Meade and I were by this time great friends: our tastes and aims were
exactly alike--it was very nice. We had mutual acquaintances in
England--we were the best of companions.
In our tent, with our sheet-iron stove going, our beds of thick layers
of sweet-scented spruce twigs on rubber ground-sheets, with plenty of
good blankets, we were quite cosy, and we had a few books with us.
Our surroundings were gloomy and uninteresting enough--just a dreary
rock-strewn waste. Here and there were patches of faded grass,
flattened by the snow which had covered it for months. A few gnarled
and twisted cedars and spruces still grew about there; but gaunt,
black-butted, dead pine-trees, their tops whitened by the frost and
wind, were everywhere--the dry bones of the forest. The frozen lake
and the coast range close behind us, the mountains to right, left, and
ahead, were snow-covered and dismal, and there was no sign of life, no
trace of a living creature.
It rained steadily for two days, and as it was freezing hard at the
same time, everything was encased in ice. On the third day the clouds
were scattered, and each twig and leaf and blade flashed and sparkled
gloriously in the brilliant sun-rays. This only lasted a few hours,
for the heat of the sun being great, this beautiful scene was soon
spoiled. However, we hoped that a few such days would make havoc with
the ice upon the lake, and we should have open water. But this was not
to be just yet, for on the fourth day it blew hard from the east, and
that night it snowed again and froze as hard as ever.
"On time," as Yankees say, Jim and his wife arrived: they came bounding
along the trail, full of glee,--we thought them like children coming
home from school. Jim was most voluble; a stream of the best English
he knew, and jargon, fell unceasingly from his mouth. He was proud of
his wife, that was clear--he showed her off, asking our opinion of her,
giving us to understand that she was as good as she appeared.
I must say that she was well worth his praise, in looks at any rate;
her other good qualities we discovered later.
She was unmistakably an Indian woman: her colour was warm brown, she
had beautiful eyes, and a very amiable expression. Her hair was her
pride: it was not straight and coarse--it waved, even curled some
little, and glistened in the sun as if it were black spun glass.
We took to her at once: she appeared to be of a bright and happy
disposition, and not an atom like our preconceived notions of a squaw.
Meade subsequently made a sketch of her in her ordinary dress.
But what charmed us greatly was, she could speak English quite
understandably, and when she informed us that she was "one Metlakahtla
gal," and had been trained under the eye of good Mr Duncan, we felt we
were fortunate to have her with us, and we never ceased to impress on
Jim what a lucky dog he was. He seemed to think so himself--at least
Fan said he did. They put up a little canvas tepee, or wigwam, near.
They had brought it with them on their sled, with their entire
household gear, which was not much. It consisted mostly of dried
salmon which was to be their food. We added some of ours to it
occasionally, and later when we killed game we shared it with them.
Fan cooked for us, and we believed she religiously refrained from
pilfering our food. She had certainly been well trained.
After this we had a few days clear, calm, and sunny. Pools of water
formed on land amongst the rocks and tangle, and the lake-ice was
awash, yet Jim assured us that we need not expect the lake to open yet,
and Fan added, "By'me by we get plenty freeze once more, and, mebbe,
plenty snow!"
In this latter she was mistaken: she was right about the freeze,
though. Thick ice formed every night, if night it could be called.
One day it blew a heavy gale: we kept under cover, wondering that our
little tent was not carried bodily away.
The matter of a boat occupied our consideration. Jim had heard that
two men, camped down on Tagish Lake, had a whip-saw, and were cutting
lumber to sell to parties like us to build their boats with, but our
only means of getting to them was by a raft. There was no timber fit
for boat-building in our neighbourhood, therefore when weather
permitted we chopped and rolled logs on to the ice, and lashed and
pinned them together into a form we hoped would bear us safely. We
built it on the ice so that when that broke up it would be afloat.
Jim and his wife helped: she was as active as a young deer, and as
strong as either of us.
