Part 13

Among the great tributaries should be mentioned specially the following; the Aruwimi, noted as the scene of the terrible sufferings of the famous Emin Pasha relief expedition; the Ubangi, or Welle-Makua, which is itself a mighty river, rising away in the “Heart of Africa,” and flowing some 1,200 miles before it joins the main stream. On the south bank may be named the Lubilash or Boloko, navigable for 200 miles; the Lulongo, with its branches--the Lopori and Maringa--navigated for 500 miles by the Rev. George Grenfell; the Chuapa, with its branch, the Busera, up which Mr. Grenfell has also steamed some 500 miles. To these may be added the Kwa, which with its tributaries--the Lukenye, the Kasai, the Sankurn, the Kwango, and a number of others--adds enormously to the volume of the Congo, and affords some 1,500 miles of navigable water.

The great river from Stanley Falls to Stanley Pool has an average width of some five miles, but in places it reaches as much as sixteen miles wide, and is split up into separate channels by large islands, with which its bosom is studded. After passing through Stanley Pool the river ceases to be navigable for about 235 miles--except for one comparatively short break of eighty miles--owing to the angry cataracts known as the Livingstone Falls. Below the falls the river again becomes navigable to the Atlantic Ocean, some 110 miles distant.

The majestic river rushes with such an enormous volume into the open ocean that, for many miles out at sea, its stream can be distinctly traced, and its waters remain fresh, refusing for a long time to become contaminated by the salt of the mighty waste of waters.

The main river and its tributaries have already been explored for at least 11,000 miles. This, of course, gives a length of river banks of no less than 22,000 miles. It can be better grasped what this means when we remember that the whole coast-line of Europe, following every indentation of the shore--from the most northern point of Norway to the spot in the Black Sea where the Caucasus Mountains separate Europe from Asia--is only 17,000 miles, or 5,000 miles less than the total length of river banks past which the mighty Congo continually sweeps. To give another illustration, I may remind you that the circumference of the globe on which we live is 24,000 miles. So that the length of the banks of the Congo--so far as they are at present known--only falls some 2,000 miles short of the total girth of our planet. When the great river becomes more completely known the extent of the river’s banks may probably be found to equal, and very possibly to exceed, the earth’s circumference.

The total length of the main river--omitting the branches--from source to mouth is close upon three thousand miles, equal to the distance from Liverpool to New York.

The area of territory drained is something over 1,500,000 square miles, or equal, roughly speaking, to about one-eight of the whole continent of Africa. It exceeds the total area of India by 200,000 square miles, and would only be equalled by thirty-two Englands. It is needless to quote further figures in order to impress upon us the enormous extent and importance of Africa’s greatest waterway.

The wide-spreading arms of the Congo reach themselves out on all sides to such a distance and extent that the remote headwaters, or fountains, overlap and almost intermingle with the streams which contribute their waters to the other great rivers of the continent. On the north-west we find some of the early streams flowing almost from the same sources which supply tributaries of the Niger and the Shari. In the north-east we find the remote tributaries of the Welle-Makua almost touching those of the Bahr-el-Ghazal, which helps to swell the Nile. The headwaters of the Aruwimi, again, flow from within a few minutes’ walk of where a view can be obtained of the Albert Lake, also belonging to the Nile system. The Malagarazi River, which flows into Lake Tanganyika, and so finds its way to the Congo, rises in the same hills which gave birth to the Alexandra Nile, a western affluent to Lake Victoria. We find, also, many of the great tributaries on the southern bank of the Congo flow from highlands which also pay tribute to streams flowing to the Zambezi.

In comparison with the historic tales the Nile and Niger have to tell us, the story of the Congo is only very modern. The early history of the great river is very meagre indeed, and we search the ancient classics in vain for any mention of even its existence.

