A summer in prairie-land : notes of a tour through the north-west territory / by A. Sutherland.

Front matter

the estate of

(P

J. Stuart Fleming

CHAPTER I. PAcm

On the Way. — Object of Tour — Routes — “Mean” Temperature —

The “ Railway Dog” — Prairie Sunset — Repentance and Faith — The Party — Across Dakota — Bismarck 1

Chapter II

Dp the Missouri. — Waiting for the Agent — Sunday Services — Sharp Practice — Old Acquaintances — Off at Last — Putting a “Check” on Impudence — Interviewing a German — Getting over a Sandbar — An Indian Agency 10

Chapter III

Among the Buffalo. — “Hope deferred” — Shooting a Bull — Catching Buffalo Calves — More than he Bargained for — Indian Buffalo Hunt — Scenery 20

Chapter IV

Fort Benton to Fort McLeod. — In Camp — Benton — The Start — Night Encampment — Indian Visitor — Northern Montana — Pend d’Oreille Springs — Marias River — A Long Drive — Crossing the Boundary — Milk River — A Deep Conundrum — Ferrying Belly River — Almost an Accident — Fort McLeod and its Future — “ Good-bye ” 31

Contents .

viii

CHAPTER Y. page.

Fort McLeod to Morley. — Stray Horses — High River — McDougall’s Story — Fording High River — Sheep Creek — The Country — “ Glenn’s Ranch ” — Government Supply Farm — “One More River to Cross” — A Friend in Heed — An Ancient Mule — Fort Calgary — A Dangerous Runaway — Trout Fishing — We See a

Ghost — Morley 45

Chapter VI

At Morley. — Valley of Bow River — Morley Mission — History —

Agricultural Implements — Over the Foothills . . . . 61

Chapter VII

Sabbath Services. — A High Day — Indian Babies — A Skin Boat — Stoney Camp — Marriages and Baptisms — Address to the Stoneys— Back to the Mission — Evening Service — A Poor Sermon — More Marriages and Baptisms . 70

Chapter VIII

A Day in the Mountains. — First Glimpse of the Rockies— Packing a Horse — Among the Foothills — Ghost River Valley — A Rocky Mountain Canon — A Difficult Trail — Kayoose Ponies — A Cold Bath — Mountain Camp — Homeward — A Farewell Look 79

Chapter IX

An Indian Council. — Views of the Chiefs — Jacob Big-Stoney — Bear’s Paw — James Dixon — Chinakee — George — Words of Counsel 89

Chapter X

Morley to Edmonton. — “ Ambu Wastage ’’—Ghost River again — Trout and Mosquitoes — Picking up the Fragments — McDougall’s Death-chamber — McPherson’s Valley — A Rough Road —

Elk River — A Novel Post Office — Old Grasshopper — Our “ Companions in Distress ” — The North Saskatchewan 96

Contents .

IX

CHAPTER XI. page.

Edmonton to Victoria. — Fort Edmonton — Settlement — Mills —

Coal — Methodist Mission — Services— Change in the Programme — Afloat — Buck-saw Exercise — Thunderstorm — Watching for Boulders — Bagging a Wild Goose — Victoria . . 108

Chapter XII

Victoria to Whitefish Lake. — En route — Camping under Difficulties—Whitefish Lake — Sketch of Rev. H. B Steinhauer —

A Talk with the Indians — Adam’s Story 117

Chapter XIII

Boating Down the Saskatchewan. — Another Parting — Running “Crooked Rapid” — Weird Surroundings — Redeeming the Time — Snow in August — Run on an Island — Scenery —

Fort Pitt — “Whither are we Drifting?” — A Courageous Mouse — Badger and Beaver — Reach Battleford 133

Chapter XIV

Battleford to Prince Albert. — A Homely Town— Population — Soil — Sunday Evening Service — Exploring — Again at the Oars — Scotch Mist — A Bright Day — Fort Carlton -Drive to Prince Albert — High Water — Visiting— Sunday Services —

“ Street Acquaintances ” . 143

Chapter XV

Prince Albert to Touchwood Hills. — Getting Ready — E. W. Skinner’s Grave — The South Saskatchewan — Fisher’s Ferry —

“ Dere are Two of Me ” — Pacific Telegraph — Humboldt — A Sore Disappointment — Big Salt Plain — Ducks — Shooting Prairie Chickens — Camp at Touchwood 152

Chapter XVI

Touchwood Hills to Birtle. — A Missing Horse — “ Misfortunes Never Come Singly ” — A Timely Gift — Sharp Practice— Pheasant Plain — McCoun’s Report — Valley of the Qu’Appelle— Over the Assiniboine— Birtle — In Camp — Sunday Services .... 163

X

Contents.

