THE LAKES AND THE YUKON TO FORTY MILE.
Upon reaching Lake Lindeman, we found a number of other parties
encamped,--men who had come over the trail before us, and had been
delaying a short time, for different reasons. From one of these parties
Pete had been lucky enough to buy a boat already built, so that we
did not have to wait and build one ourselves--a job that would have
consumed a couple of weeks. The boat was after the dory pattern, but
sharp at both ends, made of spruce, lap-streaked and unpainted, with
the seams calked and pitched; about eighteen feet long, and uncovered.
During the trip later we decided that it ought to be christened, and
so we mixed some soot and bacon-grease for paint, applied it hot
to the raw, porous wood, and inscribed in shaky letters the words
"_Skookum Pete_," as a compliment to our pilot. _Skookum_ is a Chinook
word signifying strength, courage, and other excellent qualities
necessary for a native, a frontiersman, or any other dweller in the
wilderness--qualities which were conspicuous in Pete. Pete was overcome
with shame on reading the legend, however, and straightway erased
his name, so that she was simply the SKOOKUM. And skookum she proved
herself, in the two thousand miles we afterwards travelled, even though
she sprung a leak occasionally or became obstinate when being urged up
over a rapid.
It may be observed that the Chinook, to which this word belongs, is
not a language, but a jargon, composed of words from many native
American and also from many European tongues. It sprung up as a sort
of universal language, which was used by the traders of the Hudson Bay
Company in their intercourse with the natives, and is consequently
widely known, but is poor in vocabulary and expression.
There were several boats ready to start, craft of all models and grades
of workmanship, variously illustrating the efforts of the cowboy, the
clerk, or the lawyer, at ship-carpentry. Several of us got off together
in the morning, our boat carrying four, and the English traveller's
boat the same number, for he had taken into his party the priest whom
we had met on the Scrambler.
This gentleman, with a number of miners and a newspaper reporter, had
been unlucky enough to fall into the trap of a certain transportation
company, which had a very prettily furnished office in Seattle. This
office was the big end of the company. As one went north towards the
region where the company was supposed to be doing its transportation,
it shrunk till nothing was left but a swindle. They promised for a
certain sum of money to transport supplies and outfits over the Pass,
and to have the entire expedition in charge of an experienced man, who
would relieve one of all worry and bother; and after transportation
across the Pass, to put their passengers on the COMPANY'S steamers,
which would carry them to the gold fields. Even at Juneau the
"experienced man" who was to take the party through, and who was a high
officer of the company, kept up the ridiculous pretences and succeeded
in obtaining a number of passengers for the trip. When these men
learned later, however, that the guide had never yet been further than
Juneau; that he had no means of transporting freight over the Pass;
that the steamers existed only in fancy; and finally, when opportunity
to hire help offered, that the leader had no funds, so that they were
obliged to do all the work themselves, in order to move along: when
they learned all this they were naturally a disgusted set of men,
but having now given away their money, most of them decided to stick
together till the diggings were reached. The priest, however, who was
in a hurry, became nervous when he saw different parties leaving the
rapid and elegant transportation company in the rear, and effected a
separation.
When we left Sheep Camp, the manager was trying to cajole his
passengers into carrying their own packs to the summit, even going so
far as to take little loads himself--"just for exercise," as he airily
informed us. He was an Englishman, of aristocratic tendencies, with an
awe-inspiring acquaintance with titles. "You know Lord Dudson Dudley,
of course," he would begin, fixing one with his eye as if to hypnotize;
"his sister, you remember, made such a row by her flirtation with Sir
Jekson Jekby.--Never heard of them?--Humph!" And then with a look
which seemed to say "What kind of a blarsted Philistine is this?" he
would retreat to his own camp-fire.
We sailed down Lake Lindeman with a fair brisk wind, using our tent-fly
braced against a pole, for a sail. The distance is only four or five
miles, so that the lower end of the lake was reached in an hour.
A mountain sheep was sighted on the hillside above us, soon after
starting, and a long-range shot with the rifle was tried at it, but the
animal bounded away.
At the lower end of this first of the Yukon navigable lakes there is
a stream, full of little falls and rapids, which connects with Lake
Bennett, a much larger body of water. According to Pete, the boat could
not run these rapids, so we began the task of "lining" her down. With
a long pole shod with iron, especially brought along for such work,
Pete stood in the bow or stern, as the emergency called for, planting
the pole on the rocks which stuck out of the water and so shoving and
steering the boat through an open narrow channel, while we three held a
long line and scrambled along the bank or waded in the shallow water.