Two weeks passed thus. Our raft was finished, and we were waiting
patiently for the ice to disappear. We had spells of very hot weather,
plenty of wind, but very little rain. The sun did not set till late;
by two A.M. it was up again. The growth of vegetation was
amazing--grass was green, and flowers had sprung into bloom, seemingly
in a few hours. A few birds were seen, robins and jays.
One evening a flock of ducks whistled over the tent. Meade sprang up,
gun in hand, but too late for a shot; but next day more passed and we
bagged several brace. It was evident that spring had arrived.
On May 15th Fan informed us that "Pretty soon now, my believe, ice go
away." Jim had gone up a creek to try for fish; when he returned, with
a string of suckers he had speared, he agreed with what Fan had said,
adding that he believed next day we should "no more ice see."
It was so. When we turned out the following morning, instead of a
field of rotting ice, which had all sunk we supposed, there was before
our camp a lovely blue lake, sparkling and rippling in a gentle breeze,
and Jim gleefully announced, "Now, bossee, you bet we go ahead aller
same steamboat."
At once we loaded our raft, and we four drifted on it down the Windy
Arm, Tagish Lake. It is but a narrow strip of water, this arm, more
like a river. The hills on both sides are steep, the wind from the
east rushes through, sometimes dangerously, but we were fortunate to
have merely a fresh breeze behind us.
By towing from the shore sometimes, at others by poling, we contrived
on the third day to reach the lake, and here we were lucky enough to
find not only the men we had heard were cutting lumber there, but that
they had just finished a boat which they could sell to us.
These men welcomed us very heartily: they told us we were the first
party on the way since the previous autumn. They had run out of
tobacco.
The boat they had to sell was not built for either speed or beauty, but
we saw it was the very thing for us---it would carry us well with our
heavy load to Dawson City. We agreed to their price, which was
naturally high, and before we turned in that night we had stowed our
goods on board her, and were ready to begin our journey in earnest. We
had received a good bit of information about it from these men, who had
been often up and down the Yukon. We left them a little happier for
our visit, for we had supplied them with a few stores, and notably with
tobacco.
We sailed off cheerfully next morning down Lake Tagish. At the mouth
of Windy Arm are islands and high mountains,--one superb dome-shaped
giant stands alone.
We trolled that day, and caught one large fish like a salmon,--it
probably was a land-locked one. Its flesh was white and absolutely
tasteless, but Jim and Fan considered it was prime. We made a lovely
camp that night on an island near shore.
It took us till the following afternoon to get down this lake. We saw
no human beings, but along the sluggish river which joins it to Lake
Marsh we passed Tagish House, and there was a group of Indians at which
Jim and Fan were terribly alarmed, declaring that if they were seen
they would be killed by them, for it appears that war between the
Tagishes and the Sticks, which our two were, is perpetual.
Accordingly we gave these Indians a wide berth. Tagish House is but a
rough log affair. Yet it is famous, for it is not only the place the
tribe meets at annually for its council and festival, but it is the
only permanent building in all that country.
Passing down for half-a-dozen miles, we entered Lake Marsh, which
occupies a broad valley with high mountains on the east. It is about
two miles wide. Traversing it, we got all the wildfowl and the fish we
could consume. We lived sumptuously. The journey took us two days.
Fan and Jim were always bright and cheery, and ready to lend a hand;
they were good companions, and were uncommonly good specimens of
Indians. One particularly good thing about them was that Fan had been
taught the use of soap at Metlakahtla, and she had taught her husband;
so they were, wonder of wonders, clean Indians!
The foot of Marsh Lake we found to be low and swampy; the sleughs
appeared to be full of ducks and musk-rats--also of _mosquitos_!
We certainly expected these last. We had suffered from them in
Manitoba and in other parts of Canada; we supposed we knew what we had
to contend with, but we did not.
Fortunately we had brought some mosquito netting, which we rigged up in
our tent, so that, inside, we had a trifle of peace; but when
travelling or moving outside, it was impossible to protect ourselves,
and we experienced untold misery. Our Indians suffered quite as much
as we did, and complained as loudly. They lit fires inside their
tepee, filling it with pungent smoke, through which they slept
contented; but we could not stand that.
