A Journey from Prince of Wales's Fort in Hudson's Bay to the Northern Ocean in the Years 1769, 1770, 1771, 1772: New Edition with Introduction, Notes, and Illustrations

In Short

This narrative chronicles the three expeditions of an employee of the Hudson’s Bay Company sent to locate a mythical copper mine in the Arctic. Leaving from Prince of Wales’s Fort in 1769, the author faces repeated failures and extreme starvation before successfully reaching the Coppermine River on a third attempt. The book endures not merely as a travelogue of the Northwest, but as a seminal, observant ethnography of the Chipewyan people. Through his accounts of their survival strategies, social customs, and the brutal violence that punctuates their daily lives, the author provides a rare, unflinching look at the human cost of exploration and the stark, demanding realities of life in the subarctic wilderness.

The Story

The narrative begins with a formal departure from Prince of Wales’s Fort in November 1769, a venture sanctioned by the Hudson’s Bay Company to find a source of copper reported by the natives. The author, an employee of the company, initially attempts to traverse the vast northern landscape with a small, ill-equipped crew. This first effort is characterized by poor planning, lack of local support, and a series of desertions that leave him isolated and struggling. He describes the agonizing cycle of walking dozens of miles a day on empty stomachs, relying on sporadic game and the uncertain guidance of leaders who often fail to deliver on their promises of a "plentiful country."

A second journey follows, marked by similar frustration and physical depletion. The author chronicles the misery of being caught in the open in all weather, the humiliation of having to eat raw meat when fuel for fires cannot be found, and the psychological strain of constant hunger. It is only when he aligns himself with a prominent native leader named Matonabbee that the tide turns. Matonabbee provides a crucial critique of the author's previous failures: the lack of women in the party. He explains that without women to manage the domestic labor—pitching tents, repairing clothing, and hauling supplies—a party cannot sustain itself over long distances.

Incorporating this advice, the third journey becomes the centerpiece of the narrative. The author describes a much more organized, though still harrowing, expedition. He documents the complex social landscape of the Chipewyan, including the practice of wrestling for wives, which he views with a mixture of pity and moral detachment. The trek culminates in the arrival at the Coppermine River, where the expedition is overtaken by a horrific event. Matonabbee and the other guides, joined by local Copper Indians, execute a brutal massacre of a group of unsuspecting Inuit. The author remains a bystander, refusing to participate but unable to intervene, documenting the carnage with a detached, clinical observation that stands in sharp contrast to the surrounding natural history.

Following the success of reaching the Northern Ocean, the return journey is less a triumphant march than a grueling, multi-year slog through a landscape of shifting seasons. The narrative concludes with the party traversing the interior, hunting beaver and deer, and navigating the vast Athapuscow Lake. The author’s final reflections are not of personal glory, but of the immense, cold indifference of the northern geography, the intricacies of the indigenous survival methods he has witnessed, and the realization that his own role in this enterprise—while a service to his company—has been a witness to a way of life fundamentally alien to his own.

How It Unfolds

The voyage begins The author leaves the comfort of the fort with high hopes, only to be immediately confronted by deserting guides and the lack of basic sustenance. He documents the initial weeks of travel as a sequence of short, painful movements hampered by heavy loads and the failure of his indigenous companions to navigate to the promised woods.

The shift in strategy Recognizing that his earlier methods are unsustainable, the author accepts the guidance of Matonabbee, a leader who understands the necessity of women to the party’s survival. This transition marks the move from amateurish blundering to the integration of indigenous logistical knowledge, allowing the party to cover significantly more ground.

The discovery of the Coppermine The narrative tracks the slow, methodical crossing of the Barren Grounds, leading finally to the banks of the Coppermine River. The author records the geography and natural history of the region, only to have the sense of achievement shattered by the brutal violence of his companions toward the local inhabitants.