We had put on long rubber boots reaching to the hip and strapped to
our belts, so at first our wading was not uncomfortable. On account
of the roar of the water we could not hear Pete's orders, but could
see his signals to "haul in," or "let her go ahead." On one difficult
little place he manoeuvered quite a while, getting stuck on a rock,
signalling us to pull back, and then trying again. Finally he struck
the right channel, and motioned energetically to us to go ahead. We
spurted forward, waddling clumsily, and the foremost man stepped
suddenly into a groove where the water was above his waist. Ugh! It was
icy, but he floundered through, half swimming, half wading, dragging
his great water-filled boots behind him like iron weights; and the rest
followed. We felt quite triumphant and heroic when we emerged, deeming
this something of a trial: we did not know that the time would come
when it would be the ordinary thing all day long, and would become so
monotonous that all feelings of novelty would be lost in a general
neutral tint of bad temper and rheumatism.
On reaching shallow water the weight of the water-filled rubber boots
was so great that we could no longer navigate among the slippery
rocks, so we took turns going-ashore and emptying them. There was a
smooth round rock with steep sides, glaring in the sun; on this we
stretched ourselves head down, so that the water ran out of our boots
and trickled in cold little streams down our backs; then we returned to
our work.
Before undertaking to line the Skookum through the rapids we had taken
out a large part of the load and put it on shore, in order to lighten
the boat, and also to save our "grub" in case our boat was capsized.
The next task was to carry this over the half-mile portage. Packing
is about the hardest and most disliked work that a pioneer has to do,
and yet every one that travels hard and well in Alaska and similar
rough countries must do it _ad nauseam_. In such remote and unfinished
parts of the world transportation comes back to the original and simple
phase,--carrying on one's back. The railroad and the steamboat are for
civilization, the wheeled vehicle for the inhabited land where there
are roads, the camel for the desert, the horse for the plains and where
trails have been cut, but for a large part of Alaska Nature's only
highways are the rivers, and when the water will not carry the burdens
the explorer must.
In a properly-constructed pack-sack, the weight is carried partly by
the shoulders but mainly by the neck, the back being bent and the
neck stretched forward till the load rests upon the back and is kept
from slipping by the head strap, which is nearly in line with the
rigid neck. An astonishing amount can be carried in this way with
practice,--for half a mile or so, very nearly one's own weight. Getting
up and down with such a load is a work of art, which spoils the temper
and wrenches the muscles of the beginner. Having got into the strap he
finds himself pinned to the ground in spite of his backbone-breaking
efforts to rise, so he must learn to so sit down in the beginning that
he can tilt the load forward on his back, get on his hands and knees
and then elevate himself to the necessary standing-stooping posture;
or he must lie down flat and roll over on his face, getting his load
fairly between his shoulders, and then work himself up to his hands and
knees as before. Sometimes, if the load is heavy, the help of another
must be had to get an upright position, and then the packer goes
trudging off, red and sweating and with bulging veins.
By the time we had carried our outfits over the portage, we were ready
for supper, and after that for a sleep. We pitched no tent--we were
too tired, and the blue sky and the still shining sun looked very
friendly--so we rolled in our blankets and slumbered.
There were other craft than ours at Lake Bennett,--belonging to parties
who had come over before us, and who had not yet started. The most
astonishing thing was a small portable sawmill, which had been pulled
across the Chilkoot Pass in the winter, over the snow and ice; and the
limited means of communication in this country are well shown by the
fact that no news of any such mill was to be had anywhere along the
route. Men went over the Chilkoot Pass into the interior, but rarely
any came back that way.
Among the gold hunters was a solitary Dutchman, a pathetic, desperate,
mild-mannered sort of an adventurer, who had built himself a boat like
a wood-box in model and construction, square, lop-sided, and leaky;
but he started bravely down Lake Bennett, paddling, with a rag of a
square-sail braced against a pole. We pitied, admired, and laughed at
him, but many were the doubts expressed as to whether he could reach
the diggings in his cockle-shell. Then there was a large scow, also
frailly built; this contained several tons of outfit, and a party of
seven or eight men and one woman. They were the parasites of the mining
camp, all ready, with smuggled whisky and faro games--Wein, Weib, und
Gesang--to relieve the miners of some of their gold-dust: and I am told
that the manager of the expedition brought out $100,000 two years later.
We all got away, one after the other. There was a stiff fair wind
blowing down the lake, which soon increased to a gale, and the waves
became very rough. The lake is narrow and fjord-like, walled in by high
mountains which often rise directly from the shores. Lakes like this
all through Alaska are naturally subject to frequent and violent gales,
since the deep mountain valleys form a kind of chimney, up and down
which the currents of air rush to the frosty snowy mountains from the
warmer lowlands, or in the opposite direction. The further we went the
harder the wind blew, and the rougher became the water, so that when
about half-way down we made a landing to escape a heavy squall. After
dinner, it seemed from our snug little cove that the wind had abated,
and we put out again. On getting well away from the sheltering shore we
found it rougher than ever; but while we were at dinner we had seen the
scow go past, its square bow nearly buried in foaming water, and had
seen it apparently run ashore on the opposite side of the lake, some
miles further down. Once out, therefore, we steered for the place where
the scow had been beached, for the purpose of giving aid if any were
necessary. On the run over we shipped water repeatedly over both bow
and stern, and sometimes were in imminent danger of swamping, but by
skillful managing we gained the shelter of a little nook about half a
mile from the open beach where the scow was lying, and landed. We then
walked along the shore to the scow, and found its passengers all right,
they having beached voluntarily, on account of the roughness of the
water.
