We were still several miles from the river, when I galloped ahead to find out the best or the worst that might be in store for us. Coming to the river I saw it was booming. Great trees and rafts of driftwood were being swept down by its swishing currents, and with a strain of anxiety I rode down the several hills to the river's brink, and felt almost sick at heart when I found there was no boat in sight. Very often the Hudson's Bay Company kept a boat at this point, but now, search as I would, there was none to be found, and I rode back up the hill with a heavy heart. However, at the top of the hill I now discerned a pole stuck in the ground, and thought I saw something white at the end of it. Galloping over, I found a note tied to the pole, which said, "Down in the woods in the direction this stick points, there is a skin canoe."
This had been arranged by the Company people at Carlton for the benefit of Mr. Hardisty, whom they expected to be on his way west from an eastern visit. They had not a boat to spare, so they made this small skin canoe, brought it here and left it staged up in the trees for his use when he should come along. The note also said, "In the bow of the canoe you will find a chunk of hard grease." This was to pitch its seams with and make it waterproof if possible. Now for a light travelling party, with saddle and pack-horses, this would be sufficient, but for a heavily loaded train like ours it seemed like a "small hook to hang your hat on." But even this was something, and I soon went to the spot in the woods indicated and found the canoe placed high on the limbs, to keep it from the wolves and coyotes, who would soon gnaw its skin covering. I saw it was very small, being made of two buffalo cowhides, stretched over a frame of willows, and in it were two paddles and a parcel, which undoubtedly contained the grease.
It was late Saturday evening when we camped upon the shore, and my companions were almost paralyzed by the appearance of the river. It was fortunate that they had all day Sunday to become somewhat familiar with the sight of this mad current and its tremendous volume of water. Monday morning I was up with the day, and calling my two men we boiled the kettle, chopped some chunks from our mass of pemmican, and sat down to breakfast. Presently Mr. Connor crawled out of his cart, and sitting on its edge, said "Good-morning." I invited him to a cup of tea and a piece of pemmican, but to my astonishment he very solemnly said, "Before I do anything to-day I want to come to an agreement with you men as to how long you are prepared to stay here and search for the body of anyone of us who may be drowned here to-day." It was very early in the morning, and myself and men were not very hungry--at any rate, the one dish of uncooked pemmican was not very appetizing--but when the above very anti-tonic remarks fell in sombre tones from the venerable-looking man's lips, I noticed that Oliver dropped his pemmican, while his eyes widened and his face blanched. I saw that I must do something, or else I would not be able to take Oliver near the river that day. So I laughed out a regular "Ha, ha!" at the old man's strange demand. "It is no laughing matter," said he. "Yes it is--a very laughable matter," I answered, "that a man of your age and experience should make such a proposition, for in the first place we do not expect anyone to be drowned here to-day, and more, if any of us should drown in that current, what would be the use of searching for the body? If I am the one to be drowned, don't you lose a minute looking for my body, but go on taking the stuff across, and take it to its destination; but my word for it, we will get across all right. Come along and have a cup of tea." This he did without saying any more about drowning, and he worked like a trooper all the rest of the day, helping in any way he could. Some years later Mr. Connor was drowned, and he may have felt premonitions of his coming fate that morning.