantic story, it is not history.  The Vikings of Northern Europe, and
the Portuguese and Basques of Southern Europe, _may_ have sailed the
Gulf of St. Lawrence, and _may_ even have entered the estuary of the
great river, but there is no evidence that they did, and we must
surrender these picturesque myths if we are to build our story upon a
tangible foundation.

With the advent of Jacques Cartier, the bluff and fearless mariner of
St. Malo, we are upon the solid ground of history.  There is nothing
vague or uncertain about either the personality or achievements of this
Breton captain.  He tells his own story, in simple and convincing
language.  It does not require any peculiar gift of imagination to
picture the scene that marks the beginnings of the history of the St.
Lawrence. It was upon an autumn day, some three hundred and seventy-four
years since. Jacques Cartier, with his little fleet, had searched up and
down the coasts of the gulf for the elusive and much-desired passage to
the South Seas, but the passage was not there.  His Indian guides,
Taignoagny and Domagaya, had told him something of the mighty
stream--the Great River of Canada--upon whose waters his ships were even
now sailing.  How almost incredible it must have seemed to him that this
vast channel, twenty-five miles across from shore to shore, could be a
river, and nothing more!  What thoughts must have surged through his
brain that here at last was the long-sought passage, the road to golden
Cathay!  Even when, as he sailed onward, it became certain that this was
indeed a river, although a gigantic one, Jacques Cartier still had
reason enough to follow its beckoning finger.  The Indians said that to
explore its upper waters he must take to his boats; but they told him of
three several native kingdoms that lay along its banks, and they assured
him that its source was so remote that no man had ever journeyed so far.
Moreover, it came from the south-west, and there lay, and at no
impossible distance, as report had it, the Vermilion Sea.  He might well
hope to reach that sea by way of the River of Canada.  In any event, he
determined to try.

A week later the ships were anchored off an island, which Cartier named
the Isle of Bacchus, because of the abundance of grapes found upon its
shores.  Before him rose the forest-clad heights of Cape Diamond,
destined to become the key to a Colonial empire, the battling-ground of
three great nations, the site of the most picturesque and most romantic
city of America.  Even at this time the place was of some importance,
for here stood the native town of Stadacona, the seat of Donnacona,
"Lord of Canada."

While the ships rode at anchor, Donnacona came down the river with
twelve canoes and a number of his people.  His welcoming harangue
astonished Cartier, as much by its inordinate length as by the
extraordinary animation with which it was delivered. The explorer wasted
no time, however, in ceremonies.  The season was drawing on, and much
remained to be accomplished. Finding safe quarters for two of his
vessels in the St. Charles River he continued his voyage in the third,
in spite of the opposition of Donnacona and his people, who with true
native jealousy would have prevented his further progress.  The ship had
to be left behind at the mouth of the Richelieu, but with two boats,
manned by some of his sailors, Cartier pushed on to the third native
kingdom, Hochelaga, which he reached about the beginning of October. His
reception here was embarrassing in its enthusiasm, for the people of
Hochelaga testified their faith in the godlike character of their
visitor by bringing the sick and the maimed to him to be healed by his
touch.

Climbing the mountain behind the Indian town--which still bears the name
he then gave it of Mont Royal--Cartier eagerly scanned the country to
the westward.  He could trace the St. Lawrence on one side, and on the
other saw for the first time its great tributary the Ottawa.  The way
was still open, but rapids barred the further progress of his boats.  It
was too late to do anything more this season, and, taking leave of the
friendly people of Hochelaga, he returned down the river to Stadacona,
where in his absence his men had built a substantial fort for the
winter.  With all their preparations, however, a wretched winter was
passed.  The Indians, at first friendly, became distrustful under the
treacherous influence of Domagaya and Taignoagny, and kept Cartier and
his men constantly on guard against a possible attack.  Added to this,
the little garrison had to endure the horrors of scurvy.  When in the
following May Cartier made ready to sail back to France, he found it
necessary to abandon one of his ships and distribute the men between the
other two vessels.  As some satisfaction for the annoyance he had
suffered at the hands of the Indians, Cartier succeeded in carrying away
to France not only the troublesome Taignoagny and several of his
companions, but also the chief, Donnacona.