The river was, and is to this day, known to the Portuguese as the Zaire, but the actual meaning of the word is doubtful. Some consider it to simply mean river. The country through which the great river flows was known to the Portuguese as the kingdom of the Congo. The Zaire, therefore, appeared upon the early Portuguese maps as Rio de Congo, which, when translated, became, of course, on English maps, River of Congo, and finally simply Congo, as we now know it.

Although the mouth of the Congo was discovered by the Portuguese over four hundred years ago, very little was known of the geography of the river itself until our own century. Jesuit missionaries certainly settled in the kingdom of the Congo, and they doubtless collected much information from the native travellers regarding the geography of the interior.

The English geographer, Peter Heylyn, writing in 1657, speaks of the Zaire, or River of Congo, rising in Lake Zembre. After naming the rivers of the Country of Congo, he goes on to say: “This last (the Zaire), the greatest of them all, if not of all Africk also: Of which, though we have spoke already, we shall add this here, that it falleth into the Æthiopic Sea with so great violence, that for ten miles commonly, for fifteen sometimes, the waters of it do retain their natural sweetness: not intermingled nor corrupted with the Salt Sea-water: Nor can the people sail above five miles against the stream of the cataracts, or huge falls which it hath from the Mountains; more terrible and turbulent than those of the Nile.”

The great discoveries connected with the Congo have been in almost all cases the result of inquiries set on foot for other purposes, and not the outcome of direct research. This is especially the case with regard to the long and tedious wanderings of Dr. Livingstone, between the years 1866 and 1873, which terminated only in his death in the latter year. When Livingstone started upon his last and greatest expedition in 1866, it was with the idea of clearing up certain doubtful points connected with Lakes Tanganyika and Nyasa, and of establishing, if possible, the southern limit of the Nile watershed. He had no intention of working at the Congo at all, and, in fact, remarks in his journal, in a half jocular manner, that he had no desire to become “blackman’s meat” for anything less than the Nile.

Stanley’s great journey from Nyangwe to Boma made known, of course, only the main stream of the river, but it opened the way, and from that day down to the present a whole legion of travellers, both British and European, have devoted themselves to the filling in of the details. The great traveller himself shortly after discovered lakes Leopold II. and Mantumba; and so recently as 1887 explored the great Aruwimi territory, following it to its source in the neighbourhood of the Albert Lake, when engaged in his last great journey through “Darkest Africa.”

The Nineteenth Century has been what we may call the age of discovery, so far as the Congo is concerned. The geography of the river is now fairly well known, the discoveries of the past twenty years having undoubtedly transcended all possible expectations or even conceptions. The next century will in all probability be one of Congo commerce and Congo engineering. Already we find a railway some 250 miles in length, in course of construction, which, when completed, will overcome the natural difficulties of transport in the neighbourhood of the Livingstone Falls, and throw open to the world the mighty natural highway to the heart of the Continent. Already we find, in spite of the difficulties of the cataract region, that some thirty odd steamers are daily ploughing their way up and down the Congo’s giant stream. Thus has the great river begun the work of bearing the naturally rich products of the Congo basin to the coast, and of carrying the return commodities into the interior.

The work of the explorer, the trader, and the missionary is already beginning to bear fruit. In their wake will follow civilization, commerce and Christianity. Cities--centres of industry and light--will be founded, and in due time the peoples of the “Heart of Africa” will take their place in the progress of the world.

THE MACKENZIE RIVER

WILLIAM OGILVIE

Fort McPherson stands on a high bank of gravel and slate, on the east side of the Peel River, about fourteen miles above the point where it divides and joins the Mackenzie delta, which is common to both rivers. The height of this bank rapidly decreases towards the mouth of the river, where it almost entirely disappears. The country surrounding has evidently at one time been a part of the Arctic Ocean which has been gradually filled up with alluvial deposits brought down by the two rivers.

On this rich soil, the timber, mostly spruce, with some tamarack, birch and poplar, is, for the latitude, very large. When I arrived at Fort McPherson, on the 20th of June, the new buds on the trees were just perceptible, and on the evening of the 22d, when I left, the trees were almost fully in leaf.