However, we had had enough navigation for one day, so we did not
venture out again. Presently another little boat came scudding down
the lake through the white, frothy water, and shot in alongside the
Skookum. It was a party of miners--the young Irishman whom I had
overtaken on the trail to Sheep Camp, and his three "pardners."
It was not an ideal spot where we all camped, being simply a steep
rocky slope at the foot of cliffs. When the time came to sleep we had
difficulty in finding places smooth enough to lie down comfortably, but
finally all were scattered around here and there in various places of
concealment among the rocks. I had cleared a space close under a big
boulder, of exactly my length and breadth (which does not imply any
great labor), and with my head muffled in the blankets, was beginning
to doze, when I heard stealthy footsteps creeping toward me. As I
lay, these sounds were muffled and magnified in the marvellous quiet
of the Alaskan night (although the sun was still shining), so that I
could not judge of the size and the distance of the animal. Soon it
got quite close to me, and I could hear it scratching at something;
then it seemed to be investigating my matches, knife and compass.
Finally, wide-awake, and somewhat startled, I sat up suddenly and
threw my blanket from my face, and looked for the marauding animal. I
found him--in the shape of a saucy little grey mouse, that stared at
me in amazement for a moment, and then scampered into his hole under
the boulder. As I had no desire to have the impudent little fellow
lunching on me while I slept, I plugged the hole with stones before
I lay down again. Some of the same animals came to visit Schrader in
his bedchamber, and nibbled his ears so that they were sore for some
time.[1]
As the gale continued all the next day without abatement, we
profited by the enforced delay to climb the high mountain which rose
precipitously above us. And apropos of this climb, it is remarkable
what difference one finds in the appearance of a bit of country when
simply surveyed from a single point and when actually travelled over.
Especially is this true in mountains. Broad slopes which appear to be
perfectly easy to traverse are in reality cut up by narrow and deep
canyons, almost impossible to cross; what seems to be a trifling bench
of rock, half a mile up the mountain, grows into a perpendicular cliff
a hundred feet high before one reaches it; and pretty grey streaks
become gulches filled with great angular rock fragments, so loosely
laid one over the other that at each careful step one is in fear of
starting a mighty avalanche, and of being buried under rock enough to
build a city.
Owing to difficulties like these it was near supper-time when we gained
the top of the main mountain range. As far as the eye could see in
all directions, there rose a wilderness of barren peaks, covered with
snow; while in one direction lay a desolate, lifeless table-land,
shut in by high mountains. Below and near us lay gulches and canyons
of magnificent depth, and the blue waters of one of the arms of Lake
Bennett appeared, just lately free from ice. Above, rose a still higher
peak, steep, difficult of access, and covered with snow; this the
lateness of the hour prevented us from attempting to climb.
Next day and the next the wind was as high as ever; but the waiting
finally became too tedious, and we started out, the four miners
having preceded us by a half an hour. Once out of the shelter of
the projecting point, we found the gale very strong and the chop
disagreeable. We squared off and ran before the wind for the opposite
side of the lake, driving ahead at a good rate under our little rag
of a sail. Although the boat was balanced as evenly as possible,
every minute or two we would take in water, sometimes over the bow,
sometimes in the stern, sometimes amidships. I have in my mind a very
vivid picture of that scene: Wiborg in the stern, steering intently and
carefully; Goodrich and Schrader forward, sheets in hand, attending to
the sail; and myself stretched flat on my face, in order not to make
the boat top-heavy, and bailing out the water with a frying-pan. On
nearing the lower shore we noticed that the boat containing the miners
had run into the breakers, and presently one of the men came running
along the beach, signaling to us. Fearing that they were in trouble,
we made shift to land, although it was no easy matter on this exposed
shore; and we then learned that they had kept too near the beach, had
drifted into the breakers and had been swamped, but had all safely
landed. Three of our party went to give assistance in hauling their
boat out of the water, while I remained behind to fry the bacon for
dinner.
After dinner we concluded to wait again before attempting the next
stage; so we picked out soft places in the sand and slumbered. When we
awoke we found the lake perfectly smooth and calm, and lost no time in
getting under way. On this day we depended for our motive power solely
on our oars, and we found the results so satisfactory that we kept up
the practice hundreds of miles.
Below Lake Bennett came Tagish Lake, beautiful and calm. Its largest
fjord-like arm is famous for its heavy gales, whence it has been
given the name of "Windy Arm"; but as we passed it we could hardly
distinguish the line of division between the mountains in the air and
those reflected in the lake, so completely at rest was the water. At
the lower part, where we camped, we found the first inhabitants since
leaving the coast, natives belonging to the Tagish tribe. They are a
handful of wretched, half-starved creatures, who scatter in the summer
season for hunting and fishing, but always return to this place, where
they have constructed rude wooden habitations for winter use. We bought
here a large pike, which formed an agreeable change from bacons, beans,
and slapjacks.
