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Other Explorers on the Bay
Little Denmark, whose conquering Vikings on their
'sea horses' had scoured the coasts of Europe, now comes on the
scene. Hudson, an Englishman, had discovered the Bay, but the port
of Churchill, later to become an important post of the fur trade,
was discovered by Jens Munck, the Dane. In the autumn of 1619 Munck
came across the Bay with two vessels—the Unicorn, a warship with sea
horses on its carved prow, and the Lamprey, a companion
sloop—scudding before an equinoctial squall. Through a hurricane of
sleet he saw what appeared to be an inlet between breakers lashing
against the rocky west shore. Steering the Unicorn for the opening,
he found himself in a land-locked haven, protected from the tidal
bore by a ridge of sunken rock. The Lamprey had fallen behind, but
fires of driftwood built on the shore guided her into the harbor,
and Munck constructed an ice-break round the keels of his ships.
Piles of rocks sunk as a coffer-dam protected the boats from the
indrive of tidal ice; and the Danes prepared to winter in the new
harbor. To-day there are no forests within miles of Churchill, but
at that time pine woods crowded to the water's edge, and the crews
laid up a great store of firewood. With rocks, they built fireplaces
on the decks—a paltry protection against the northern cold. Later
explorers wintering at Churchill boarded up their decks completely
and against the boarding banked snow, but this method of preparation
against an Arctic winter was evidently unknown to the Danes.
By November every glass vessel on the ships had been broken to
splinters by the frost. In the lurid mock suns and mock moons of the
frost fog the superstitious sailors fancied that they saw the
ominous sign of the Cross, portending disaster. One of the surgeons
died of exposure, and within a month all the crew were prostrate
with scurvy. With the exception, perhaps, of Bering's voyage a
hundred years later, the record of Munck's wintering is one of the
most lamentable in all American exploration. 'Died this day my
Nephew, Eric Munck,' wrote the captain on April 1 of 1620, 'and was
buried in the same grave as my second mate. Great difficulty to get
coffins made. May 6—The bodies of the dead lie uncovered because
none of us has strength to bury them.'
By June the ships had become charnel-houses. Two men only, besides
Munck, had survived the winter. When the ice went out with a rush
and a grinding, and the ebb tide left the flats bare, wolves came
nightly, sniffing the air and prowling round the ships' exposed
keels. 'As I have no more hope of life in this world,' wrote Jens
Munck, 'herewith good-night to all the world and my soul to God.'
His two companions had managed to crawl down the ship's ladder and
across the flats, where they fell ravenously on the green sprouting
sorrel grass and sea nettles. As all northerners know, they could
have eaten nothing better for scurvy. Forthwith their malady was
allayed. In a few days they came back for their commander. By June
26 all three had recovered.
The putrid dead were thrown into the river. Ballast and cargo were
then cast out. It thus happened that when the tide came in, the
little sloop Lamprey lifted and floated out to sea. Munck had
drilled holes in the hull of the Unicorn and sunk her with all her
freight till he could come back with an adequate crew; but he never
returned. War broke out in Europe, and Munck went to his place in
the Danish Navy.
Meanwhile Indians had come down to what they henceforth called the
River of the Strangers. When the tide went out they mounted the
Unicorn and plundered her of all the water-soaked cargo. In the
cargo were quantities of powder. A fire was kindled to dry the
booty. At once a consuming flame shot into the air, followed by a
terrific explosion; and when the smoke cleared neither plunder nor
plunderers nor ship remained. Eighty years afterwards the fur
traders dug from these river flats a sunken cannon stamped C
4—Christian IV—and thus established the identity of Munck's winter
quarters as Churchill harbor.
Munck was not the last soldier of fortune to essay passage to China
through the ice-bound North Sea. Captain Fox of Hull and Captain
James of Bristol came out in 1631 on separate expeditions,
'itching,' as Fox expressed it, to find the North-West Passage.
Private individuals had fitted out both expeditions. Fox claimed the
immediate patronage of the king; James came out under the auspices
of the city of Bristol. Sailing the same week, they did not again
meet till they were south of Port Nelson in the autumn, when Fox
dined with James and chaffed him about his hopes to 'meet the
Emperor of Japan.' But there was no need of rivalry; both went back
disappointed men. James wintered on Charlton Island, and towards the
end of 1632, after a summer's futile cruising, returned to England
with a terrible tale of bootless suffering.
While England sought a short route to China by Hudson Bay, and
the Spaniards were still hoping to find a way to the orient by the Gulf of
Mexico and California, New France had been founded, and, as we may learn from
other narratives in this series, her explorers had not been idle.
In the year 1660 two French pathfinders and fur traders, Medard Chouart des
Groseilliers and Pierre Esprit Radisson, men of Three Rivers, came back from the
region west of Lake Superior telling wondrous tales of a tribe of Indians they
had met—a Cree nation that passed each summer on the salt waters of the Sea of
the North. The two fur traders were related, Radisson's sister having married
Groseilliers, who was a veteran of one of the Jesuit missions on Lake Huron.
Radisson himself, although the hero of many exploits, was not yet twenty-six
years of age. Did that Sea of the North of which they had heard find western
outlet by the long-sought passage? So ran rumor and conjecture concerning the
two explorers in Three Rivers and Quebec; but Radisson himself writes: 'We
considered whether to reveal what we had learned, for we had not yet been to the
Bay of the North, knowing only what the Crees told us. We wished to discover it
ourselves before revealing anything.'