I may here say that from this time on, with very rare exceptions, we
were simply tortured by mosquitos. We passed through many hardships,
had innumerable physical difficulties to contend with during that
summer and winter, but they are all forgotten, or regarded as mere
trifles, and one phase of misery is vividly recorded on my memory: it
is the ceaseless torment of those infernal gnats. They are the cause
of the worst suffering that people must submit to in that country:
winter's cold, summer's heat, even hunger, are not to be compared to
this awful pest.
For instance, you are tramping with a load upon your back, your hands
are full carrying tools or packages, the sun is blistering hot, the
perspiration is pouring off you in streams, yet all the time the
ubiquitous mosquitos are engaging your closest attention; your eyes,
your ears, your nostrils, all your most sensitive spots, are their
favourite feeding-grounds. You are helpless, you suffer agony, and you
often feel that life itself is next thing to a curse. We have seen
hardy, rough men shed tears of impotent anger at these innumerable,
invisible, relentless enemies. Dogs and men, cattle and wild beasts,
deer especially, and even bears, are their victims.
Frequently we were so swollen about our necks that we could hardly turn
our heads, and our wrists were so enlarged that our wristbands were
useless. We tried tobacco juice, turpentine, lamp-oil, but nothing
gave us relief. Truly the mosquitos of the Yukon hold the record as
tormentors.
Lake Marsh is twenty miles long. It then narrows, and for nearly
thirty miles we followed the course of the river, which is the Lewes.
The current is about three miles an hour, and we were blessed with a
gentle breeze astern, so got on famously. We passed through miles and
miles of cut sandbanks, which were completely honeycombed by a species
of martin, which were then busy nesting. The air was alive with
millions of these little birds, and we gloried in the knowledge that
they were feeding exclusively on our deadly foes.
Here we met with a few large salmon. They come all the long way up
from Behring Sea to spawn. In August, Jim said, the river is crowded
with them, and the bears come down from the hills to feed on them.
Dozens, he assured us, might be seen any day along that river. We saw
but one; we shot at and missed it.
Up to this time, it will be noticed, we had experienced only fine
weather,--indeed, so far, our only real suffering had been from the
mosquitos; but one evening, the sun being high, though it was ten P.M.,
the sky was suddenly enveloped in dense clouds, against which steamlike
scud drifted with great rapidity; and by the action of the martins and
waterfowl, and by the sudden cessation of the rapacity of the
mosquitos, which had been earlier in the day more persistent than
usual, we knew that some change was at hand.
Jim said that wind was coming, so we camped, put our tents up with
extra care, and drew our boat into what we thought was a safe harbour
by the river side.
Not long after--we could see up stream for at least a mile--we
perceived that a huge wave was bearing down to us. It was like a bore.
We stared aghast!
Our boat and nearly all we had was in imminent danger. I made a rush,
intending to leap on board, push it out into the river, then turn its
head to the great surge that was rolling down, and so, I hoped, save it
from wreck; but Meade held me back, shouting above the dreadful roar of
wind and water that I should not go--that the risk was far too great.
As we stood thus, he restraining me, I struggling to go, Jim passed us,
stripped: he leapt into the boat, pushed her off, then with one grand
sweep of the steering oar he turned her head up stream just as the wave
reached her. She lifted with the heave of it, veered this way and
that, the heavy water curled up, and we stood there trembling, feeling
sure that she would be swamped. But Jim held on manfully, kept her
well up, and although she was carried down stream at terrible speed,
yet we saw that the brave Indian, standing like a bronze statue at the
stern, had conquered.
It was soon lost to sight in the gloom, for the spray which the mighty
wind raised was driving down river as if it were drifting snow.
So far, the boat, we trusted, had escaped, but what would ultimately
become of her and Jim, we wondered.
We turned to Fan, asking what she thought about it. She was crouched
under the lee of a log, smiling peacefully!
"No you bother," she shouted, "Jim all light; outfit all light too.