While camped at this place we met an old man and his two sons, who had
brought horses into the country some months before, with some crazy
idea of taking up land for farming purposes, or of getting gold. The
old man had been taken sick, and all three were now on their way out,
having abandoned their horses on the Hootalinqua. All three were thin
and worn, and agreed if they ever got out of the country they would not
come back. The old man begged for a little tea, which we supplied him,
together with a few other things; he insisted on our taking pay for
them, with the pathetic pride of a man broken in health and fortune,
but we understood the pioneer custom well enough to know we should give
no offence by refusing.
After passing out of this lake we entered another, appropriately
called by the miners "Mud Lake"; it is very shallow, with muddy bottom
and shores. Here we found camping disagreeable, for on account of the
shallowness we could not bring our heavily laden boat quite to the
shore, but were obliged to wade knee deep in soft mud for a rod or two
before finding even moderately solid ground.
About this time we experienced the first sharp taste of the terrible
Alaskan mosquito--or it might be more correct to reverse the statement,
and say that the mosquitoes had their first taste of us. At the lower
end of Tagish Lake they suddenly attacked us in swarms, and remained
with us steadily until near the time of our departure from the
Territory. We had heard several times of the various hardships to be
encountered in Alaska, but, as is often the case, we found that these
accounts had left a rather unduly magnified image of the difficulties
in our imaginations, as compared with our actual experiences. In this
generalization the mosquito must be excepted. I do not think that any
description or adjective can exaggerate the discomfort and even torture
produced by these pests, at their worst, for they stand peerless among
their kind, so far as my experience goes, and that of others with whom
I have spoken, for wickedness unalloyed.
We were driven nearly frantic when they attacked us and quickly donned
veils of netting, fastened around the hat and buttoned into the shirt,
and gauntleted cavalry gloves; but still the heat of rowing and the
warmth of the sun made the stings smart till we could hardly bear it.
From time to time I glanced at Pete, who sat in the stern, steering
with a paddle, his face and hands unprotected, his hat pushed back,
trolling his favorite song.
"And none was left to tell me, Tom,
And few was left to know
Who played upon the village green,
Just twenty year ago!"
I admired him beyond expression. "How long," thought I, "does one have
to stay in Alaska before one gets so indifferent to mosquitoes as this?
Or is it simply the phlegm of the Norwegian--magnificent in mosquito
time?" Just then Pete broke in his song and began a refrain of curses
in Norwegian and English and some other languages--all apropos of
mosquitoes. He averred emphatically that never--no, never--had he seen
mosquitoes quite so disagreeable. This lasted about five minutes; then
he settled down to a calm again. I perceived that men's tempers may be
something like geysers--some keep bubbling hot water continually, while
others, like Pete's, keep quiet for a while and then explode violently.
It seems strange to many that a country like Alaska, sub-Arctic in
climate, should be so burdened with a pest which we generally associate
with hot weather and tropical swamps. But the long warm days of summer
in these high latitudes seem to be extraordinarily favorable to all
kinds of insect life--mosquitoes, gnats, and flies--which harbor in the
moss and dense underbrush. Other countries similarly situated, such as
the region between the Gulf of Bothnia and the Arctic Ocean--Northern
Finland--which is north of the Arctic Circle, are also pestered with
mosquitoes during the summer months.
In Alaska the mosquitoes are so numerous that they occupy a large part
of men's attention, and form the subject for much conversation as long
as they remain--and they are astonishing stayers, appearing before the
snow is gone and not leaving until the nights grow comparatively long
and frosty. They flourish as well in cool weather as in hot, thawing
cheerfully out after a heavy frost and getting to work as if to make
up for lost time. We were able to distinguish at least three species:
a large one like those met at the seaside resorts, which buzzes and
buzzes and buzzes; then a smaller one that buzzes a little but also
bites ferociously; and, worst of all, little striped fellows who go
about in great crowds. These last never stop to buzz, but come straight
for the intruder on a bee-line, stinging him almost before they reach
him--and their sting is particularly irritating. Many stories have
been told of the mosquitoes in Alaska; one traveller tells how bears
are sometimes killed by these pests, though this story is probably an
exaggeration. But men who are travelling must have veils and gloves as
protection against them. Even the natives wrap their heads in skins or
cloth, and are overjoyed at any little piece of mosquito-netting they
can get hold of. With the best protection, however, one cannot help
being tormented and worn out.
We always slept with gloves and veils on, and with our heads wrapped as
tightly as possible, yet the insects would crawl through the crevices
of the blankets and sting through the clothes, or where the veil
pressed against the face,--not one, but hundreds--so that one slept but
fitfully and woke to find his face bloody and smarting, and would at
once make for the cold river water, bathing hands and face to relieve
the pain, and dreading to keep his veil up long enough to gobble his
breakfast.
