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As we floated down the current, or were propelled along by the oars of
our Indian boatmen, on that first journey, little did we imagine that
this sad episode in our lives would happen in that very spot a few years
after. When we were near the end of the Indian Settlement, as it is
called, we saw several Indians on the bank, holding on to a couple of
oxen. Our boats were immediately turned in to the shore near them, and,
to our great astonishment, we found out that each boat was to have an
addition to its passenger list in the shape of one of these big fellows.
The getting of these animals shipped was no easy matter, as there was
no wharf or gangway; but after a good deal of pulling and pushing, and
lifting up of one leg, and then another, the patient brutes were
embarked on the frail crafts, to be our companions during the voyage to
Norway House. The position assigned to the one in our boat was just in
front of us, "broadside on," as the sailors would say; his head often
hanging over one side of the boat, and his tail over the other side.
The only partition there was between him and us was a single board a few
inches wide. Such close proximity to this animal for fourteen days was
not very agreeable; but as it could not be helped it had to be endured.
At times, during the first few days, the ox made some desperate efforts
to break loose; and it seemed as though he would either smash our boat
to pieces or upset it; but, finding his efforts unsuccessful, he
gracefully accepted the situation, and behaved himself admirably. When
storms arose he quietly lay down, and served as so much ballast to
steady the boat. "Tom," the guide, kept him well supplied with food
from the rich nutritious grasses which grew abundantly along the shore
at our different camping-places.
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Time's but a golden wind that shakes the grass...
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