The return and reflection The journey home spans months of further exploration, during which the author observes the seasonal behaviors of beavers, geese, and swans. As his equipment breaks and his instruments fail, the account shifts from precise scientific recording to a more philosophical reflection on the hard-won survival of the people he has accompanied.

The People

Samuel Hearne serves as both narrator and the lens through which the reader experiences the North. His defining trait is his role as a professional outsider—a man of the company, yet fundamentally reliant on the skills and moral frameworks of the people he studies. He remains remarkably consistent in his observational style, shifting from a man of "scientific apparatus" to a survivor who acknowledges that his survival depended entirely on the "niggardly" but ultimately necessary cooperation of his guides.

Matonabbee is the book’s most vital force. He is a pragmatic, commanding leader who bridges the gap between the author’s ignorance and the demands of the wilderness. He acts as a mentor, correcting the author’s assumptions about the necessity of women in the travel party and orchestrating the survival of the group through sheer force of personality. Yet, Matonabbee is also a man of his own culture’s violence, leading the massacre at the Coppermine with a chilling, business-like efficiency. His character represents the harsh, uncompromising nature of the world the author is documenting.

The anonymous women of the party also play a central role, though they are often described by the author through the lens of their utility. He recounts how they are won and lost in wrestling matches and how they bear the brunt of the manual labor, yet he also provides the most detailed account of their essential contributions to the expedition’s continuity. They are the silent, constant engines of the travel, and their presence is the key to the author’s ultimate success.

In Its Own Voice

"When the women are all heavy laden, they can neither hunt nor travel to any considerable distance; and in case they meet with success in hunting, who is to carry the produce of their labour?"

This is the pragmatic, stark assessment from the native leader Matonabbee regarding why the author’s previous attempts to travel without women were doomed to failure.

"The land was so situated that we walked under cover of the rocks and hills till we were within two hundred yards of the tents."

The author describes the tactical, predatory approach taken by his companions as they prepared to attack an unsuspecting group of Inuit.

What It's Really About

At its core, this book is an examination of the collision between the detached, observational gaze of the Enlightenment traveler and the brutal, self-contained reality of a pre-industrial frontier. The author writes from a position of profound cultural displacement, attempting to translate the logic of survival into the language of geography and trade. The recurring tension between the company’s desire for exploitable resources—copper, furs, and passage—and the actual, daily struggle to find enough food to exist highlights the disconnect between corporate ambition and the reality of the landscape. The book questions whether it is even possible for an outsider to truly comprehend a way of life that is defined by constant movement, rigid social hierarchies, and a total reliance on the natural cycle of the deer. Ultimately, it argues that the "civilized" world’s understanding of the North is based on fragments, guesswork, and the sheer grit of the people who call it home.

Why Read It Today

This book is essential for those who appreciate a narrative that refuses to romanticize the hardships of the past. There is a raw, unvarnished honesty in the way the author describes the sensory reality of his journey: the stench of a musk-ox, the taste of raw fish, and the sight of an ermine in the snow. To read it today is to step into a world that is fundamentally stripped of modern convenience, where a single broken instrument can render a man lost in a landscape of thousands of miles.

The reader should be prepared for the author’s period-typical attitudes. He expresses a detached, often clinical view of the violence he witnesses—including the treatment of women—which may be jarring to contemporary sensibilities. He does not sugarcoat the behavior of his guides, nor does he attempt to frame them through the lens of noble savagery; he presents them as they were. This makes for a challenging read, but it also creates a sense of historical accuracy that is rare in accounts of this era.

The prose itself is remarkably clear, marked by the precision of a man who spent his life writing reports, yet capable of sudden, evocative descriptions of the natural world. If you are interested in the history of the Canadian Northwest, the realities of indigenous survival, or simply an extraordinary tale of endurance, you will find this work gripping. It stays with you not just for the accomplishment of reaching the Arctic, but for the author’s admission of his own limitations and his quiet, enduring respect for the people who navigated the void when he could not.