The climate of this interior country is dry, and the rains infrequent.
We worked so long during the day that we seldom took the trouble
to pitch a tent at night, but lay down with our backs against some
convenient log, so that the mosquitoes had a good chance at us. Even in
the day, when protected by veil and gloves, I have been so irritated
by them as to run until breathless to relieve my excitement, and I can
readily believe, as has been told, that a man lost in the underbrush
without protection, would very soon lose his reason and his life. As
soon as the country is cleared up or burned over, the scourge becomes
much less, so that in the mining camps the annoyance is comparatively
slight. Mosquitoes are popularly supposed to seek and feed upon men,
while the reverse is true. They avoid men, swarming most in thick
underbrush and swamps which are difficult of access, and disappearing
almost entirely as soon as the axe and the plow and other implements in
the hands of man invade their solitudes.
Out of Mud Lake we floated into the river again, and slipped easily
down between the sandbanks. Ducks and geese were plentiful along here,
and we practised incessantly on them with the rifle, without, however,
doing any noticeable execution. On the second day we knew we must be
near the famous canyon of the Lewes; and one of our party was put on
watch, in order that we might know its whereabouts before the swift
current should sweep us into it, all heavily laden as we were. The rest
of us rowed and steered, and admired the beautiful tints of the hills,
which now receded from the river, now came close to it. Presently we
heard a gentle snore from the lookout who was comfortably settled among
the flour sacks in the bow; this proved to us that our confidence had
been misplaced, and all hands became immediately alert. Soon after, we
noticed a bit of red flannel fluttering from a tree projecting over
the bank, doubtless a part of some traveller's shirt sacrificed in the
cause of humanity; and by the time we had pulled in to the shore we
could see the waters of the river go swirling and roaring into a sudden
narrow canyon with high, perpendicular walls.
We found the parties of miners already landed, and presently, as we
waited on the bank and reconnoitered, Danlon's party came up, and not
long after, the barge, so that we were about twenty in all. Wiborg, and
Danlon's guide, Cooper, were the only ones that had had experience in
this matter, so all depended on their judgment, and waited to see the
results of their efforts before risking anything themselves.
In former years all travellers made a portage around this very
difficult place, hauling their boats over the hill with a rude sort of
a windlass; but a man having been accidentally sucked into the canyon
came out of the other end all right, which emboldened others. In this
case Wiborg and Cooper decided that the canyon could be run, although
the water was very high and turbulent; and they thought best to run the
boats through themselves. Our own boat was selected to be experimented
with; most of the articles that were easily damageable by water were
taken out, leaving perhaps about eight hundred pounds. I went as
passenger sitting in the bow, while the two old frontiersmen managed
paddles and oars. Rowing out from the shore we were immediately sucked
into the gorge, and went dashing through at a rate which I thought
could not be less than twenty miles an hour. So great is the body of
water confined between these perpendicular walls, and so swift is the
stream, that its surface becomes convex, being considerably higher in
the centre of the channel than on the sides. Waves rushing in every
direction are also generated, forming a puzzling chop. Two or three of
these waves presently boarded us, so that I was thoroughly wet, and
then came a broad glare of sunlight as we emerged from the first half
of the canyon into a sort of cauldron which lies about in its centre.
Here we were twisted about by eddying currents for a few seconds, and
then precipitated half sidewise into the canyon again. The latter half
turned out to be the rougher part, and our bow dipped repeatedly into
the waves, till I found myself sitting in water, and the bow, where
most of the water remained, sagged alarmingly. It seemed as if another
ducking would sink us. This fortunately we did not get, but steered
safely through the final swirl to smooth water. During all this trip I
had not looked up once, although as we shot by we heard faintly a cheer
from the rocks above, where our companions were.
Next day, after a night made almost unbearable by mosquitoes, we rose
to face the difficulties of White Horse Rapids, which lie below the
canyon proper, and are still more formidable. Here the river contracts
again, and is confined between perpendicular walls of basalt. The
channel is full of projecting rocks, so that the whole surface is
broken, and there are many strong conflicting currents and eddies.
At the end of these rapids, which extend for a quarter of a mile or
so, is a narrow gorge in the rocks, through which the whole volume of
water is forced. This is said to be only twenty or thirty feet wide,
although at the time of our passing the water was sufficiently high to
flow over the top of the enclosing walls, thus concealing the actual
width of the chute. Through this the water plunges at a tremendous
velocity--probably thirty miles an hour--forming roaring, foaming,
tossing, lashing waves which somehow make the name White Horse seem
appropriate.
Above the beginning of the rapid we unloaded our boat, and carefully
lowered it down by ropes, keeping it close to the shore, and out of
the resistless main current. After having safely landed it, with
considerable trouble, below the chute, we carried our outfit (about
twelve hundred pounds) to the same point. Danlon's boat and that
belonging to the miners were safely gotten through in the same way, all
hands helping in turn.