CHAPTER XVII. page.

Bietle to Poetage la Peaieie. — A fine Country — Mr. Smith’s Report — “ Bichon” Plays out — Making Bread under Difficulties— Rapid City — Big Plain — McKinnon’s Woods — “ Better farther on ” — Crossing a Pond — Rat Creek — Portage at Last — Letters from Home 172

Chapter XVIII

Poetage la Peaieie to Winnipeg, and Home. — Rapid Growth — Old Acquaintances — Selling Out — Pushing the Scott Act —

Off for the Railway — Growth of Winnipeg — Church Enterprise— Homeward Bound — Views of an English “Delegate”

— At Home 180

Chapter XIX

Questions Answeeed. — Opinion of Country — Vast Extent — Great Fertility — Climate— Unfavourable Reports, Why ? — “Should I Pull Up, and Go? — Future of North-West — Class of Emigrants — Character of Government — Activity of Churches — Conclusion . . 188

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.

1. Butte on the Upper Missouri Page 20

2. Methodist Mission Premises at Morley “ 07

3. A Rocky Mountain Stream “ 78

4. The late Rev. George McDougall “ 100

6. First Religious Service at Whitefish Lake

7. Buffalo Skin Lodge and Red River Carts .

I. On The Way

ESIRING, at the outset, to establish confidential relations with the reader, I may state briefly the object with which the tour herein chronicled was undertaken. As Secretary of the Missionary Society of the Methodist Church, part of my duty is to become familiar by official correspondence, and personal visitation, when practicable, with the various parts of the Mission field ; and as it w~as probable there would be a demand, at an early day, for the extension of Mission work in the North-West, I was instructed by the Committee to proceed to that region for the purpose of inspecting existing Missions, and reporting on the probable needs of the near future.

A Stmimer in Prarie-Land.

There are two routes by either of which the traveller may proceed to the great North-West. Starting from Toronto, one may go by way of the Lakes as far as Duluth, at the extreme westerly point, of Lake Superior, and from thence westward by the Northern Pacific ; or, if time be an object, he may go by rail, via Chicago and St. Paul, intersecting route No. 1 at Brainerd or Glyndon. From the latter point the traveller has again the choice of two routes : he may turn directly northward, b}r the St. Paul and Manitoba Bailway, and enter the Country at Emerson ; or, keeping on the line of the Northern Pacific Bailway, he may go westward, through the territories of Dakota and Montana, enter Canadian territory a hundred miles east of the Bocky Mountains, proceed northward as far as he wishes to go, and then strike east and south-east, coming out by way of Manitoba, and so on, as the surveyors say, “ to the place of the beginning.” For various reasons I chose the latter route, and it is of this tour, and of what I saw and heard, that I now propose to give some little account. After some consultation I decided to join the Bev. John McDougall, who was about returning from Ontario, wfith a band of missionaries and teachers, to his work in the Saskatchewan District, as I would thus have the advantage of travelling, for a considerable distance at least, with one thoroughly familiar with the routes and with the modes of travel which the state of the country rendered necessary.

The Mission party left Toronto on the 17th of June,

On the Way .

taking the route by Collingwood and Duluth, while, to economize time, I remained at the office a few days longer, and then proceeded by rail, via Chicago and St. Paul. The heat was very great, and the dust at times excessive, and matters got worse as we sped westward, till at St. Paul the climax was reached in an atmosphere that was fairly stifling. A learned St. Paulician made some wise observations about the mean temperature of the State. The aptness of the phrase struck me at once : it was the “ meanest ” temperature I had experienced in ten years. Toward evening of the 23rd a heavy hail and thunder storm that came up from the westward cleared and cooled the atmosphere, so that I left St. Paul in comparative comfort, and with a far kindlier feeling toward the inhabitants than when I entered it. So largely are our feelings shaped by circumstances.

