In my last post I used historic documentary records to search for lost early Euro-Canadian fur trade establishments in the remote, dense northern forests of Alberta, Canada. In this post I discuss other ways we might be able to find archaeological remains hidden beneath our feet.
Infrared Photography, Magnetometer Survey, Ground Penetrating Radar, LIDAR. Archaeologists use these non-invasive techniques to find archaeological remains hidden in remote parts of the world or where any archaeological surface evidence has been obscured by construction or other ground surface disturbance. Some methods work better than others in certain conditions. They, however, can also be misleading and potentially destructive if not used properly.
First Some Extreme Examples of Non-Invasive Search Methods
While most of the above techniques have merit, others are a little more far-fetched. In 1975 I attended my first CAA (Canadian Archaeological Association) Conference in Thunder Bay, Ontario. It was pretty cool meeting and listening to all these learned people so passionate about archaeology.
As the liquor flowed freely so were the more outlandish ideas on how to find archaeological sites without, you know, all that work (walking and stumbling around in the bush, digging endless test pits). At one of the evening receptions I noticed a bunch of people gathered around a table intently watching as two archaeologists were dangling a string with something attached to the end over the map.
I casually walked over, curious to see what they were doing. Maybe they were demonstrating some new archaeological technique that I should know about. What I saw however, surprised me. One of the archaeologist was dangling an arrowhead tied to a string over a map of southern Ontario, while the other was taking notes. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Dousing for archaeological sites or remains using an arrowhead on a string. Apparently the arrowhead would point to a place on the map suggesting archaeological remains were buried there.
I couldn’t resist. So I tried this method at home. The arrowhead pointed to the Royal Alberta Museum, Edmonton, Alberta. Maybe there’s something to this method after all.
Welcome to the world of some of the more outlandish methods ever used in archaeological detection, Heinz. You might have just hit an all time low. Wow! Could these learned people be serious? It seemed so. And some of those gathered around the table also seemed convinced this method might work.
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I should not have been surprised that people would use the paranormal in archaeology to help them in their investigations. Throughout the history of archaeology paranormal examples abound. Google it and you will see. Often referred to as psychic archaeology, or Psychometry, most of its claims are of a dubious nature.
In fact, it was earlier in 1974, while at my first archaeological dig at the HBC Fort Victoria, Alberta, that I was introduced to another somewhat unorthodox method of archaeological detection. Dowsing.
Dowsing (Divining, Witching) is a method whereby a person holds and forked branch or coat hangers and walks over the ground surface to detect features objects hidden beneath. Originally it was mainly used to find water (and still is) but is also applied to many other fields of detection. Including archaeology.
So we tried walking over the fort cellar depressions and palisade footer trenches holding two bent coat hangers. They were supposed to cross when you hit a buried feature. Some of the students believed it worked. Others did not. I was amongst the latter.
Even to this day, one of my colleagues (who shall remain anonymous) and I have had a 40-year debate about the merits of this technique. I’m a skeptic of any method not based in science. Others, like my colleague, are more liberal thinkers I guess. Apparently this method is supposed detect magnetic anomalies under the ground surface. That supposedly is the scientific connection. As you will read shortly not even sophisticated equipment capable of accurately measuring the earth’s magnetism are able to make that connection.
My strangest encounter (so far), while excavating at the last HBC Fort Edmonton, was with a woman who claimed, once she had held a piece of jewelry we found, it belonged to her distant relative who worked at the fort. We thanked her for her insights but did not pursue the matter any further. With this Psychometric method one holds an ancient artifact which will then send messages about its history. This method too has not gained much traction over the years among my colleagues. Nor among thieves.
Although I must admit the use of psychic archaeology is tempting when things are not going as they should in the field. My future wife and I, while at Fort Victoria in 1974, tried channeling (of sorts) one night. We tried calling up the ghost of the Clerk in charge of the fort, a Mr. Tait, I believe. We entered the old clerk’s quarters (built in 1864 and still standing on the site) at midnight. After a lot of shouting and pleading for answers we only managed to wake up a few people and totally scared ourselves in the process. I think there was liquor involved in that episode as well.
https://hermis.alberta.ca/ARHP/GetImageDetails.aspx?ObjectID=4665-0022&MediaID=129133. In 1974 when we excavated at the Fort Victoria site, the Clerk’s Quarters was in rough shape. Historic Sites Service, Government of Alberta, has done a admirable job restoring it and interpreting the site. The ghosts have probably fled by now. Either from our shouting or restoration activities.
Metal Detecting. Night hawking, as it is often referred to which, as one archaeologist put it, has had a love-hate relationship with archaeology. Yes, you can find ferric objects with this method, if that’s all you wanted to find. Even major treasures as have been recently found in England with this method. And then you rip those objects out of the ground without any proper context or worse not even recording their location. Unless palisade and building walls are made of iron, finding major archaeological features with this equipment is also problematic.
Recently, some incredible archaeological finds have been identified using metal detection. But, unless this method is used in the same controlled way as excavation, then we end up with artifacts with no context, dissociated both from other nonferrous artifacts and possible archaeological features they occur in. http://www.pastperfect.org.uk/archaeology/lo/metaldetecting.jpg
Some Slightly More Refined Non-Invasive Search Techniques
Some non-invasive search methods have proven better than the aforementioned. But nearly all have their limitations which, if not recognized, could create more problems than solve.
When I search for historic archaeological sites, I observe the surface of the ground carefully when looking for either features on a site or the site. While some features, such as large depressions or mounds are pretty obvious, more subtle features still leave surface evidence even after hundreds of years. After clearing the vegetation off the Fort Vermilion I site, in some places the fort’s original palisade trenches were still evident on the ground surface. At Fort Edmonton, where the ground had been totally landscaped and scrubbed clean of any surface fort evidence, the north palisade was evident as a slightly depressed line where the grass grew better.
Outline of the west palisade footer trench visible in the wall and on the unit floor. These ditches are dug in the soil and then vertical poles placed in them, then filled in to form the palisade wall. Even after 200 years and numerous flooding events, this trench had slumped enough to still be visible on the ground surface.
Not only does the ground continue to slump in these trenches, the soil chemistry and water regime may also change, affecting vegetation. I have seen shell middens representing prehistoric First Nations settlements on the Northwest Coast of Canada that are totally devoid of trees (in a rain forest) because both the soil chemistry and moisture regimes have changed.
https://i.ytimg.com/vi/eCc8DP7IMVw/maxresdefault.jpg. This photograph of a buried shell midden along the Oregon coast shows the different vegetation on the top probably resulting from a change in soil chemistry and moisture.
Even normal aerial photography can produce some surprising results. For example, for years Parks Canada archaeologists could not find one of the missing Rocky Mountain House forts in central Alberta, Canada. Until one day, quite by accident, and luck, it appeared in a photograph.
Archaeologist Donald Steer, working for Parks Canada in the 1970s, was missing a fort. At least according to the historic records. One day while flying over the area someone took black and white photographs of a grain field along the North Saskatchewan River. Later when looking through them Steer noticed the outlines of what looked like a fort in the field. The outlines and cellar features of the fort were captured in the different growth rates of the wheat and shot just at the right light and angle to reveal the fort.
The use of infrared and other types of photography sensitive to different wavelengths of light are also proving useful in archaeological discovery.
During the late 1970s while excavating at the NWC Fort George (c.1792-1800) archaeologists were testing a new non-invasive technique. Ground Penetrating Radar.
The earth is surrounded by varying amounts of magnetism. Physicists found that subsurface features, such as extensive burning, or buried materials, give off different rates of magnetism often associated with human activities. If such a technique proved effective, it could help detect features at an archaeological site, saving countless hours in searching with subsurface testing.
The method has proven moderately effective but the anomalies are sometimes very difficult to interpret and can be affected by modern intrusions giving off what we call false positives – an anomaly which turns out to be nothing or created by some modern intrusion.
Nestled behind the Alberta Legislative building, stands the HBC Fort Edmonton V, c.1912. Courtesy of the Provincial Archives of Alberta.
While excavating Fort Edmonton V, we tried magnetometer survey, seismic testing, ground penetrating radar (GPR), and soil resistivity, to help find and better understand the subsurface archaeological remains. Some methods worked better than others.
Today’s Alberta legislature grounds. The lawn bowling green on the left and the skating rink (old lawn bowling green) on the right. Somewhere under there lie the remains of Fort Edmonton V.
Students, under the guidance of Dr. Edo Nyland, Department of Physics, University of Alberta, conducting a magnetometer survey on the skating rink, Alberta Legislature grounds, 1993.
This image represents a magnetometer survey done on the lawn bowling green on the left and the skating rink on the right, Department of Physics, University of Alberta. The different shaded areas represent different intensities of magnetism. According to our historic maps the remains of then Chief Factor, John’s Rowand’ Big House, should lie near the southwest corner of the lawn bowling green. Yet no magnetic anomaly is present. Either our maps are wrong, the method is too insensitive to pick up building remains (including large cellars), or, any former archaeological features were destroyed when the fort was torn down.This is a 3D image of the lawn bowling green and skating rink, capturing nicely a recent concrete tunnel (raised area in center) running underneath the sidewalk between the lawn and rink, and the electric light posts (raised spikes) around the lawn bowling green and skating rink. And very little else. Modern disturbance is a real problem when using these techniques. And then there’s always the problem of suggesting to the lawn bowlers that we would like to dig up their lawn to check these anomalies. This didn’t go over very well. Instead we joined them for some lawn bowling.Another method, GPR, produced some good results, showing Fort Edmonton palisade footer trench (which was first ground-proofed and evident on the surface) and the many water lines running everywhere on the site (figure on the right). We were warned by the grounds keepers not to cut the water lines because it would set off the entire sprinkling system. Of course, we accidentally cut a water line on a fine June Saturday afternoon sending numerous brides and grooms, there for their photographs, scrambling for drier grounds.
GPR has its uses but is sometimes unreliable. Not only does it create false positives (finding little or nothing of consequence) but worse, false negatives (missing things of great consequence). Imagine if you will, using this method to detect all historic graves in an area, only to miss a few before the land is developed and built on. I have seen this method miss entire cellars big enough to hide a Volkswagon in. Whether the fault of the operator, or the method, caution must be taken. However, these methods are constantly improving, becoming more reliable for archaeological work.
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Light Imagery Detection and Ranging (LIDAR). This method was developed in the 1960s by the US Space Agency and then used in the Apollo 12 missions in 1971 to map the surface of the moon. The results were spectacular.
This method uses an optical remote sensing technique that can measure the distance to a target (in this case, the ground) by illuminating the target with light using pulses from a laser. It is sensitive enough to measure ground surface elevations even under dense forests. Here are a few examples of its use at archaeological sites and features having considerable vertical depth.
LIDAR strips away all the vegetation leaving stark ground contours and relief. This is a great technique for finding mapping large features such as houses, cities and effigies such as the one you see on the right. An archaeological illusion of sorts. Sometimes when standing on the ground the objects are so big you miss or cannot identify them. Only at a distance do they become distinguishable or form a pattern.The latest LIDAR imagery called Titan Technology has a very high resolution as this image shows. The vegetation has been stripped off Tikal, revealing the archaeological remains beneath. https://lidarmag.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/04/COVERTikal2x2km_St.png
The problem with this technique, even today, is its cost. Presently in Canada there is little LIDAR coverage of the ground surface. Fortunately for us, Alberta Forestry Service had flown parts of northern Alberta with LIDAR, including the Fort Vermilion I area.
Here was an opportunity to test just how sensitive this method was in the thick northern boreal forests of Canada. We knew where the site was located. Also some of the surface features were fairly significant. They paled in comparison to the Mesoamerican settlements, but nevertheless this was an opportunity to carry out some controlled experimentation.
Fort Vermilion I in 2014, cleared of trees and brush, revealing an uneven surface. Near the left-center of the photograph is a very large cellar depression. The largest on the site.
On the left is what our site area looks like with normal aerial photography. Only major features, such as dried up river channels manage to peak out of the dense bush. The top right circle represents the Fort Vermilion I site. On the right is the LIDAR image of the same area, now with the trees stripped off leaving all major ground surface contours exposed. One of the large cellars at the site (in the above site photograph) shows up. Just below and left are possible raised mounds (which we did not know of before). On the bottom left (circled) are two more large depressions (which we also did not know of before the LIDAR imagery results). Even in this dense bush the method worked at least on the larger surface features. It might work even better if higher resolution imagery were used. But that would be very costly.This is a close-up of the lower left depressions on the image. We had no idea they were there or whether they were cultural. Only one way to find out. In 2014 we found the depression and finally tested near it in 2016. We weren’t disappointed. We found animal bones, hand-wrought nails and mud chinking from cabin construction all occurring at similar depths as the archaeological remains at Fort Vermilion I (the two sites are on the same floodplain). And then we got really lucky and found this wonderful tubular glass bead along with the other materials. Currently we don’t know if this site is an extension of Fort Vermilion I, a contemporary or even earlier unknown occupation or fur trade Company, or a habitation for the local Metis freemen who might have built near Fort Vermilion I.
A Few Concluding Remarks
Inspiration for this post came when one of my readers casually asked about one of these non-invasive techniques. I replied that it was best not to get me started on that topic. Obviously, it got me started… I’ve had some good luck and some bad luck using these methods. And I firmly believe that with more experimentation and refinement they will become more reliable in the future.
We have come a long way from dangling an arrowhead over a map of Canada in hopes of finding archaeological remains. Or using coat hangers to dowse for buried archaeological remains. Some of the non-invasive search techniques are becoming more sophisticated and reliable, allowing us to detect archaeological history on a scale never imagined before.
But, occasionally I revert back to the old ways. I hoped for inspiration by sleeping in a tent on the old Fort Vermilion I site. Maybe I would receive a sign. To help me find things. And one night I received it when a pack of wolves accidentally walked onto the site sending off the most blood-curdling howling I have ever heard in my life. A message?
Beware the hazards of sleeping in remote places in Canada’s northern forests!
This Canadian commemorative stamp for David Thompson was issued one-hundred years after his death, in recognition as a surveyor and cartographer of the then territories of Canada.
He was known as Koo-Koo-Sint (the man who looks at stars) by First Nations. David Thompson, trader, explorer, surveyor and mapmaker, became a highly renowned land geographer. Some say the best in the world. After studying his maps and how he managed to carry out his work, I tend to agree.
I’ve had the opportunity to apply Thompson’s work to furthering our history. In particular finding a few of the many fur trade posts in western Canada still lost in the wilderness. Or beneath our very noses.
This is my story of following in the shadows of these great ones. In this post I’ll focus on David Thompson. Perhaps in another post, Peter Fidler.
The sextant, one of the instruments David Thompson used to shoot angles to determine latitude and longitude.
David Thompson
Born in Westminster, Middlesex, England, in 1770, to Welsh immigrants, Thompson joined the Hudson’s Bay Company at the age of 14. He studied surveying with the Company and was soon exploring uncharted territory in the Canadian Northwest. At age seventeen, he penetrated west as far as the present-day Calgary.
In 1798 Thompson joined the North West Company and devoted all his time mapping and exploring. He comes by his reputation as a great land surveyor and cartographer honestly. His maps were accurate, and his exploits covered over 80,000 kilometers by foot, horseback, or canoe. All previous maps of western America paled in comparison to his maps.
This map of western North America drawn by Joseph La France in 1740, shows how little was known about the Canadian west. Try to find your home on this map.
In 1804, David Thompson visited Fort Vermilion, then called LaFleur’s Post, by the North West Company. We know this from his daily journal. Here is an excerpt from his journal and arrival at the post. Good luck reading it. It may strain your eyes.
A page of David Thompson’s original journal, 1804. Thompson’s script requires some getting used to. As a historical archaeologist, one of the hardest things I have had to do, is read journals, such as Thompson’s. And then, when I felt comfortable with his script, I went on to someone else’s journal and had to start learning all over.
In Search of LaFleur’s Post (Fort Vermilion I)
Before 1998 Fort Vermilion was still lost in the northern Alberta wilderness. In 1968 John Nicks (Provincial Museum of Alberta) and Karlis Karklins (Parks Canada) searched for the post but did not find it.
In 1998 a few members of the community of Fort Vermilion asked me if I would try to find the first Fort Vermilion. It was important to them because 1998 marked its 200 birthday.
I accepted their invitation. I’d found Boyer’s Post a decade ago. A post which too had been swallowed up by the northern boreal forest and lost for 200 years. This I believed would be much easier than finding Boyer’s post whose location was only vaguely alluded to by the occasional passing explorer.
One of the problems with finding old abandoned fur trade sites with vague references to their locations is the formidable bush along the lower terraces of the Peace River. For example, in 1792 Alexander Mackenzie passed the Boyer River Post on his way upriver near the Boyer River. He wrote: “In the summer of 1788 a small spot was cleared at the Old Establishment which is situated on a bank thirty feet above the level of the river and was sown with turnips, carrots and parsnips.” After finding Boyer’s Post in 1987, it took us over an hour to relocate the site in 2018. It’s in here somewhere…. The only fact we could come away with from this quote was that the fort was located on a bank near the Peace River where the Boyer River flowed into it.Not only does the dense northern bush hide any signs of human settlement, so does urbanization. If you were to visit today’s Alberta legislature grounds in Edmonton, Alberta, you would be hard-pressed to see any signs of what was one of the most important 19th century forts in western Canada. When we interviewed people visiting our excavations in the early 1990s, the majority did not know this was the original location of Fort Edmonton. The fort was hiding in plain view.
The search for these long forgotten places is often difficult. The first problem with the Fort Vermilion site was its remoteness. There were no roads near where we thought it might be, and the bush was dense along the lower terraces of the Peace River. Ground surface visibility was bad.
Long stretches of the Peace River in northern Alberta are remote and very difficult to travel along. Any signs of settlement gets swallowed up immediately in the lower terrace forests. This is the stretch of river where we eventually found Fort Vermilion. It looks good from the air. Until you get on the ground and have to walk through the bush.
So, where was LaFleur’s post? Were there any records that talked about it? Did the Hudson’s Bay Company rebuild the post when the two companies amalgamated, or, did they move it in 1821?
The earliest known record of the location of LaFleur’s post comes from David Thompson’s 1804 journals. Thompson stated the post was on the left bank of the river 17 miles downriver from the mouth of the Keg River. Those seem like pretty good details until you begin to think about them a little more. For instance, what does left bank mean? As you travel upriver, or downriver? Thompson didn’t elaborate. And then, was the Keg River the same one as today’s Keg River? Finally, what did 17 miles downriver mean? Were those river miles, or, were those a direct line to the fort from the mouth of the Keg River?
There was no way of determining on which side of the river bank the fort was located from Thompson’s left bank remark. Best to check both banks. In fact Nicks and Karklins had already checked the east bank in the general vicinity, and found nothing. Then there was the Keg River. I assumed that the historic and present names were the same. The reason for this was that Thompson noted other important landmarks in his journals, such as Wolverine Point (Carcajou) which still exists today on the Peace River.
Next was the distance of 17 miles. I examined both Thompson’s journals and other documents and found that these were river miles. Thompson used river track surveys, where he took a compass bearing and a distance to a point in the river where it turned and then repeated it as he traveled on the river. But, how accurate were these readings?
“Co. N12 E1m NE3/4m”(David Thompson’s notebook,May 3, 1804, Fort Vermilion)
David Thompson used a 32 point compass rose to estimate directions, such as those above. Each point represented 11.25 degrees. In the above quote from Thompson’s 1804 journal, he traveled 12 miles north, then one mile east, then 4 miles northeast. Reckoning speed and distance was entirely another matter. He would have needed to estimate how fast his canoes were moving and then time the distance with a watch (which he did have). One way (and not the only one) would be to pace off an accurate distance on shore and then time how fast the canoes traveled that distance, giving him some idea of baseline speed.
Whatever methods Thompson used, his maps for the period were very accurate.
David Thompson’s line track survey of the North Saskatchewan River in the 1790s, compared to the river’s actual course today. Thompson wisely made several surveys and then averaged his distances and orientation, much like that of a carpenter taking the same measurement a number of times and averaging the distance.