When it came to the scow, it was the general opinion that it would be
impossible to lower it safely, for its square shape gave the current
such a grip that it seemed as if no available strength of rope or
man could hold out against it. As carrying the boat was out of the
question, the only alternative was to boldly run it through the
rapids, in the middle of the channel; and this naturally hazardous
undertaking was rendered more difficult by the frail construction of
the scow, which had been built of thin lumber by unskilled hands. The
scow's crew did not care to make the venture themselves, but finally
prevailed upon Wiborg and Cooper to make the trial.
[Illustration: SHOOTING THE WHITE HORSE RAPIDS.]
Reflecting that at any time I might be placed in similar difficulties,
in this unknown country, and thrown upon my own resources, I resolved
to accompany them, for the sake of finding out how the thing was
done; but I was ruled out of active service by Wiborg, who, however,
consented finally to my going along as passenger. Two of the scow's
own crew were drafted to act as oarsmen, and we pushed out, Cooper
steering, and Wiborg in the bow, iron-shod pole in hand, fending off
from threatening rocks; and in a second we were dancing down the
boiling rapids and tossing hither and thither like a cork. I sat facing
the bow, opposite the oarsmen, who tugged frantically away, white as
death; behind me Cooper's paddle flashed and twisted rapidly, as we
dodged by rocks projecting from the water, sometimes escaping only
by a few inches, where a collision would have smashed us to chips.
The rest of the party, waiting below the chute, said that sometimes
they saw only the bottom of the scow, and sometimes looked down upon
it as if from above. As we neared the end, Cooper's skillful paddle
drove us straight for the centre, where the water formed an actual
fall; this central part was the most turbulent, but the safest, for on
either side, a few feet away, there was danger of grazing the shallow
underlying rocks. As we trembled on the brink, I looked up and saw our
friends standing close by, looking much concerned. A moment later there
was a dizzying plunge, a blinding shower of water, a sudden dashing,
too swift for observation, past rock walls, and then Wiborg let out an
exultant yell--we were safe. At that instant one of the oarsmen snapped
his oar, an accident which would have been serious a moment before. On
the shore below the rapids we found flour-sacks, valises, boxes and
splintered boards, mementoes of poor fellows less lucky than ourselves.
We camped at the mouth of the Tahkeena River that night, and arrived
the next day at Lake Labarge, the last and longest of the series.
When we reached it, at one o'clock, the water was calm and smooth;
and although it was nearly forty miles across, we decided to keep on
without stopping till we reached the other side, for fear of strong
winds such as had delayed us on Lake Bennett. Danlon's party concluded
to do the same, and so we rowed steadily all night, after having rowed
all day.
About two o'clock in the morning a favorable wind sprung up suddenly,
and increased to a gale. At this time we became separated from the
other boats, which kept somewhat close to the shore, while we, with our
tiny sail, stood straight across the lake for the outlet. As soon as we
stopped rowing I could not help falling asleep, although much against
my will, for our position was neither comfortable nor secure; and
thus I dozed and woke half a dozen times before landing. On reaching
the shore we found difficulty in sleeping on account of the swarms of
hungry mosquitoes, so we soon loaded up again.
We had got caribou meat from some people whom we passed half-way down
Lake Labarge; and the next day we saw a moose on an island, but the
current swept us by before we could get a shot at him. Large game, on
the whole, however, was very scarce along this route. The weather was
warm and pleasant after leaving Lake Labarge, and there were no serious
obstructions. The swift current bombarded the bottom of the boat with
grains of sand, making a sound like a continual frying. "Look out!"
Pete would say. "The devil is frying his fat for us!" We travelled
easily sixty or eighty miles a day, floating with the current and
rowing.
Danlon's party, which we had lost sight of on Lake Labarge, reached us
a couple of days afterwards, having pulled night and day to catch up.
They were grey and speckled with fatigue and told us of having decided
to leave one boat (they came with only one of the two they had started
in) at Lake Labarge, and also of leaving some of their provisions. They
had unfortunately forgotten to keep any sugar--could we lend them some?
We produced the sugar and smiled knowingly; a few days later we ran
across the solitary Dutchman, who had engineered his wood-box thus far,
and he told us the whole story: how when the boats got near the shore
one was swamped in shallow water, losing most of its cargo, and how the
occupants had to stand in cold water the rest of the night, finally
getting to shore and to rights again. The priest had been naming the
camps after the letters of the Greek alphabet, and the night on Labarge
should have been Camp Rho; and this was appropriate as we rowed nearly
all night.
