Life in a Hudson's Bay Company Fort.

The people resident in a Hudson's Bay Company's post forms a community of themselves, more or less gregarious, as the establishment is designed for trading purposes, a depot of supplies, or merely an isolated stockade for the accumulation of provisions for the use of the larger forts. But, of whatever character the place may be a regular business routine, demanding certain times for the performance of special duties, is strictly observed. This routine, which at certain seasons of the year degenerates into the merest formality, there being literally nothing to do, is the great preventive of physical and mental rust among the inhabitants, and an antidote for that listless apathy which would certainly obtain were no defined rules of action and employment followed. Every member of the community, from the factor or clerk in charge to the cook, is expected to be, and almost invariably is, at his post of duty at the times designated for its especial performance. And wherever this rule of action is followed, it is wonderful what a multitude of affairs constantly develop to demand attention, and what an amount of the smaller details of business may be thoroughly cared for.

From this system comes the close economy with which the affairs of the company are conducted, and the perfect understanding of the petty details of every branch of its business on the part of its employees. This is augmented in a great measure, of course, by the assignment of certain persons to the performance of particular duties, and their retention in that position for a term of years, enabling each incumbent to gain a thorough knowledge of the requirements of his place. For example, a clerk in the service, in the great majority of instances, must remain a simple clerk for a term of fourteen years before he is even considered as being in the line of promotion. During these long years of service, he must, perforce, gain a thorough practical knowledge of the duties, and even of the most trivial details, relating to his station. From long custom, he falls into the beaten channels of the trade, its manner of executing business details, and identifies himself with its traditions. So, when he assumes charge of a post or district, he carries with him, to assist in the discharge of his new responsibilities, that punctuality, adherence to routine, and careful regard for the little things of his position, which he has so well learned in his apprenticeship. These characteristics are of such a nature as to develop a sufficient amount of employment for the chief officer of a post even in the dullest times.

The real life of the fort, then, consisting for the most of mere routine, may be said to begin at the breakfast hour, which is as regularly appointed as those for the dispatch of business. The breakfast time with the lower class of employees, the nature of whose duties demand early rising, is about six o'clock in the winter and five in the summer seasons. These servants mess by themselves, drawing rations at regular intervals through a steward, much after the fashion of army life. A cook is appointed from their number, who performs that duty alone, and who is responsible for the provisions, quantity and quality of food, etc. A short season, generally devoted to pipe-smoking, is allowed after each meal when they separate to their various duties.

At the officers' mess, over which the trader or factor in charge of the post presides, and which is located in the building he occupies, assemble the family of that official, the clerks and apprentices of every grade who are entitled to the name of "company's gentlemen," and the stranger temporarily within the gates. In conformity with the system of early hours prevalent in the country, breakfast with this mess takes place' at half-past seven or eight o'clock at different seasons, dinner at two, and supper at six in the evening. It is at these hours that the social life of the day may be said to transpire. Here the limited budget of local and foreign news is discussed. Whatever wit and humour may have occurred to the minds of its members during the day is carefully treasured up to be gotten off with appropriate effect amid the genial surroundings and mellowing influences of mealtime sociality. Should the chance gleam of humour happen to be upon some subject foreign to the discourse in hand, the conversation is adroitly trained into the desired channel to afford an occasion for its opportune delivery; for a gleam of humour is too precious a thing to be lightly thrown away.

The conversation, however, hinges for the most part, on the very nature of their isolated position, upon local subjects, connected more or less remotely with the trade. The success of Pierre's last venture with an outfit of goods traded at some Indian camp; the quantity of fish or pemmican procured by Sandy at his provision-stockade; the amount of goods needed for the season's trade, etc., form staple and interesting topics of discourse and comment. The habit soon forms of making the most of these meagre subjects, until quite a degree of enthusiasm can be readily excited about really trivial matters. Not that the mental scope of the mess-table is necessarily limited to trivialities, but that subjects of discussion requiring any profundity of thought present themselves infrequently. The habit, too, of close attention to mere details tends to draw thought in that direction, to the exclusion of more general matters.

The comparative monotony of the mess room, which obtains from the meagreness of the conditions of its isolated life, and the long and perfect intimacy of those composing its social circle, is, nevertheless, often broken by the advent of a stranger at the board. This stranger may be a passing official from another post in the service or some wanderer who braves the discomforts of travel through those inhospitable regions from a traveller's curiosity. In either case, he is equally a stranger to the mess room, from the fact of the unusual budget of news he brings to add to the somewhat worn and threadbare stock of discourse already in hand. The arrival of such a personage is a matter of much bustle and congratulation; and he receives a welcome which, while it has many of the elements of selfishness on the part of his entertainers, leaves nothing to be desired in its heartiness and cordiality, indeed, he is likely to be wined and dined in good earnest so long as his budget of news holds out.