When I saw Thompson’s North Saskatchewan River map I realized there might be a similar Peace River map, marking all the forts along it. I quickly found Thompson’s Peace River map published in his narrative (1916). Much to my dismay this is what it looked like.
This map is a reproduction of Thompson’s original map, accurately showing the Peace River. But alas, not a fort to be seen. When I looked closely, there was a note on the bottom of the map that said: “…reduced from a tracing of photostat of the original Thompson map in the Royal Ontario Archives, which is now too dark for successful reproduction.” (Tyrrell 1916).
At the Royal Alberta museum we had a full sized reproduction of David Thompson’s original ‘territories’ map, including the Peace River. When I looked at that map, this is what I saw.
On this map all the major forts and landmarks are clearly marked. The publisher decided to remove the names and locations of these places in the 1916 publication.
And, low and behold, there was Fort Vermilion on the west bank roughly where Thompson described it in his journals.
The lesson to be learned from this was to always go back to the original documents whenever possible. One of the rules of doing history and dealing with historic documents.
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Next we needed a fine water craft to get near the location where we thought the fort might be located. Below is a photograph of the official research vessel, known locally as the Barge, owned and operated by Mike Mihaly, High Level Alberta.
Getting ready to depart from La Crete Ferry Landing on the barge on one of many expeditions to Fort Vermilion I. Captain Mike jokingly told me that the barge was first a bridge across a creek at home and then over the years morphed into this river boat. What the barge lacked in appearance was made up with both its practicality and the gear on board. Depth finders, solar array, phones and an ingenious anchoring system of poles for the constantly moving river which in a few short hours could change depth, either sinking you or leaving you dry on land if anchored too securely. I may never excavate at this fur trade site again. But, over the course of 30 years I said that at least a half-dozen times and kept comping back. Never say ‘Never’. However, to remind me of the good days and productive research between trips, I have this image on my desktop. The Barge. To remind me of those good times.
In October, 1998, two-hundred years after it was built we (Al and Marilee Toews, Fort Vermilion, and Mike Mihaly, High Level, Alberta) anchored about 500 metres from where after an afternoon of walking and stumbling through the bush we eventually found the long lost Fort Vermilion I. It was truly a day to be remembered for everyone.
As I later reflected after examining Colin Campbell’s (clerk for the Hudson’s Bay Company) journals at Fort Vermilion, we were fortunate to have such an astute observer as David Thompson. Or this fort might still be lost to us. Campbell spent nearly ten years at Fort Vermilion, keeping a journal for most of those years. There is not a single entry that would help identify the location of this and other forts along the river.
A Few Final Comments on David Thompson’s Maps and Journals
I am always amazed and somewhat in awe of how one man, using very simple, rudimentary instruments could so accurately map the Canadian West. In a canoe undergoing tremendous hardships and obstacles. Surely he deserves more recognition than a five cent postage stamp. Even the Canadian loon gets more monetary recognition.
As it turned out Thompson’s latitude reckonings (obtained by measuring the angle of the sun to the horizon at midday, or taking angle of the north star to the horizon with a sextant) were 11 seconds, or 220 metres off for the location of Fort Vermilion I. His estimation of longitude at Fort Vermilion were over 35 kilometres off. Not surprising, since you needed extremely accurate watches (one set at mean Greenwich time and one set locally to estimate longitude accurately). It would be later when Captain James Cook circumnavigated the globe mapping it, that more accurate time-pieces were available, thus producing more accurate maps.
Highly accurate time pieces were necessary to determine longitude. And they had to be small enough to carry through the Canadian wilderness. That and over a dozen mathematical computations. David Thompson was off a little over one degree in estimating longitude at Fort Vermilion. But even one degree was a considerable distance.
“…brass Sextant of ten inches radius, an achromatic Telescope of high power for observing the Satellites of Jupiter and other phenomena, one of the same construction for common use, Parallel glasses and quiksilver horizon for double altitudes; Compass, Thermometer, and other requisite instruments, which I was in the constant practice of using in clear weather for observations on the Sun , Moon, Planets and Stars…” (David Thompson)
THE STARGAZER – Koo-Koo-Sint
This is one of the first artifacts we found at the long-lost Fort Vermilion I. Can you guess what it is? Perhaps in another post I’ll write more about this very unique object.
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References
Thompson, David, 1916. David Thompson’s Narratives of His Explorations in Western America 1784 – 1812. The Champlain Society. Toronto.
High Level (2019), Fort McMurray (2016), Slave Lake (2011), Alberta, Canada! On fire, or nearly so. Fires so hot, I’m told by first-hand witnesses, that the flames jumped across the Athabasca River at Fort McMurray. A distance of more than 200 metres. A scenario which repeats itself in many parts of Canada.
And also in other parts of the world. In 2019 we witnessed horrendous fires in New South Wales, Australia. The Blue Mountains turned grey.
Katoomba, New South Wales, Blue Mountains on fire, December 2019. A few new fires broke out in less than one hour while we were there.
Yes, granted. Climate change is partially responsible for more intense, frequent fires. But, not totally. It’s way more complex than that. It’s also a result of precedence – in this case, economics over ecology. Canada’s policy of fire suppression, for well over a century, is one of the worst mistakes made in managing our forests.
Whenever I drive through Slave Lake, up to Fort Vermilion on Highway 88, I go by the burned-out area of trees on the east side of the highway. And there on the west side sit the houses of the City. The City starts where the forest stops. How can that be a good idea?
How could this happen? The answer to that question requires a lesson in Canadian history. Yes, as you will see, history can teach us important lessons to apply to the future. There’s no doubt about that. But first to learn from history, we have to read it. Too little of that in Canada.
And then, the people reading it have to be empowered to turn what they learned into policy. Too little of that too from our policymakers in Canada.
Fire, Fire: The Warning Cries
In the early 1970s, I attended lectures by Henry Lewis, Professor of Anthropology. Dr. Lewis was studying the use of fire by the Dene and Cree of northern Alberta, Canada. He just finished researching the use of fire by Indigenous people in California.
Lewis’s message was clear. The northern Dene and Cree used fire regularly to clear areas in the boreal forest to create meadows and other habitat more suitable for a diversity of game animals. And they had likely done this for centuries. The boreal forest we see today was nothing like it was centuries ago before White settlement.
And by doing so, Indigenous people, not only in Canada but throughout the world, lessened the intensity of natural forest fires. Controlled burning decreased the amount of dead vegetation, or fuel, and opened up the forests, reducing large-scale spread.
In 1976 I studied Boreal Ecology under the late Professor William Pruitt, University of Manitoba. Pruitt was a quiet man with the looks and demeanour more like Santa Claus than some ‘political shit-disturber’ which he was labelled as at the University of Alaska (for standing up against the US government’s nuclear policies). The good Dr. Pruitt repeatedly told us that government fire prevention policies in the boreal forests of North America would lead to disaster. Unfortunately, Dr. Pruitt’s words turned out to be prophetic.
High Prairie, Grande Prairie, Prairie Point, Jon D’Or Prairie, Buffalo Head Prairie, Clear Prairie, Meadow Lake. These are the names of a few settlements in today’s northern boreal forest in Alberta and Saskatchewan. There are more prairie names of settlements in the boreal forest than on the Northern Great Plains. Where did these names come from? Surely not because some nostalgic folks living in the woods, yearning for the prairies, named them.
No. These areas in the northern boreal forest, at the beginning of White settlement, contained vast prairies, kept open and maintained by First Nations people using fire.
Let’s go back and look at some of the evidence for deliberate burning practices by Indigenous peoples throughout the world.
Indigenous Use of Fire, Australia
“The “virgin lands” first observed by Europeans in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries were not an untouched wilderness. As several writers have noted, the “forest primeval” was a later, romanticized creation of the Euro-American imagination.” (Henry Lewis and Theresa Ferguson, 1988)
Historic painting of Australian Aborigines hunting in a park-like landscape. http://www.abc.net.au/reslib/201205/r949404_10117814.jpg
The Australian Aborigines used fires to create a park-like vista on the Australian landscape at the time of contact with Whites. Their activities were misunderstood and regarded with suspicion by early settlers. This created considerable strife between settlers and aborigines, as documented in a series of letters between the governor and settlers:
“I fear His Excellency will find it a very difficult subject to deal with, and impossible wholly to prevent, it has always been the custom of the Natives to fire the country during the summer season for a variety of purposes, first to assist them in hunting, it also clears the country of underwood, which if not occasionally burnt, would become an impenetrable jungle, infested with snakes and reptiles. “ (Letter to Peter Broun, Secretary to the Governor, New South Wales from Revett Henry Bland, Protector of Natives at York, 1846)
“If so – they burn for their food, whereas the existence of our Flocks and Herds depends on what to us is thus annually irretrievably destroyed and the whole district is now groaning under the ruinous spoliation…” (Richard G. Meares, Resident, 1846)
The outcome eventually favoured the settlers. As it would in many other parts of the world. Indigenous peoples were banned from burning and the dense bush began to encroach eventually creating the situations we saw last year in the Blue Mountains. Over the years fire suppression created more problems than it solved.
While driving through the outback of New South Wales of Australia in 2019, I noticed many goats along the roadsides. Feral goats are everywhere. Eating up the shrubbery and weeds. Keeping them at bay. Turns out in some communities goats are Australia’s new ‘fire’ to control bush and prevent major fires.
Goats, in some parts of Australia, are now the new ‘fire’, keeping dense vegetation and undergrowth under control. “On the edge of Daylesford, a town on Dja Dja Wurrung country in Victoria, Australia prone to massive bushfires, a small group of community-minded folk have pulled together to work towards restoring the ecology of their commons forest – in order to stop the future need for controlled burn-offs by the local fire authority.” Goats, it seems are the new fire. (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Feral_goats_in_Australia#/media/File:Goats_-_Wilpena_Pound.JPG)
Indigenous Use of Fire, California
Virtually the same circumstances took place in what was to become California when the Spanish arrived. They tried to suppress the use of fire by the Indigenous people, calling it “primitive” and wasteful. In 1850, the US government passed the Act for the Government and Protection of Indians, which outlawed intentional burning. According to fire historian Stephen Pyne:
“They said if we suppress all these fires, we end light burning, we will have great new forests. And we did – we had so much great new forest that we created a problem.”
In the late 1960s, the US government rethought its fire policies but is still paying the price today. Indigenous groups, such as the Yurok are again beginning to actively use fire, as they had traditionally for many centuries, to open up the forests:
Indigenous Use of Fire, Boreal Forest, Northern Alberta
In Alberta, northern Canada, at the time of contact Dene used fire to manage the forest and keep it from clogging up. According to surveyor George M. Dawson in 1879, when in northern Alberta:
“…the origin of the prairies of the Peace River is sufficiently obvious. There can be no doubt that they have been produced and are maintained by fires. The country is naturally a wooded one, and where fires have not run for a few years, young trees begin rapidly to spring up.” (Macoun 1882:125)
In the early 1970s, Dr. Henry Lewis argued that places in northern Alberta:
“…prescribed fires were once part of the Indian’s own pattern of ‘landscape management’.….their selective employment of modern fire for boreal forest adaptations indicated an understanding of both the general principles and the local specific environmental relationships that are the subject of modern fire ecology….They understood and practiced controlled burning as a part of hunting-gathering subsistence activities.” (from Lewis 1982)
By the use of fire, the people kept meadows and other areas open and refurbished:
“Why the bushes so thick is because…they stop burning—the Indians stopped burning…Did you ever see them prairies? My goodness, I even remember. It was really prairie…just prairie, you know, (and) here and there you see little specks of woods….” (Beaver woman, 69, High Level, Alberta area; from Lewis 1982:24)
Such open meadows would have attracted many large game animals, including the once-abundant woodland bison:
“Until the mid-eighteenth century bison ranged throughout much of the boreal forest, as far north as Great Slave Lake and the Mackenzie River in the Northwest Territories….it seems unlikely that either the Athapaskans or later Algonkians would have overlooked the possibilities of providing and maintaining better habitat for woodland buffalo [through use of fire].” (from Lewis 1982; brackets mine)
“People know where to hunt. Our people have a name for those burned places in the forest called go-ley-day. They tell one another about those places and when to hunt there.” (Slavey, 69, Meander River area; from Lewis, 1982)
When asked why this practice stopped, the responses were consistent and similar to other areas of the world:
“But it is years ago they did that. Nowadays you can’t burn on the trap line because it’s against the law, and it’s not so good as before.” (Slavey 73, Meander River area; from Lewis, 1982)
Indigenous people also knew that camping and living among the trees was dangerous:
“What is that name? Maskuta? Muskotaw! Yea, that’s a prairie like place. There used to be lots of places around here. Nobody built their house in the woods like they do now. If we get a forest fire now it could be really bad. All the houses would get burned up. It’s a lot safer if you got open places…you just your teepee up there.” (Cree, 78, Trout Lake [Alberta] area; from Lewis 1982)
Obviously, that lesson, learned long ago, has yet to trickle down to today’s generation.
Anthropogenic Burning and the Historic Record, Alberta
Both Indigenous people and academics have voiced these ideas for years now. But, still not enough people are listening. Recently, however, more action has been taken to better manage the world’s forests. Including Canada’s forests.
For example, ecologists working in Alberta’s Rocky Mountains demonstrated that restoring forest areas to a pre-European landscape “resulted in dramatically lower mean probability… [of high-intensity fires] …and a smaller reduction in the mean fire size” (from Poletto 2019)
My interest in anthropogenic burning lies in how long it was used. The Fort Vermilion region contained ‘prairies’ at contact and was an important place for the acquisition of meat in the fur trade. In 1987 we found one of the largest prehistoric sites in the region, which we think might have been used intermittently for the last 9,000 years. Was this place always important historically and a prairie?
Throughout northern Alberta, archaeologists and paleo-ecologists are looking at these relationships more closely. Did these historically documented prairies have a long history of human use?
During the late 18th – early 19th centuries, traders and explorers noted several places where large game, especially wood bison, were plentiful in areas with prairies or more open parkland. Here are a few of the areas shown in the map below:
These are a few of the places, circled in yellow, described by traders and explorers as containing ‘prairies’ and abundant large game animals, including wood bison. 1. Fort McKay area; 2. Lake Athabasca delta; 3. Salt Plains, NWT; 4) Fort Vermilion -High Level area; 5) Whitemud River near Peace River; and, 6) the Grande Prairie.The Salt Plains, NWT, west of Fort Smith. An open parkland area with natural salt outcroppings. Important wood bison grounds historically and today’s herds.Buffalo Head Prairie, just south of La Crete, Alberta, looking south towards the Buffalo Head Hills in the distance. Historically a vast, flat, wide open prairie, likely maintained by burning. Today it has some of the best farmland in the region. In some parts of northern Alberta, early settlers stated that they would not have cleared the land so easily had it not been for the already open prairie areas such as these south of La Crete.Our large, ancient archaeological site near Fort Vermilion, Alberta, Canada, is now mostly in a cultivated field. One of the still-standing Metis log houses was built at the turn of the 20th century.
These places contain both a high frequency and some very large archaeological sites, thousands of years old. Unfortunately we do not have sufficient evidence to connect the long Indigenous land use directly to deliberate burning and the formation of prairies and parkland in the forest.
It will take years of research to better understand this association. However, it has already begun. Paleo-ecologists are examining lake sediments in some areas of the province. They reveal a long history of deliberate burning before contact. The task is difficult as one researcher recently noted:
“Although anthropogenic fires cannot be distinguished in Sharkbite Lake’s record, the charcoal record indicates that on average, every 155 years there was a major fire episode close to Sharkbite Lake. More recent regional fire studies indicate that some areas are prone to burn every 10 years.” (Christina Potello, Department of Anthropology, University of Alberta)
With the incorporation of the Dominion Lands Act in 1872, Canada engaged in a war against fire. Good or bad. Elizabeth Ramsey’s (2015) article on the history of forest fire management in Alberta documents the views and policies that have led to today’s crisis. As one fire expert succinctly put it, by the second half of the 19th century conflicting interests about Alberta’s resources collided, “…a new logic of economics smashed against an older logic of ecology.” (Stephen J. Pyne, 2007).
While our perceptions and actions are slowly changing toward fire, in the words of one Indigenous informant, back in the 1970s:
“It would take a long time to make the country like it was before we stopped burning…maybe fifty years to get the country back (to what it was). It would take a lot of work.” (Slavey, 73, High Level [Alberta] area; from Lewis 1982)
While it’s never too late to change course, it would take a herculean effort to take our forests back to the pre-contact days. And, does it conflict with today’s economics? Perhaps. But surely our current forest policies are not the answer.
Today’s northern boreal forests are often choked with dense underbrush making travel through them almost impossible. And also finding archaeological sites. Boyer River, 2018. Somewhere in there is a late 18th-century fur trade post.
As I walked across the ancient prehistoric site near Fort Vermilion and gazed towards the Caribou Mountains in the distance I envisioned a vast prairie – parkland centuries ago, with grazing herds of wood bison and elk, stretching for miles in either direction, in what is now Canada’s northern boreal forest.
Now only open fields or dense forests appear before me. But no flocks of feral goats. We haven’t got that desperate yet.
……………………….
References
Lewis, H.T., 1982. A Time for burning. Boreal Institute for Northern Studies. Edmonton, Alberta.
Lewis, Henry T., and Theresa A. Ferguson, 1988. Yards, Corridors, and Mosaics: How to Burn a Boreal Forest. Human Ecology 16:57-77.
Macoun, John, 1882. Manitoba and the great North-West. Guelph, Ontario. World Publishing Company.
Poletto, Christina Livia, 2019. Postglacial Human and Environment Landscapes of Northeastern Alberta: An Analysis of Late Holocene Sediment Record from Sharkbite Lake, Alberta. M. A. Thesis, Department of Anthropology, University of Alberta.
Pyne, Stephen J., 2007. Awful Splendour: A Fire History of Canada. University of British Columbia Press.
Ramsey, Elizabeth, 2015. Ecology or Economy. A History of Forest Fire Management in Alberta. Alberta History:16-20.
Much of Canadian human history is written in stone. Stone tools, and detritus from making those tools, are often the only remaining physical evidence of the presence of the New World by First Nations peoples for thousands of years. That record goes back well over ten thousand years in some parts of the Americas.
I’m just analyzing the stone tools we found in 2018 at a prehistoric site in the Fort Vermilion region, northern Canada. I always marvel at the level of craftsmanship (or craftswomanship) these tools display.
This prehistoric biface, likely a stone knife, found in northern Alberta, Canada, was an important type of cutting tool for First Nations people for thousands of years.
Take for example this beautiful bifacially flaked quartzite knife. It still retains its edge, even though possibly made thousands of years ago. The reason is that quartzite, on the Mohs hardness scale, is about a seven (diamond being a 10), equivalent in hardness to a good steel knife blade.
Years ago, at Simon Fraser University, we learned how to make stone tools. We smashed our fingers, we bled, we cursed… Soon I began to appreciate just how hard it was to make even a simple stone tool. Such as this knife.
There’s a lot of thought, effort, and skill involved when making a stone knife. Let’s consider a few of the necessary steps.
First you need to know something about the characteristics of stone. And where to find the best ones. When it comes to stone tool making not all rocks are created equal.
Many stone tools are made by a method called direct percussion where the knapper (stone tool maker) drives flakes off a cobble or spall to thin and shape it. The best rocks for making stone tools have a cryptocrystalline (or having a microscopic crystalline) structure. These rocks fracture in predictable ways because the force created by the blow dissipates through them evenly. Quartzite, a metamorphosed sandstone, is such a rock.
Stone flakes from a northern Alberta prehistoric site, driven off a larger piece of rock. The dark rock on the left is chert (a hard, fine-grained sedimentary rock composed of cryptocrystalline crystals of quartz); in the middle is orthoquartzite (similar to quartzite) and on the far right, quartzite. These three types of rocks are found in northern Alberta. Prehistoric First Nations people made most of their stone tools from them.
I have wandered the North Saskatchewan River Valley looking looking for just the right quartzite cobble to flake. Because not all quartzites are equal either. I have yet to find quartzites of the quality of some of the prehistoric quartzite stone tools in the region.
