thing of poetry and sentiment. It is a bit of feudal life in the wilderness. The fort is the duke's castle; the other posts the dependent baronies; the leaders of trapping parties the chiefs who sally forth to do battle for their lord. Every summer, when the season is at its height, the fortress gates are opened to receive, not the array of knights in armor, but the brigade of gay and happy trappers home from the mountains with the year's harvest of furs. It is like the return of the conquering heroes. It does not need a bugle at the gates to announce the arrival. A courier has been sent in advance to give notice. When within two miles of the fort, the song of the boatmen can be distinctly heard, keeping time to the oars bright flashing like Toledo blades. The company's flag waves proudly from the tall staff. Everybody is eager and excited, from the servants to the grand master himself, who stands at the landing with the rest. Presently the boats sweep round the last point into full view. The number depends on the success of the year's traffic; there may be twenty-five, or less; and each can carry fifteen or twenty tons. Down they come with the current, in perfect order, amidst shouting and cheering from the shore, every voyageur in gala dress, ribbons fluttering from Canadian caps, and deerskin suits ornamented with beads and fringes.
The arrival of the brigade was the great event of the year at Fort Vancouver, and as we have noticed before, the occasion when McLoughlin relaxed his abstemious rule, and drank a glass of wine to open the festivities, which were expected to last twenty-four hours, and during which everybody did as he pleased. There was in the gentlemen's dining-hall a grand dinner on such occasions, at which jollity, anecdote, and wit enlivened the table more than the red wine that was drunk. [1]
Another picturesque feature of this early Hudson's
- ↑ Applegate's Views, MS., 17.
