THE SONG OF THE VOYAGEUR
Hardly seeming to move, the deeply laden scows veered more and more into
the current, until at last the swift flow of the river began to push them
forward. But even before La Biche's boat, which was ahead and farthest
from the shore, was fully in the grasp of a swirling eddy, the bronzed
steersman, his pipe firmly set in his teeth, hurled his body on the
steering oar and plunged the far end of it against the oily current.
At the same moment Moosetooth dropped his own oar and almost instantly
both boats straightened out before the onrushing waters. It was a moment
long waited for by Norman and Roy, and at the time no thought was given
to any arrangements for comfort. The boys threw themselves on the forward
deck, their sweaters close about their throats against the chilling fog
and the cool breeze, while Colonel Howell sat muffled in his overcoat on
the edge of the deck.
Such events in the history of the Northern rivers were in the old days
momentous. Their only ceremony had been the parting "Bon jour" of the
policeman.
"In the old days," suggested Norman, "in the days that our friend Paul
would have loved, the voyageurs had a song for a time like this."
"The riverman's song of farewell," spoke up young Zept with animation. "I
wish I knew one."
Almost instantly, those on the fast-receding shore heard from the boat
the soft notes of some one in song. Under the conditions, whatever the
words and the air, they floated back as many of those left behind had
heard the old voyageur take his leave. But this song came from neither of
the weatherworn steersmen, nor from the stolid members of their
half-breed crew. Count Zept, his hat in his hand and the cool river wind
paling his flushed face, had mounted to the top of the cargo and was
singing something he had learned in far away lands. The fascinating tenor
of his voice carried far over the river.
Even out of the hidden heights on the far side of the current, the
strains of the song came back with a melancholy pathos. Perhaps the young
singer himself was moved. But to those who listened, it wafted over the
waters as for two centuries the voyageurs into the unknown north had
celebrated the setting out of the long voyage that might have no return.
None in the boat spoke to him, but as he went on, repeating the lines,
and his voice gradually dropping lower and lower, the boats, lost in the
fog and darkness, swept into the great bend, and the stragglers on shore
turned and left the river.
Although he did not realize it then, Paul Zept's impromptu tribute in
farewell marked the great turning point in his life.
Three hundred miles of dangerous water lay before the travelers and their
valuable outfit. On this part of the voyage the river ran wide and deep.
At the suggestion of the steersmen, it was at once decided to make no
landing that night but to take advantage of the easy going, as the cold
wind would soon sweep the fog away. Strongly touched by the air of Paul's
song, which the singer laughingly explained was a song without words, as
he had made it up mainly from snatches of Italian opera, the words of
which he could not recall, Norman and Roy got Paul on the rear deck and
began to prepare for the night. The assistance of one of the crew was
necessary to prepare the blankets in an expert manner. Before midnight
Colonel Howell and the three young men, snugly wrapped in their new "four
points," found no trouble in losing themselves to the world without.
Long before the sun showed itself above the high poplar-crowned hills
that lined each bank of the Athabasca, Norman and Roy had slipped out of
their blankets. It was their first view of an absolute wilderness. The
boats were still drifting silently forward, with no sign of life except
in the erect forms of Moosetooth and old La Biche, who were yet standing
against their long steering oars as they had stood through the night.
Neither of them gave salutation, Moosetooth's dripping oar following in
silence now and then a like sweep of his companion's blade in the water
ahead.
Not arousing their companions, the two boys perched themselves where Paul
had sung the night before and, shivering in the new day, began to drink
in the scene before them.
What they saw at that moment was a picture repeated for nearly two weeks
to come. Although drifting at the rate of four miles an hour, much time
was lost while the boats made their way back and forth across the river,
and although it was but three hundred miles to Fort McMurray, there was
constant delay in camps ashore, and at the beginning of the Grand Rapids
a week was lost in portaging the entire cargo. Colonel Howell did not
welcome another lost outfit and he was quite satisfied when both
Moosetooth and La Biche took their empty scows safely through the
northern whirlpool.
Rising almost from the water, the hills, little less than mountains in
height, ran in terraces. Strata of varicolored rock marked the clifflike
heights and where black veins stood out with every suggestion of coal,
the young observers got their first impression of the mineral
possibilities of the unsettled and unknown land into which they were
penetrating.
The first deer which they observed standing plainly in view upon a
gravelly reef aroused them to excitement. But when Moosetooth, not
speaking, but pointing with a grunt to a dark object scrambling up the
rocky shelf on the other side of the river and the boys made out a bear,
Roy sprang for his new twenty-two.
