I had come to seek adventure in a remarkable land of endless forests and summer icebergs. But when the topmost sails of the Prince Rupert disappeared beyond the horizon of Hudson Bay that September day of 1784, I think I was the loneliest boy in the entire world. All the exciting stories I had read in London about fantastic creatures in the Canadian wilderness and the strange ways of the native peoples stirred little interest as the only prospect of my return to England faded in the distance and would not be seen again for an entire year. But what I had first thought would be a life of eternal exile to these dark and mysterious northlands was truly the beginning of a grand adventure for which I had so long dreamed.
I was born in London on April 30, 1770 and was joined by a brother, John, a year later. Our father died when I was just two years old, however, which left our mother in very difficult circumstances. My earliest memories are of exploring the grassy banks along the city's Thames River. When I was seven I was sent to Westminster's Greycoat Charity School for orphans and needy children. The teachers at the school were strict but loving and opened to me curious new realms through my classes in science and geography. I also read a great deal and especially enjoyed adventure stories like Gulliver's Travels and Robinson Crusoe.
Because I liked working with numbers, one of my teachers encouraged my studies in mathematics and navigation in order to prepare for a career in the Royal Navy. However, at the time I finished school in 1783, the war with the Colonies had just ended and the military was no longer in need of enlistments. The following year, therefore, I was apprenticed for seven years to the Hudson's Bay Company that operated a fur trading network across Canada. In July of 1784, I said goodbye to my family and set off on the two-month voyage to Fort Churchill on the western shore of Hudson Bay. Those first lonely days at the fort were soon overcome by the demands of my new responsibilities.