Twelve hours in St. Paul gave ample opportunity to provide some necessaries for the long journey which lay before me. In the evening I took the St. Paul and Pacific line for Brainerd, expecting to connect at that point with the train bringing the Mission party from Duluth. Sinking back in the comfortable seat, I prepared to. “rest and be thankful/’ while gazing dreamily on the swiftly-changing panorama of village, and homestead, and open prairie. Oddly enough, the first thing that fairly arrested my attention was the ubiquitous “ railway dog,” to be seen on some part of every line in the country, who conceives that the great end of life is to beat the railway train—

A Summer in Prairie- Land.

if he can. Yonder he comes from the nearest farmhouse, helter skelter over “ field and fallow/’ head down, tail streaming out behind ; first at right angles with the train, as if bound to precipitate a collision ; then swerving to an angle of forty-five, as if to outwit the enemy by a flank movement; then falling into a parallel line he settles down to his work with an air that says, “ You may be big, but it’s

muscle that tells ! ” Idle boast ! Muscle has no chance in competition with steam. For a few rods he holds on with dogged resolution, though drifting hopelessly to the rear ; then realizing for the hundredth time that it’s a lost race, he suddenly stops, wheels round, and with “ arms reversed,” or, to discard metaphor, with drooping tail, plods sadly homeward, meditating on the vanity of doggish aspirations, and, untaught by experience, preparing to repeat the futile effort the very next day. And yet, why should we blame the poor fellow, while thousands of his human brethren daily perpetrate the same folly, and by stubbornly clinging to exploded theories and worn-out ideas, gain no wisdom by experience, and are doomed to perpetual defeat ? And all the while the indolent passengers on the train calmly contemplate the frantic struggles of the “ unlucky dogs,” and thank God that they themselves are not as other men are. But a truce to dogmatics for the present.

“ How soft, how beautiful, comes on The stilly hour when storms are gone.”

wrote Tom Moore ; and any one who witnessed with us a prairie sunset, after leaving St. Paul on the 23rd, must have appreciated the sentiment. The storm of the afternoon had passed by, and the heavy clouds rolled eastward, spanned by a rainbow of wondrous beauty. In the west a thinner stratum lifted from the horizon, exposing a broad band of clear sky, not brightly blue as in the daytime, but with a soft transparent haze, as if seen through a mist of tears. Soon heavier masses of cloud rolled slowly upward, and ranged themselves against the softly-tinted background, their lower edges straight and symmetrical, their upper edges broken and ragged, and constantly changing into new and strange forms. Now they seemed like massive ramparts, crowned with frowning battlements and towers ; now like the domes and spires of a great city, with the grand proportions of a vast cathedral towering high above the whole. Then, as the sun sank toward the horizon, from behind the sombre clouds there suddenly issued a mellow flood of golden splendor, and in a moment rampart and battlement, tower and spire, softened into masses of foliage, crowning isles of Eden-like beauty, anchored in a golden sea ; while, as if to complete the illusion, fragments of fleecy vapor went floating by, like stately ships sailing amid those happy islands, up to some quiet haven that as yet I could not see. Perhaps the reader will remember how, when travelling by rail or steamer, and gazing upon a swiftly-changing landscape, the halfremembered words of some poet’s rhymes went echo-

A Summer in Prairie-Land .

ing through the chambers of memory, keeping time to the beat of the paddles or the clank of the wheels. Even so, as I gazed, words read long years ago, touched by some subtle law of association, came back again : — *

“ There was a ship one eve autumnal onward Steered o’er an ocean lake,

Steered by some strong hand ever as if sunward, Behind an angry wake ;

Before there stretched a sea that grew intenser,

With silver fire far spread Up to a hill, mist-gloried like a censer,

With smoke encompassed.

It seemed as if two seas met brink to brink, —

A silver flood beyond a lake of ink.

There was a soul that eve autumnal sailing Beyond the earth’s dark bars, —

Toward the land of sunsets never paling,

Toward heaven’s sea of stars.

Behind there was a wake of billows tossing ;

Before a glory lay. /

0 happy soul, with all sail set, just crossing

Into the far away !

The gleam and gloom, the calmness and the strife,

Were death before thee, and behind thee life.

And as that ship went up the waters stately,

Upon her topmast tall

1 saw two sails, whereof the one was greatly

Dark as a funeral pall ;

But 0 the next’s pure whiteness who shall utter ]

Or where a sunbeam falleth through the shutter On a dead baby’s hand.