From here the journey was comparatively easy. The skies were always
clear and blue, and the stream had by this time increased to a lordly
river, growing larger by continual accessions of new tributaries. It is
dotted with many small islands, which are covered with a dense growth
of evergreen trees. On the side of the valley are often long smooth
terraces, perfectly carved and smoothly grassed, so as to present
an almost artificial aspect. From this sort of a country are sudden
changes to a more bold and picturesque type, so at one time the river
flows swiftly through high gates of purple rock rising steeply for
hundreds of feet, and in a few moments more emerges into a wide low
valley. The cliffs are sometimes carved into buttresses or pinnacles,
which overlook the walls, and appear to form part of a gigantic and
impregnable castle, on the top of which the dead spruces stand out
against the sky like spires and flag-staves. Usually on one side or
the other of the river is low fertile land, where grows a profusion of
shrubs and flowers.
In the mellow twilight, which lasts for two or three hours in the
middle of the night, one can see nearly as far and as distinctly as by
day, but everything takes on an unreal air. This is something like a
beautiful sunset effect further south, but is evenly distributed over
all the landscape. At about ten o'clock the coloring becomes exquisite,
when the half-light brings out the violets, the purples, and various
shades of yellow and brown in the rocks, in contrast to the green of
the vegetation.
[Illustration: TALKING IT OVER.]
We had some difficulty in finding suitable camping-places in this
country. One night I remember, we ran fifteen miles after our usual
camping-hour, with cliffs on one side of the river and low thickets on
the other. Three times we landed on small islands, in a tangle of vines
and roses; and as many times we were driven off by the innumerable
mosquitoes. At last we found a strip of shore about ten feet wide,
between the water and the thickets, sloping at a considerable angle;
and there we made shift to spend the night.
There are two places below the White Horse Rapids where the channel
is so narrowed or shallowed that rapids are formed. At the first of
these, called the "Five Finger Rapids," the river is partially blocked
by high islets, which cut up the stream in several portions. Although
the currents in each of these "fingers" is rapid, and the water rough,
yet we found no difficulty in running through without removing any part
of the load, although one of the boats shipped a little water. When we
arrived at the second place, which is called the "Rink Rapids," and is
not far below the Five Fingers, we were relieved to find that owing
to the fullness of the river, the rough water, which in this case is
caused by the shallowing of the stream, was smoothed down, and we went
through, close to the shore, with no more trouble than if we had been
floating down a lake.
During the whole trip the country through which we passed was
singularly lonely and uninhabited. After leaving the few huts on Tagish
Lake, which I have mentioned, we saw a few Indians in a summer camp
on Lake Labarge; and this was all until we got to the junction of the
Lewes and Pelly Rivers, over three hundred miles from Tagish Lake. At
Pelly we found a log trading-post, with a single white man in charge,
and a few Indians. There were also three miners, who had met with
misfortune, and were disconsolate enough. They had started up Pelly
River with a two years' outfit, intending to remain and prospect for
that period, but at some rapid water their boat had been swamped and
all their provisions lost. They had managed to burn off logs enough to
build a raft, and in that way had floated down the river to the post,
living in the meantime on some flour which they had been lucky enough
to pick up after the wreck.
Although there are very few people in the country, one is continually
surprised at first by perceiving solitary white tents standing on
some prominent point or cliff which overlooks the river. At first
this looks very cheerful, and we sent many a hearty hail across the
river to such places; but our calls were never answered, for these
are not the habitations of the living but of the dead. Inside of each
of these tents, which are ordinarily made of white cloth, though
sometimes of woven matting, is a dead Indian, and near him is laid his
rifle, snowshoes, ornaments and other personal effects. I do not think
the custom of leaving these articles at the grave implies any belief
that they will be used by the dead man in another world, but simply
signifies that he will have no more use for the things which were so
dear to him in life--just as among ourselves, articles which have been
used by dear friends are henceforth laid aside and no longer used.
These dwellings of the dead are always put in prominent positions,
commanding as broad and fair a view as can be obtained. At Pelly we saw
several Indian graves that were surrounded by hewn palings, rudely and
fantastically painted.
When we reached the White River we found it nearly as broad as the
Yukon. The waters of the two rivers are separated by a distinct line
at their confluence and for some distance further down, the Yukon
water being dark and the other milky, whence the name--White River. All
over this country is a thin deposit of white dust-like volcanic ash,
covering the surface, but on White River this ash is very thick, and
the river flowing through it carries away enough to give the waters
continually a milky appearance. As we approached White River we beheld
what seemed a most extraordinary cloud hanging over its valley. It was
a solid compact mass of white, like some great ice-flower rising from
the hills, reminding one as one explored it through field-glasses, in
its snowy vastness and unevenness, of some great glacier. The clouds
were in rounded bunches and each bunch was crenulated. Below was a
mass of smoke with a ruddy reflection as if from some great fire,
and smaller snowy compact clouds came up at intervals, as if gulped
out from some crater. This we thought might be the fabled volcano of
the White River, but on getting nearer it seemed to be probably a
forest-fire. Although there are no railway trains to set fires with
their sparks, nowhere do fires start more easily than in Alaska, for
the ground is generally covered deep with a peat-like dry moss, which
ignites when one lights a fire above and smoulders so persistently that
it can hardly be extinguished, creeping along under the roots of the
living moss and breaking out into flame on opportunity.