For example, below are some average quality local quartzites. Notice how much coarser and grainy they are compared to the ones above. With these materials it is much harder to flake, thin and shape a tool. Over the years I have learned what cobbles to look for before splitting them. Those that have chatter marks (made from hitting other rocks or scoured by ice) on the cortex (outer oxidized layer) are usually better quality. And, when you strike another rock against them, the good ones ring a bit; the poor quality ones ‘clank’.
A quartzite flake (left) and a quartzite biface (right). These quartzites are coarser and grainier than the quartzite above. And therefore do not flake as well.
Once you have found good raw material, you then have to strike the piece you are working on just right to remove a flake. Again, easier said than done. If you don’t strike the piece at the proper angle with your hammer (often simply another stone), you either crush the striking platform or nothing happens because you did not create enough force to move through the rock to remove a flake.
Or, you could break and ruin the piece. That’s where more cursing and smashing of fingers usually comes in.
We refer to stone tool making as a ‘reductive’ technology. One major mistake and you have to start over. Unlike pottery-making which is an ‘additive’ technology and more forgiving if you make a mistake.
I started flintknaping obsidian (volcanic glass). Although dangerous it is relatively easy to work. After a few months I made some decent tools.
I made this small obsidian point by another flintknapping technique, known as pressure flaking. In this technique you push off the flakes to shape and thin the artifact with an antler tine. It takes special platform preparation, and proper angle to ‘push’ off the flakes. One slip and you could either drive your hand into the edge or drive the tine into your thigh. Done both.
This obsidian knife snapped in half when I tried to remove a thinning flake from the left end. Later my professor told me this is referred to as ‘end-shock’, where the force of the blow stops at some point in the object and then travels up. Snapping it in half. There was a lot of moaning after that incident. Obsidian is easier to work than quartzite, and achieves a very sharp edge. But it is more brittle and does not maintain an edge as well as quartzite. There is always a trade-off.
Then, while excavating a prehistoric site in Edmonton, Alberta, in the early 1980s, I decided to work with local quartzite. Well, it was as if I had never flintknapped before. Quartzite, when compared to obsidian, is much harder. You really had to whack those edges (and occasionally fingers) to get anything off. And often you couldn’t control what came off.
After months of practice I made some passable tools, like the quartzite biface below. But that took tremendous effort and many attempts. And, when you compare the thinness (a sign of quality workmanship) of my biface to the one we found in northern Alberta, it shows what an amateur I still was after all that practice.
This quartzite biface made by the author pales in comparison in workmanship to prehistoric bifaces, such as the one below. And I have seen even thinner examples in Alberta assemblages.
The northern biface on edge, showing the thin cutting edge and overall thinness of this stone tool.
My quartzite biface on edge. Not nearly as thin as the northern biface. The thicker cutting edge on my biface would not cut as well as that northern biface. And, hafting this piece onto a wood or bone handle, would have been difficult because of its thickness.
And that folks is what it takes to just make a stone knife. There are other more sophisticated stone tool making techniques that take even greater skill and are more time-consuming. Such as pecking or grinding stones to make tools.
The Viking Ribstones, near Viking, Alberta, Canada. An example of grinding or pecking stone technology. It took either many years, or many First Nations people, or both, to patiently grind away on these granite boulders to create these incised lines, which some people believe depict the ribs of a buffalo. https://hermis.alberta.ca/ARHP/GetImageDetails.aspx?ObjectID=4665-0111&MediaID=127160
Today We Occasionally Use Stone Tools
Humans and their ancestors, throughout the world, made a variety of stone tools. Some of the earliest stone tools date back to over 2.58 million years ago, and were nothing more than fist-sized cobbles with some flakes removed to create a cutting edge.
In some parts of the world, people still made and used stone tools during the 20th century. Even today we are not totally out of the stone age. Nothing, not even the best steel, compares to this obsidian surgical scalpel blade (left), with an edge thickness of approximately one micron.
When I see these Mayan artifacts, or the stone workmanship below, I only sigh with envy. And, as a Canadian, I refer to that often-used hockey analogy when viewing this piece. ‘Hell, I could have been that good (to make the NHL) if only I’d practiced more.’ Ya, right!
This begs the question, of course, why Indigenous people around the world eventually abandoned these techniques and traded for similar European tools? Answers to that question of Canadian history, are complex and often hotly debated.
Maybe, in a future post, I will elaborate further on that question with a work of historical fiction!
Sir George Simpson, Governor, the Hudson’s Bay Company (1820 – 1860) and British viceroy of Rupert’s Land.
Do not judge, or you too will be judged. For in the same way, you judge others, you will be judged, and with the measure you use, it will be measured to you. (Mathew 7:1)
She was a young woman. Quite beautiful except for her now tear-streaked face. Sitting in her chair by the large hearth, wringing her hands in grief and sorrow, screaming hysterically. “That bastard! That rotten, inconsiderate cold-hearted bastard! Leaving me, like this. Where is his compassion, his conscience?”
Her mother looked on with concern and unease, trying to think of something to say to console her distraught daughter. “Well, at least the child will be looked after when born. And he found you another partner to care for you.” After hearing them, her words sounded hollow. Her daughter continued wailing, hoping somehow that it would undo what could never be undone.
……………………
Meeting of dog brigades of in northern Alberta. (Frederic Remington; Glenbow Archives NA-1185-10)
Peace River, Canada 1823
George Simpson, now Governor of the Northern Department of the Hudson’s Bay Company, was bundled up in his toboggan barely visible under the furs. It was a cold, bright sunny day. His dog team, along with two others skimmed over the ice of the Peace River at breakneck speed, towards the little HBC post of Fort Vermilion.
Simpson loved adventure. Especially travel. And to do everything fast. This was almost more exhilarating than taking the freight canoes through the river rapids with those seemingly never-tiring French Canadian voyageurs.
He watched the barking and chorusing sled dogs straining on their harnesses. Occasionally the wolves along the shoreline joined in, creating an eery cacophony of sound up and down the river valley. There was nothing like a good dog team to get you from one place to another in the northern winter. Horses, at this time of year, were useless.
Simpson’s face felt numb from the cold, but he was mostly warm and comfortable in the toboggan. Except for his feet. No matter how many pairs of socks he put on, his feet froze in his leather boots. A rather poor choice of footwear for northern Canada.
The men and the dogs had not eaten properly for three days. Simpson pushed the pace, severely fatiguing everyone in the party. “I hope their fireplaces are hot, so I can thaw out my bloody feet. They feel like blocks of ice,” muttered Simpson to no one in particular.
The new Governor was a brilliant administrator and manager of people. Born in Scotland, in 1786, out of wedlock and raised by an aunt, Simpson was new to the country and the fur trade. To be successful, he was bound and determined to see what he ruled, first-hand.
“Where are we John? I see nothing but endless snow, ice, and trees. Are there animals here, humans?”
His Metis dog team handler, John, was running beside the team, dressed in thin layers of clothing, as if this was a mild spring day. He managed to say a few words and still maintain his pace. “Around the next bend up there and we should see Fort Vermilion, Governor.”
“Jesus, John, how in the hell would you know that? Every new bend looks like the last one we came around.”
John had already answered hundreds of similar questions. Simpson had an incredible sense of curiosity and energy. “That’s my job, Sir, to know every bend of this river, so we don’t end up in the middle of nowhere freezing our asses off and starving to death.”
Simpson’s laughter shot clouds of hot breath into the air that instantly froze. He made a mental note about John, which he would later write down in his employee ‘Character Book’: ‘A good man, simple, hardy and forthright.’ And, Christ could the man run, seemingly for miles with his dogs, never tiring or complaining. In fact, he seemed to be enjoying himself as much as Simpson.
Simpson noticed there was a bit of friendly competition between the dog team handlers. Proud of their skills, and their dog teams, they pushed one another to the limits of endurance. Suddenly the men stopped their teams just before rounding the bend. They decked out the dogs in fine blankets, and standing irons with bells, ribbons and colored thread attached to them, before heading to the fort.
“Why the name Fort Vermilion, John? I thought this was called LaFleur’s Post.”
“When the Canadians were in charge it was called LaFleur’s post, Sir. But Colin Campbell, the clerk now in charge, renamed it after the red paint that the local Dunne-za make from the local earth and stone. And the vermilion paint we use for the buildings and the trade.”
Finally, the teams rounded the bend of the river. And there in the distance sitting on the edge of the west bank, stood Fort Vermilion, the visible part of its buildings brilliantly lit red in the sunlight. ‘OK. So that’s where it gets it’s name. The red fort!,’ thought Simpson.
“John, why the red paint? That’s a lot of work and waste of money.”
“The Natives like it, Sir. It demonstrates prosperity and prestige. They put high value in it.” Simpson always marveled at the lengths his traders went to impress the Natives. ‘Well now that we control the trade these excesses must stop,’ he thought.
The dog teams pushed the pace even harder as they neared the fort. The Governor put his money on John’s team. His man wasn’t about to lose the race. They had traveled ten days from Fort Chipewyan. Nearly 300 miles. ‘Incredible, just incredible!’ “Faster John, faster…”
…………………………………..
Colin Campbell sat by the fire, awaiting the governor, contemplating his future. As clerk, in charge of Fort Vermilion, he was writing his annual report. His prospects were grim. The fort was in bad repair, the palisades rotting and falling over, and some of the buildings needed to be replaced. While the bright paint covered the blemishes, the place was rotten on the inside.
Campbell was nervous, having trouble focusing on his report. What would the new Governor think of the fort? Or of him? He was a former North West Company man, having served at English River and recently at Fort Dunvegan further upriver. Born in 1787, Campbell was no older than the man who he was about to meet. What he and his colleagues wondered was how Simpson had become Governor, having virtually no experience in the fur trade, or knowledge of the country.
Campbell’s Metis wife Elizabeth, three daughters and his son, were with him. She was in her early thirties, quite striking. Through marriage with Elizabeth (McGillivray), Campbell was well placed in the former North West Company. Promotion was relatively quick. But, now this merger with the British changed things. Marriage and relations in the new Company mattered less. It seemed competence and hard work mattered more.
Elizabeth saw the look on her husband’s face. “You worry too much Colin. You are hard-working, competent and a good leader. These are all things the new Governor admires.”
“Well, I hear things, Elizabeth. The new Governor is tough. Old Company family connections no longer matter. I hear he carries a large book with him with the name of every employee in it, their worth, and what he intends to do with them.”
Elizabeth left him to his writing, shaking her head. But, she too heard rumors of a different kind, that were equally alarming. Especially if you were of Native descent, and a woman. The man already had reputation. While she feigned surprise at her husband’s concern, she realized they had to be careful. The all powerful ‘Emperor of the Plains’, as some people were already calling him, held their future in his hands.
Campbell returned to his journal and continued writing. There was so much to worry about:
“The advantages of this place are very few over any other except it is that ground is Tilled for our Gardens and being a critical place for the Natives to bring in their find.
The disadvantages rise from the exhausted state of the country in Larger Animals which renders it very difficult to procure Fresh meat upon which the people of the establishment have been hitherto chiefly fed.”
There was loud knock on the door. Campbell got up and went to the door, thinking about how much had changed since he had come to the Peace country. What would the new Governor think?
He opened the door and one of his men stood there. “He comes, Sir. We see the dog teams in the distance on the ice. Should we load the muskets and give him a loud welcome?”
“Yes, let’s give Mr. Simpson a hearty northern welcome. Well, as hearty as we can muster without a proper cannon to really shake the valley.”
Simpson saw the people lined up along the bank, looking down at his party. Suddenly the men pointed their muskets in the air and sent off a volume of gun fire whose sounds echoed up and down the valley. There was shouting and laughter as the teams came to a halt beneath the bank. They were warmly greeted by everyone.
“Welcome, Sir. I hope you had a pleasant enough trip, although the journey is long and arduous.” Campbell helped Simpson out of his toboggan. Simpson, and the men with him, looked haggard and hungry. The man could barely walk on those frozen feet of his. The dogs seemed content enough, but they too were suffering from the lack of proper food and rest. A few were a little foot-sore.
“Campbell, good to see you. Is there ever enough food in this country? I’m famished.”
“One of the scourges of this country now, Sir. However, Sir, we have gathered enough food to make sure you and the men will get a proper meal and provisions to get you up the river. The Canadians chose this place wisely. When all else fails, we have enough produce from the gardens, especially potatoes, to survive.”
“Thank you, Campbell.” Simpson’s eyes wandered around the little fort, sizing up the employees. Campbell noticed that he was eying the women as he talked to the men. As soon as they looked his way he turned away. He disregarded them, as if they did not exist. ‘Strange,’ thought Campbell. From what he heard, the Governor had affairs with Native and Mixed-blood women. There were already rumors of illegitimate children.
Across the fort, Landrie’s, Grigoni’s, Piche’s, and Errand’s wives watched as the Governor talked to their husbands.
“Bit of a stuck-up prick, isn’t he,” remarked Isobel, Louis Landrie’s wife. “Can’t even come over here and say hello. What’s his problem anyway?”
“I hear he does not favor Company men taking wives and having them live at the forts. And, he has no use for Native or mixed-blood women, except of course to bed them whenever he pleases. Then he gets rid of them. A real piece of work, that one!” Sarah, Francois Piche’s wife, was a fiery one. Her beauty hid well that fierce temper of hers. Which had once led to throwing her husband off the riverbank because he gotten too drunk.
“We could ignore him and not serve him food or help him,” retorted Isobel. “That would show him the importance of women here.”
“Perhaps,” exclaimed Sarah. “But it might also make him look unfavorably on our men, and that would not be good for their future with the Company. We must be careful not to displease him. I understand he writes down the characteristics of his employees in a large book. To remind him about their abilities and future with the Company.” Not only was Piche’s wife beautiful, but highly astute about their dilemma.
“And look at those boots he wears. At this time of year? I’m sure his feet are frozen solid. That must be extremely uncomfortable if not outright painful.”
“How long is he staying”?
“Not long,” explained Elizabeth, who had just joined the women. “Three or four days at most. Once rested his party will continue upriver to visit the other forts.” Elizabeth too had felt the Governor’s coolness toward her, although he seemed to have little trouble watching her when she was not looking.
“Where is he staying Elizabeth?” Sarah seemed more than a little curious about the new Governor.
“He has a cabin to himself. Just off our cabin and trading room. Sufficient space and a fireplace as well.”
“Perhaps an opportunity will arise where we can pay our regards to the new Governor. Without putting ourselves or our men under his suspicions.”
Elizabeth turned and spoke, a worried look on her face. “Or, better yet perhaps we can show the new Governor how valuable we are to the Company. Let’s sew him a pair of winter moccasins so he doesn’t freeze his feet. If we work together, we should get them done before he leaves.” She looked expectantly at the others, who nodded in agreement.
………………………………
Simpson sat by the fire in his cabin reading Campbell’s annual report. As he read, his thoughts wandered to the fort women, and his latest little tryst with Mary. Well, he’d cleaned that mess up, but it would cost him. The child had to be taken care of. It was worth it. He couldn’t be tied down with a wife and child, so this way was for the best. It was slightly awkward, but no one would dare challenge him.
Simpson returned to Campbell’s report, still thinking about the women he met today. ‘I wonder which one will warm my bed?’ He would ask Campbell about that and put a little pressure on the man. Where was he anyway?
There was knock on Simpson’s door. After a few seconds, without waiting for an answer, in strode Campbell holding two cups and a bottle of brandy. He pulled up a chair by the fire and sat down, eying the report in Simpson’s hand. And also, nervously glancing at Simpson’s open character book on the table.
“Evening Sir. I see you have been reading my annual report.”
“That I have Campbell. A well thought out piece of work, and while I share your concerns, I have some of my own. But that can wait. What have you mind for the coming days?”
Campbell had talked to Elizabeth about Simpson’s stay. They needed to keep his mind on the trade, not the women. Things could get out of hand and some of the women were scared. Except Sarah. She had that gleam in her eye. Like the time she threw her husband off the riverbank. And that also scared the women.
“Well Sir, I thought we would go out to the hunting camp, so you can see the country firsthand and how hard it is for our hunters to acquire game.”
Simpson nodded seeming less than enthusiastic. “Yes, Campbell, a good idea. It gives me first-hand knowledge of the state of the country.”
“And Campbell. Make the necessary repairs to the fort, as you suggest in your report. It looks a little ratty up close despite that paint. Some of these buildings are ready to fall down on your heads.”
“And one last thing Campbell. What about these women running around the fort? Are any of them from the Native bands? Marriage to such women would greatly benefit the trade. The Canadians used that strategy all the time.
“Sir, the Dunne-za do not share their women with us, or with the Canadians before us. They are reluctant to form alliances.”
“Then bribe them with more trade goods. These alliances are integral to our relationships with these people. No wonder they don’t work for us.”
Campbell nervously cleared his throat. “I will do my best, Sir, but I seriously doubt it will work.”
Simpson frowned. “I suppose Campbell but try to keep the costs down as much as possible with the married women at the forts. We can’t have women and children eating up the profits. And, are there any free women at the fort? I could use a ‘little brown’ right now. After all it’s been a long journey, Campbell. Maybe one of the men’s wives is free, if he were at the hunters’ tents? It’s your job, Campbell to look after my needs. Is it not?” As Simpson talked he was casually tapping his fingers on his character book.
Campbell did not miss Simpson’s less than subtle threat. This was what he was afraid of. “It’s late tonight, Sir. Perhaps tomorrow something can be arranged.”
Simpson idly nodded in agreement, but he was not pleased. The little Emperor was flexing his muscles and living up to his name. There was nothing Campbell could do to stop it.
Campbell was shocked by the governor’s words. What he had heard seemed to be true. Simpson considered Native and Mixed-blood women nothing more than alliance makers and bed warmers and treated them accordingly.
Simpson sensed his clerk’s unease but seemed untroubled by it. “Now, one more good shot of brandy and a long pipe of tobacco, Campbell. Then I think it’s time to conclude the business for tonight. If we are to hunt tomorrow I need a good night’s sleep. What say you?”
Campbell said little, visibly relieved that tonight a calamity had been avoided. But what about the next few nights? He sighed, grabbing the bottle of brandy and poured a liberal quantity into their cups. Then he lifted his cup, “To the trade, Sir. May it prosper under your guidance.”
They smoked and drank in silence, each contemplating the other’s words. And each wondering what the next few days would bring.
……………………………………….
It was dawn. The mercury in the fort thermometer had disappeared in the glass bulb. The smoke from the cabin chimneys hung in the morning air, as if frozen in place. The fort’s inhabitants began to stir.
Sarah, assigned to the care of the Governor, was in his quarters, starting the fire in the hearth. His breakfast sat on the table.
Simpson, still in bed, opened one eye and looked around. The other was frozen shut, having teared up during the night. His vision was giving him trouble again. He liked what he saw through his open bedroom door. Even with one eye. She was quite lovely. That Campbell had come through after all. ‘I’ll write a good note about him for this,’ thought Simpson.
Outside Louis Landrie’s wife, Isobel, was just going by Simpson’s cabin to fetch some wood, when she heard the shouting. Then suddenly, a red-faced Sarah came storming out of Simpson’s cabin. Next came Simpson, stepping to the door, half dressed.
“What happened Sarah? You look quite distraught this morning.”
“It’s nothing Isobel. The Governor was not too pleased with his breakfast. I explained, in rather forceful terms, that this was not London, and I couldn’t find any freshly made meat pies.” With that Sarah, hurriedly walked away to her cabin with an unbelieving Isobel worriedly looking after her.
‘A little testy,’ thought Simpson. ‘But they all come around when I threaten them about their husbands’ future with the Company. What does her husband do anyway? Probably just some half-wit French Canadian labourer.’ Then Simpson saw another one of the fort women looking at him, and hurriedly closed the door behind him.
……………………………………………..
While Simpson and Campbell journeyed to the hunting camps with their dog teams, the women met. The chatter was light as they worked on Simpson’s winter moccasins. But Sarah seemed distant and in deep thought. “What’s wrong Sarah?”, asked Elizabeth. “Worrying about your man in the woods. I wouldn’t. He knows what he is doing.”
“That’s not the man I am worried about, Elizabeth.” She told the others about Simpson’s behavior at breakfast. “What am I to do? He is the governor after all. Any ill-intent toward him and I may get Francois into trouble. I’m stuck in a very disagreeable spot.”