On the Way.

Yet both alike, across the surging sea,

Helped t© the haven where the bark would be.

And as that soul went onward sweetly speeding Unto its home and light,

Faith made it wondrous bright ;

And longings unsufficed ;

Faith white and pure with sunniest affections,

Full from the face of Christ.

Yet both across the sun-besilvered tide Helped to the haven where the heart would ride.”

But as I sat and dreamed there was another change without ; for daylight sobered into twilight, and twilight gloomed into darkness, and the splendors of that sunset were gone. Gone where ? Who can tell ? Perhaps into some eternal storehouse, to be reproduced again when the Transient becomes the Permanent, and “ this mortal ” has “ put on immortality.” There is an exquisite little bit of philosophy in the following lines — I cannot recall the author’s name — which may be truer than we know : —

“ This world I deem But a beautiful dream Of shadows that are not what they seem ;

Whence visions rise,

Giving dim surmise

Of things that shall greet our waking eyes.”

At midnight of the 23rd our car was switched on to the main line of the Northern Pacific, and attached to the train from Duluth. On the following morning I

A Summer in Prairie-Land .

passed into another car and joined the rest of the party, which consists of the Rev. John McDougall, who with his family goes to resume his work at Morley ; his mother, wife of our brave Missionary who perished on the plains ; Mrs. Sibbald, wife of the teacher at Morley, who goes to rejoin her husband ; Rev. John McLean and wife, Missionary to Fort McLeod and the Blackfeet ; Mr. Youmans and wife, teacher for Whitefish Lake ; Mr. Nelson and wife, teacher for Woodville ; and Mr. Glass and wife, teacher for Saddle Lake, a new station where work is to be begun by organizing a school. Besides these, there are some relatives of Mrs. McDougall, who purpose seeking a home in the far west ; Miss A., of Cobourg, who seeks a year’s rest and recuperation ; and my old friend, R. Warren, Esq., of Niagara, who hopes — I think on good grounds — to profit much in his physical man by taking the round trip. Altogether, we form quite a company for mutual protection and help.

During nearly the whole of the 24th our route lay through the Territory of Dakota, which may be described as one vast prairie. For hours together we sped onward without seeing tree, bush or shrub to break the monotony ; nothing to bound the view but the distant horizon. We passed very few streams, and these not large ; but small lakes were tolerably numerous, and where the land had been broken up and cultivated, it seemed to be fertile. We passed through several of the monster wheat farms, that have been so often described. One of these, the Cass-

On the Way .

Cheney farm, comprises some 50,000 acres, of which over 8,000 have already been brought under cultivation, and more is being rapidly prepared. Another, the Steele farm, presented unbroken wheat fields on either side of the track, extending for several miles, and the crop looked remarkably healthy. But time is required to tell whether the other parts of the Territory will be equally productive, ^nd whether there is moisture enough to ensure a regular crop. And time will tell another thing, namely, the disastrous effect upon a country’s development and prosperity of these huge monopolies.

At Bismarck our railway journey ended, and here we found there would be no boat up the Missouri River for several days. We have very comfortable quarters, however, at the Sheridan House, which is owned, I believe, by the Railway Company, and here I suppose we must remain till the boat is ready to go — a disappointment to the whole party, who are anxious to push on.

II. Up The Missouri

e

u To the West, to the West, to the land of the free, Where the muddy Missouri rolls down to the sea.”

IE poet wrote “ mighty but “ muddy” has more truth in it, if less poetry. Of all the muddy streams I ever saw, this is the muddiest— worse than the Don or the Humber at Toronto. And we are likely to see a good deal of it, for there is a trip of 1,200 miles ahead of us before we reach Fort Benton, the head of river navigation.

As before mentioned, we had an annoying delay at Bismarck. Mr. McDougall and party had taken through tickets to Fort Benton, being assured of close connections at the various points. From Duluth a despatch was sent to Bismarck, inquiring when a steamer would leave for Benton, and the agent of the Collingwood boats at Duluth reported, as answer, that a boat would leave Bismarck on the 25th of June.

Accordingly the party pushed on, and reached Bismarck on the evening of the 24th. Here we found two boats of the line, but the agent was at Cincinnati, attending the Democratic Convention, and neither of the boats could be freighted till his return ; nor did any one know which of the two boats would go to Benton, consequently we could not go on board. There was nothing for it but to go to a hotel and wait. Had the success of the Democratic candidate depended on the Mission party, his chances would have been poor. We heartily wished him and his Convention

(i Anywhere, anywhere, out of the world.”