Cartier sailed for Canada once more in 1541, but only fragmentary
accounts are available of this voyage.  The honest captain of St. Malo
never succeeded in finding the Vermilion Sea, but he had accomplished
what was of more importance to future generations--the discovery and
exploration of the noblest of Canadian rivers.  No one who came after
him could add anything material to this momentous achievement.

For more than half a century after Cartier's final return to France, the
St. Lawrence was practically abandoned to its native tribes.  In 1608,
however, another famous son of Old France sailed up the St. Lawrence and
landed with his men at the foot of the same towering rock upon which the
Indian town of Stadacona had formerly stood.  Nothing now remained of
Donnacona's capital, or of the tribe that once occupied the district.
The Iroquois, who in Cartier's day dwelt along the borders of the St.
Lawrence from Stadacona to Hochelaga, had for some unaccountable reason
abandoned this part of the country, and were now settled between Lake
Champlain and Lake Ontario.  Champlain and those who came after him were
to find a very different welcome from the descendants of the Indians who
had welcomed Jacques Cartier to Stadacona and Hochelaga.

Somewhere near the market-place of the Lower Town, Champlain's men fell
to work to lay the foundations of Quebec.  One may get some idea of the
appearance of the group of buildings, Champlain's _Abitation_, from his
own rough sketch in the _Voyages_.  "My first care," he says, "was to
build a house within which to store our provisions.  This was promptly
and competently done through the activity of my men, and under my own
supervision.  Near by is the St. Croix River, where of yore Cartier
spent a winter.  While carpenters toiled and other mechanics were at
work on the house, the others were busy making a clearance about our
future abode; for as the land seemed fertile, I was anxious to plant a
garden and determine whether wheat and other cereals could not be grown
to advantage."

All Champlain's men were not, however, so innocently engaged.  There was
a traitor in the camp.  The story is told by Champlain himself, and by
the historian Lescarbot.  It has been re-told, in his characteristically
simple and graphic manner, by Francis Parkman.

"Champlain was one morning directing his labourers when Tetu, his pilot,
approached him with an anxious countenance, and muttered a request to
speak with him in private.  Champlain assenting, they withdrew to the
neighbouring woods, when the pilot disburdened himself of his secret.
One Antoine Natel, a locksmith, smitten by conscience or fear, had
revealed to him a conspiracy to murder his commander and deliver Quebec
into the hands of the Basques and Spaniards then at Tadoussac.  Another
locksmith, named Duval, was author of the plot, and, with the aid of
three accomplices, had befooled or frightened nearly all the company
into taking part in it.  Each was assured that he should make his
fortune, and all were mutually pledged to poniard the first betrayer of
the secret.  The critical point of their enterprise was the killing of
Champlain.  Some were for strangling him, some for raising a false alarm
in the night and shooting him as he came out from his quarters.

"Having heard the pilot's story, Champlain, remaining in the woods,
desired his informant to find Antoine Natel, and bring him to the spot.
Natel soon appeared, trembling with excitement and fear, and a close
examination left no doubt of the truth of his statement.  A small
vessel, built by Pont-Grave at Tadoussac, had lately arrived, and orders
were now given that it should anchor close at hand.  On board was a
young man in whom confidence could be placed.  Champlain sent him two
bottles of wine, with a direction to tell the four ringleaders that they
had been given him by his Basque friends at Tadoussac, and to invite
them to share the good cheer.  They came aboard in the evening, and were
seized and secured.  'Voyla donc mes galants bien estonnez,' writes
Champlain.

"It was ten o'clock, and most of the men on shore were asleep.  They
were wakened suddenly, and told of the discovery of the plot and the
arrest of the ringleaders. Pardon was then promised them, and they were
dismissed again to their beds, greatly relieved, for they had lived in
trepidation, each fearing the other.  Duval's body, swinging from a
gibbet, gave wholesome warning to those he had seduced; and his head was
displayed on a pike, from the highest roof of the buildings, food for
birds, and a lesson to sedition.  His three accomplices were carried by
Pont-Grave to France, where they made their atonement in the galleys."

Of Champlain's later history, his expedition against the Iroquois, by
way of the Richelieu River and the lake to which he gave his name, and
his exploration of the Ottawa, something will be said in later chapters.