The other women continued working, but now with concerned looks on their faces. Elizabeth tried to reassure Sarah. “Well, he’s only here for a few more days, and then we will be rid of him. Hopefully for good. But, in the meantime what do we do? How do we keep him from making more advances on Sarah?”
“I told him I would make his supper tonight. I had too because he threatened to write some nasty things about Francois in that bloody book of his.” Sarah seemed ready to explode.
The other women considered Elizabeth’s question. “Well, I’d like to cut off that all-too eager pecker of his. And feed it to the dogs. Maybe he could have an accident. Fall down the riverbank and hurt himself. You know how dangerous that bank is in the winter. One wrong step and away you go.” Isobel was always the brave and rather brazen one in the group.
“No. We must put him out of commission, but not harm him. Put him in a spot where the last thing he will think about is chasing women.” Elizabeth looked around the group for ideas.
“Maybe we could lace his food with something to make him sick. That would stop him in his tracks. He’d spend most of his time in the outhouse, where he belongs.” Sarah looked expectantly at the group.
Finally Elizabeth spoke up. “No. These men are already weak. The last thing the Governor needs is to be shitting himself for the next few days. He has a long journey ahead of him. I have a better idea. We will give Mr. Simpson a true Fort Vermilion send-off.” She gathered the women around and in a rather hushed voice told them her plan.
……………………………….
Simpson was exhausted. Just back from a day’s hunting with the men. His feet were frozen again. He sat by the fireplace trying to thaw them out. ‘How on earth do they survive in this county? Brutal! Just brutal.’ He now understood better the hardships these people faced.
There was a knock on the door. ‘Ah,’ thought Simpson, ‘Maybe a little comfort after a hard day’s work.”
Before he could answer in stomped Sarah with his supper. She began to prepare it on the hearth. She said nothing, barely even looking at the Governor.
Simpson asked, “Do you have a name? What do I call you? What is your husband’s name? I understand he is at one of the hunting camps?”
Sarah took her time answering. This was the hard part. Would he check? No, she thought. He has other things on his mind. “Marie, Sir. My husband’s name is Ignace Lavallee, from Lachine, Quebec.”
The Governor nodded. So far so good. He would write that name down in his book. Say something flattering about the man. Supper was ready and they ate mostly in silence.
“Well, let’s have a bit of port then. Perhaps then we can get to know one another better.”
Sarah shuddered. ‘Oh God, help me. I hope he falls for this.’
Suddenly she began to giggle. Seemingly at the Governor. Simpson looked up in surprise. “What is it Marie? Is something wrong? Are you amused by me?”
Sarah became slightly coy. “Nothing Sir. It’s just your teeth…”
Simpson rose slightly embarrassed and fetched a mirror. Yes. There was some food sticking to them and they were a slightly reddish color. ‘Must be the port,’ he thought.
“If you’ll excuse me for a second, I’ll just freshen up a bit and clean my teeth.” He went into his bedroom.
It was dark in the room and in his haste, the Governor did not light a candle. He knew where everything was that he needed.
Simpson was a fastidious man, in both clothing and personal hygiene. Because of his vast traveling he was exposed to new fashions and methods of keeping one’s self looking the part of the Governor. Well groomed and clean. He had just acquired a few fine new bone toothbrushes, with stout boar’s hair bristles, before he left for his journey.
Bone toothbrush, found at NWC/HBC Fort Vermilion I (c.1798-1830).
Simpson searched for his cup of water, his toothbrush and toothpaste, applied the toothpaste to the brush and started to brush his teeth. The paste seemed a little more gritty than usual, but Simpson was tired. And eager to get to know this Marie better. As he brushed he relished what was about to come.
‘There that should be better.’ He took the mirror and looked at his teeth. And there to his horror, a face, with bright red lips and red-stained teeth, stared back at him. His teeth now looked like the walls of the fort.
Simpson cursed and rushed into the main room. It was empty. ‘Marie’ was nowhere be seen. He let out a litany of curses before he sat down and opened his book and began to write a new entry:
Ignace Lavallee: A disagreeable man, drunk most of the time and not fit for the trade. Should not be promoted and dismissed at a convenient time.
Simpson cursed again. That name sounded vaguely familiar. He failed to remember that this ‘Ignace’ was already retired. He looked in the mirror and began to wash his mouth. But the more he rubbed the more the pigment spread. The stuff would not come off.
“Oh damned stain, thou doest not come off….” He swore and rubbed some more but to no avail. Finally giving up he went to his cold bed without a bed partner to keep him warm.
George Simpson, Governor of one of the largest business enterprises on the continent, and one of the most powerful men in North America, had been ‘Ochre’d’!
………………………………….
The next day the Governor stayed in his quarters, feigning sickness and fatigue. His fine bone toothbrush was ruined. He had thrown it into the trash heap, behind his quarters, near the fort gate. He fortunately had packed two others for his trip. He didn’t feel sick or anything. Just embarrassed.
‘That bloody woman. How had she done this’? But, he had no proof and could not confront her. And then all ideas of confrontation completely left him when he saw her husband. The man just returned with a load of meat from the hunting camp,’Marie’ by his side. Effortlessly hefting two enormous quarters of bison onto his broad shoulders and walking to the glaciere to store them. ‘No, best not rile that one up,’ thought Simpson.
……………………………..
The next morning dawned. Again, it was crackling cold, the ice on the great river groaning and snapping. The men and dog teams and were ready to depart, waiting for the Governor. Simpson, dressed and packed, left his quarters, walked out the fort gates and down to the river’s edge. Almost everyone had come out to see him off. He seemed subdued. Not exactly his normal ‘charismatic’ self. A large wool muffler was tightly wrapped around his face, hiding everything but his eyes.
Simpson looked around, as if searching for someone. The so-called ‘Marie’ was nowhere in sight.
Just as he was about to get into his toboggan, Elizabeth, with a few other women approached the Governor. “Sir, I hope your stay at the fort was comfortable and informative. I hope that all your needs were taken care of to your satisfaction.” Simpson thought he saw some of the women smirk a bit at this last comment. He said nothing.
Elizabeth went on. “We noticed on your arrival, that your feet were freezing. To help you in the coming days and weeks we have sewn you a pair of winter boots, so your feet will no longer freeze.”
With those words, Elizabeth handed Simpson a fine pair of knee high, fur-lined leather moccasins, with double-thick soles. They were beautifully decorated with glass beads and delicate colored stitching. But what was most striking about them, was the red pigment that had been worked into the leather. Ochre.
Simpson simply nodded.
Elizabeth spoke again. “Please accept these moccasins as a gift from the women. We like our guests to leave with something that reminds them of Fort Vermilion. What better gift than a touch of ochre, to remind you of this place.” Elizabeth was barely able to hide her laughter.
She watched as Simpson, face covered with his muffler, put on the boots. ‘A touch of ochre indeed, Sir. Which you will be spitting out for a few days,’ thought Elizabeth. Colin Campbell gave his wife a sideways glance but said nothing.
Simpson, although his mouth covered with the muffler, recovered from his surprise and addressed the women. “I will forever remember the women of this fort and the contributions they make to the trade. Especially these red-stained winter boots.” ‘Along with my red-stained mouth.’ With those words, he got into his toboggan, and the teams started up the river, towards Dunvegan. Five days more heavy sledding. But no more cold feet. John and the other dog drivers broke into song as they streaked down the vast frozen river.
Once out of sight of the fort, Simpson smiled but then quickly stifled that smile, remembering the color of his mouth and teeth. He grabbed a handful of snow as they trekked along, putting it in his mouth under his scarf and rinsing. ‘Damn! That was my finest toothbrush too.’ Hopefully, thought Simpson, by the time they reached the next fort the ochre stain would be gone.
And yes. Another fort, another adventure and maybe there he would find a ‘little bit of brown’ to keep him warm. Some habits were just too hard to break for someone of his stature and power.
……………………………………
Fort Dunvegan, Five Days Later
The Governor, tired from the long journey, but now with warm feet thanks to his new moccasins, was sitting at his table in one of the fort quarters. Still thinking about Fort Vermilion and his run-in with that woman, ‘Marie.’ He opened his large character book and was about to write something about Colin Campbell when he noticed an entry of unknown handwriting:
George Simpson: Brilliant administrator, leader, energetic and adventurous. With feet as cold as his heart. Needs to improve his social skills with the opposite sex.
And then, at the very end, a final entry:
Therefore, let us stop passing judgement on one another. Instead, make up your mind not to put any stumbling block or obstacle in the way of a brother or sister. (Romans 14:13)
Simpson cursed loudly, ripping out the page and throwing his book on the floor in anger. A curse so loud it was almost heard at the small red fort downriver.
………………………………….
Endnotes
James Fennimore Cooper (The Last of the Mohicans) wrote that history, “…like love, is so apt to surround her heroes with an atmosphere of imaginary brightness.” The story of Mr. Simpson has two sides. He did great things. He did bad things. Historians and historical fiction writers have written about both.
While this is a story of fiction, it is based on certain facts. George Simpson was an adventurer and brilliant administrator. He led the Hudson’s Bay Company to heights never achieved before. He traveled extensively where he seemed in his best mood. He occasionally suffered from depression and had trouble with his eyes.
He was also a notorious womanizer, having at least five illegitimate children in England and by Indigenous women in Canada. He was cold and indifferent toward Native women, treating them with little respect or regard.
Simpson did have a character book in which he kept a record of the many Company employees under his rule. Their habits, skills, usefulness to the Company and whether they warranted promotion. He did visit Fort Vermilion in 1823, then under the command of Colin Campbell, staying a few days before continuing upriver. He was knighted in 1841 for his involvement in John Franklin’s polar expeditions. He died in 1860 and is buried in Mount Royal Cemetery, Montreal, Canada.
I often wondered about the origins of Fort Vermilion’s name. Did it come from the local ochre the Dunne-za used? Was it the Vermilion paint the Company brought in to trade with them?
Occasionally the traders would put a slip of whitewash or some other color on the mud chinking or logs of fort buildings. The iron content in the local silts and silty-clays, used to make chinking often have a natural reddish hue to them. Below is some chinking from Boyer River Post, just downriver. After being fired it became quite red. The clay chimneys at Fort Vermilion would have eventually turned reddish from the heat, perhaps giving the fort a similar appearance.
Mud chinking from Boyer River Post. A common means of sealing cracks and insulating buildings at many fur trade posts.
Whenever I read Simpson’s journals (and those of other early explorers), it is obvious where the racial intolerance toward Indigenous peoples originated. Simpson was a product of his times. Those in power used race and gender to further their larger socioeconomic agendas. Inequality in the fur trade was often dictated along those lines and in early Canadian society. The taint of those attitudes and perceptions towards others, so deeply embedded in Canadian history, will not be easily removed.
Hello everyone. It’s been a while since I last posted here. However that does not mean I haven’t been writing. I have. Just to a different audience – my archeological colleagues. And when I tell you that I’ve been writing about how deep objects sink when stepped on, and what that means for the archeological record, I can already hear the sighs of relief. ‘Sure glad he didn’t share that gem with us.’
For me it doesn’t get much more exciting than that. At least during these Covid times when repeatedly stepping on marbles was the highlight of my day. In fact, when I carried out some of these experiments along the banks of the North Saskatchewan River near Devon, Alberta, this summer they drew a lot attention. As in, ‘What’s that weirdo doing?‘ People were obviously bored.
After explaining to one mother and her ten year old daughter, why I was stomping on marbles in a sandbox, the mom quickly whisked her daughter away, looking over her shoulder to make sure I wasn’t following. I guess I left quite an impression. That young girl will now have forever an image in her head of what an archaeologist looks like and does for a living. And it won’t be the Indiana Jones kind, but some old guy, with long white hair tied in a pony tail, trampling on marbles, then carefully recording those results. And that poor mother’s ‘Indi’ dream archaeologist was forever shattered as well.
Just setting up my archaeological experiment in the beautiful North Saskatchewan River Valley near Devon, Alberta. As archaeologists we are always concerned about time and stratigraphy. And whether objects from one layer get mixed up with objects from another lower layer representing a different time period. Only one way to find out. Stomp on them to see how deep they go.
There are times however when my profession is a little more exciting and the things we find are jaw droppers. One-of-a-kinds, such as this bone/ivory artifact found at the Fort Vermilion I (c.1798 – 1830) fur trade post in northern Alberta. We think it’s a toothbrush, perhaps one of the earliest ever to enter the province. This perfectly preserved object, with some of the bristles still intact at both ends, currently is the only one found in Alberta and I have only seen a fragment of one like it found at a NWT fort.
So what is an object like this doing at a frontier wilderness post in what was then the middle of nowhere (and in some respects still is)? My colleagues and I have been asking ourselves that question for some time now. Aside from idle speculation, we have few definitive answers. Dental hygiene was not at a very advanced stage at the turn of the 19th century anywhere in the world, let alone some Canadian frontier trading post. Especially among the lower income fort laborer’s.
Although the toothbrush was already invented in China sometime in the 7th – 8th century A. D. by the Dang Dynasty, it took a while for Europe to catch on.
Here’s what the toothbrush history experts have to say on the subject:
“At around 1780, the first toothbrush was made by William Addis of Clerkenald, England. Addis, and later, his descendants, manufactured the finest English brushes, where the handles were carved out of the bone of cattle and the heads of the natural bristles were placed in the bored holes made in the bone and kept in place by thin wire. The natural bristles were obtained from the necks and shoulders of swine, especially from pigs living in colder climates like Siberia and China.
By the early 1800s the bristled brushes were in general use in Europe and Japan. In 1857, H. N. Wadsworth was credited as the first American to receive a toothbrush patent as America entered the growing toothbrush market.” (https://mrs-o-c.com/computers/history/toothbrush/toothbrushHistory.htm
Here is sort of a similar-looking bone toothbrush from 1844:
It’s not as if this was a common artifact in western Canada. No. It was essentially a ‘one-off.’ And how did this rather pristine, still functional object end up in the fort midden pile? We can only speculate, but it seems reasonable to assume it belonged to a person who did not linger long at this ‘silvan abode in the woods.’ (A tongue-in-cheek quote from Alexander Ross, 1825, describing the rather decrepit looking Fort Assiniboine, Alberta) Or we would have found more like it.
Let me assure you this find is unusual and not normal fur trade archaeology. But then trampling on marbles isn’t either. Both however do make for a good story. In my next post I’ll speculate even more about this object with a short story of historical fiction. I wish I could share this post with that mother and child to help restore their image of archaeology. Too late for that though.
Until then, stay safe everyone.
In the meantime, in order to fight Covid, I’m going to brush my teeth with the new toothpaste I just acquired. If they had this toothpaste in the fur trade, we would have found a lot more toothbrushes:
The Scottish yole is a wooden boat, built in a variety of sizes in the Orkney Islands (and elsewhere) for fishing. It could be rowed or sailed. The boats are probably of Nordic origins.
The Hudson’s Bay Company recruited Orkneymen to work at their Canadian-based forts. They brought with them their boat building knowledge and soon built a boat that was adapted to work on Hudson Bay and then the inland waters of the Canadian West. It is commonly referred to as the York Boat, named after the Company’s York Factory on Hudson Bay. A craft similar to the yole but better suited for Canada’s lakes and rivers.
Hayes River, Near York Factory, Early Summer, 1796
“Faster men! Faster! Bail faster. No, paddle faster.” The helmsman of one of the Saskatchewan brigade canoes kept screaming, then pleading, for his charges to paddle and bail with all their might. Their now rickety birch bark canoe, full of holes from the wear and tear of over a thousand miles of river travel, was about to sink. And they along with it.
Peter Fidler, just named chief mapmaker and surveyor for the Hudson’s Bay Company, sat in one of the other canoes looking on. Mildly annoyed. About as annoyed as anyone could get when there was really nothing more to do but bail. But there was plenty of time to sit and think as well. These boats are leaking like sieves. And barely a tree in sight to repair them properly before we go back.
He wasn’t a man who complained much. He had already proven he was capable of putting up with tremendous hardships. Anything the Company threw at their new rising star, Fidler could handle. But he was frustrated on how to deal with this predicament. The Company’s inland transportation system was a mess. This sinking flotilla that carried their goods and furs for thousands of miles on the inland waters was a constant problem and headache.
Who do I blame more. This intractable Company or this hostile land? Peter often was torn on this matter.
And then there were the Canadians. An even bigger problem. Not only are we sinking half the time, those scoundrels help us to the bottom. Constantly harassing me and my men. Telling us we have no business in ‘their’ country. Fidler knew the Company was often the laughing stock of the west, barely able to keep their boats afloat let alone handle them.
It was always like this for the Hudson’s Bay Company canoe brigades. Now that they had to chase the furs inland instead of letting the Indians come to them at the Bay. By the time they reached Hudson Bay, their canoes were in tatters and they were hanging on to their very lives. They were at a great disadvantage to the Canadian-run North West Company, whose French Canadian voyageurs lived on the water for a good part of the year. The men knew how to build and handle the large birch bark freight canoes.
Damn those Canadian water dogs, thought Fidler. They outmaneuver us at every turn and take advantage of their superior skills with the canoes. Unlike our Orkneymen, while stout enough, but know nothing about these flimsy craft and how to best keep them afloat. He watched and bailed as the shore came steadily closer.
Fidler’s brigade finally made it to York Factory without sinking. But the men were unhappy. And Fidler heard the grumbling.
“God-dammit Peter, these craft leak like sieves if you just touch them. And they’re about as steady as a round log. Even the French Canadians complain. I overheard one old voyageur joking that when you sat in a loaded freight canoe you had to keep your tongue in the middle of your mouth or you would capsize the damn thing. This situation is ridiculous. And now, how are we going to fix these wrecks? There’s not a bloody birch tree within five-hundred miles of this place.”
Fidler could only nod in agreement. He tried to put James at ease. The complaining would only erode more the moral of his men. “We brought some bark rind with us James, so we can do the patchwork and get ready to go back. Settle down man. Unload the canoes and then go get drunk or something.”
Richard, another young, capable Orkneyman was already heading up the bank. He yelled back at the others. “I’m done lads. My contract’s up and I’m not signing on again. I’m heading home. I’ve had enough of these stupid boats. They’re about as sturdy as a hayseed in a wind storm.” Then he looked at Fidler.
“And, Sir, if the situation doesn’t improve, you won’t have any men left to work the canoes. And you’ll not get any new recruits out of the Orkney’s once word gets out. Christ, I’d rather sign on with his Royal Majesty’s press gangs and serve on a ship of the line, than put up with this shit.”
Again Peter Fidler said little. Because there was little to say. They were right. Now watching his men walk away he was becoming angry. It was time to talk with the Governor about the state of the Company’s inland operations, and the welfare of its employees.
He carefully unpacked his precious maps and instruments and started up the bank toward the fort. Thank God these didn’t get wet or lost. That would have been a real calamity. Peter Fidler’s first priority were his maps and logs. But, solutions to the Company’s transportation needs, and dealing with those Canadian pests, were taking up more and more of his time and energy.
…………………….
The Governor’s Residence, York Factory
Peter Fidler’s map of the Swan River and Upper Assiniboine Region. Fidler was a meticulous map maker. His works are considered equal to those of David Thompson. Giving him the title of Canada’s ‘forgotten’ mapmaker.
That evening Peter Fidler dined with the Governor and a few other company officers. After months of river travel through the wilds, the meal and companionship was welcome enough. But Fidler seemed slightly out of sorts, although he tried to keep up his side of the table-talk and news.
Samuel Wegg sensed something was wrong. Trained as a lawyer at Cambridge, a Fellow of the Royal Society, and eventually becoming Governor in 1782, Wegg missed little. Including Fidler’s seeming preoccupation with other things. Time to press a little bit to see what’s wrong with my favorite inland trader. He’s not normally this sour looking. Wegg waited patiently for his opportunity.
Wegg watched on as the tobacco pipes and brandy came out after the meal. Soon a cloud of aromatic tobacco smoke hung in the room. Wegg hoped maybe the young Fidler would relax and open up a bit. The setting was casual enough. By now Peter was well known, liked and respected, among the officers. His recent sojourns into the Canadian west and his excellent maps had gained him the admiration of not only the officers, but also the Company’s London committee.