On Sunday morning we made our way to the little hall where the Methodist Society worships, and Bro. McLean discoursed earnestly from “ We will go with you, for we have heard that God is with you,” after which most of the party turned in and assisted in the Sunday-school. In the evening I proclaimed Christ “ mighty to save,” and we closed the day with an old-fashioned class-meeting, many feeling and saying, “ It is good to be here.” On the following Tuesday evening I preached by invitation in the Presbyterian church to a small but attentive audience. There is need for all possible Christian effort in these frontier towns. Bismarck is a place of, I should suppose, some 2,000 people, and I am told there are — or were — in it sixty whiskey and gambling saloons. The Methodist pastor is doing a good work in the Temperance reform, some four or five hundred having joined the Red

Ribbon movement through his efforts. His noble wife co-operates heartily in every good work.

The steamboat agent returned from Cincinnati on Monday evening, decided which boat should go to Benton, and made arrangements for us to go on board the next morning. He kindly offered to send an omnibus to take the party to the steamboat landing, some two miles off, but, like the “ Heathen Chinee,” these western steamboat agents are “ peculiar,” for after sending those who wished to ride to the boat, he refused to foot the bill, and wanted to throw it back on the party. We emphatically declined, claiming that we had through tickets. He attempted to repudiate the through ticket arrangement, even going so far as to say that he had a telegram from Mr. Cumberland, of Toronto, stating that he had not promised the party close connections. Finally, I believe, the claim of the ’bus driver was settled by the captain or purser of the boat. It will be well for others who may contemplate taking this route to the North-West to be very definite in their arrangements with regard to through tickets.

It is remarkable how one will, when travelling, stumble upon old acquaintances, or acquaintances of acquaintances, in the most unlikely places. I found that the agent of the Northern Pacific Railway at Bismarck was a Scotchman named Davidson, who formerly lived at Berlin, and was at one time Deputy Sheriff of the county of Waterloo. He was acquainted (not officially , I beg it to be understood) with many of my old friends in and about Guelph ; and he gave our party a good deal of assistance in getting luggage, &c., to the boat. A Mr. McNider, also from Canada, introduced himself, and on Tuesday kindly took Bro. McD. and myself for a drive in and about Bismarck. His partner is a Mr. McLean, from Souris, P. E. I., and his book-keeper, a Mr. Snodgrass, is from the country back of Port Hope. Our drive took us down to the river bottoms, and around a four hundred acre field of wheat belonging to Mr. McNider. It is a sight worth seeing. Almost the entire field is as level as a floor* and the wheat appears to be in first-class condition. Last year Mr. McNider raised 22,000 bushels of oats, which sold readily at fifty cents a bushel. As we drove along, my kind acquaintance pointed out a number of houses occupied by Highlanders from the country back of Cornwall, and others occupied by Nova Scotians. , I am surprised at the number of Canadians out here.

At 2 a.m. on Dominion Day we got away from Bismarck, to our great relief. Up the Missouri the scenery is pleasant, though not very varied. The water is rather above the usual height, and the stream would average fully a mile in width during the distance travelled the first two days ; and this, be it remembered, is more than 1,500 miles from its mouth. The banks, for long distances, preserve the same general character— alluvial bottoms, covered with a growth of ash and cotton- wood, and beyond these naked bluffs, rising at intervals from 50 to 200 feet in height, their faces deeply channeled by rains and laid bare by enormous land slides. The water steadily undermines the soft friable banks, and vast masses of earth are continually toppling in, mingling with the current, giving the water the consistency, and more than the colour, of pea soup ; and as this is the only water for drinking, a good set of teeth, for straining purposes, would seem to be indispensable. Still, when filtered, or the mud allowed to settle, the water is by no means unpalatable.

Being loyally inclined, we thought it a pity to let Dominion Day pass without some recognition, so in the evening, a celebration was extemporised, consisting of singing, readings, and recitations, concluding with a stanza of “ God save the Queen.”

Our experience of sharp practice was not yet ended. We had not proceeded very far up the river when a sable porter put in an appearance, and proceeded to put checks on a number of trunks that had .been piled on the forward deck. He then approached one of our party and suavely observed, —

“ Fifty cents for each trunk, sah.”