The Fourth of July was celebrated by shooting at a mark; and that night
we had a true blessing, for we camped on a little bare sandspit on an
island, where the wind was brisk and kept the mosquitoes away. These
insects cannot stand against a breeze, but are whisked away by it like
the imps of darkness at the first breath of God's morning light, as
we have read in fairy stories. The freedom was delicious, so we just
stretched ourselves in the sand, and slept ten hours. We were awakened
by a violent plunge in the water and stuck our heads out of the
blankets in a hurry, thinking it was a moose; but it turned out to be
only one of our party celebrating the day after the Fourth by a bath.
At Sixty Mile we found an Indian trading-post, located on an island in
the river, and kept by Jo La Du, a lonely trader who a year afterwards
became rich and famous from his participation in the Klondike rush. He
had no idea of this when we saw him, but shook hands with us shyly and
silently, a man whom years had made more accustomed to the Indian than
to the white man.
The name Sixty Mile is applied to a small river here, which is sixty
miles from old Fort Reliance, an ancient trading post belonging to
the Hudson Bay Company. The hardy and intrepid agents of the company
were the first white men to explore the interior of Alaska. The lower
Yukon in the vicinity of the delta was explored by the Russians in 1835
to 1838, and the river was called by the Eskimo name of Kwikpuk or
Kwikpak,--the great river: in 1842-3 the Russian Lieutenant Zagoskin
explored as far as the Nowikakat. But the upper Yukon was first
explored by members of the Hudson Bay Company. In 1846 a trader named
Bell crossed from the Mackenzie to the Porcupine, and so down to the
Yukon, to which he first applied the name by which it is now known:
it is an Indian, not Eskimo, word. Previous to this, in 1840, Robert
Campbell, of the Hudson Bay Company, crossed from the Stikeen to the
Pelly and so down to its junction with the Lewes or upper Yukon. At
the point of the junction Campbell built Fort Selkirk, which was
afterwards pillaged and burned by the Indians, and remained deserted
till Harper built the present post, close to the site of the old one.
Forty miles below old Fort Reliance is Forty Mile Creek, so that the
mouths of Forty Mile and Sixty Mile are a hundred miles apart. The
river by this time is a mile wide in places, and filled with low
wooded islands: its water is muddy and the eddying currents give the
appearance of boiling.
We found no one on the site of old Fort Reliance, and we used the
fragments of the old buildings lying around in the grass for fire-wood.
It was practically broad daylight all night, for although the sun went
down behind the hills for an hour or two, yet it was never darker than
a cloudy day.
The day of leaving Fort Reliance we came to the junction of the
Klondike or Thronduc River with the Yukon, and found here a village
of probably two hundred Indians, but no white men. The Indians were
living in log cabins: on the shore numbers of narrow and shallow
birch canoes were drawn up, very graceful and delicate in shape, and
marvellously light, weighing only about thirty pounds, but very
difficult for any one but an Indian to manoeuvre. Yet the natives spear
salmon from these boats. At the time we were there most of the male
Indians were stationed along the river, eagerly watching for the first
salmon to leap out of the water, for about this time of the year the
immigration of these fish begins, and they swim up the rivers from
the sea thousands of miles, to place their spawn in some quiet creek.
On account of the large number of salmon who turn aside to enter the
stream here, the Indians called it Thronduc or _fish-water_; this
is now corrupted by the miners into Klondike, the Indian village is
replaced by the frontier city of Dawson, and the fame of the Klondike
is throughout the world.
[Illustration: ALASKA HUMPBACKED SALMON, MALE AND FEMALE.]
The trip of forty miles from Fort Reliance to Forty Mile Post was made
in the morning, and was enlivened by an exciting race between our boat
and that belonging to Danlon. We had kept pretty closely together on
all our trip, passing and repassing one another, but our boat was
generally ahead; and when we both encamped at Fort Reliance, the other
party resolved to outwit us. So they got up early in the morning and
slipped away before we were well awake. When we discovered that
they were gone, we got off after them as quickly as possible, but as
the current flows about seven miles an hour, and they were rowing
hard besides, they were long out of sight of us. However, we buckled
down to hard rowing, each pulling a single oar only, and relieving
one another at intervals, tugging away as desperately as if something
important depended on it. When we were already in sight of Forty Mile
Post we spied our opponents' boat about a mile ahead of us, and we soon
overhauled them, for they had already spent themselves by hard rowing.
Then Pete knew a little channel which led up to the very centre of the
camp, while the others took the more roundabout way, so that we arrived
and were quite settled--we assumed a very negligent air, as if we had
been there all day--when the others arrived. We called this the great
Anglo-American boat race and crowed not a little over the finish.
FOOTNOTE:
[1] A portion of this description is similar to that used by the writer
in an article published in "Outing."