Finally Wegg saw his chance. “Well, Peter, quite the haul of furs you brought back with you. Despite the fierce competition from the Canadians. You should be happy and proud of your accomplishments these last few years. A lucrative trade, adventure and map-making of a very high standard. Your maps are as good or even better than that traitorous scoundrel Thompson’s. Even Aaron Arrowsmith in London is impressed. He wants to publish your latest works. And newly married. What else could a man want?” The bait was out, but would Peter take it?
Fidler looked around at the men, then at the Governor, wondering. Should I risk it? Should I say something or just shut up? A few years back his choice would have been easy. ‘Be quiet.’ It was the Company’s problem not his. But now he realized he was fast becoming an important part of the Company and something had to be done soon or they would all be driven out of the west by the Canadians.
Suddenly he realized all eyes were looking his way. He poured himself another brandy and began. The other officers were silent, as if his words were important. Hoping he would say what some of them operating inland were also thinking.
“Well, Sir, if you must know it’s our transportation system out west. These birch bark freight canoes work well enough for the Canadians. They have many men with enough knowledge and materials to keep them afloat. We don’t, and it puts us at a great disadvantage in the trade.”
“You got back safe and sound Peter. What are you complaining about?” Wegg, pretending everything was well, had known for some time everything was not.
“Yes, with my feet in water at the bottom of our canoes. Ready to tip over any minute. Which are now battered and in need of repair. But, with nothing to repair them with. And Sir, our Orkneymen hate them. Absolutely detest them. If the Company continues to use them, I’m afraid we’ll lose our men and struggle even more out west. There are already shortages in manpower with the wars, and it’s becoming harder and harder to recruit good men from the Islands.”
George Sutherland, in charge of Edmonton House, who accompanied Fidler, finally spoke. Strangely William Tomison, in charge of Buckingham House, was missing at the table. “Sir, until we were forced to move inland what was the number one advantage we had in the trade over the Canadians?”
Wegg decided to play along. “Transportation and cost, of course. Even after moving inland, the cost of moving our supplies west and furs back are not nearly as high as that of the Canadians. If only our equipment was in better shape, so we don’t lose half of what we haul.”
“Then, Sir, what if we could reduce those costs even further by improving our system of supplying the western posts? And getting our furs safely to York Factory. That would really put a scare into those Canadians out west.” Sutherland looked at Fidler, waiting for him to take up the argument and continue.
Finally Peter spoke. “Governor, the Company has used the bateaus and York boats around the Bay for years. They are seaworthy, can go up the rivers a certain distance, and can haul tremendous amounts of goods. Why not try them out west?”
Smith, one of the officers stationed at York Factory, was already shaking his head. “You can’t be serious Peter? Those boats aren’t fit for the inland rivers and lakes. You might get out in the spring but you’d never make it back in the late summer and fall when the rivers drop and become very shallow. And the portages? How do you propose we haul a boat that weighs a ton or more across them?”
Fidler went on, as if he had already thought carefully about most of these obstacles. “We re-adapt the Bay boats. We built a boat to fit the country and its waters. Make the bottom flatter, so that its draft is extremely shallow and more suitable for the inland rivers. And we use a log roller and pulley system to move them over the portages. Each boat will need at least eight or nine men who can pull them. That’s a lot of manpower. Or, we build boats on either side of the major portages.”
Smith only snorted. “The Canadians would pillage and burn those boats in a heartbeat. They use some of the same inland routes we do. Or, we would have to leave men to guard them. That might not even work.”
“It might not. But what we’re doing right now, in fact, does not work. We need to change, soon. Or there won’t be any competition left for the Canadians.”
At theses last words the others were looking down, staring into their brandy glasses for inspiration. As if the answers to their problems lay somewhere down there. None seemed to appear.
Fidler pressed on. “Our only hope is to improve our means of transportation and hold on. Keep on competing with those renegade Canadians at every turn. We won’t always win, but every battle takes its toll. Eventually someone will break. If we survive, then we can tailor our transportation to suit our needs.”
“Meanwhile, I suggest we add a few more skilled craftsmen to some key forts. But keep in mind by using a York boat, which could haul at least three times as much as a freight canoe, we wouldn’t need as many canoes, nor men to paddle them.”
The room fell silent. Everyone, including the Governor, was weighing the matter carefully. It had its merits. But also its warts.
“You wintered at Buckingham House with William Tomison, Fidler. Did you put any of this to him?”
Fidler now had a somewhat dour look on his face. As if he was mulling something very distasteful over. Tomison’s not here.Why not?Well, might as well get it out there too. No sense stopping now, he thought.
“With all due respect, Sir. Mr. Tomison is a good enough trader. There isn’t a principle Native man in the country that he doesn’t know and who seem to like and respect him enough. All very important considerations in the trade. They like us better than those Canadians in most cases.”
“What’s wrong then Fidler. The look on your face doesn’t match your words very well.”
Fidler went on. “Sir, Mr. Tomison isn’t a very imaginative or creative man in these matters. He sticks to what he knows even if it might undo him. I have argued with him occasionally on this point and he refuses to budge. He has two fine young Orkney carpenters at the fort and that blacksmith Gilbert Laughton can fix or make anything. We have all the tools and expertise, except willpower, to make a few prototypes and try them out on the river. What have we got to lose?”
At those words the Governor scowled. He didn’t like his men backstabbing their fellow employees. But Fidler’s words made sense. And Tomison, while he was a steady enough man in the trade, was becoming more and more set in his ways. After thirty-five years with the Company, who wouldn’t. Refusing to see what needed changing before it was too late.
Then Wegg smiled, as if only now remembering something. And the atmosphere in the room lifted considerably. “Well, Fidler, it just so happens Mr. Tomison is coming out and going to England on leave. Why don’t you take over at Buckingham House for the winter and see what can be done.”
Fidler, at first somewhat shocked at these words, sensed that the Governor was already ahead of him in this matter. Why had he sent two very skilled carpenters west to Buckingham House? Certainly not to build cathedrals. And why Orkneymen? Those islands produced some of the best boat-builders in the British Isles. Men who built the sturdy yoles, crafted after the Norse longboats from centuries past. Suddenly Fidler had a new respect for Wegg.
He looked quickly over at Sutherland, who was looking into the blazing fire, grinning, with a very satisfied look on his face. Either he’s drunk or has already talked to the Governor about this matter.And I wonder what tidbits he’s put in the Governor’s ear? George Sutherland, even though quiet, was a crafty man. A thinking man. An Orkneyman who knew something about boats. Also, someone who knew the trade out west was falling to pieces unless they did something about it.
“Sir, I don’t particularly like going behind my superior’s back in these matters. It only causes even more disharmony among the men. And, we already have enough of that.” Fidler now had a worried look on his face, realizing what Tomison might later accuse him of if any this got out.
“Don’t worry about Mr. Tomison, Fidler. By the time I’m finished with him, he’ll see the brilliance of our plan. Especially if you succeed. Besides, he’ll be nice and mellow, and most agreeable after his stay in England. Just carry on and do what’s needed. Do what you think is in the best interest of the Company. This business of transportation is a very serious matter, Gentlemen. So serious, if not fixed, soon, could break our backs in the west.”
Fall, 1796, the North Saskatchewan River
Just before the Hudson’s Company canoe brigade reached Buckingham House, they dawned their finest clothing, fired their muskets into the skies, and started singing as they paddled their canoes toward the fort. It was the custom of the land. They hoped their comrades at the fort heard the shots and would give them a hearty salute in return to welcome them home.
However, they were in for a surprise. There, a short distance downstream from their fort, were their rivals, the jeering Canadians, also ready to welcome them back. Shooting their muskets in the air and occasionally closely over their heads. A little too closely for comfort.
“Hey Fidler, what took you so long. You travel only half the distance we do and you arrive later than us.” There was John McDonald of Garth again, a brash Canadian Scot, waving his musket in one hand and his bottle of brandy in the other.
“Oh, Christ, Peter. Can’t we go out a distance so we don’t have to listen to their insults?” Young Isbister wanted nothing to do with the rowdy Canadians.
“Can’t John. We might sink. Our canoes are almost shredded from the journey. We need to make shore and fast.”
Just as they were about to pass the Canadians, someone on shore threw a clod of mud catching one of Fidler’s men square in the head, nearly knocking him senseless. A few of the men started to draw muskets, but Fidler yelled at them.
“Put your weapons away. No violence. It does little good here. Paddle faster. Let’s get past them and then we’ll be home.” Just as he finished a few of the Canadians threw out a large log which sliced through the water like a spear, squarely hitting one of the canoes in the side, and tearing a large hole in it. Now the men were frantically bailing, faster than even before.
MacDonald was at it again, shouting and jeering at the now sinking boat. “Well, Pro Pelle Cutem (for the pelt, the skin) my boys, or whatever it is your stupid Company motto means. I guess you’ll pay with your hides now, you cursed bastards. You should leave this country. Forever. You don’t belong here.”
MacDonald took another swig of brandy. Now refueled he hollered more insults across the water. “Arrogant English turds. You have a fancy slogan in Latin? Will your Latin help you now?”
One of Fidler’s men had enough. He suddenly drew his musket and fired at McDonald, barely missing the man and smashing his brandy bottle in the process. Instead of being frightened for his life, McDonald, now fuming bellowed out. “You broke my bottle and the brandy’s all gone, you Orkney twit.” He began to draw his musket, but having trouble now both standing and trying to find it. Before managing more mischief, he was quickly grabbed by his men and dragged up the bank to the North West Company fort, still swearing and cursing.
As the Hudson’s Bay Company canoes finally reached home, they had a much more cordial welcome from their people. The muskets were fired into the air to salute the brigade’s return. Finally, home. But, barely. The leaves were turning and the nights were already frosty. Soon the Saskatchewan would freeze up for another season. And it would get incredibly cold.
Buckingham House, Peter Fidler’s Quarters
April 8, Friday, [1796]. Wind and weather as yesterday. Four men finished the bateau. Tailor making clothing for the men, one man ailing, and the rest pointing stockades and fitting them to the ribbon. At noon one tent of Indians brought thirty beaver and three rolls of birchrind not very good. Also in the evening William Tate and Robert Garrock returned, brought eight rolls of birchrind very bad. (Journal of George Sutherland, Edmonton House; HBCA B.60/a/1, 1795-96; brackets mine)
Fidler was in his winter quarters. Standing in front of the fire, trying to warm up after their journey. He turned toward his man. “Well, Samuel. How was the summer? I hope you followed my instructions and got what we needed.”
Samuel, standing in front of Fidler, was wringing and twisting his hat, as if trying to squeeze something out of it.
“Sir, we tried. First we wanted to trade birch rind with the Natives coming to the fort. They gave us little and only of poor quality. Wouldn’t part with any of the good rind. When we asked why, they merely grinned and said our competition gives twice the amount we do for a good role of birch rind.”
Fidler frowned. His first few days back in charge and nothing but bad news everywhere. And those rotten Canadians were constantly meddling in their business. He sighed. If this continued, it would be a long, long winter. No wonder Tomison sometimes acted like an eighty-year old. This business could wear you out.
“At least then we have the rolls that we stock-piled this spring. We desperately need to repair our canoes or we might not make it out next spring. Good thing Tomison managed to lay in that bark for our canoes.”
“Oh, that’s gone too, Sir. Some scoundrel set fire to it. It’s all burned up. Nothing left but a few charred pieces. We’ll try trading for more, but it will cost us triple to get anything good.”
Fidler’s frown deepened. He guessed who the ‘scoundrels’ were that Samuel was referring to. “Just what the hell are we going to do, Samuel? We need that rind or find another way of moving our goods.” Then he remembered his meeting with the Governor. Instead of whining, it was time to act.
“Samuel, go fetch the two Orkney carpenters and Gilbert Laughton. We need to make a plan, now, fast before it’s too late.”
Samuel nodded and was about to run out to fetch the men. “But before you go, Samuel, be a good lad and bring me that bottle of brandy from the cellar. I’m going to need it before this is all over.”
A rare find. This liquor bottle found in the cellar beneath the officers’ quarters at the Hudson’s Bay Company Buckingham House. The same quarters that Peter Fidler wintered in 1796-97. It may have contained brandy. Or perhaps some other type of liquor.
During the early fur trade, most liquor was sent out west in wooden kegs. Glass goods were a rarity and probably smuggled in. A complete, intact bottle, cork and all, is even a more rare find. (Photograph, courtesy of the Royal Alberta Museum)
……………………
Buckingham House, December 20th, 1796.
Dear Sir [George Sutherland], Your men arrived here all safe the 18th instant, and have sent as much trading goods as loaded the six horses (which was all they brought down) as per list enclosed. The awls, steels, worms etc. shall be made as soon as the cold weather is over, which of late has been so intense (sixty below the cypher) that the smith could not get anything made of small articles; hitherto he has been employed in repairing falling hatchets (as there was not any fit for use here) and making nails for the bateaux.
Shall pay every attention in getting the boats as fast forward as possible – one is nearly finished and the carpenters will go to the woods after Christmas to saw stuff for the other one….
Wishing you health and a happy new year I remain dear Sir, your obedient humble servant Peter Fidler. (Letter from Peter Fidler, Buckingham House, to George Sutherland, Edmonton House; HBCA B.60/a/2; brackets mine)
“You want to do what, Peter? Build a yole? This isn’t the bloody North Sea, you know. That trickle of water down there won’t hold a boat that size. You’ll be scraping along the bottom of the drink all the time.” Fidler’s blacksmith, Gilbert Laughton, also an Orkneyman, was not entirely optimistic this new plan would work.
“Nicol, John, you’re both boat carpenters. What do you think? Can we do it? This blasted canoe business has to stop. And Tomison isn’t around to sink our plans.”
John Davey was also among the group. “Can I help, Sir. I want to learn as much as I can about the boats and how to build one. I think it will revolutionize how we transport our goods.”
Both Nicol Spence and John Moore looked at the young Davey. “What exactly do you know about boats, Davey? And water? I saw you nearly drown when ankle deep in the river.” The two men had a good laugh at the now red-faced Davey’s expense.
“I sailed a lot before I came to the Colonies. I watched the men at home build the boats, but I was still too young to learn properly. We could modify our boats a bit from what we used at sea. To better suit the river.”
“How so, John? Those boats worked well enough. What would you do different?” Peter, although knowing already what was needed, was intent on hearing everyone out, before making any decisions.
After thinking a bit, Davey answered, “The prow of the boat has to be pretty narrow to cut easily through the river currents. The beam should be wider than our yoles, for more stability and cargo space. Then I would design the hull with almost no deadrise, so the draft would be small, and she would sit right on top of the water. Even when empty, because of the width, she would still be pretty stable.”
Fidler looked at Davey with a new kind of interest. The lad seemed to know what he was talking about. “What about strength? We need something that won’t fall apart when we look at it, or step in it.”
“Sawed lap-planks, Sir. We’ll build a ‘clinker boat’ with planks about an inch thick, overlapping one another. We’ll steam them and bend and nail them around the frame. Then we’ll caulk or spruce gum the seams.” Davey, now beet-red from forgetting to breath while he talked, was getting excited about the project.
Two types of wood boat framing commonly used on wooden ship hulls. Clinker boat frames (left) resemble the Viking ships and were very strong, and also used to make yoles in the Orkney Islands.
“We can’t use iron nails, John. They’ll rot out in the water.” Spence was scratching his head wondering what to do about this problem. They could dowel the boards in to place, but they wouldn’t hold up well in the tough, harsh river conditions.
Gilbert Laughton, who had been quietly listening, spoke up after the last remark. “I’ll take care of the metal works for the boat, including the nails. I have something in mind.”
“Then it’s settled men. Work all winter on three prototypes. John can you draw? If so, draw up a plan for the carpenters on what you want.”
“I will, Sir. Can I watch and help build them too?”
“Yes, of course, John. You’re now the chief architect of the project. But here’s how I want them built. The first two boats must each have different siding and hull configurations, and the third one…” He talked quietly to his men laying out his instructions, as if someone might overhear them. When he finished they all stared at him, wondering if he had already been drinking to come up with such an idea.
“And not a word about any of this to anyone. Especially those Canadian buggers across the way.”
His men looked at him questionably about construction of the last boat. “Are sure that’s wise Peter? Doesn’t that kind of defeat the purpose?” Then Fidler filled in his men why he wanted the last boat built that way. “It’s time to fight back men. And, this is as good an opportunity as any to do it.”
When he finished the men left happy enough, but still scratching their heads over his last request. Wondering what happened to that usually non-violent nature of his.
Hand-forged brass or copper alloy nails found at the Hudson’s Bay Company Fort Edmonton (c.1830 – 1915). More rust-resistant and likely used for construction of York boats which became a primary industry at this fort.
Buckingham House, Early Spring, 1797
1797, Edmonton House, April 24th. Dear Sir [Peter Fidler], The backwardness of the spring will very much retard the building of canoes and consequently will occasion a late embarkation….The river ice has given way opposite the house, but remains fast both above and below yet the water falloff fast. Send up all the men with the craft except the canoe builders. I will dispatch twenty men in the four canoes here as soon as the river ice gives way with what furs and provisions they can take. If the boats are finished Nichol Spence, boatbuilder, may come up the first trip as he is to summer here, he being unfit for the passage, and John Moor goes down with the boats in case of accidents; let him keep what tools he thinks will be necessary for the passage. Send up all the plank cut for boats by the boats as that article will be difficult to get at this place. The canoes can take all the trading goods and stores. If you have any spare line for tying bundles I beg you to send it as we are short of that article here.…Wishing you better success I am yours etc. G.S. (Parts of a letter to Peter Fidler, Buckingham House, from George Sutherland, Edmonton House; HBCA B.60/a/2, 1796-97; brackets mine)
Peter Fidler stood in the boat yard at the back of the fort. It was well concealed from prying Canadian eyes by a six-foot high partition fence. Over their heads was a wide, long roof attached to high poles, open on the sides, under which the men could work without getting snowed on and sheltered from the wind. Beside him in pits dug in the ground, the shape of a large canoe, sat their freight canoes also under repair. The pits kept the shape of the boats and the birch rind moist, preventing it from cracking.
“They look marvelous men. But will they do the job?” Fidler ran his eyes down the long, sleek wooden boats. Two boats were finished and the third one nearly finished.
John Davey looked up, a big grin on his face. As if this was the best work he had ever done.
“They’re great, Sir. It was challenging work. But so much fun. I feel now I could build one by myself.”
“Tell me a little more about them, John. What’s the main difference in them, from the ones on the Bay?”
“Well Sir, this one here is the biggest. But nowhere’s as big as some of the Bay boats. It measures forty feet from end to end, is slightly less than four feet deep and eight feet across at the beam. It’s clinker-built and the bottom is nearly flat. Both ends are nicely raked so it should be easy to get off the rocks and sand bars. I figure this one could float over three tons of cargo.” Davey beamed, stroking his boat, as he spoke.
“This one here looks almost the same, John?”
“This differs mostly in size. It’s only thirty feet long, three feet deep, and about six-and-one-half feet at the beam. And the planking on the sides are the carvel type. It makes a very smooth hull, giving it less resistance in a strong current. However, while this boat is strong enough, it’s not nearly as strong as the other. It carries less cargo but works better in shallow rivers.”
Spence looked up from his work. “The keels were difficult to make, Sir. We carved them out of tamarack, the hardest, most rot-resistant wood there is in this country. Here, Sir, put your ear on the end of the keel. And give me your watch.”
Fidler did so and then Spence put the pocket watch on the other end of the keel. A surprised Fidler answered. “I can hear the ticking of my watch, Spence, from way down here. It resonates through the wood.”
“But, not through any wood, Sir. Only the soundest, strongest wood will do that. The keel has to put up with tremendous punishment. If it isn’t sound, the boat won’t last.”
Then Fidler turned to the last boat still under construction. “And, I presume this one’s for our Canadian friends. Looks even smaller and not as well built.”
Davey nodded in agreement. “It will do what you requested within an hour of being put in the water. It’s all about the planking and the bottom of the boat.”
“Well done men. Finish the last one before the ice breaks up and starts moving and then we’ll put our plan into action.” They all smiled at what was about to happen.
