THE RIVER SHOWS ITS TEETH
"Oct. 20, 1907.--Athabaska River. In the Canyon. This has been
a day of horrors and mercies. We left the camp early, 6.55--long
before sunrise, and portaged the first rapid. About 9 we came to
the middle rapid; this Billy thought we could track up, so with
two ropes he and Rob were hauling us, I in bow, Preble in stem;
but the strong waters of the middle part whirled the canoe around
suddenly, and dashed her on a rock. There was a crash of breaking
timber, a roar of the flood, and in a moment Preble and I and, all
the stuff were in the water.
"'My journals,' I shouted as I went down, and all the time the
flood was boiling in my ears my thought was, 'My journals,'--'my
journals.'
"The moment my mouth was up again above the water, I bubbled out,
'My journals,--save my journals,' then struck out for the shore.
Now I saw Preble hanging on to the canoe and trying to right it.
His face was calm and unchanged as when setting a mousetrap. 'Never
mind that, save yourself,' I called out; he made no response, and,
after all, it was safest to hang on to the canoe. I was swept into
a shallow place at once, and got on my feet, then gained the shore.
"'My journals--save them first!' I shouted to the two boys, and
now remembered with horror, how, this very morning, on account of
portaging, I had for the first time put all three journals in the
handbag, that had disappeared, whereas the telescope that used to
hold two of them, was floating high. It is the emergency that proves
your man, and I learned that day I had three of the best men that
ever boarded a boat. A glance showed Preble in shallow water coolly
hauling in the canoe.
"Rob and Billy bounded along the rugged shores, from one ice-covered
rock to another, over piles of drift logs and along steep ledges
they went; like two mountain goats; the flood was spotted with
floating things, but no sign of the precious journal-bag. Away out
was the grub-box; square and high afloat, it struck a reef. 'You
save the grub,' yelled Billy above the roaring, pitiless flood,
and dashed on. I knew Billy's head was cool and clear, so I plunged
into the water, ice-cold and waist deep--and before the merciless
one could snatch it along, I had the grub-box safe. Meanwhile Rob
and Billy had danced away out of sight along that wild canyon bank.
I set out after them. In some eddies various articles were afloat,
a cocoa tin, a milk pot, a bag of rare orchids intended for a friend,
a half sack of flour, and many little things I saved at cost of a
fresh wetting each time, and on the bank, thrown hastily up by the
boys, were such bundles as they had been able to rescue.
"I struggled on, but the pace was killing. They were young men
and dog-runners; I was left behind and was getting so tired now I
could not keep warm; there was a keen frost and I was wet to the
skin. The chance to rescue other things came again and again. Twelve
times did I plunge, into that deadly cold river, and so gathered
a lot of small truck. Then knowing I could do little more, and
realising that everything man could do would be done without me,
turned back reluctantly. Preble passed me at a run, he had left
the canoe in a good place and had saved some bedding.
"'Have you seen my journal-bag?' He made a quick gesture down the
river, then dashed away. Alas! I knew now, the one irreplaceable
part of our cargo was deep in the treacherous flood, never to be
seen again.
"At the canoe I set about making a fire; there was no axe to cut
kindling-wood, but a birch tree was near, and a pile of shredded
birch-bark with a lot of dry willow on it made a perfect fire-lay;
then I opened my waterproof matchbox. Oh, horrors! the fifteen
matches in it were damp and soggy. I tried to dry them by blowing
on them; my frozen fingers could scarcely hold them. After a time
I struck one. It was soft and useless; another and another at
intervals, till thirteen; then, despairing, I laid the last two on
a stone in the weak sunlight, and tried to warm myself by gathering
firewood and moving quickly, but it seemed useless a very death
chill was on me. I have often lighted a fire with rubbing-sticks,
but I needed an axe, as well as a buckskin thong for this, and I had
neither. I looked through the baggage that was saved, no matches
and all things dripping wet. I might go three miles down that
frightful canyon to our last camp and maybe get some living coals.
But no! mindful of the forestry laws, we had as usual most carefully
extinguished the fire with buckets of water, and the clothes were
freezing on my back. 1 was tired out, teeth chattering. Then came
the thought, Why despair while two matches remain? I struck the
first now, the fourteenth, and, in spite of dead fingers and the
sizzly, doubtful match, it cracked, blazed, and then, oh blessed,
blessed birch bark!--with any other tinder my numbed hands had
surely failed--it blazed like a torch, and warmth at last was mine,
and outward comfort for a house of gloom.