Between Peel River and the Mackenzie about two-thirds of the channel in the delta averages more than a quarter of a mile wide; the remainder about one hundred yards. All of it was deep when I passed through, and the Hudson’s Bay Company’s steamer, _Wrigley_, drawing five feet of water, finds no difficulty in navigating it. The banks do not rise more than ten or fifteen feet above the water, and the current is continually wearing away the soft deposit and carrying it down to the lower part of the delta and to the Arctic Ocean.

Where we enter the Mackenzie proper, the channel is three-fourths of a mile wide, but it is only one of four, there being three large islands at this point. The whole width of the river cannot be less than three or four miles. Looking northward, down the westerly channel, the view is bounded by the sky, and widens in the distance so that one can fancy he is looking out to sea.

A north wind raises quite a swell here, and the salty odour of the sea air is plainly perceptible above the delta. The banks continue low, and the country flat on both sides of the river, for some nine or ten miles above the islands. The shore on the east side is sloping, while that on the west is generally perpendicular, showing the action of the current, which is wearing into and carrying away portions of it. This form of bank changes into steep shale rock on both sides, gradually increasing in height as far as the Narrows, where they are probably one hundred and fifty feet above the water.

On the Mackenzie I did not stay long enough to learn much about the Indians in the district, nor did I see many of them. While we were in the delta, nine large boats loaded with Esquimaux from the coast passed us on the way up to Fort McPherson to do their trading for the season, in one of which I noticed a young woman devouring a raw musk-rat with evident relish. These people come up from the coast in “skin” boats, called _oumiaks_, made, it is said, of whale skin put round a wood frame. These boats present a very neat appearance, and are capable of carrying about two tons each. Whale oil is one of the principal articles which they bring in for sale.

A few miles above the Narrows the banks change from rock to clay and gravel, and continue generally steep and high as far as Fort Good Hope. In a few places the bank recedes from the river for a short distance, forming a low flat, on which generally grows some fair spruce timber. No rivers of importance flow into the Mackenzie between Red and Hare Indian Rivers. One hundred and thirty miles further on, Loon River enters from the east, and, twenty miles above this Hare Indian River also enters from the same side. The Indians report that Hare Indian River rises in a range of hills on the north-west side of Great Bear Lake, but about its navigability I could learn nothing.

We reached Fort Good Hope on Saturday, the 24th of July, and remained over Sunday. The Fort is built on the east side of the Mackenzie, about two miles above Hare Indian River, and two below the “Ramparts.” The Hudson’s Bay Company has quite a large establishment at this point, consisting of half a dozen houses and some stables. The Roman Catholic Church has a flourishing mission here, and the church is said to possess one of the best finished interiors in the country.

Two miles above the Fort we enter what is known in the vicinity as the “Ramparts,” though in the more south-westerly it would be called a “Cañon.” Here, for a distance of seven miles, the river runs perpendicular and occasionally over hanging walls of rock. At the lower end they rise one hundred and fifty feet above the water. But their height decreases as we near the upper end, at which point they are not more than fifty or sixty feet. The river, at the lower end of the “Ramparts,” is nearly a mile wide, but its walls gradually converge until, about three miles up, the width is not more than half a mile, and this continues to the end. Sir Alexander Mackenzie, when passing through, sounded at its upper end, and found three hundred feet of water, which accounts for the fact that although the Cañon is so narrow the current is not perceptibly increased.

When Mackenzie discovered and explored this river in 1789, he met some Indians a short distance above this place. After confidence had been established by means of presents, he prepared to start onward; and, although his newly-made friends told him there was great danger ahead in the form of a rapid or cataract which would swallow him and his party without fail, he continued, the Indians following and warning him of his danger. He advanced cautiously into the “Ramparts,” but could hear or see nothing to verify their statements. At last, when through, they admitted that the only bad weather to be encountered was now passed, but that behind the island just below was a bad spirit or monster which would devour the whole party: failing there, the next island below would surely reveal him.