“But, Peter. We need to name them. That’s the proper thing to do. Do you have any suggestions?” Spence waited expectantly as Fidler mulled over some names for the boats.
“OK. I think I have it. This first big one here, we’ll name Explorer. The second smaller one Chance.”
The men waited for the last name. Fidler was thinking, then suddenly smiled. “This men will be the new motto for the Canadians.” Then he whispered the name of the boat to his men. They all laughed at the name, shaking their heads. A perfect name for their last boat.
………………………
This reconstructed York boat sits on display at Fort Edmonton Park, Edmonton, Alberta. The fort was a major boat builder for the Saskatchewan brigades for many years.
Samuel barged into Fidler’s quarters, all out of breath. “The ice is moving, Sir. If the weather holds, in two or three days we can launch.”
“Good Samuel. Tell the men to prepare to move the boats down the creek ravine to the river. It’s all downhill and with the snow they will slide easy enough. Make sure the boats are well tied so they don’t get away on you. Remember, that’s about a ton of boat there and when it starts moving downhill, it will be hard to stop.”
“Yes, Sir. We’ll prepare everything for departure. The men are ready. They know what to do and how to handle these boats. They were brought up with them. Some were probably born in them.”
Fidler simply nodded as Samuel left. Beside him sat his blacksmith, and also occasionally gunsmith, Gilbert Laughton. An indispensable man at these frontier forts. Who was admiring one of his fancy twisted ornate hand-forged nails, fresh out of the forge. The two men were drinking, talking about the trade and the welfare of the Company. And their plans to get their furs to York Factory.
“Do you think they’ll take the bait, Peter? They might get suspicious about our motives and tactics.” He looked over at Fidler, waiting for a reply.
“Oh, they’ll take the bait alright. They’re down by the river right now getting ready to embark as soon as the ice leaves. After all that bullshit they’ve been fed about a special bonus for the first furs to Europe from the Colonies this year, they’ll bite. They’re a greedy bunch of heartless bastards, when it comes right down to it. Thought of only wealth dulls one’s wits, my friend.”
Laughton looked at Fidler. A crafty man. But hardly a violent man. Or, was he? Whatever had drawn him to come up with something like this? And, if his plan ever worked, would the Canadians forgive him? Probably not. They would hound him in the trade for the rest of his days. “Well, it’s not my problem Peter, but you sure know how to make enemies.”
“It can’t get any worse than this, Laughton. Can it?
………………….
Angus Shaw, chief trader in charge of the North West Company’s Fort George, stood down by the river overseeing preparations for departure for Montreal. As soon as that damn ice clears out, we’ll be off. If we’re to beat the HBC, he thought. Then he heard a peculiar noise. Coming from up above. A high pitched screeching sound, as if someone was raking their nails over glass. Then the yelling and hollering. Laughing, cursing and everything in between.
He looked over towards the creek above them and there before his very eyes, out from the ravine shot a large wooden boat, skidding smoothly on the snow and ice towards the water. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing.
John McDonald, standing beside him, turned and looked the same direction. Then he saw it too. A fully laden boat with enormous oars sliding swiftly towards the river. “What in the hell is that…?”
But before he could finish his sentence, another one appeared behind it. And then another. The Canadians stood transfixed on the banks of the river as the HBC men made preparations to launch the boats into the river.
“Angus, they can’t go out into that bloody current and ice. It’ll tear them apart. It’s too dangerous. They’ll all die.”
Shaw was now fully beginning to realize what was happening and the implications it had on the trade. “You mean John, we can’t go out there with those flimsy birch bark freight canoes. That ice would crush them like an eggshell. There would be nothing left within minutes.”
“Angus, do you know what this means? They’ll get to York Factory faster and back to Europe to collect that bonus. We’ll lose, if we don’t stop them.”
“And how do you propose to do that, John? Look, they’ve already launched one boat and the second one is ready to go. It’s too late to stop them.”
Then McDonald saw it. The third boat was empty and simply stowed near the edge of the river, but not launched. A few men were looking after it. Shaw saw it too and both men looked knowingly at one another. “Tonight John, we’ll take that one and follow them. And then plan some mischief to stop them before they get too far ahead of us.”
Both men scurried toward their voyageurs and told them their plan. Meanwhile the other voyageurs were watching in awe as the large York boats went bobbing down the river, loaded with furs and crew. Soon they disappeared from sight.
That night John McDonald of Garth took nine of his most ruthless voyageurs down to the water. They threatened the HBC men guarding the last boat, who seemed to run away without much resistance.
“Cowards. Those Orkneymen have no backbone whatsoever. Right, Pierre. Now get this hulk into the water and chase them down. Destroy their boats, if you can. Quickly before they get too far ahead of you.”
“But, Sir. The men are a little leery about whether these things can float. They much prefer the canoes. And Sir, what’s the name of this boat written on the bow? I can’t seem to read it.”
McDonald stared at the writing. He couldn’t read it either. “Just another stupid Latin motto of theirs. Who cares.” McDonald was getting upset with the delay.
“Now get in the goddamned boat and follow them, or I’ll dock you a year’s pay, Pierre. A bonus for you and your men, if you catch them. Load this boat with furs. We might as well use this opportunity to move some of them downriver. We’ll follow you in our canoes as soon as the ice stops running. Good luck.”
Pierre reluctantly obeyed McDonald. Within an hour the York boat was loaded and they pushed off in pursuit of the HBC brigade. McDonald’s last words, however, kept ringing in his ears as the fort disappeared from site. “Good luck.” He sincerely hoped it wouldn’t come to that.
June 18, 1797, Sunday.Arrived at the Great Rapid, where we took out all the furs, and shot down the rapid without injuring the boats or canoes. Indeed the boats seems to exceed even my utmost expectations on the falls as they did not ship any water, although the waves ran very high. (The journal of George Sutherland, Grand Rapids; HBCA B.60/a/2)
York Fort, Early Summer, 1797
This York boat still floating at Norway House in the early 1930s. Most craft had eight rowers and one steersman. The largest of these craft were capable of carrying six tons. (Image from Mary Bruce (1929-32), Norway House).
I cannot help expressing my satisfaction at the probable advantages the honourable Company are likely to reap from the use of boats in this quarter. The easy draught of water, the facility with which we have brought them from Edmonton House to this place – a distance of 1200 miles – the cargoes they are likely to carry up to from whence they came etc. (Journal of George Sutherland, Gordon House; HBCA B.60/a/2)
Going down rapids with the boats was easy. The hard part was hauling a heavy York boat through shallow waters back up the rivers; as in this photograph somewhere between Norway House and York Factory. Despite their shallow draft, by the end of the summer, some places on the rivers were very shallow and it took a lot of work to move the large boats along. (HBCA Collections).
Samuel Wegg stood on the shore and watched the spectacle unfold before him on the Hayes River. Two fully loaded wooden boats, now under sail were gliding toward him. They were beautiful and reminded him of the larger Viking craft he had read about and saw in illustrations. Even though they were fully loaded they sat high in the water. Now sitting behind their oars were eight men resting while the boat was under sail. Each man sat on the opposite side of the boat from where the long oars dipped into the water. Behind them came more lightly loaded canoes. The Saskatchewan brigade had finally arrived. Peter Fidler had returned.
Once Fidler landed, Wegg approached him. “You did very well, Peter. And, you’re early. Very impressive. Those are beautiful craft. Much better designed for the rivers than our Bay vessels. You must have very gifted boat builders to make those.”
“Thank you, Sir. They work well enough. There are still some things that need to be improved upon but in time we will have the right craft for the right conditions.”
“But these boats are heavy. How did you manage at the portages?”
“Coming down the rapids was easy. When we go back up the rapids, we put them on log rollers. And then with ropes and pulleys we haul them over the portage trails. Hard work, but we have enough men. So, there’s no need to unload everything. Not really any more work than with the freight canoes when you think about it.”
“And I see you can sail them when the wind is right?”
“That’s probably one of really big advantages, Sir. Not only can we sail them, but we can cross the larger lakes under rougher conditions than with the freight canoes. They have such a wide beam, they are very stable, even when fully loaded. We can carry three tons of goods on that big one, Sir. And these Orkney ‘river rats‘ are well suited to man them.”
Wegg only nodded, now seemingly in deep thought. Then he produced a paper from his jacket. “That’s all good, Peter. I think these craft are exactly what we need inland to move our goods and reduce our costs.”
Fidler looked at the paper in Wegg’s hands. It was a letter. “Sir, is something wrong? You look a little perplexed.”
“Here read this letter, Peter. It just came recently from one of the inland NWC masters by special courier canoe. You know, those really fast ones. It seems there was some trouble out west, near your fort.”
Fidler took the letter and began to read. After he finished he simply smiled.
“Care to explain Peter. There are some very pissed off people in Montreal. It seems they lost a third of their furs in one of the craft they claim you built for them. Similar to these two. Four men still missing, and the other five managed to get back to the fort, barely. All furs on board lost.”
“Well, yes, Sir. We built a third prototype York boat and left it by the river. Intending on using it later. But it really wasn’t for the Canadians. Unless they chose to steal it of course. They must have capsized or were crushed by the ice. These things happen occasionally, Sir.”
“Well that’s not what the survivors claim, Peter. They said suddenly after about an hour the boat sprang leaks everywhere and began to fall apart. Then it sank before anyone could get it safely to shore.” Wegg looked at Fidler, waiting for a reply.
“Sir, I guess we forgot to tell the Canadians the name of the third prototype. It was written right on the sides of the bow. Maybe they might not have taken it. But those Canadians can’t read it seems. That big boat you see, we named Explorer, and the second, Chance.”
“And what was the name of this last boat the Canadians manned?”
“Oh, well, Sir. That one we named the Collabefio. We gave it a Latin name after the Canadians made fun of the Company’s Latin motto.”
Wegg thought for a moment, then burst into laughter. “And it bloody worked well, didn’t it Peter. ‘Sink Together’, I believe, in Latin. Sank like a stone. And, you got back at those Canadians constantly tormenting you. You truly have great boat builders.”
“The best, Sir. And I might add that we need more, if we are going to make inroads on our competition.”
Wegg nodded in full agreement. “Hopefully not to build more ‘sinkers’, Peter?” He chuckled as he again viewed the sleek boats in front of him, sliding his hand over the prow of Explorer. These craft could change their fortunes.
“Come Peter, let the men unload the craft and tell me more about these boats and the trade over some brandy. Before Nancy gets her hooks into you. I hope to hell this deed with the Canadians doesn’t follow you around for the rest of your days. You’ve made some powerful enemies my friend. But, also some powerful friends.”
With that Wegg clapped Fidler on the back and the two men strolled toward the Governor’s quarters, talking about the quality of this year’s furs.
……………………….
Image of a York boat at Fort Garry, Manitoba, Canada, showing the rather massive size of some of these craft.
End Notes
Many of my stories are about things. Objects. Material culture. This story’s primary focus is the object, this time the HBC’s York boat. The object drives the story, and not solely the individual, Peter Fidler. It’s not like: “This is Peter Fidler and here’s what he did. By the way, this is the York boat he helped build.” The object is not just some sidebar to the narrative. It is a very important part of the narrative.
We all think we control material culture. We invent things for our use. And, to a point we do. But, would we truly be living and acting the way we do if the automobile had not been invented? Or the airplane? Or, the smart phone? Once the genie is let out of the bottle, it begins to control our lives. Sometimes in ways we had not expected.
My story about the York boat is no different. Introduction of this craft, at a time when the HBC was struggling to compete with their rivals the Canadian-based North West Company, may have been one of those ‘game changers’ in the western Canadian fur trade. It affected the Company’s operations in many ways.
Archaeologists did find canoe-shaped pits at Buckingham House, either to build and/or store canoes in them. Gilbert Laughton did make some very ornate looking hand-forged nails at Buckingham House. Some with twisted shanks. Perhaps deliberately so they wouldn’t loosen in the wood when driven home. Perhaps the man was just bored.
The debate is still out where the first York boats were built on the Saskatchewan. Some believe at Edmonton House, in 1795-96. Others believe at Buckingham House in 1796-97. Bateaus (a flat-bottomed boat with raked bow and stern and flaring sides) did exist at Edmonton House in 1796. But were they the same as the boats built by Fidler’s men at Buckingham House? Which eventually became the York boats used on the Saskatchewan River and elsewhere?
Peter Fidler’s struggles and quarrels with the NWC are not imagined. We don’t need to conjure up too much violence and harassment when writing about the competition between the Hudson’s Bay Company and the North West Company. It was real enough and happened in epic in proportions. The men of the two Companies often behaved like bad, immature children.
The idea for this story didn’t come from what Fidler did in the 1790s, which in itself was quite remarkable. Successful explorer, surveyor, mapmaker and trader. It was what bad fortunes befell him in the early nineteenth century before he finally retired in 1821 that started the idea for this story. It seemed, from reading his journals, he went from one calamity to another, mostly at the expense of the North West Company.
So, what did Fidler do that was so bad as to be harassed and hounded by the Canadians for the next fifteen years? Was he just in the wrong place at the wrong time, badly outnumbered by his Canadian foes? With often poor support from the Hudson’s Bay Company? Or, was there something else? For more details, here’s a link to Peter Fidler’s biography describing some of those encounters.
Whatever the case, the only real blow that Peter Fidler dealt the North West Company was helping introduce the York boat on the Saskatchewan River. He helped solve one of the many logistical nightmares the Company faced early on in the Canadian northwest.
It is therefore perhaps fitting to end this story with this massive wooden statue of Peter Fidler erected by the community of Elk Point. In memory of one of Canada’s ‘forgotten surveyors and map makers’.
Wooden statue in honor of Peter Fidler, Elk Point, Alberta, Canada, taking a reading with his sextant. With some of his known descendants standing in the foreground.
The Plains Bison. Once numbering in the millions on the Great Plains of North America, this animal furnished prehistoric peoples with food, clothing, and shelters. Trying to capture these animals took a great deal of effort and ingenuity on the part of their human pursuers.
Over the centuries humans invented many ways to capture and slaughter animals on a mass scale. In Canada the most well known methods include netting or trapping thousands of fish (fish weir) at a time, or driving the Plains bison over cliffs. In his renowned book Imagining Head-Smashed-In (University of Athabasca Press), archaeologist Jack Brink talks about the methods the Blackfoot of southern Alberta used to drive hundreds of bison over steep cliffs to their deaths.
The cliffs at Head-Smashed-In buffalo jump, a UNESCO World Heritage Site, west of Fort Macleod, Alberta, Canada. Prehistoric peoples drove the bison off this ten metre high cliff located at the southern edge of the Porcupine Hills. The animals would then be butchered in the nearby camp which also had a source of water close by. The site may have been used as early as six-thousand years ago leaving a twelve metre thick bone bed beneath the cliffs.
The Bison Pound
One of the few historic images of a bison pound. In this drawing, by George Back, horsemen chased bison into a wooden circular corral. In prehistoric times runners would have pursued them on foot. Hunters hid around the pound fence ready to dispatch the animals with spears, bows and arrows, or firearms. The camp was usually nearby, hidden and downwind from these nearsighted animals with an incredible sense of smell. (Library and Archives of Canada, C-33615)
The bison or antelope pound is another, lesser known method of mass killing that First Nations peoples used on the Northern Great Plains and park lands in western Canada. In her monograph, Communal Buffalo Hunting Among the Plains Indians, Eleanor Verbicky-Todd, describes a number of ingenious ways people captured these animals and disposed of them. One of those ways was the pound, or surround.
Aside from Brink’s book, this is one of the best sources written about communal bison hunting. Published by the Archaeological Survey of Alberta, it describes the various methods of communal bison hunting and other ingenious ways prehistoric peoples devised to capture this animal.
What is a Bison Pound?
Bison pounds are large corrals or surrounds, between five and six feet high, made from cut trees with an opening at one end to chase bison into. Once inside the animals couldn’t escape (because of a ramp or drop into the corral at the gate) and were then disposed of with the bow and arrow, or later with firearms. Of all the methods First Nations peoples devised to capture these enormous animals, pounding was the most difficult of all.
This drawing of an Assiniboine buffalo park or surround by Edwin Thomas Denig (from Indian Tribes of the Upper Missouri. 1930:532. Annual Report of the Bureau of American Ethnology). The pound requires some key components to work. A long drive lane is spread out to funnel the animals in. A set of hills, dunes, or trees are present in front of the corral to hide it from the animals. An elevated ramp near the entrance prevents the animals from escaping. In the center of the corral there is a medicine mast (usually a striped tree) with charms attached to it by the grand-master of ceremonies. The buffalo caller.
“Success depended upon too many circumstances. The ground had to lie correctly; timber should be available; the game has to be fairly plentiful and within easy reach. Also, someone able to guide the animals in the right direction was indispensable. Under the most favourable conditions, too, the herd often escaped.” (from Robert Jefferson, 1929. “Fifty Years on the Saskatchewan.” In Canadian Northwest Historical Society Publications 1:1-160)Diagram of the Plains Cree buffalo pound (by David Mandelbaum 1979:53. In The Plains Cree). The bottom two sketches show the gate or entrance which is a raised wood platform or earthen ramp. Once the bison jump in they can’t get back out again.
Where Does Bison Pounding Occur?
In Canada bison pounds are found on the Northern Great Plains and the park lands of the prairie provinces. But, in these areas certain key elements were required: Bison, trees (to make the corrals), suitable terrain, a large gathering basin, and lots of people (to build the pound and drive lanes, drive the animals in, dispose of them, and then butcher and process the meat).
For many years known locations of bison pounds were relatively rare in Alberta. Today most pounds occur in the park lands and northern Great Plains where there are trees and proper terrain. Such as river valleys or foothills. Without trees you can’t build the corrals and drive lanes.
In 2010 there were sixteen known pounds recorded in Alberta. Most of them occur in areas with trees and hilly terrain. Early explorers, such as David Thompson, Peter Fidler and Alexander Henry, remarked that bison pounding was a major industry in the park lands of the prairie provinces. As the demand for meat and pemmican rose during the fur trade, this industry likely became more common than during prehistoric times.
Now after hundreds or even thousands of years these features leave no mark on the surface of the land. You’ve probably driven by some pounds without even knowing it.
Suitable Terrain and Trees – Bodo, Alberta
Terrain and trees were key factors to build and operate a successful pound. Hills or barriers (e.g., trees) were required to hide the pound from the bison. Sometimes the pound was placed on a slope, helping to drive the animals down into it. On a flat surface the drive lanes were sometimes curved and a ramp was built at the entrance to hide the corral. A successful pound also required a large prairie or gathering basin for bison to graze, and then to move the animals toward the pound.
The Bodo area of east-central Alberta is just such a place. Bodo, you ask? Where is that? Well, I’ll let you look it up on a map. If you visit the area when their interpretive center is open in the summer months, you can even tour the site and occasionally partake in excavations.
This is Bodo, Alberta, southeast of Provost, near the Alberta-Saskatchewan border. The area contains all the key elements to make a good pound. Treed sand hills (above left) to build and hide the pound. And a large gathering basin where bison would come to graze and drink water from the nearby creek. The photograph at the bottom shows the treed Bodo sand dunes, surrounded by vast grasslands. A perfect spot for an ambush.
Surprise and Ambush – Hardisty, Alberta
The Hardisty bison pound site is a short distance east of the Battle River and would have provided people with wood, water and the terrain necessary to drive bison successfully into a well concealed pound.
When you drive east on Highway 13 and arrive at Hardisty, Alberta and then cross the Battle River, you will see a series of oil bunkers on the right side of the highway. In the Battle River Valley below them lies the Hardisty bison pound. The site was found when the oil companies wanted to construct their pipelines through the valley corridor. What was uncovered and hidden for so many years, surprised many people.
The Hardisty site is remarkable in many ways. It wasn’t discovered until relatively recently, although it was near a major central Alberta highway and the community of Hardisty. It contains a very thick bone bed which represents use between 900 – 1,100 years ago, and then approximately 7,000 years ago, making it one of the oldest known pound sites in western Canada. It also contained an adjoining camping and processing area.