If he is a passing officer from another fort, the mess table is made the occasion of a detailed and succinct account of the latest news at the date of his departure from his establishment, together with that accumulated at the various mess rooms at which he has halted on the way. As the intermarriages of the employees of the company have been productive of ties of consanguinity of various degrees of remoteness permeating the entire service, questions as to the welfare of a relative stationed, say, at an adjoining post, lead to a reply pertinent to the health of a whole army of relations scattered over a country reaching to the antipodes. The following up of this chain of connections, their health, employment, stations, etc., naturally occupies considerable time and keeps the newcomer in full tide of converse, and the mess-table interested listeners for long hours. In addition to news of this nature, he has his own autobiography since the time of their last meeting to relate; jokes to perpetrate over the escapades of present company of which he has heard; and, if he dwells nearer the confines of civilization than his hosts, the latest news from the outer world to communicate. All these topics of conversation are religiously reserved for discussion and revelation at the mess table, so that the entire community may profit from their dispensation.

At such times a more lively air pervades the mess-room, and a genial spirit of good fellowship develops under the unusual excitement. Small caches of wine and spirits, hoarded away from the meagre annual allowance, make their appearance on the board, and add to the hilarity of the occasion. Perhaps a few cigars, produced as a rare treat, find their way mysteriously into the room from some unknown chest in which they have laid buried for years. The genial glow of fellowship deepens with each succeeding gathering about the board until the whole community feels its reviving influence. The long evenings of social intercourse are protracted far beyond their usual wont, and old memories are ruthlessly dragged forth to feed the fires of conversation should they show symptoms of abatement. Even long after the departure of the transient visitor, his sayings, the news he imparted, and the rollicking time of merriment, he occasioned, furnish abundant matter of comment.

The arrival of a traveller from the outer world is, however, a great episode in the everyday life of the post. The community finds in him an inexhaustible fount of enjoyment; and, if he be of a communicative disposition, his store of news and narrative will do service in payment of his weekly board bill for an indefinite period. To such a one the hospitalities of the fort are extended in the most liberal manner. An apartment is assigned to him for his sole occupancy during the period of his sojourn. He is free to come and go when and where he list the, means of locomotion being furnished upon demand. The members of the community delight in explaining to him any matters about their isolated life which may attract his attention, thereby allowing conversation. His companionship is eagerly sought by all, and the fortunate individual who secures his preferred acquaintance excites at once the envy of less favoured ones. Nothing is left undone to render his stay pleasant, and to prolong it to the utmost. When he finally takes his departure, he is sent upon his journey freighted with the good wishes of the isolated post, and certain of the same cordial treatment at his next stopping place.

The mess-table has, too, other attractions than those of sociality, and of a more solidly substantial kind. The officers of the forts are all good livers, and, although accustomed to rough it on short allowances of food when necessity requires, take particular care that the home larder shall be well stocked with all the delicacies and substantiate afforded by the surrounding country. The viands are of necessity composed, in the greater part, of the wild game and fish with which the prairies and waters abound. But they are of the choicest kind and selected from an abundant supply. One gets there the buffalo hump tender and juicy; the moose-nose tremulous and opaque as a vegetable conserve; the finest and most savoury waterfowl, and the freshest of fish all preserved by the power of frost instead of salt. True, the supply of vegetables at many mess tables is woefully deficient, and a continuous diet of wild meats, like most other things of eternal sameness, is apt to pall upon the appetite. But the list of meats is so extensive, and each requires a particular mode of cooking that a long time may elapse without a repetition of dishes. Then, too. the climate favours the consumption of solid food, and, after a short residence, the appetite becomes seasoned to the quality of the fare obtainable. Bread, as an imported article, is in many instances regarded as quite in the character of luxury; the few sacks of flour which constitute the annual allowance of each officer being hoarded away by the prudent housewife as carefully as the jams and preserves of her more fortunate sisters. In such cases it is batted into small cakes, one of which is placed beside each plate at mealtime; the size of the cake being so regulated as to afford a single one for each meal of the year. The more common vegetables, such as potatoes and turnips, can be successfully cultivated in some places, and, wherever this occurs, enter largely into the daily menu. Fruits, either fresh or dried, seldom make their appearance on the table; lack of transportation, also, forbids the importation of the canned article.

At many of the remote inland posts, however, the daily bill of fare is limited enough, and a winter season seldom passes without the garrison of some isolated station suffering extreme privation. At Jasper and Henry Houses, for example, the officers have been frequently forced to slaughter their horses to supplement the meagre supply of provisions. These posts are situated in the very heart of the Rocky Mountains, with the vast region marked "swampy" on the maps separating them from the depot forts. In many of the extreme Arctic stations, the supply of provisions is limited year-round to reindeer-meat, and fish, and not infrequently to the latter alone. Under these circumstances, no wonder that the company's officer comes to regard the possession of flour and sugar as among the most essential requisites of life.