“ For what ? ” was asked.

“ For porterage, sah.”

“ For porterage ! Are you going to put them in the baggage room ? ”

“ No, sah ; jes’ leave ’em whar dey is, sah.

“ Now, will you just explain the precise advantage of putting checks on these trunks ? ”

“ Well, de trunks might get lost, sah.”

“ Not very likely ; our trunks are not inclined to somnambulism ; they don’t walk in their sleep ; and as they are on the upper deck, it isn’t likely the stokers will mistake them for firewood.”

“ But we alius puts on checks on dis boat, sah.”

“ Do you really ? Now the only check that’s wanted is a check on your impudence, and that had better be put on without unnecessary delay ! ”

This bit of advice being accompanied by a significant gesture towards the side of the boat, was very impressive, and the “ man and brother ” retired. This was the end of the check business.

With the exception of this little attempt at extortion, we find things pleasant enough. The captain, purser, pilots, &c., are courteous, the crew quiet, and there is an almost entire absence of that “ roughness ” which T had always associated with the belongings of a Missouri “ flat.” So far (I write this when the trip is nearly half over), I have heard few profane words from either officers or men.

On the steamer there is a large quantity of freight, and about twenty passengers besides our own party. Among them is a German from Michigan, going out to Helena, Montana. He chats pleasantly of experiences past and present. Said he,

“ When I comes to New York I haf a wife and two schildren, and only five tollar in my pocket. I tell you I haf to work hard ; but I likes de country. In Scharmany you darsn’t say nodings vat you dinks ; but in dis country you can tell any man, even a Vleeceman if you dinks he does wrong.”

“ How did you happen to go to Michigan ? ” I asked. “ Veil, I goes first to Chicago, und it vas only a pig mudhole, and everybody haf de ague ; so I goes over near St. Jo in Michigan, and I likes de country, and I gets fifty acres of land. Dere vas plenty of work, but dere vas no money. You haf to take him in provision or shtore. One man tell me if I work for him a while he gif me money enough to buy a cow ;♦ but at dot time cows vas scheep.”

“ I suppose,” I said, “ everything was cheap in those days? ”

“ Yaas ; I buy pair of boots for one tollar ; pork vas one tollar and fifty cents a hundred ; and flour vas tree tollars a bard. Yaas, everything vas scheep.” “ And what do you think of doing in Montana ? ”

“ Yell, I haf a broder dere dat I haf n’t seen for twenty year. I goes out and sees de country, and if I likes him, my vife and poys comes out too.”

“ So you don’t think of going back to Germany ? ”

“ No ! only may be for a visit. Dere’s too many peoples dere, and” — coming back to the main grievance— “ yon darsnt say nodings vat yon dinks .”

During the day we passed Fort Berthold, near which is an Indian village — a miserable affair. The people belong chiefly to the Mandan tribe, and I should judge are still in their pagan state. Some had on the traditional blanket, a good deal the worse of wear, and very short at one end ; some had garments of as i7

Up the Missouri .

many colours as Joseph’s coat ; while one young fellow, who was helping to gather driftwood from the river, had on little or nothing besides his birthday dress.

Sunday dawned bright and beautiful. In the forenoon Bro. McDougall preached an earnest discourse from the words of Gideon’s battle-cry ; in the evening I took charge of the service, which was attended by all the passengers and a number of the crew. Altogether we spent a pleasant and not unprofitable day. In the afternoon we passed the mouth of the famous Yellowstone River, as crooked and dirty as the Missouri.

We do not see as much game in this wild country as we expected ; but occasionally a deer bounding through the grass, a beaver sitting on the bank or diving into the water, or a flock of wild geese floating with the current, creates a ripple of excitement among those to whom such sights are novelties.

During low water the Missouri is difficult of navigation, owing to its crooked channel and numerous sand bars ; and even at high water there are places where the pilot has to proceed with caution, and take frequent soundings. Here we are approaching a broad part of the river, and it is impossible to tell just where the channel may be, as it often changes its location between one trip and the next. A tap on a bell near the pilot-house is heard, and a man promptly takes his stand near the bow with a pole some twelve feet long in his hand. He plunges the pole into the water and reports — “ N-o-o-o botto-o-o-m!” Again the 2