In the execution of their bold design to journey to the North Sea, Radisson and
Groseilliers had to meet the opposition of the Jesuits and the governor—the two
most powerful influences in New France. The Jesuits were themselves preparing
for an expedition overland to Hudson Bay and had invited Radisson to join their
company going by way of the Saguenay; but he declined, and they left without
him. In June 1661 the Jesuits—Fathers Dreuilletes and Dablon—ascended the
Saguenay, but they penetrated no farther than a short distance north of Lake St
John, where they established a mission.
The fur trade of New France was strictly regulated, and severe
punishments were meted out to those who traded without a license. Radisson and
Groseilliers made formal application to the governor for permission to trade on
the Sea of the North. The governor's answer was that he would give the explorers
a license if they would take with them two of his servants and give them half
the profits of the undertaking. The two explorers were not content with this
proposal and were forbidden to depart; but in defiance of the governor's orders
they slipped out from the gates of Three Rivers by night and joined a band of
Indians bound for the northern wilds.
The two Frenchmen spent the summer and winter of 1661-62 in hunting with the
Crees west of Lake Superior, where they met another tribe of Indians—the Stone
Boilers, or Assiniboines—who also told them of the great salt water, or Sea of
the North. In the spring of 1662, with some Crees of the hinterland, they set
out in canoes down one of the rivers—Moose or Abitibi—leading to Hudson Bay.
Radisson had sprained his ankle; and the long portages by the banks of the
ice-laden, rain-swollen rivers were terrible. The rocks were slippery as glass
with ice and moss. The forests of this region are full of dank heavy windfall
that obstructs the streams and causes an endless succession of swamps. In these
the paddlers had to wade to mid-waist, 'tracking' their canoes through perilous
passage-way, where the rip of an upturned branch might tear the birch from the
bottom of the canoe. When the swamps finally narrowed to swift rivers, blankets
were hoisted as sails, and the brigade of canoes swept out to the sandy sea of
Hudson Bay. 'We were in danger to perish a thousand times from the ice,'
Radisson writes, 'but at last we came full sail from a deep bay to the seaside,
where we found an old house all demolished and battered with bullets. The Crees
told us about Europeans. We went from isle to isle all that summer in the Bay of
the North. We passed the summer coasting the seaside.'
Had Radisson found Hudson Bay? Some historians dispute his claims; but even if
his assertion that he sailed 'from isle to isle' during the summer of 1662 be
challenged, the fact that his companion, Groseilliers, knew enough of the Bay to
enable him six years later to guide a ship round by sea to 'a rendezvous' on the
Rupert river must be accepted.
The only immediate results of the discovery to Radisson and
Groseilliers were condign punishment, disgrace, and almost utter ruin. When they
came back to the St Lawrence in the summer of 1663 with several hundred Indians
and a flotilla of canoes swarming over the surface of the river below the
heights of Quebec, and conveying a great cargo of beaver skins, the avaricious
old governor affected furious rage because the two traders had broken the law by
going to the woods without his permission. The explorers were heavily fined, and
a large quantity of their beaver was seized to satisfy the revenue tax. Of the
immense cargo brought down, Radisson and Groseilliers were permitted to keep
only a small remainder.
Groseilliers sailed for France to appeal to the home authorities for redress,
but the friends of the governor at the French court proved too strong for him
and nothing was done. He then tried to interest merchants of Rochelle in an
expedition to Hudson Bay by sea, and from one of them he obtained a vague
promise of a ship for the following year. It was agreed that in the following
spring Radisson and Groseilliers should join this ship at Isle Percé at the
mouth of the St Lawrence. So it happened that, in the spring of 1664, the two
explorers, having returned to Three Rivers, secretly took passage in a fishing
schooner bound for Anticosti, whence they went south to Isle Percé to meet the
ship they expected from Rochelle. But again they were to be disappointed; a
Jesuit just out from France informed them that no ship would come. What now
should the explorers do? They could not go back to Three Rivers, for their
attempt to make another journey without a license rendered them liable to
punishment. They went to Cape Breton, and from there to the English at Port
Royal in Nova Scotia.
At Port Royal they found a Boston captain, Zachariah Gillam, who plied in
vessels to and fro from the American Plantations to England. Gillam offered his
vessel for a voyage to Hudson Bay; but the season was late, and when the vessel
reached the rocky walls of Labrador the captain lost heart and refused to enter
the driving straits. The ship returned and landed the explorers in Boston. They
then clubbed the last of their fortunes together and entered into an agreement
with ship owners of Boston to take two ships to Hudson Bay on their own account
in the following spring. But, while fishing to obtain provisions for the voyage,
one of the vessels was wrecked, and, instead of sailing for the North Sea,
Radisson and Groseilliers found themselves in Boston involved in a lawsuit for
the value of the lost ship. When they emerged from this they were destitute.
This site includes some historical materials that
may imply negative stereotypes reflecting the culture or language of
a particular period or place. These items are presented as part of
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Chronicles of Canada, The Adventurers Of England
On Hudson Bay, A Chronicle of the Fur Trade in the North, By Agnes
C. Laut, Toronto, Glasgow, Brook & Company, 1914
Chronicles of Canada |