As to the comforts of upholstery and furniture in the mess room, and, indeed, throughout the entire establishment, little attention is paid to it. The constantly recurring changes of residence, occasioned by the necessities of their condition, render the officers of the company, as a class, somewhat careless about the accommodations afforded by their houses. At remote stations, the most simple articles of furniture are held to be sufficient, and shifts are made to adapt different objects to uses not contemplated by their makers. The strong, compact wooden trunks or travelling cases used in the country, for example, often constitute the chief pieces of furniture if we except, perhaps, a bedstead and do duty as chairs, tables, and wardrobes. At the larger posts, however, and at the principal depot stations, the residents are furnished with more of the appliances of civilization, and means exist whereby such as may be so inclined can render themselves very comfortable; more especially as changes of appointments occur less frequently at headquarters than elsewhere.

While it must be confessed that the main body of officers confines themselves in this regard to the practical and useful, it not infrequently happens that a gentleman of independent taste turns up who, animated by the desire to give an artistic air to his chamber, graces the useful with more or less of the ornamental. These peculiarities of individual taste betray themselves most strikingly in the selection and disposal of bedroom furniture. Brightly burnished arms, powder flasks, and shot-pouches, are arranged in fantastic figures upon the walls. Objects of aboriginal handiwork in birch-bark, porcupine quills, and beadwork, impart a certain barbaric splendour to the apartment; while in vivid contrast appear rude frames enclosing highly-coloured lithographs of deeds of daring on the British turf, highways, and waters. Prize fighters, swaying in fierce conflict, and surrounded by excited and applauding hundreds, may be seen in round the last; race-horses, flecked with foam and dirt, stretch away in the dim perspective in a neck-and-neck race toward a winning post where an eager crowd of spectators stand with uplifted hands to welcome the favourite; wild huntsmen, with impossible dogs, and guns with crooked barrels, fire wildly toward the left and bring down myriads of birds at the right; and, to crown all, a red-and-yellow picture of Queen Victoria in the character of a female Neptune, seated on a solitary rock in mid-ocean and holding a pitchfork in her hand, occupies the post of honor, and is supposed to represent the omnipotent Britannia.

The business of the post, except the necessary employments of the lower servants, is transacted between the hours of nine in the morning and six in the evening, with an interval of an hour between two and three o'clock for dinner, when the offices and stores are closed. Generally speaking, this division of time holds good all year round though slight modifications take place with the changing seasons and periods when little work is done. During these hours of business, there is much to be looked after, especially in the summer season. When the bell announces the opening of the fort gates, the inclosure soon fills with Indians and traders, who besiege the counter of the trading store or lounge idly about the yard with picturesque vagabonds in motley attire. The few clerks in charge are busily engaged in measuring tea, sugar, ammunition, etc., into coloured-cotton handkerchiefs unwrapped from greasy aboriginal heads for their reception; in examining furs and paying for them in instalments; in measuring off the scanty yards of blue-cotton prints that are to clothe the forms of dusky belles, or causing howls of delight by the exhibition of gilt jewelry to be sold at ten times its original cost.

Outside the stockade, the voyageurs are loading whaleboats, in the adjacent stream with bales of fur for transportation to depot forts, or discharging cargoes of merchandise destined for wide-spread distribution. Over this process, an accountant keeps careful watch, as he does over everything involving a representative value for which he will be held to account. All is bustle and activity, yet there is no haste. The careful attention to details exhibits itself in everything, and the minutest watch is kept overall.

As the day advances, the arrivals at the fort increase in number and importance. Oftentimes a large band of Indians ride rapidly up to the stockade, and, turning their ponies loose upon the prairie, enter upon the barter of small quantities of peltries to supply their immediate necessities. Again, the band will encamp about the stockade, trading the results of a long and successful hunt, and making the days and nights hideous with their heathenish festivities. Their camp-fires light up the plain roundabout with a fitful glare; their green- and-yellow-painted visages and blanket-attired forms assume at length a certain degree of individuality; and the more important beggars even become familiar objects to the sight; when suddenly they are gone, only to be replaced by others of a like description; for a company's fort is seldom free from its complement of chronic hangers-on. There is, too, much bustle created by the arrivals and departures of officials from other forts of the service, en route in charge of boat- brigades for distant points, who stop but for a few hours, and are off again. Should the season be winter, however, the business hours are, to a certain degree, merely formal, and the time is occupied in those petty details to be found in any occupation. True, a certain amount of trade prevails at the larger posts throughout the year, which, at the remote establishments, takes the form of outfitting traders who visit Indian camps, or small trading stations at a distance, with dog-trains. But there is always much time, even during the hours supposed to be especially devoted to business, for which it is difficult to find full employment.