"The boys, I knew, would work like heroes and do their part as
well as man could do it, my work was right here. I gathered all the
things along the beach, made great racks for drying and a mighty
blaze. I had no pots or pans, but an aluminum bottle which would
serve as kettle; and thus I prepared a meal of such things as
were saved--a scrap of pork, some tea and a soggy mass that once
was pilot bread. Then sat down by the fire to spend five hours of
growing horror, 175 miles from a settlement, canoe smashed, guns
gone, pots and pans gone, specimens all gone, half our bedding
gone, our food gone; but all these things were nothing, compared
with the loss of my three precious journals; 600 pages of observation
and discovery, geographical, botanical, and zoological, 500 drawings,
valuable records made under all sorts of trying circumstances,
discovery and compass survey of the beautiful Nyarling River,
compass survey of the two great northern lakes, discovery of two
great northern rivers, many lakes, a thousand things of interest
to others and priceless to me--my summer's work--gone; yes, I could
bear that, but the three chapters of life and thought irrevocably
gone; the magnitude of this calamity was crushing. Oh, God, this
is the most awful blow that could have fallen at the end of the
six months' trip.
"The hours went by, and the gloom grew deeper, for there was no
sign of the boys. Never till now did the thought of danger enter
my mind. Had they been too foolhardy in their struggle with the
terrible stream? Had they, too, been made to feel its power? My guess
was near the truth; and yet there was that awful river unchanged,
glittering, surging, beautiful, exactly as on so many days before,
when life on it had seemed so bright.
"At three in the afternoon, I saw a fly crawl down the rocks a
mile away. I fed the fire and heated up the food and tea. In twenty
minutes I could see that it was Rob, but both his hands were empty.
'If they had found it,' I said to myself, 'they would send it back
first thing, and if he had it, he would swing it aloft,' Yet no,
nothing but a shiny tin was in his hands and the blow had fallen.
The suspense was over, anyway. I bowed my head, 'We have done what
we could.'
"Rob came slowly up, worn out. In his hand a tin of baking-powder.
Across his breast was a canvas band. He tottered toward me, too
tired to speak in answer to my unspoken question, but he turned
and there on his back was the canvas bag that held labour of all
these long toilsome months.
"'I got 'em, all right,' he managed to say, smiling in a weak way.
"'And the boys?'
"'All right now.'
"'Thank God!' I broke down, and wrung his hand; 'I won't forget,'
was all I could say. Hot tea revived him, loosened his tongue, and
I heard the story.
"I knew,' he said, 'what was first to save when I seen you got
ashore. Me and Billy we run like crazy, we see dat bag 'way out in
the deep strong water. De odder tings came in de eddies, but dat
bag it keep 'way out, but we run along de rocks; after a mile it
came pretty near a point, and Billy, he climb on a rock and reach
out, but he fall in deep water and was carried far, so he had to
swim for his life. I jump on rocks anoder mile to anoder point; I
got ahead of de bag, den I get two logs, and hold dem between my
legs for raft, and push out; but dat dam river he take dem logs
very slow, and dat bag very fast, so it pass by. But Billy he swim
ashore, and run some more, and he make a raft; but de raft he stick
on rock, and de bag he never stick, but go like hell.
"'Den I say, "Here, Billy, you give me yo' sash," and I run tree mile
more, so far I loss sight of dat bag and make good raft. By'mebye
Billy he come shouting and point, I push out in river, and paddle,
and watch, and sure dere come dat bag. My, how he travel! far out
now; but I paddle and push hard and bump he came at raft and I grab
him. Oh! maybe I warn't glad! ice on river, frost in air, 14 mile
run on snowy rocks, but I no care, I bet I make dat boss glad when
he see me."
"Glad! I never felt more thankful in my life! My heart swelled with
gratitude to the brave boys that had leaped, scrambled, slidden,
tumbled, fallen, swum or climbed over those 14 perilous, horrible
miles of icy rocks and storm-piled timbers, to save the books that,
to them, seemed of so little value, but which they yet knew were,
to me, the most precious of all my things. Guns, cameras, food,
tents, bedding, dishes, were trifling losses, and the horror of
that day was turned to joy by the crowning mercy of its close.
"'I won't forget you when we reach the Landing, Rob!' were, the
meagre words that rose to my lips, but the tone of voice supplied
what the words might lack. And I did not forget him or the others;
and Robillard said afterward, 'By Gar, dat de best day's work I
ever done, by Gar, de time I run down dat hell river after dem dam
books!'"