The next great event in the history of New France, after the founding of
Quebec by Champlain, was the coming of the Jesuit missionaries; but
though their headquarters were at Quebec, the field of their heroic
labours was for the most part in what now constitute the Province of
Ontario and the State of New York.  Their story does not therefore touch
directly upon the St. Lawrence, except in so far as that river was their
road to and from the Iroquois towns and the country of the Hurons.
Indeed, by the middle of the seventeenth century, the St. Lawrence had
become the main thoroughfare of New France.  A fort had been built at
the mouth of the Richelieu, a small trading settlement existed at Three
Rivers, and Maisonneuve had laid the foundations of Montreal.  Between
Quebec and these new centres of population there was more or less
intercourse, and the river bore up and down the vessels of fur-trader
and merchant, priest and soldier.  The St. Lawrence was the highway of
commerce, the path of the missionary, the road of war, and the one and
only means of communication for the scattered colonists.  Up stream came
warlike expeditions against the troublesome Iroquois; and down stream
came the Iroquois themselves, with increasing insolence, until they
finally carried their raids down to the very walls of Quebec.  The St.
Lawrence was not safe travelling in those days, for white men or red.

During one of these forays, the Iroquois had captured two settlers, one
Godefroy and Francois Marguerie, an interpreter, both of Three Rivers.
When some months later the war party returned to attack Three Rivers,
they brought the Frenchmen with them, and sent Marguerie to the
commander of the fort with disgraceful terms. Marguerie urged his people
to reject the offer, and then, keeping his pledged word even to savages,
returned to face almost certain torture.  Fortunately, reinforcements
arrived from Quebec in the nick of time, and the Iroquois, finding
themselves at a disadvantage, consented to the ransom of their
prisoners.

In this same year, 1641, a little fleet which had set forth from
Rochelle some weeks before dropped anchor at Quebec, and from the ships
landed Paul de Chomedey, Sieur de Maisonneuve, with a party of
enthusiasts destined to found a religious settlement on the island of
Montreal.  They were coldly received by the Governor and people of
Quebec, who were too weak themselves to care to see the tide of
population diverted to a new settlement far up the river. Maisonneuve,
however, turned a deaf ear to all their arguments.  "I have not come
here," he said, "to deliberate, but to act. It is my duty and my honour
to found a colony at Montreal; and I would go, if every tree were an
Iroquois!"

In May of the following year the expedition set forth for Montreal.
With Maisonneuve went two women, whose names were to be closely
associated with the early history of Montreal--Jeanne Mance and Madame
de la Peltrie.  The Governor, Montmagny, making a virtue of necessity,
also accompanied the expedition.  A more willing companion was Father
Vimont, Superior of the missions.

It was the seventeenth of the month when the odd little flotilla--a
pinnace, a flat-bottomed craft driven by sails, and a couple of
row-boats--approached their destination. The following day they landed
at what was afterwards known as Point Calliere.  The scene is best
described in the words of Parkman:

"Maisonneuve sprang ashore, and fell on his knees.  His followers
imitated his example; and all joined their voices in enthusiastic songs
of thanksgiving.  Tents, baggage, arms, and stores were landed.  An
altar was raised on a pleasant spot near at hand; and Mademoiselle
Mance, with Madame de la Peltrie, aided by her servant, Charlotte Barre,
decorated it with a taste which was the admiration of the beholders.
Now all the company gathered before the shrine. Here stood Vimont, in
the rich vestments of his office.  Here were the two ladies with their
servant; Montmagny, no very willing spectator; and Maisonneuve, a
warlike figure, erect and tall, his men clustering around him--soldiers,
sailors, artisans, and labourers--all alike soldiers at need.  They
kneeled in reverent silence as the Host was raised aloft; and when the
rite was over, the priest turned and addressed them: 'You are a grain of
mustard-seed, that shall rise and grow till its branches overshadow the
earth.  You are few, but your work is the work of God.  His smile is on
you, and your children shall fill the land.'

"The afternoon waned; the sun sank behind the western forest, and
twilight came on.  Fireflies were twinkling over the darkened meadow.
They caught them, tied them with threads into shining festoons, and hung
them before the altar, where the Host remained exposed.  Then they
pitched their tents, lighted their bivouac fires, stationed their
guards, and lay down to rest. Such was the birth-night of Montreal."

Farther down the St