Norway House Spring
This image of York Boats sailing on Lesser Slave Lake is from the Glenbow Archives, na-2283-10, and I have used it with their permission. The HBCA has the same image, though they say it is taken on Lake Winnipeg.
“The breaking forth of spring in this country is more like a dream than a reality,” Augustus Richard Peers wrote. Springtime at Norway House sounds wonderful, does it not? It was–especially after a long, wet, and cold journey such as Augustus Peers had experienced as he made his way up the big hill from York Factory, at a time when the melting snow lay thick and deep and very wet, and the ice on the rivers melted into slush.
From their encampment in the swampy valley of the Echimamish and Blackwater Rivers, Peers and his companions set up a rough camp and dried their clothes. “It’s an ill wind that blows nobody good,” Peers said as they camped across the Nelson River from Norway House, “and we experienced the truth of that adage; the miseries of the day tended to make us feel the cheering influence of the fire the more. We cooked our supper and ate it, dried our clothes, and slept. At an early hour next morning we set out on our last stretch, and after crossing a part of Play Green Lake we arrived at Norway House just as the bell tolled the hour of breakfast. Mr. [George] Gladman [Jr.], who saw me approaching, came to welcome me.”
Guided by Mr. G. I betook myself to the clerk’s house whose only occupant hitherto was Mr. Ballantyne, the clerk of the establishment. He had just left his desk to wash the ink off his fingers preparatory to answering the summons of the breakfast bell. Having made myself acquainted with him I divested myself of my travel stained gear and donned a more respectable suit. Accompanied by Mr. B I betook myself to the mess room where I was introduced to Mr. [Donald] Ross, the Chief Factor in charge of the establishment, and to whom I handed my dispatches.
“Mr. B” was Robert Michael Ballantyne, who soon quit the HBC and wrote a book titled Hudson’s Bay; or Everyday Life in the Wilds of North America, published in 1848 by William Blackwood and Sons. I looked: he did not mention Augustus Peers.
Norway House stands on the bank of the Jack River at its junction with Play Green [Playgreen] Lake. The Fort, which is built of wood, is enclosed with high stockades. The houses are all of one story high and being white-washed present a very neat and pleasing appearance. In front is the green enclosure, intersected by platforms, the main one leading down to the river through the principal store. It [NorwayHouse] boasts of an extensive kitchen garden in which are grown vegetables of various kinds. A large farm is also attached and great quantities of excellent potatoes, barley, etc., are grown. It may therefore be seen that the inmates of this favored spot are well-to-do and enjoy a fair share of the good things of this life. In good seasons the neighboring swamps provide several varieties of berries, such as raspberries, gooseberries, mossberries, and cranberries.
My journey north had come to an end for the present, as it was necessary to remain here to await the arrival of the Portage La Loche brigade of boats from Red River Settlement in June, and as it was only yet the middle of April, I had nearly two whole months to wait at Norway House. This I was not at all sorry for, particularly as the most delightful season of the year — Spring — was just setting in and I anticipated great pleasure at this pretty and peaceful establishment.
The house Mr. B and I occupied contained only one room, which served for the double purpose of the bedroom and office in winter. In one corner of this room I set up a desk and aided B in the quill-driving department, but as Norway House is only the head post of a small district we were not overburdened with work. We became inseparable companions and during the time I sojourned there we enjoyed many a pleasant ramble through forest and marsh in search of food for powder, but as the ptarmigan had already left the low country we invariably returned with empty bags.
Large flocks of wild geese and ducks soon made their appearance, but as there is no good feeding for them in the immediate vicinity of the fort they generally passed on high overhead, merely condescending to greet us with a derisive cackle. The Indians, who had more time and liberty to hunt them than we had, brought in plenty to the fort, and they formed a pretty constant dish at the mess table. Ere long the river disrobed itself of its icy mantle and flowed with many a curling eddy into the adjoining lake.
Augustus Richard Peers is a good writer and tells a good story, so I am just going to let him tell it in his own words. This, by the way, is not a journal, but a narrative he wrote for publication in London, seven or eight years after he had passed through Norway House in 1843. His manuscript ended up in California, somehow, and it was forwarded to the BC Archives–not because he came west of the mountains, but because his brother’s papers were there. Augustus Richard Peers’ younger brother was Henry Newsham Peers, who is a rather important character in The HBC Brigades. Peers’ story continues:
This was the first spring I had spent in the new world, and I was much astonished to see how rapidly stern winter gave way to smiling spring. Today the country will be clothed with snow and the many rivers and lakes fast bound with ice. The trees and shrubs are frozen to the core and break at the slightest touch, and nature seems stricken with the withering hand of death. Suddenly, and as if by magic, the snow dissolves, interweaving the ground with numerous purling rills of crystal water which, uniting in some shady dell, form into mimic rivers which sport and foam as if partaking of the universal joy. Anon, the rivers and lakes, which a few days back were arrayed in a vestment of white, now tumble and leap as their limpid waters are fanned by the fragrant breeze; and with the rapidity of thought the trees and shrubs will be seen clothed in a mantle of emerald green among whose branches the robin and the blackbird fill the air with melody as they chant forth their first spring song. The breaking forth of spring in this country is more like a dream than a reality.