From this incident the two islands have received the names of Upper and Lower Manitou, respectively.

Forty-eight miles from Fort Good Hope, Sans Sault Rapid is reached. It is caused by a ledge of rocks extending partially across the river.

A ridge of hills here extend beyond the river from the Rocky Mountains, occasional glimpses of which can be caught from the water.

Just above this the Mackenzie turns sharply to the east from its southerly course, and skirts the base of the mountains for six miles. Its course then curves a little to the south, when, what might be termed a cañon, is entered, which extends for nine or ten miles. The river here averages a mile in width, and is walled on both sides by perpendicular limestone cliffs, rising from one to two hundred feet above the water. On the south side, this wall terminates in what is known as “Wolverine Rock,” which rises perpendicularly from the water to a height of three hundred feet. The formation is limestone, the strata of which stand almost on edge, and the water has worn through them in several places, so that one can sail underneath. Above this point the mountains again approach the river for a few miles, when they suddenly drop almost to the level of the plain. The banks here are clay and gravel, with an average height of from one hundred to one hundred and fifty feet.

Six and one-half miles above Sans Sault Rapids, Carcajou River empties its waters into the Mackenzie from the west. This river I believe to be the largest tributary of the Mackenzie below the Laird.

Four hundred and forty-four miles from Fort McPherson brought us to Fort Norman, which is situated on the east bank of the Mackenzie just above the entrance of Great Bear River. I arrived here on Saturday, the 28th of July.

About three and a half miles above Fort Norman on the east bank of the river, two extensive exposures of lignite occur. The upper one is overlaid by about fifty feet of clay and a few feet of friable sandstone, and is about fifteen feet thick. The other seam is of about the same thickness, and probably forty feet lower. When I was there, it was nearly all under water.

The upper seam _has been on fire for over a hundred years_, as it was burning when Sir Alexander Mackenzie passed in 1789, and according to Indian tradition, it must have been burning much longer. The place is locally known as “Le Boucan,” from the fact that the Indians hereabout smoke and cook large quantities of meat or fish in these convenient fire pits. The fire extends at present about two miles along the river, not continuously, but at intervals; when I passed, it was burning in three or four places. After it has burned a certain distance into the seam, the overlaying mass of clay falls in, and, to some extent, suppresses the fire. This clay is, in time, baked into a red coloured rock, in which are found innumerable impressions of leaves and plants.

About a hundred miles above Fort Norman, on the west side, a river discharges a large volume of clear, black water, which rushes bodily half-way across the Mackenzie, and preserves its distinctive character for several miles before it mingles with the main stream. The name applied to this river by the people at Fort Wrigley was “_La rivière du vieux grand lac_.” It is said to flow out of a lake of considerable extent, lying not far from the Mackenzie. Many peaks can be seen up its valley.

Six hundred and twenty-four miles from Fort McPherson brings us to Fort Wrigley. This post was formerly known as “Little Rapid,” but has received the name it now bears in honour of Chief Commissioner Wrigley, of the Hudson’s Bay Company. Just above the Fort there is a swift rush of water over some limestone rock which appears to extend across the river. On the west side two small islands confine a part of the stream in a funnel-like channel, which, being shallow, causes a slight rapid, and gives rise to the former name of the post.

At Fort Wrigley, some slight attempts had been made at cultivation, but I do not consider them a fair test of the capabilities of the place. When I was there, the people were gathering blueberries, then fully ripe, and as large and well-flavoured as they are in Ontario. Ripe strawberries were found on the 9th of August ninety miles below this, and a few raspberries soon afterwards. Above Fort Wrigley, wild gooseberries, and both red and black currants were found in abundance; some of the islands being literally covered with the bushes.