At six o'clock in the evening, the labours of the day terminate, and the members of the community are at liberty to pass the remaining hours of the twenty-four as they list. And these are the monotonous hours which drag most wearily upon each individual member. In the summer season, recourse is had to athletic exercises during the long twilight rowing upon the rivers, pitching quoits, equestrian excursions, etc., obtaining with the younger and more hardy clerks; others the pleasures of the chase attract, and prolonged forays with dog and gun are made upon the waterfowl in the neighbouring water-courses. But this vernal season is brief, and the time soon comes when the attractions of in-door life must supply the mental pabulum. For this purpose, numerous modes of employment are resorted to.

With the officer in charge, the long evenings are generally passed in the society of his family, and in writing up the logbook of the post. This latter work, if he is a man given to composition, soon becomes a labour of love. In it, he chronicles all the petty incidents of the day: the arrivals and departures; the principal receipts and expenditures; the health of the little community under his charge, etc. To this, he appends a meteorological report with all the exactness of "Old Prob." himself. There may also be added, the general reflections of the writer on subjects about the service, and such suggestions as seem to grow out of the events noted. He may even wander to a limited extent outside the bounds of strict business matters, and indulge in little nights of composition on subjects irrelevant to the trade. It happens not infrequently that short poems of greater or less measures of excellence, and brief prose sketches of fair diction and vivid imaginings, appear scattered among the dry bones of statistics. But it must be said of the majority of log books that they smack only of weather reports, the deficiencies of the frozen fish supply, or the accumulation of peltries.

With the younger portion of the community, the clerks, apprentices, and post-masters conversation and the peaceful pipe occupy a prominent position over time. Games, too, are in great demand, and every apartment possesses its well-thumbed pack of cards, its rude cribbage board, and sets of wooden dominoes. Reading men find abundant leisure to pursue their favourite occupation during the long winter evenings. Books, as the property of private individuals, from the difficulty in transporting them, are, however, more scarce than might be expected. To atone somewhat for this, the company has established extensive libraries for the use of the officers and servants in many of the larger stations in the north, from which supplies for the adjacent smaller posts may be drawn, so that the diligent reader may command new books from time to time. Then, too, there comes once or twice during the winter season a red-letter day, upon which the mail arrives, bringing a long list of letters to be answered, and periodicals from the outer world. As in the remote northern posts, the mail has been a year upon the way, the file of newspapers is laid carefully away, each number being produced and read as its date, one year after publication, is reached. In the answering of letters, considerable difficulty is experienced from the absence of anything new to write about. To obviate this and produce the requisite novelty, the writer generally succeeds in composing a single letter having the desired degree of spiciness. This he copies and sends to all those friends whom he is desirous of placing under the obligation of an answer. Thus, for many days after the arrival of a mail, occupation for the long evenings is easily found, until the returning dog-train bears his correspondence away, and with it that method of passing time.

Parties not studiously inclined often spend their spare hours exercising their skill upon one of the musical instruments. Of these the violin, on account probably of its portable nature, is most ordinarily selected, and the votary, after a series of years passed in diligent practice, usually attains a certain ghastly facility of execution. So common an accomplishment indeed is fiddle-playing in the service, that violin-strings are annually forwarded as a part of the regular outfit for sale in the northern districts. Under the inspiration of this instrument, it is scarcely to be wondered at that the few holidays of the year, and frequently the long evenings also, should be enlivened with dances, in which all the dusky maidens within hailing distance of the fort participate. It is in the enjoyment of this pastime that the wearied clerk finds his chief delight, and he jigs and reels the hours away to the measures of monotonous and oft-repeated tunes. On such occasions the company is cosmopolitan to a striking degree, and all grades of employees mingle in terms of the most democratic equality.

With such simple pleasures and in the discharge of such duties, the life of the isolated community glides uneventfully away. If its amusements are few, they are at least innocent and improved to the utmost. Few temptations to wrongdoing are presented in their solitary lives. Each succeeding year adds to the accumulations of the last, until, in the early afternoon of life, the company's officer finds himself possessed of abundant means to pass the remainder of his days under more genial conditions. But, strange to say, it almost invariably happens that his old life has so grown upon him, so entirely possessed him, that the charms of a higher civilization have no power to attract. We have seen many bid a final farewell to the inhospitable regions where the best years of their lives had been spent, to return to their early homes to pass the decline of life; but one after another they drifted back again. The change was too abrupt. They had outlived their former friends; their ways of life were radically different; in short, the great busy world moved all too fast for their quiet and placid lives.