The Indians who resort to this establishment are the Swampy Crees and the Crees proper. The latter only visit the fort once or twice a year when they generally come in large parties. They paid a visit while I was there, and it was really a pretty sight to see them crossing Play Green Lake in their tiny canoes all under sail. They brought good hunts in furs, but some of them I thought difficult to please in trading with them. A quantity of pemmican was given to them and they went over to the other side of the river and spent the time feasting.
A mile or two from the fort is situated the Indian village of Rossville, where a Wesleyan missionary resides–under whose care the Indians who reside in the neighbourhood are instructed in the principles of Christianity. They are also taught to cultivate the ground and raise potatoes and grain for winter use. This little village, which is prettily situated on the margin of the lake, was at the time I wrote of [in 1843] only in a half-finished state, it is now completed, having a church attached. I once went over to the village to hear the Indians and children sing, and I lost nothing by my visit, their pastor having taught them to sing in parts. It was pleasing to hear with what regularity and precision they went through their hymns.
I saw here the novel sight of a tin canoe which Mr. E., the missionary, had had made by way of experiment. It was the size of a regular North Canoe and calculated to carry eight or ten people. It was built at York Factory the autumn before, and Mr. E. took passage it it to Norway House, but finding it in its first size to unwieldy it was reduced to its present size…
George Traill Allan also saw the missionary’s tin canoe, and wrote about it here: https://nancymargueriteanderson.com/tin-canoe/
And then Augustus Peers talks about the York Boats, giving us some more information about them.
The boats used in navigating these rivers and lakes are about twenty-eight feet keel, and eight feet wide; they are made as light and shallow as safety will permit, tapering at either end to a sharp point, the stem and stern posts being protected by iron plates. They are generally manned by a crew of seven or eight men and a steersman. The latter stands on an elevated deck six inches below the gunwale and steers the boat with a long sweep-oar which sets in a ring on the stern post. A rudder is only used when under sail, when steering with the sweep would be both tiresome and dangerous, particularly with a side wind. In rapids, however, where the greatest skill and dexterity is required, the sweep is of the greatest use, as from the powerful hold it has upon the water, the steersman is enabled to change the position of his craft in a moment.
Each boat is furnished with a leathern covering which is spread fore and aft over the goods, also two oiled clothes, in case of rain. When if the wet is too heavy to continue, the boats are run ashore, and two stakes with a round notch in one end are fixed upright in the fore and after shaft. On these is placed the mast in the manner of a ridge-pole. At either end sticks are hung across the mast which project over the gunwale, giving the whole the appearance of the roof of a house, the oars being hung lengthwise along the side sticks, and the oil cloth spread over all. Under this covering, the crews can sleep in comfort and the goods kept dry.
These boats carry but one mast, which, however, is only put up when required. A simple square sail is used. The boats draw only from sixteen to twenty inches of water when fully ladened and are therefore well adapted for the shallow rivers they are required to navigate. Owing to the great skill and adroitness of the crews, notwithstanding the great risk they are exposed to in running rapids, accidents are never heard of.
Peers’s time at Norway House was coming to a close, and he must leave. Here is that story.
As Norway House is on the line of water to York Factory, craft bound for that depot must call here. Accordingly, about the eighteenth of June, the first boats from the Red River Settlement were soon rounding the point above the fort. This novel sight caused as much sensation among the inhabitants of this otherwise peaceful place as the arrival of the first ship of the season at the city of Montreal after the breaking up of the ice. The cry of “The Boats! The Boats!” was in everybody’s mouth and all flocked down to the wharf to see the new faces. They proved to be the craft of the Red River merchants bound for York [Factory] to receive their annual supply of fineries wherewith to dazzle the eyes of the Scotch and Halfbreed lasses of the settlement.