For about sixty miles below Fort Wrigley a range of mountains runs parallel to the river on its east side. Above Fort Wrigley the east bank is generally low and swampy, but the west (although low near the river) gradually rises to a height of seven or eight hundred feet. Fifty-eight miles above Fort Wrigley this hill terminates in a bold, high point, and the ridge turns off to the south-west, enclosing a deep, wide valley between it and the mountains, which here approach the river. This range continues south-eastward out of sight. The positions and heights of some of the peaks were determined by triangulation. One of them was found to rise 4,675 feet above the river.

We arrived at Fort Simpson on Friday, the 24th of August, and remained until the following Tuesday.

We arrived at Fort Providence on Saturday, the 8th of September. Wild gooseberries and currants were plentiful along the banks, but at this season somewhat over-ripe. At the fort, where we remained over Sunday, the usual collection of buildings at a Hudson Bay Company’s post is to be found. The Roman Catholic Church has also a mission here.

Forty-six miles from Fort Providence we enter Great Slave Lake. The south shore of the lake, between the Mackenzie and Great Slave Rivers, is so low and flat that most of it was submerged when I passed. Fish are numerous in the Mackenzie. The principal species is that known as the “Inconnu.” Those caught in the lower river are very good eating, much resembling salmon in taste, being also firm and juicy.

THE LOIRE

VICTOR HUGO

I have some recollection of having already said so elsewhere: the Loire and Touraine have been far too much praised. It is time to render justice. The Seine is much more beautiful than the Loire; Normandy is a much more charming “garden” than Touraine.

A broad, yellow strip of water, flat banks, and poplars everywhere--that is the Loire. The poplar is the only tree that is stupid. It masks all the horizons of the Loire. Along the river and on the islands, on the edge of the dyke and far away in the distance, one sees only poplars. In my mind there is a strangely intimate relationship, a strangely indefinable resemblance, between a landscape made up of poplars and a tragedy written in Alexandrines. The poplar, like the Alexandrine, is one of the classic forms of boredom.

It rained; I had passed a sleepless night. I do not know whether that put me out of temper, but everything on the Loire seemed to me cold, dull, methodical, monotonous, formal, and lugubrious.

From time to time one meets convoys of five or six small craft ascending or descending the river. Each vessel has but one mast with a square sail. The one that has the biggest sail precedes the others and tows them. The convoy is arranged in such a fashion that the sails grow smaller in size from one boat to the other, from the first to the last, with a sort of symmetric decrease unbroken by any unevenness, undisturbed by any vagary. One involuntarily recalls the caricature of the English family; one might imagine one saw a chromatic scale sweeping along under full sail. I have seen this only on the Loire; and I confess that I prefer the Norman sloops and luggers, of all shapes and sizes, flying like birds of prey, and mingling their yellow and red sails with the squall, the rain, and the sun, between Quillebœuf and Tancarville.

The Spaniards call the Manzanares “the viscount of waterways”; I suggest that the Loire be called “the dowager of rivers.”

The Loire has not, like the Seine and the Rhine, a host of pretty towns and lovely villages built on the very edge of the river and mirroring their gables, church-spires, and house-fronts in the water. The Loire flows through a great alluvion caused by the floods and called La Sologne. It carries back from it the sand which its waters bear down and which often encumber and obstruct its bed. Hence the frequent risings and inundations in these low plains which thrust back the villages. On the right bank they hide themselves behind the dyke. But there they are almost lost to sight. The wayfarer does not see them.

Nevertheless, the Loire has its beauties. Madame de Staël, banished by Napoleon to fifty leagues’ distance from Paris, learned that on the banks of the Loire, exactly fifty leagues from Paris, there was a _château_ called, I believe, Chaumont. It was thither that she repaired, not wishing to aggravate her exile by a quarter of a league. I do not commiserate her. Chaumont is a dignified and lordly dwelling. The _château_ which must date from the Sixteenth Century, is fine in style; the towers are massive. The village at the foot of the wooded hill presents an aspect perhaps unique on the Loire, the precise aspect of a Rhine village--of a long frontage stretching along the edge of the water.