By'me by, pretty soon, no mo' wind, Jim tie up er boat, come back'n we
pack all tings down to boat--or, mebbee, Jim bring boat back here. You
see me?--well, all light!" and she smiled again quite happily.
How we blessed our stars that we had hired this Indian and his charming
klootchman. We thought her a perfect heroine that night, whilst I
believe she considered us very childish for being so very much alarmed.
Almost as quickly as this heavy squall had arisen it ceased, the sun
streamed out, and the silence was oppressive, yet very welcome. But
what should we do about Jim?
We consulted Fan, who calmly replied, "Nosing, nossir, make
muck-a-muck, what you call supper, then turn in, my tink Jim come along
all lightee by'me by, soon."
At which we made up the fire, and did as she advised.
We were aroused towards morning by Jim calling to his wife from the
other side the river. He told us that the boat was safely moored a
mile below, that he had tried to bring her to camp but could not,
therefore we must pack all to her. He swam across and joined us, after
which we had our first real essay at "packing," and we concluded that
it was not our forte. We found our boat and her cargo safe and sound
below, which was no small blessing. It took two days to pack all down
to her. Then on we went again, the stream carrying us along between
smooth grassy hills and sandy knolls. Soon the current became
stronger, and we heard a distinct roar ahead, and on the bank we saw a
board stuck up by some friendly voyageur, on which was scrawled in big
letters--"_Danger, Stop_," which at once we did.
We had arrived at Myles Canyon, the grand canyon of the Lewes--the
Miners' Grave.
Eager to examine what we had now to encounter, Meade and I landed and
went ahead to prospect. Where we had stopped the river was two hundred
yards wide at least: it was roaring ahead in the middle, rushing
vehemently on its way.
We mounted the basalt cliff above where we were camped, and came in
full view of the canyon. We knew the length of it and the width, we had
heard so much about it, and believed we knew just what to expect, yet
the reality appalled us. How could we get through? It looked
impossible: still, knowing that it had been done, and if we were to
reach our destination we must negotiate it, we sat on an outstanding
point and wondered.
The walls of the gorge, which averages one hundred feet in width, are
about the same height; they are worn into fantastic shapes, very little
vegetation clings to them, but along the top there is timber, and one
can march through it with ease.
The river, forced through this narrow canyon, is heaped up in the middle
much higher than at the sides: it is one mass of foam, and it flashes
along at lightning speed, roaring and raging. It is about
three-quarters of a mile from fairly smooth water up stream to
quietness below.
As we sat on the summit of the cliff, critically examining the scene,
we presently perceived two tents at what looked to be the lower end of
the gorge, and there was the smoke of a camp-fire.
With Jim and Fan, who had joined us, we consulted; it resulted in Meade
and Jim going ahead to visit these campers and obtaining information.
From them they learned that they had got through safely. There were
half-a-dozen men, old Yukoners, friendly and communicative, who had
wintered by Lake Marsh, where they had got a little gold. They offered
to help us. Some of them returned and packed each a load over the
portage, and then as they saw that neither of us was experienced at
shooting rapids, one of them very kindly volunteered to go through with
Fan and Jim in our boat.
Everything was carefully planned, the strength of the steering sweep
tested; Jim stripped, Fan doffed all she could decently, and our new
friend, whom his chums called Samson, did the same,--then the start was
made.
Meade stayed to push them off; I went to the cliff-top to watch the
proceedings.
Fan and Samson took the oars, Jim was steersman. They pulled far out
into the eddy, straining every nerve, even after the current caught
them, so as to keep steerage way on the boat. They soon shot into the
dark shadows of the walls. Here, they told us, they were nearly
stopped by the first huge breaker, but only for a second: the frail
boat trembled, seemed to stagger, then surmounting the crest, dashed on.
[Illustration: SHOOTING MYLES CANYON.]