The canoes from Canada were now daily expected, and if anyone looked out for them with more interest than another it was myself, for I expected my brother up by them. I had not even seen him for two years and I was kept in a constant fever of suspense lest the Mackenzie’s River Brigade [the Portage La Loche boats] should arrive before them [the Canadian canoes], and thus separate us for many years more. But I looked in vain, and in a day or two the cry of “The Boats! The Boats!” again sent one and all scampering to the wharf to witness the arrival of the Portage La Loche boats, six in all, coming rapidly down the river side by side, their light-hearted crews singing in chorus as they rose on their oars, straining every nerve to urge their light craft still faster through the water, which at every vigorous stroke bathed their sharp prows in foam.
This was the first time I had seen a brigade of these boats, and notwithstanding they arrived before the canoes, I could not help admiring them and their tawny crews. In a minute more they were ashore, laughing and capering on the green.
The fort, but a short time before so quiet, was now all bustle and confusion, and as evening closed in, a row of watch fires might be seen blazing cheerfully on the bank, and around which lay in picturesque groups the crews of the boats, some decked out in ribbons and scarlet belts with no coats on, while others wore large blanket coats and scarlet caps, and all according to the never tiring tenor of their action engaged in a merry song or maybe danced to the strains of a fiddle. L’Esperance, the guide, appeared a fit subject for such a duty; he was a Canadien of middle age, rather tall and of powerful frame. He had his rabble crew well under his command and they feared and respected him.
This “L’Esperance” is Alexis L’Esperance, whose story is told here: https://nancymargueriteanderson.com/alexis-lesperance/
As it was by these boats that I was to continue my journey northward, I spent the evening in packing up my things and in reading over and over sundry letters I had received from Old England and elsewhere.
On the following morning after breakfast, the shrill whistle of the guide was heard as he collected his men, and in ten minutes the green was strewed with boxes, bales, cases, etc. L’Esperance, with the other steersman, now proceeded to divide the lot into six equal parts. This being satisfactorily done, the middlemen, with their tar brushes, marked their respective cargoes with some particular hieroglyphic such a an “O” or “X.” The object of this is to avoid mixing the cargoes on the portages, and in case any piece is lost or damaged the mark will point out the boat it belonged to. This being accomplished, the voyageurs with a loud “Hurrah” would hoist a ponderous bale or case on their shoulders and race away, full speed, each one contending [competing] with the other in trying which should load their boat first. I remarked one little fellow, the guide’s son, pile three bags of ball weighing in all two-hundred-and-fifty-pounds on his shoulder, and race off and jump with a light foot from the wharf to his boat as though his load was a trifle–so indeed it was when compared to the loads some of those fellows will carry, though albeit, they rue the consequences in old age.
Did you notice he used the word, “voyageurs.” I find it used often, even though some people will tell me the word is not in regular use. In fact, I find it everywhere that Governor George Simpson had been, and he certainly spent time at York Factory where Augustus Richard Peers spent his first year as an HBC clerk.
The men of the Portage la Loche Brigades have a long journey ahead of them. They start their journey at Red River, and come to Norway House to pick up the goods that have been left there for delivery to the Mackenzie River district north of Portage la Loche. This brigade would take the Mackenzie River district’s goods north to Portage La Loche, and a later brigade would, I understand, carry the Athabasca and Peace River goods north to Portage La Loche. Am I correct in that belief???
So anyway, their journey is: Red River to Norway House. Norway House to Portage La Loche, where they met the Mackenzie River brigade of boats. From Portage La Loche they would deliver the Mackenzie districts furs south to York Factory (and it only makes sense that they also carried the Athabasca district’s furs south with them.) From York Factory they returned up the Hayes River to Norway House and on to Red River, carrying mail and passengers and perhaps more to that place. It is quite a journey, but I do not know whether it was a longer journey than the one the men of the York Factory Express made from Fort Vancouver to Hudson Bay and back. Certainly the Portage La Loche Brigades was a longer journey than the Saskatchewan Brigades made from Edmonton House and return. Peers’s narrative continues:
In about an hour the boats were all ready and bidding adieu to my friends I stepped on board the guide’s boat. As we left the shore the united crews burst forth in the strain of Rose Blanche, and in ten minutes Norway House was lost to view as we doubled the point of woods above it.
Augustus Peers was on his way to the Mackenzie River District, where he would spend the rest of his life. But first, the boats he travelled in had to cross Lake Winnipeg. When that story is told, it will be includded here: https://nancymargueriteanderson.com/whatever-i-call-it/
To return to the beginning of this thread, go here: https://nancymargueriteanderson.com/augustus-peers-journal/
Copyright, Nancy Marguerite Anderson, 2026. All rights reserved.