"Nothin' doin'," called Norman in a low tone. "That's where we need the
.303 and of course that's knocked down."
"Well, what's the use anyway?" retorted Roy, resuming his seat. "I can
see there's going to be plenty of this kind of thing. And besides, you
can bet our friend here isn't going to stop for a bear, dead or alive."
From that time on, although they did not find animals so close together
again, they saw eagles, flocks of wild geese floating ahead of them on
the river, and three more deer. And continually the magnificent hills,
hanging almost over the river, gave them glimpses of vegetation and
objects new to them.
"I'm glad I came," remarked Norman, "but I wonder how this country looks
when winter comes."
"You know how this river'll look," answered Roy. "It'll be a great,
smooth roadway and a lot of people waitin' now to get back to
civilization will make it a path for snowshoes and dog sleds."
"Some trip up here from Fort McMurray," suggested Norman.
"You said it," exclaimed Roy. "But the colonel won't have to make it on
foot this winter--not with the old _Gitchie Manitou_, and this ice road
to guide us."
He looked with longing at the crates of the airship, the two smaller ones
of which took up one side of their own scow, while the others were lashed
diagonally on top of the crate in the forward boat. The two boats had
kept their relative positions throughout the night.
Just as the sun began to gild the water in their wake, Paul stuck his
nose out of the blankets. All had slept in their clothes during the
night, Colonel Howell having promised them a chance at their pajamas on
the following evening. There was no dressing to be done and when Paul
joined his companions all made preparation to souse their faces over the
edge of the boat.
"One minute," exclaimed Norman. He dug among his baggage and in a short
time reappeared with the aluminum basin.
"Non! Non!" came from the statuelike figure of old Moosetooth. Then he
pointed to the abrupt cut bank of the river a few hundred yards ahead and
called something in the Cree language to La Biche. The latter nodded his
head and in turn called aloud in the Indian tongue.
Instantly from between the pipes and crates on the forward boat a dozen
half-breeds crawled sleepily forth. One of these, with a coil of rope,
sprang into the bow of the forward scow, and another similarly equipped
took his place in the rear of La Biche, as if ready to spring on the
second scow when opportunity presented. Both boats were headed for the
cut bank.
The commotion aroused Colonel Howell, and while he gave a nod of
approval, the scows drifted in under the sweep of the steersmen's oars
where the deep water ate into the tree-covered shore.
As La Biche's boat touched the bank and the second scow ran forward, the
two half-breeds scrambled onto the roots of the trees and before the
scows could bump away into the stream once more, they had been skillfully
snubbed around the trunks of the nearest trees, a third Indian springing
from the forward boat onto Moosetooth's craft and making fast a line
thrown him from the shore. Then while the two boats bumped and struggled
to turn their free ends into the current, the other Indians, with the
skill of long experience, swiftly transferred hawsers from the free ends
of the scows to other trees.
"Whew!" shouted Paul, after the first excitement was over. "Whatever
we're going to do, I hope'll be short and sweet," and he waved his arms
violently about his head.
The close vegetation of the shore was alive with mosquitoes.
"Don't worry about these," laughed Roy. "This is the breeding place of
the best mosquitoes in the world. Don't fight 'em--forget 'em."
Colonel Howell, near by, exclaimed:
"Don't worry, young men. Mosquito time is about over. You won't see many
of them after the end of July."
"By the way," interrupted Norman, "what day is this? Is it July yet?"
"That's another thing you don't need to worry about," went on Colonel
Howell with a chuckle. "When the mosquitoes have gone, you'll know that
July is gone, and then we won't have anything to trouble us till the ice
comes."
"Bum almanac," commented Roy. "Mostly gaps, I should say."
"Not so much," continued the colonel still laughing. "It isn't as much of
a gap between the mosquitoes and ice as you might think. But it's
breakfast time. We've got two cooks with us, one for the crew and one for
the cabin passengers. You'd better take your morning dip and then, if you
like, you can take the canoe and pull over to that gravel reef. You won't
find so many mosquitoes there and you can stretch your legs."
The boys put off their swimming until they had reached the island, where
they had the satisfaction of arousing a young buck from the poplar
underbrush, and the mortification of trying to catch it by chasing it
toward the mainland in a canoe. An Indian fired at the deer from one of
the scows, but it made the river bank in safety and disappeared in the
bush.