Archaeological deposits and artifacts from the Hardisty site. Top left: a bone pit. Right: prehistoric projectile points. Bottom left: pottery shards. (Photograph courtesy of FMA Consultants)
Paskapoo Slopes, Calgary, Alberta
North facing Paskapoo Slopes, looking south from the north side of the Bow River. The numbered sites represent prehistoric campsites, kill sites, and one major pound (EgPn-362). (Photograph courtesy of Lifeways of Canada)
Nestled on the Paskapoo slopes, in the heart of Calgary, Alberta, are a series of prehistoric campsites, kill sites, and a major buffalo pound site, hidden for thousands of years in plain view.
Bone bed of bison pound being excavated by archaeologists, Lifeways of Canada. Archaeologists collect all the bones and artifacts and then reconstruct what portions of the animals were used and what was left behind. (Photographs courtesy of Lifeways of Canada).Illustrations of the Hardisty pound site (above left) and the Paskapoo pound site (below right), redrawn from Lifeways of Canada and FMA Consultants, showing the shape of the drive lanes, the pound and the slope of the land. Note in both sites the drive lanes may have curved somewhat near the gate and corral. Possibly to better conceal the gate and the pound from the bison.
A Time for Ceremony, Cooperation and Feasting
Communal large game hunting, such as the operation and construction of a bison pound, took a great deal of skill, organization, cooperation of many people, and sound execution to successfully lure the animals into the corrals. Pounding was accompanied by ceremonies to bring in the animals, and feasting when the animals were caught. Often the pounds did not work and then the process started over again.
What the Paskapoo Slopes pound and processing area might have looked like. (Drawing, courtesy of Lifeways of Canada).
Bison pounds in Alberta date back as far as seven-thousand years, and possibly earlier. These are only a few of many pounds that likely occur in Alberta. Others have yet to be found. Numerous pounds are also present in southern Saskatchewan (near Estuary and Gull Lake) where I grew up. As a young boy I used to roam the river hills where Miry Creek flowed into the South Saskatchewan River. There might have been a pound near there as well.
I’ll leave you with one last perhaps more realistic description of an Assiniboine bison pound near Fort George, Alberta, described by North West Company trader, Duncan M’Gillivray, in 1794. Not a pretty picture:
“On arriving at the camp our noses were assailed by an offensive smell which would have proved fatal to more delicate organs: It proceeded from the Carcases in the Pound and the mangled limbs of Buffaloes scattered among the Lodges, but another substance which shall be nameless contributed the most considerable part of this diabolical odour. In the afternoon were were gratified by the seeing the Buffalo enter the Pound; they were conducted thither by two small fences beginning on each side of the door and extending wider the farther they advance in the Plain: from behind these the Indians Waved their robes as the Buffaloes were passing to direct their course straight towards the Pound, which was so well constructed on the declivity of a small hill that it was invisible till you arrived at the gate. The poor animals were scarce enclosed, when showers of arrows were discharged at them as they rushed round the Pound making furious attempts to revenge themselves on their foes, till at length being overcome with wounds & loss of blood they were compelled to yield to their oppressors and many of them were cut to pieces before the last remainder of life had forsook them. Of all the methods which the Indians have devised for the destruction of this useful animal, – the Pound is the most successful.” (from the diary of Duncan M’Gillivray, November 23, 1794, near the Vermilion River, Alberta.
The bison pound, when full of large, frightened, stampeding animals, would have been a chaotic, dangerous place to be near. This drawing by Robert Frankowiak is on the cover of Verbicky-Todd’s monograph published by the Archaeological Survey of Alberta. It was originally in Thomas F. Kehoe’s publication, The Gull Lake Site: A Prehistoric Bison Drive in Southwestern Saskatchewan. 1973. Milwaukee Public Museum Publications in Anthropology and History 1.
I like stories and movies where there is a really good guy/gal and then there’s the ‘dark side‘. Oh, is that phrase copy-righted? Can I use it without citing someone? Do I need permission from whoever wrote it in Hollywood to use it? I’m a little sensitive about the topic of sourcing right now.
Will I be accused of plagiarism or ‘scraping’? I’ll get into that later.
I guess, at the age of sixty-eight I’m still a little naive about some things in the world (actually, could be a lot of things). Like thinking that out there in the real world there’s no true ‘dark side’. It just exists in the minds of those movie types in Hollywood. Right? Right.
Until my website got hacked a number of times. It’s still happening. It’s affecting a lot of what I do, and want to do on this site. Then it dawned on me. When it comes to the cyber world there is a truly dark side. It’s a world where bad people do evil things to your material without ever having to face you or an adversary.
Material for this post was generated when I wanted to monetize my site. That’s right. Run a few ads and make a few bucks to cover my costs. Should be no big deal. Right? Right.
While in the process of attempting to monetize this site, I was accused of two nasty things:
Plagiarism and Making Stuff Up
In my world, either when I publish an article in a journal or post a story, those are pretty nasty accusations.
A Few Ethical Issues With Blogging
The use and publication of other peoples’ or organizations’ material is a serious matter. If you look at the literature written about the code of ethics for bloggers, it states you should always cite your sources or get permission to use the material you post. It’s almost impossible not to use other peoples’ information. It’s essential when writing that the topic being written about be given some context. And context often means citing other people who have researched or written on the topic previously. And, it’s not always simple to cite them properly.
If I use the following quote from the Hudson’s Bay Archives (HBCA), for example, I should credit them for it. Like this:
April 6th, 1822. “The advantages of this place are very few over any other except it is that ground is tilled for our gardens and being a critical place for the Natives to bring their find.” (HBCA B.224/e/1)
There. As far as I’m concerned that’s done. In academia when we use other peoples’ material, or historic material, to either support, refute, or move our research or story along, we simply cite them and that’s the end of it.
If it’s a historic painting, or quote, and you know the source, cite or credit the source and move on. I always try to do that in my posts. Sometimes I forget, but rarely. Sometimes sourcing stuff is really hard. There are grey areas.
This example is tougher to source, or even use. I haven’t read anything that says I can’t use this image of an Edmonton map from Google. It says Google right on the map. Is that enough or am I breaking copyright rules? I truly don’t know. If we had to stop and search sources and get permission for every single thing we write, nothing would get done. Or, we would simply not cite anyone or anything and then be accused of ‘making stuff up’.
As an author who has published considerably, I’m always flattered when someone uses my material and cites me (unless of course, they trash me). Actually I get more pissed off when they don’t cite my work when I think they should.
This brings me to my little problem. I’ll let you be the judge. Guilty or not? It all comes down to my credibility as a blogger, and how I present my material. Maybe I have to be more careful or thorough when posting in the future.
So I Wanted to Monetize My Site
The trouble all started the other day when I wanted to install a monetizing plugin called ‘Google Adsense.’ This program searches for relevant advertising for my web site and then puts those ads on my pages or posts.
The catch with Adsense is you have to qualify to install it on your website. So, I applied and was rejected. Twice. The first time early on in my blogging days for not having enough site content. Fair enough. One post won’t do it. Fixed that.
The second time recently I was accused of plagiarizing and not backing up my facts. Or ‘making stuff up’, as one reviewer commented. After trying to find out what the source of this accusation was all about, I finally got some of the following comments from Google’s ‘experts’.
Here’s what one so-called gold product expert (according to Google) had to say about my website:
” Corona virus infection has lost millions of lives in the world” I won’t be accepted. You are copying a lot of news reports (and images) from other sites and/or just making stuff up.”
“Hi heinz pyszczyk, A reply was marked as a recommended answer to a subscribed question:
Your posts are far too short to be usable by Adsense, and you cannot have ANY copied stuff if you want to monetise a site.
As for making things up – the quote above is untrue. The current corona virus hasn’t lost millions of lives. Hopefully it won’t. I didn’t see that particular quote, but I saw one very short post giving figures that were mostly wrong. The post said (if the translation system is correct) that some countries n Europe had more than 90,000 deaths. Not true. It said that 5 million people have recovered. Where did you get that from?? Although it’s likely that large numbers have recovered without ever being tested, there is no reliable information. Of those tested and quoted on the worldometers site, which is probably the most reliable for information, around 560,000 have recovered.”
Well, folks, as most of you know, I’ve never written a word about the corona virus on any of my website posts. And my posts are too short? Are you kidding me? Too long, if anything. And I don’t support my information? Really?
Yet, Kukana (above), whoever the hell she is, judges my website as being unreliable, citing this shit. Kukana, if you understand English, which I doubt very much you do, then listen carefully. Please go to my website and actually read the content before making stupid statements like this. If you even exist.
Here’s another one. From busterjet. Now, I’m new to this stuff, so his comments were a bit of an eyeopener:
“Hi heinz pyszczyk, A reply was marked as a recommended answer to a subscribed question:
You have a “new scraper” site, a common form of spam, so there is no chance AdSense advertisers will sponsor this content even if the information is factual.”
But, the corona virus stuff is not my information. I didn’t write it. A ‘new scraper’ site? What is that exactly? Is he suggesting I’m the ‘scraper’? After talking to my computer people, it’s likely that I’ve been hacked. Someone’s doing shitty little stuff using my website name. Thanks busterjet.
In the cyber business this stuff happens. More people from the ‘dark side‘ (sorry, don’t know who to cite here for use of this phrase) are visiting my site, than actual readers. But what gets me is that Google and their so-called experts judge my site, never having read my content. How could they have? Not a post or word ever about the corona virus is on my website.
And now I’m probably on their permanent shit list. After this post, probably forever. You’ve read many of my posts. Anything on corona virus? Is this fair? I’m thinking Kukana is probably some kind of ‘foreign’ bot. Or, someone’s ‘making this stuff up’.
Based on these statements, as it stands that’s what I’m accused of. Plagiarizing and ‘making stuff up’. At least in Google’s eyes.
The most frustrating thing is, you can’t engage these experts long enough to get to the bottom of this pile. They’re like phantoms. Here now, and then gone mysteriously into the Ethernet. I’ve emailed them back requesting more information, but nothing. It’s all so automated and impersonal. Sickening.
I hope you’re listening Google. How can you not be? You snoop into everything else on line. If I started showing interest in crocheting, suddenly a lot of articles and advertisements would pop up on the computer about crocheting. And you judge others about ethics? Your little bots are running around right now watching my every key stroke.
And to you my readers, sorry (a very Canadian response). Maybe not quite the Canadian story you expected, but a very Canadian reaction!
In Western Canada, early fur trade fort inhabitants relied mostly on large amounts of wild game meat for their food. By the 1840’s, the Hudson’s Bay Company Fort Edmonton grew enough grain to make flour. Occasionally, when the crops and the game failed, times got real tough at many of these forts. Especially in the north. Photograph of reconstructed Fort Edmonton with the grist mill in the background (courtesy of the City of Edmonton Archives, EA-207-325).
Fort Wedderburn, Lake Athabasca, Athabasca District, Spring, 1821
George Simpson sat at his rough, crudely made wooden table carefully composing his letter to the shareholders of the Hudson’s Bay Company in London. Also, carefully balancing himself on his rickety chair with the one leg shorter than the others. His breath came out in short puffs, it was so cold in the little log cabin facing the large expanse of frozen lake. The fire was roaring in the hearth, barely keeping the little room warm. He wrote quickly so the ink wouldn’t freeze on the tip of his goose quill pen.
He glanced up at his clerk, William, who was patiently waiting for his new governor to finish the letter, so he could pack it with the other dispatches on the canoe brigades to York Factory. And then off to London by ship. William usually wrote the dispatches for Simpson, but not this time. This matter was much too important for a mere clerk to undertake.
William already recognized that look on the new governor’s face. Simpson was in a foul mood, shaking his head and writing furiously. “This nonsense must stop William. The Native women are important to the trade, both in their knowledge of the country, their work, and the alliances they form when they enter marriages with the men of the trade.”
“But those morons in London don’t seem to understand this simple fact. They insist we not support women at our inland posts. Imbeciles. All of them.”
He leaned over his letter and wrote some more. “How does this sound William?”:
“Connubial alliances are the best security we can have of the good will of the natives. I have therefore recommended the Gentlemen to form connections with the principal families immediately on their arrival, which is no difficult matter, as the offer of their Wives and Daughters is the first token of their friendship and hospitality.” (Parts of a letter sent by George Simpson to the London Committee of the Hudson’s Bay Company, May 15, 1821)
He looked up at William, as if waiting for approval of his work. Then he smiled. Somehow it always felt good when you could vent by writing. “Anyway, what can they do in London to stop us if we dearly need the help of women to be successful in the trade? How will they ever find out?”
William wasn’t about to argue with his new master. Even if he had a contrary opinion. Which he didn’t. Simpson had a long memory when someone crossed him.
“It sounds fine, Sir. I’ll make sure it’s sent out with the spring brigades once the ice goes out.”
“That’ll be all then, William. I need some rest. This business with the women saps the energy out of me.”
As William left and closed the governor’s door behind him, he thought to himself. If you didn’t stay up all night entertaining those ‘bits of brown’, as you call them, perhaps you wouldn’t feel so tired. He shook his head and went to his quarters. He would send an additional note along with Simpson’s letter to one of Simpson’s staunchest supporters among the shareholders. A Sir Arthur Meddlock. Chairman of the board. All hell would break loose when this issue came up at the London Committee meeting.
………………………
“…we have it in contemplation to make up the Clothes principally at this place and at the English Establishments which….would reduce the Expense very materially as the labour would actually cost nothing it being the duty of the Women at the different Posts to do all that is necessary in regard to Needle Work.” (HBC, Minutes of Council Northern Department of Rupert Land, 1821-22)
London, England, December, 1821
The shareholders met in the enormous hall, in London, England to discuss the Honorable Company’s business in the Colonies. They were some of the most powerful men of the Hudson’s Bay Company, and England, which was now preparing to monopolize the Canadian fur trade in North America. After just recently amalgamating with their Canadian rival, the North West Company.
But tonight, instead of celebrating their achievement, there was strife and tension in the air. Not everyone was happy. In fact, a few were livid.
One of the Company shareholders, a Sir Jeremy Jacobs, was shouting at Sir Arthur Meddlock. Jacobs was young, opinionated and often quite brazen at these meetings. In short, mostly full of himself.
“Why, in the name of the King of bloody England, Mr. Meddlock, must we feed and support these women at our inland posts? They’re a burden to us and only reduce our bloody profits. Yet, you sit there nonchalantly as if it really doesn’t matter.” He waited for Meddlock to respond. There was only silence.
So, he continued. “The Company men were strictly forbidden to support the Indian population at the inland forts. But, from what I hear, they ignore these instructions at every turn. How could that Simpson recommend such a thing? He, of all people, should know better. Perhaps we should look for another Governor to run this most honorable enterprise.” Jacobs spat out these last words in Meddlock’s face. A face which was becoming increasingly crimson by the second.
Meddlock, as Chair of these sometimes rowdy meetings, always the diplomat and man of control, was beginning to lose his patience with the young, brash Jacobs.
“It can’t be stopped Sir Jacobs. I’ve been informed by the Governor that the women are necessary to carry out the Company’s business and comfort the men. Without them our operations simply wouldn’t work.”
Another shareholder piped up. ” Necessary? Necessary to warm their beds, you mean. And I hear Simpson is the worst of the lot. They’re beginning to call him the ‘father’ of the fur trade. And, for good reason. He’s lost count of the number of children he’s sired from so many different Native women.”
“These women cost us an arm and a leg and then produce offspring who then cost us even more. And what are we going to do with all these people? We can’t employ them all. This must stop Mr. Chairman. Before it really gets out of hand.”
“With all due respect Sir Franklin, it can’t be stopped. If we stopped it, we would never recruit another man to work in the Colonies. And our fort operations would suffer considerably. Instead, I propose we formally indenture the women and officially put them to work, which they already do, to help our operations.”
As soon as Meddlock uttered these words, all hell broke out again in the great hall. Most were opposed. Some were convinced that Simpson was right. “Stop. Enough. Order, or I’ll adjourn this meeting.” Finally, the Chair managed to regain order.
Franklin however, was not finished. “Sir, let me get this right. Are you suggesting we put these women and children on the books?”
“That’s exactly what I’m suggesting. That’s what Simpson wants. In that way we can better manage the trade and the costs instead of simply ignoring them. That’s Simpson’s plan.”
Again there was an uproar. Jacobs was now standing. Approaching Meddlock and pointing accusingly at him. Becoming more threatening and menacing every moment.
“This is sheer lunacy, Meddlock. It must be stopped. I demand it be stopped. I think you’re in league with that scoundrel Simpson.”
“Sir Jacobs. Keep your confounded wig on man,” the chairman shouted out. “Enough already. It seems we are divided on this topic. Any suggestions as to how to proceed?” No one answered. Most were too busy fuming, not thinking.
Meddlock, now having regained his composure looked around the room and then calmly spoke. The room fell silent. “Then I have one. One or two of you go to the Colonies and spend a year in the interior to observe the situation. Then report back to this committee so we can make an informed decision. It seems Mr. Simpson’s opinion alone is insufficient on this matter.”
Suddenly, heads dropped, eyes turned to the floor, and human bodies shrank, no longer puffed up, but becoming smaller. Trying their best to make themselves as inconspicuous as possible. No one volunteered.
Meddlock looked into the eyes of Jacobs, still standing, a finger pointing, frozen like a statue in front of him. Jacobs felt suddenly exposed, realizing too many eyes were looking at him.
“Jacobs! You seem to be most opposed in this matter. What say you? Want to join Simpson in the Colonies for a year? It would do you some good. Give you a whole new perspective.”
Jacobs only sputtered. Thinking of how this could possibly do him any good. He really didn’t want a new perspective. “Sir, I couldn’t leave my family, my business and spend my time with those savages out there. Impossible, Sir. Quite impossible.” With that Jacobs turned and looked around for other volunteers. Hoping, almost pleading that someone else would raise their hand. No one did. A few members had already quietly slipped out of the room.
“Well Jacobs since you only wish to argue and shout, but not gain new information, maybe we should just put the matter to a vote, and stop all this nonsense.” Meddlock again watched as the hall turned into an uproar. Only now a number of shareholders were in Jacobs’ face telling him, imploring him, even threatening him, to go to Canada and gather information.
Jacobs’ pride, now at stake, looking quite defeated, finally succumbed. After all, he was the most vocal one in the group. He gathered his courage, and then looked defiantly into Meddlock’s eyes. “Alright Sir. I’ll bloody go and see why we need these people at our posts.” With those words a loud cheer went up in the hall. From the usually very ‘proper and reserved’ English gentlemen. Many came by to pat Jacobs on the back and congratulate him on his decision. Mostly glad that they weren’t the ones going. Jacobs simply nodded. Wondering what the hell he had just gotten himself into.
Arthur Meddlock looked calmly on, thinking. This one has more guts than I thought. Young. Rich. Independent. But still willing to go on a journey that most men of his stature would shy away from. Well, we’ll see Sir Jeremy Jacobs, what it is you’re really made of.
“Well, the matter’s settled then. We’ll postpone a vote on this issue until we hear back from Sir Jacobs.” With that the Chairman pounded his gavel hard on the table. The meeting was officially adjourned. And the dining and wining soon began.
…………………………..
Fort Vermilion, Athabasca District, Canada, Fall, 1822
“…a petty post erected on the north bank of the river, and so completely embossomed in the woods, that we did not catch a glimpse of it until we were among huts, and surrounded by howling dogs and screeching children. At this sylvan retreat there were but three rude houses…and there was not a picket or palisade to guard them from either savage or bear. This mean abode was dignified with the name of fort.” (HBC Fort Assiniboine, 1825, Alexander Ross)
The Hudson’s Bay Company’s McLeod Fort (c.1879), constructed in the interior of British Columbia. The words, ‘Fort Misery’ was clearly written over the front door of this fort building (bottom right photograph). Many of these forts were not exactly what people today envision a fort should look like.
They landed their canoes on the banks of the Peace River in front of Fort Vermilion. Jacobs looked up the bank searching for any signs of a fort. His back was killing him. His ass was numb from sitting endless hours in the large freight canoe.
“Well Lafleur, where is it? The fort?”
“Just up the bank, Sir.” Again Jacobs looked frantically for the fort. He stood to get a better look and then tried to get out of the freight canoe. He almost fell face first into the Peace River, only to be rescued just in time by one of the French Canadians. Someone smacked him on the back as he scrambled up the muddy, steeply sloped bank.