I, on the top, could mark their progress easily. I saw them flying
like a cork through the turmoil; I saw them now whirled one way, now
another; at one moment it seemed they were to be hurled against the
adamantine walls, where they would be stove to splinters instantly; at
the next they miraculously sheered away into the boiling turmoil in the
midst. Clouds of spray dashed over them; they were often lost to my
sight. Half a minute passed--I saw their speed slacken--was anything
wrong? No, I saw they were in the eddy, and were half-way through;
next moment they were again in the thick of it, and, so far as I could
tell, they were having more terrible experiences still. There were
then a few indescribable moments. I held my breath, as I am sure they
did theirs, as they vanished from my sight round an intervening point.
Directly after one of our new acquaintances at the camp below fired two
shots and waved a red blanket, the signal agreed on that all was well.
From the moment they started until I saw that signal was exactly two
and a half minutes by my watch.
With thankful hearts we two shouldered our light packs, crossed the
portage, and joined the others. Jim and Fan were perfectly
unconcerned,--he was contentedly smoking beside the fire, she was
putting our tent up. We thanked Jim, called him a brave good fellow,
at which he merely grunted "Ugh"; and Fan said, "Orl right--welly good;
guess we make camp here one day--eh?"
We were agreeable to this, especially as the other party was remaining
too. They were Canadians, very decent fellows indeed, and on that and
for several days we kept company with them with much mutual pleasure.
On the river-side were several mounds, marked with rough stones or
wooden crosses. They were the graves of some of the many who had lost
their lives there--many more had been drowned whose bodies had never
been recovered--and we, I hope, were very grateful that we had got
through so safely.
Next day a couple of us went ahead in one of their light canoes to
examine the White Horse Rapids--they were two miles on--and to arrange
how to attack them. Then we loaded our boats, and, by warping and
towing, we, by degrees, hauled them to a place where there is slack
water, just above the dangerous place.
Here we camped again, unloaded everything, and hauled boats and canoes
on shore. Then we carried our packages on to smooth water below, and
lastly dragged the boats there: there were many willing hands to help
now, and we did it all quickly.
These rapids are full of sunken rocks, impossible to steer amongst.
There is one piece particularly formidable: it is only about one
hundred feet, and has been shot, but not intentionally up to that time.
With light well-made canoes it would be possible, we thought, though
very risky, but with the really unwieldy boat of ours it was impossible.
When we had everything safely over--it took us best part of a day, and
we all worked very hard to do it--we packed up again, and camped for
the night. We had a most jovial evening--there was a banjo in the
crowd, and one good singer, the weather was grand, the mosquitos were
rather less troublesome than usual, and the last great obstacle had
been thus safely mastered. Yet there were many graves about us of poor
fellows who had failed where we had come through with such success.
Next morning early we were off again.
We had now reached the place to which Jim and Fan had agreed to
accompany us. We were loath to part with them, and, so far as we could
judge, they were not anxious to leave us. If good food and plenty of
tobacco is an Indian's idea of earthly bliss, then I should think these
two had all they could desire. I must say they appeared to appreciate
it, and when we spoke to them about returning to the coast they were
evidently anything but pleased.
Besides, how were they to go back? We had really never thought of
that: it was very stupid of us. We had brought their sled, but they
could not go home on that.
We should have brought a canoe with us. We proposed to buy one from
the Canadians, but they would not part with one.
Jim showed no anxiety at all to solve the problem; as for Fan, she
declared her intention was to go on to Dawson City in our company! but
this she said merely to tease Jim. The fact is, they were both
perfectly satisfied with the life, and indifferent about returning to
Skagway, where what they call their home was thought to be. They
talked about Lake La Barge, the Five Fingers, and the Rink in such a
way that we believed they did really intend to come with us, whether we
would or not, if they could.
It ended in our proposing to continue Jim in our employ until we
reached our journey's end, offering him the same pay--that is, one
dollar a day and food, now, for himself and Fan.
They had been very quiet and melancholy for some hours: when we made
this proposal they jumped up, laughed, and shouted with delight. These
Indians are very much like children.
We were very glad too, and, as Meade always said when any question
about expense arose between us, "Don't bother; when we get to the spot
I know about, we can wash out what will cover all these outlays in
twenty minutes!"