"There, you see," announced Roy at once. "The twenty-two would have been
all right, but you've got to have it with you."
The colonel's prediction was true and the three young men had a dip in
the shallow water off the island that was certainly bracing. When they
returned to the shore they found both cooks in full operation a few
hundred yards from the scows and on the open riverbanks.
The difference in the output of the cooks was considerable, but
satisfactory to each party served. The colonel's party was making the
best of fresh eggs, fresh butter and new bread and a beefsteak, which
would be their only fresh meat for many days. The crew, out of a common
pan, helped themselves to boiled potatoes and fried pork, to which each
man appeared to add bannock from his own home supplies. The Indians drank
tea.
"Gentlemen," remarked Colonel Howell, as he lifted a tin of steaming
coffee, "here's to a friend of civilization--delicious coffee. We will
know him but a few days longer. He will then give way to the copper
kettle and tea."
"How about fresh eggs and beefsteak?" laughed Paul.
"Eggs, my dear sir, have always been a superfluous luxury patronized
mostly by the infirm and aged. As for beefsteak, it cannot compare with a
luscious cut of moosemeat, the epicurean delight of the Northwest. It is
a thing you may not have at the Waldorf, and a delicacy that not even the
gold of the gourmet may lure from the land of its origin."
"How about bear meat?" asked Roy, recalling with some concern his lost
opportunity in the early dawn.
"Rather than starve, I would eat it," responded Colonel Howell, "and
gladly. But to it I prefer rancid salt pork."
In such badinage, the leisurely stop passed while the boys finished their
first meal in the wilderness, topping it off with the luscious red
raspberries that were just in perfection all around the camp.
That day the boats drifted fifty miles, luncheon being eaten on the rear
deck. A night landing was made on a gravelly island to escape as far as
possible the many mosquitoes. Tents were not erected but alongside a good
fire the blankets were spread on the soft grass beneath the stunted
island trees and with mosquito nets wrapped about their heads all slept
comfortably enough.
Where the Indians slept no one seemed to know. When the boys and their
patron turned in as dark came on, at eleven o'clock, the half-breeds were
still eating and smoking about their removed camp fire. In this manner,
with no accidents, but with daily diversions in the way of shooting,
venison now being one of the daily items of food, the voyageurs at last
reached the Grand Rapids.
From this place, for sixty miles, a tumultuous and almost unnavigable
stretch of water reached to the vicinity of Fort McMurray, the end of
their journey. The greatest drops in the water and the most menacing
perils were encountered at the very beginning of the Rapids, where for
half a mile an irregular island of rock divided the stream. On one side
of this the river rushed in a whirlpool that no craft could attempt. On
the other side, and the wider, skilled boatmen had a chance of safely
conducting light craft through the many perils. Here it was necessary
that both boats should be unloaded and the entire outfit be portaged to
the far end of the island.
But travel on the river was so important that those concerned in it had,
many years before, constructed a crude wooden tramway which, repaired by
every newcomer, was available for use in transporting the heavy freight.
Permanent camp was made at the head of the island when this arduous task
began. It had taken four days to load the boats and seven days were spent
on the island in getting the cargoes of the two boats to the far end. The
sixth day fell on a Sunday, when no Indian does any labor. On the
afternoon of the next day Moosetooth and La Biche made their spectacular
races down the Rapids. Not a boy of the party that did not entreat
Colonel Howell to let him go with the first boat, but in his refusal
their patron was adamant. The only man to accompany each boat as it
started on its flight was an experienced member of the crew who sat on
the bow with a canoe practically in his lap. He was ready to launch this
any moment to rescue the steersman, but both attempts were engineered by
the veteran river men with no other bad results than the shipping of a
great deal of water.
Paul posted himself opposite the most dangerous point and made pictures
of the tossing boats and their bareheaded pilots as long as they were in
sight.
Then came the laborious task of reloading the boats, but under Colonel
Howell's direct attention, this operation now took far less than four
days. Within ten hours' travel from the foot of the Rapids, the boats
rounded a bend at three o'clock the next afternoon and came in sight of a
lone cabin on the bare and rocky shore of the river.
"Look in the trees behind it," exclaimed Colonel Howell.
Like a gallows, almost concealed behind a fringe of poplar trees, stood
the familiar lines of an oil derrick.
"I'm sorry they haven't got a flag out," remarked Colonel Howell, "but
that's the place. All there is of Fort McMurray is just beyond."