“Welcome to Fort Vermilion, Sir. One of the mightiest forts on the Peace River. Actually, one of the few forts on the river. Isn’t she a sight to behold.”
Jacobs, now standing on the top of the bank, simply stared. There before him stood a few crude log shanties, surrounded by a solid wood picket fence of some sort. About the height of a man. These were certainly not fort walls. With no bastions or blockhouses. No galleries. No cannons. Suddenly a pack of barking dogs and screaming children ran by nearly knocking him over. Going where? He didn’t know.
“You call this a fort, LaFleur? Christ, you’re joking? This is the servants’ quarters, right? Where’s the real fort?” He looked imploringly at LaFleur. Hoping that the man was only pulling his leg.
“No Sir. This is it. This is where you’ll be living until next spring. Isn’t it lovely. Cozy even. Wouldn’t you think. I’m sure a little below a man of your stature, Sir Jacobs. But it works well, when the temperatures drop to minus forty below Fahrenheit.”
Jacobs looked at LaFleur incredulously. “Forty below Fahrenheit? You’re kidding me my friend, right?”
“No. No joke. The temperature, she drop low in this country, in the winter. Keeps everything frozen and fresh. I saw once where the mercury, she disappear in the bottom of the thermometer.” He chuckled as if this was some kind of joke.
Jacobs simply stared at the French Canadian. This entire trip had been one big nightmare since he left England. First he puked his guts out coming over the Atlantic Ocean to York Factory, in that rolling Company tub called a ‘ship’. Then, sitting in a canoe for endless miles. Traveling up the rivers and lakes, swatting swarms of mosquitoes so thick you could hit them with a paddle, and knock hundreds out of the air with one stroke. What the fuck was he doing out here anyway? In this god-forsaken wilderness.
“Come. I show you to your living quarters. Only about five below zero in there in the winter. Cozy. Near the fire, it’s much better. Your feet thaw, and you’re ass freezes. But if you turn often enough, it’s quite nice. Don’t fall asleep though. Either your ass or mouth will freeze shut.” At this bit of humor, after he looked at the expression on Jacobs’ face, he broke out in fits of laughter.
“Hé, Henry, ce nouveau est sur le point de vivre le temps de sa vie. (Heh, Henry, this new one is about to experience the time of his life.)” The two men roared with laughter, leaving a poor Sir Jacobs perplexed, scared and clearly shaken. Then they grabbed his belongings and took him to his quarters. After seeing them he was even more shaken.
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April 6th, 1822. “The advantages of this place are very few over any other except it is that ground is tilled for our gardens and being a critical place for the Natives to bring their find.” (HBCA B.224/e/1)
April 7th, 1822. “The disadvantages rise from the exhausted state of the country in larger animals which renders it very difficult to procure fresh meat upon which the people of the establishments have been hitherto chiefly fed.” (Report of the establishment of For Vermilion (Peace River) Athabasca Department, 1822/23 by Colin Campbell) (HBCA B.224/e/1)
Trader, Colin Campbell and his family sat around the supper table and watched their new guest as he stared at the food on his plate. Sir Jacobs, it seemed, was somewhat reluctant to tuck in and eat his meal.
“If you don’t mind me asking Mr. Campbell, what exactly is this on my plate?” Jacobs kept eyeing his meat. Poking it with his fork but not quite ready to give it a go. Wondering if it might jump off his plate.
“Well, you’re in for a treat tonight, Jacobs. Potatoes and turnips from the gardens. And one of the hunters brought in a lynx. That’s lynx meat. The finest there ever was.” Campbell waited expectantly as Jacobs took a fork full. Finally, putting it slowly in his mouth. Wincing as he did so.
Suddenly he beamed. Surprised. “Why it’s quite good, Campbell. Very delicate and a fine flavor. I never would have thought a member of the cat family could taste this good. How did you come upon it, if I may ask?” He looked expectantly at his host for an answer.
“Natives, Sir Jacobs. They know what’s good to eat and what’s not. If we didn’t have them around, we’d be lost.” Jacobs simply nodded making a mental note.
Jacobs, quite intrigued by his host’s last comment, wanted to know more. “Surely Campbell, you and your men can hunt. No need to hire these savages to hunt for you? Is there?”
Campbell, after stuffing another potato in his mouth, looked at his guest. Thinking. Well can’t blame him for thinking like that. I was no better when I first came out. Wait. Until it gets really tough. Then he’ll realize what I’m talking about.
Campbell responded with a more leveled answer to Jacobs’ question. “Hunting in this land is very hard, especially in the winter. The wild game has been almost decimated over the many years from feeding our people. If you don’t know what you’re doing out there, you could die hunting.”
“And that lynx, Sir Jacob. That you’re eating. I’ll bet you won’t even see one, let alone get a shot at it, before you leave next spring. They’re extremely cagey and hard to trap, let alone shoot.”
Campbell’s Metis wife, Elizabeth, looked up at at her husband, then at Jacobs, wondering why this man was even here. Elizabeth recognized arrogance when she saw it. And this man, Jacobs, absolutely dripped of it. But she didn’t say anything, keeping her peace. It was not what you said about the north to convince someone. It’s what the land did to you when you lived in it, that did the talking. It touched your very soul. Your very being. Occasionally letting you know that your life hung on a thread. He would soon come to realize these things.
…………………….
Hard Times Ahead, November, 1822
“So, Roy, how’s the harvest looking? How are our meat supplies holding up?”
Roy stirred and fidgeted not wanting to really answer his superior’s question. Because he might not like what he was about to hear. Finally, after Colin Campbell wouldn’t stop gazing at him, he reluctantly spoke up.
“We’ve had a bad harvest, Sir. The potatoes got an early frost and yielded little. The wheat, oats and barely were almost totally destroyed by locusts. We have little grist to feed our mill, to make flour for bannock. The game animals, what’s left of them, this year are poor, because of a hard winter last year. Sir, I don’t know if we’ll make it to spring. Unless the wild game picks up or we send our hunters further out. If the fisheries work this winter, maybe there’s a chance.”
“Then trade for more meat with the Natives.”
“Sir. They’re no better off than we are. Just barely able to make it themselves. I’m afraid this winter could be a bad one. We must ration carefully, and with any luck, we might survive until spring.”
Campbell looked concerned. By now he knew this country well enough. And when it decided to treat you cruelly, you more often then not, paid a high price. It was sometimes like this. The perfect storm. Both the crops and wild game populations failed. And then you prayed. For a miracle. But he realized those, like food, were in also in short supply in northern Canada. It seemed as if God wasn’t listening too well up here. No matter how loud and hard they prayed.
“Is there anything else we can do before winter sets in, Roy?”
Roy only shook his head. Then he hesitated before going on. “The women, Sir. They might be able to help. And a strange thing, Sir. They all left.”
Campbell looked at Roy, a little alarmed, waiting for more information. “Where to Roy? Where in the hell did they go this time of the year? Everything is nearly frozen up.”
“Out to the lakes and marshes behind us, Sir. They set up a camp there. My woman says they will stay there for at least two weeks. Or, until everything freezes up.”
At Roy’s words, Campbell became really alarmed. The women sensed this was going to be a tough winter. Disaster awaited them unless they acted. Now. He didn’t ask Roy any further questions. The women knew what to do when times got tough. If the game animals failed, their flour wouldn’t last until spring. The women knew this too. Maybe that’s why they left.
……………………
It was snowing hard. Campbell came into Jacob’s quarters, quickly slamming the door behind him, trying to keep the freezing cold out, and dusting off the fresh snow from his coat. A fire was blazing in the fireplace and there sat Jacobs with his boots almost in it. Trying to thaw out his frozen toes. He had been out at the hunter’s tents and had just come back. He was exhausted and incredibly cold. It was one of those stormy late December evenings. Everything outside snapped and crackled it was so cold.
Campbell looked at Jacobs’ feet. “Christ, Jacobs. You can’t be wearing those stupid leather boots this time of year. You’ll freeze your toes off, man.”
“I think it’s too late Colin. They might fall off any second now. How can you stand it out in this cold?” Finally the shivering Jacobs got his boots off, but it took some time before he could feel his toes again.
Mary, one of the young Chipewyan women who was looking after Jacobs looked at his toes and then his boots. Bad. Very bad. What a foolish Englishman. They all were when they first came to this country. Trying to look the ‘proper gentlemen’ in those foolish clothes. Who were they trying to impress anyway? The moose?
She looked at Jacobs with concern. “Here Sir. Put these on.” She produced a beautiful pair of moose hide moccasins that nearly reached his knees. They were lined with fur and wool blanket, and double-soled. “These will keep your feet from freezing.”
Jacobs took the moccasins from her and pulled them on. He sighed in relief. Ah, yes. Oh, that felt so good. “Mary, these are wonderful. You made them?”
“Yes, Sir. We make all the clothing for the men and children. Or they would freeze to death in the winter.” Jacobs simply stared at her and then at his new footwear. At the intricate stitching, the beautiful bead work. And, slowly it dawned on him why the women were so necessary at these god-forsaken, ‘colder than anything he ever experienced’, so-called forts.
“And you’ll need these too.” She handed Jacobs a fine wool capote, colorful wool sash, and large fur-lined mittens. And a large fur hat. The next day he walked around outside in his new footwear and clothing feeling quite relieved and a little bit more in control of his northern surroundings.
Later that evening Jacobs dined with trader Colin Campbell and Elizabeth. Now, contented enough with his new, warm clothing.
But the meager amount of food on his plate in front of him worried him.
“Not for me to interfere, Colin, but we seem to be eating less and less as the winter wears on. I think I’ve already lost ten pounds. Is there a problem?”
Campbell, at first reluctant to confide in this English nobleman and Company shareholder, decided he should know what was going on.
“We’re near January Jacobs and already running out of food. The hunters are having a hard time finding game. I haven’t heard any news from the men at the fishery. Our grain and potato supplies are down to almost nothing. Mainly because of the bad harvest. There could be a lot of trouble ahead. Unless we find some wild game soon. As you now know, our hunters are miles away from the fort, but find little.”
When they finished their meal, both men sat in silence, sipping their brandy, letting those rather somber facts slip into reality. The fort’s inhabitants were in deep trouble.
Jacobs looked at Campbell, clearly alarmed. He liked this man. He did everything possible to keep his people safe, healthy and happy. But, a lack of food put everyone on edge. And Jacobs had found out the hard way, while at the hunters’ camp, what hunting was like in the back country. Snow up to your waist in places. Dense forests. And the eternal bitter, bitter cold. It froze your hands instantly when you removed your mittens. The equipment froze up and malfunctioned. And even sometimes the more fragile metal pieces on the muskets broke. The nearest gunsmith was over a thousand miles away.
“Well, can’t you just ask for help, Campbell? Surely others are better off than we are?”
Campbell gazed at Jacobs with only a look that someone drinking would look at a friend, who had just said something foolish. “Jeremy. What help? We are in the middle of fucking-nowhere. The nearest forts are no better off than we are. You can’t just wave your magic wand and make this all better. We could die.”
Jacobs, as only a pompous, pampered nobleman could, responded. “But that’s not possible, Colin. Surely we can buy some help.”
Campbell was about to slap his newly made friend on the side of the head, but stopped short when one his children came into the room, crying.
“Daddy, I’m hungry. Is there something to eat? Please daddy. I need something to eat.” Before she could utter another word Elizabeth swept into the room and scooped her up, carrying her away still screaming about wanting something to eat.
Jacobs looked at Campbell. “Jesus, Colin. What are we going to do? Campbell simply took another sip of his brandy. Hope, he thought. Pray. Maybe there would be some luck with the hunt. Or, maybe just wait for a slow, agonizing death.
Chipewyan moccasins. Lined with fur or Hudson’s Bay Company wool blankets, to keep the cold out. Often beautifully embroidered with colorful glass bead work: “…the only tailors and washer women in the country, and make all the mittens, moccasins, fur caps, deer skin coats, etc., etc., worn in the land. (Explorer Robert Ballantyne, talking about the role of Metis women at the Hudson’s Bay Company forts, 1840)The Hudson’s Bay Company blanket became much more than just a blanket used for sleeping. It furnished First Nations and Metis with a strong, dense, warm material for making the winter clothing needed to survive in Northern Canada. The Canadian Capote became an essential piece of winter clothing. A truly Canadian invention and adaptation. Leggings were also made from wool blankets. Even moccasins were lined with them. The image on the left shows a Chipewyan hunter shooting a wood buffalo (painted by American, Frederick Remington). The image on the right shows a Cree hunter with his winter clothing (painted by Canadian novelist and painter, Arthur Heming).
………………………
Late March, 1823
It was a bright sunny day. Trying to make up for the temperature dropping to minus thirty degrees the night before. Most of the fort people had barely made it this far through the winter. But some of the children and a few adults got sick with the ‘chin cough’ (Whooping Cough) and died. The fort was not a happy place.
The hunters brought in just enough game to keep everyone going. The boys set snares in the forests hoping to catch some of the white hares. Potatoes, grain and dried meat were all expended. Animal fat seemed only like a far-away dream – a long-forgotten commodity. The fishery had failed.
Early spring in the northern forests was the worst time of all. What animals remained were lean and in poor condition. The hunters were sometimes too weak to even hunt them. This was the time of year when everyone suffered the most. Or died.
Times like these called for desperate measures. Colin Campbell gathered his people around him. “Break out the rough hides. Scrape the hair off them and boil them. That’s all we have to eat for a bit.” Before he said any more, Elizabeth and most of the fort women stepped up.
Jacobs, now down to skin and bones, looked on. He feared for his life. He might never see England again. But he was curious. What were the women up to?
Elizabeth spoke up. “Bring some men and follow us to the marshes. We made food supplies there last fall, in case we ran into trouble this spring. It’s time to gather them.”
Jacobs, almost too weak to walk, got up rather wobbly and followed. “I’m coming along Colin. I have to see this. What did they collect?”
“I don’t know Jeremy. We’ll see soon enough.” They followed the women up the river terraces, and into the back country. Trails led in every direction, but the women seemed to know which ones to take to get to their destination.
They finally arrived at a small, shallow lake surrounded by marsh and cattails as far as the eye could see. There beside the shore stood many low tent-like structures made out of poles, covered with bark and snow. Inside hanging on thin poles were rows and rows of cattail rhizomes. Thousands of them. Collected by the women last fall, as the ice set in.
Campbell looked at his wife questionably. “What is this Elizabeth? What are these plants?”
“They’re cattail roots, Colin. They’re well dried and frozen now. When we thaw them, we’ll pound them into flour and make Native bannock.”
Jacobs looked on having a hard time believing what he was seeing. “Elizabeth, you can eat these? They don’t look that good to me. Probably poisonous.”
“Jeremy, don’t be so foolish.” Elizabeth poked him the ribs, almost knocking him over he was so weak.
“These roots are as filling and as nutritious as potatoes. It just takes a lot more work to gather and prepare them. That’s what the women spent two weeks last fall doing up here. Up to their knees in the freezing water pulling cattails. They make a great cake over the fire. Much like bannock.”
“But how do you know this, Elizabeth?”
Elizabeth looked at Jacobs as if he were the biggest fool around. Which of course he was when it came to surviving in northern Canada. The other women giggled and broke out babbling in languages he didn’t understand. And then she softened. Like all the Whites in this country, how would he know. A pampered English nobleman would never think of eating cattails.
“We know Jeremy. What to do when times are tough. The women saw this coming last fall. That’s why the Native side of my people survived in this country for thousands of years. Because we learned and we know.”
Jacobs was suddenly jolted into a new reality and only nodded in agreement. Now, after living at this fort, with these people, it all seemed so obvious. Now that he actually lived in the country. Felt its wrath and unforgiving harshness. These women and men, possessing thousands of years of knowledge about the land, were indispensable to the Company.
He also realized, in the great fur trading halls of London, no one really knew what was needed out here. In the future they would have to listen more carefully to Simpson’s recommendations.
That evening, after hauling the cattail rhizomes back to the fort and pounding them into flour, everyone got a few mouthfuls of nutritious food. At least to make it through tomorrow and many more days.
After their meal, Campbell and Jacobs sat, sipping their brandy and smoking their pipes. Both men were somewhat contemplative. No longer so fretful. They would get through the harsh spring. And when the cattails grew again, if there was no other game, there was more food awaiting them if they needed it.
“So, Sir Jacobs. You’re ready to take the spring ice out with the brigades. And eventually back to England. What are your thoughts about the trade and this life?” Campbell had been briefed on why Jacobs had been sent inland.
“My thoughts, my friend, and my memories, will forever linger on this place and their peoples. Especially the women.” Campbell probed no more on the subject. He just knowingly smiled. With that the two men toasted with a another glass of brandy, and talked long into the night about the affairs of the Company.
Canada possesses a wealth of wild edible plants. Some of them growing right under our very noses. Bulrush, or cattail, is one of them.
Hudson’s Bay Headquarters, London, England, 1823
“Let the meeting come to order. I would like to welcome back Sir Jeremy Jacobs from the Colonies. Sir, you have something you want to share with us?”
Sir Jacobs stood, walked over to the Chairman’s table and plopped down a rather hefty report which he had written while on the ship back to England.
“It’s all in there gentlemen. Together with my recommendations regarding the Natives and the women.”
He gazed around the room and looked at the round, plump, well fed faces. And bodies. Some so portly they barely fit into their chairs. He was just beginning to regain some of the weight he had lost in Canada.
Then he picked up a large platter loaded with little flat cakes off the enormous wooden table. They were still steaming, hot off the griddle. “Before I brief you on what’s in the report, gentlemen, help yourselves to my special cakes. What I’m about to tell you will be more meaningful once you’ve tasted these.
End Notes
If you’re ever lost in our vast Canadian wilderness, with nothing to eat, there are many wild plants out there to survive on. If you know what to look for. According to Outdoor Canada, there are over 350 wild edible plants in Canada. Northern Bushcraft lists eight-four edible wild plants in Alberta. And nearly as many in Saskatchewan, Manitoba and the other Canadian provinces.
When I was at Simon Fraser University, we went on a survival field trip, trying our best to live off the land for a few days along the Pacific Coast. Not easy believe me. One of the first books I read before going was by renowned ethnobotanist Nancy J. Turner. In it she listed the edible British Columbia plants that First Nations gathered. An excellent source. Cattail rhizomes were on that list. So, of course, I tried them.
First I pulled the cattails out of the muck. Then I picked off the rhizomes, washed and baked them on low heat to dry them. I pounded, ground them into a kind of flour, added water and made a dough or paste. Once I flattened them out into little cakes, I fried them like bannock. They were quite good. And, I’m still alive. Quite nutritious actually. Very high in carbohydrates. For more information about their nutrient content, go to this page.
Cattail rhizomes (above left) contain a lot of carbohydrates. Cattail pollen (below right) can also be used as a flour and eaten. According to ethnohistoric sources, both the Slave and Chipewyan gathered these plants for food. Be sure to collect them from non-polluted waters.
The role Indigenous women played in the Canadian fur trade cannot be overestimated. Without their work and support, fur trade forts would not have been operational. But the presence and support of First Nations and Metis women, and their children, was a real sore spot with the Hudson’s Bay Company shareholders for many years. Most traders however, just ignored what was considered official Company policy – not to allow women to live at the Company forts. This continued until 1821 when the Company finally officially recognized that the trade couldn’t operate without the help of women.
The cattail bannock story underlines just how important Native traditional knowledge was for the men at these remote inland forts. Many were fresh off the boats from Britain and knew nothing about the Canadian wilderness. It also underlines the sometimes extreme conditions that prevailed at these inland posts. Hunger and starvation in the north, sometimes was just around the corner. Especially as wild game animal populations declined in a region.
While George Simpson was a great organizer and administrator, he was also a notorious womanizer. His numerous liaisons are well documented in the annals of Canadian fur trade history. But he immediately recognized that women played a very critical, important role in the trade and operation of the forts. His bluntness about such matters would have occasionally ruffled some feathers in the London halls among the Hudson’s Bay Company’s shareholders.
Wild rose found throughout Canada. The rose hips were an important source of vitamin C. An essential vitamin to stave off scurvy in the Canadian wilderness.
