BRIGHT AGAIN
In an hour the other men came, back. The rest of the day we put
in drying the things, especially our bedding. We used the aluminum
bottle, and an old meat tin for kettle; some bacon, happily saved,
was fried on sticks, and when we turned in that night it was with
light and thankful hearts, in spite of our manifold minor losses.
Morning dawned bright and beautiful and keen. How glorious that
surging river looked in its noble canyon; but we were learning
thoroughly that noble scenery means dangerous travel--and there
was much noble scenery ahead; and I, at least, felt much older than
before this upset.
The boys put in a couple of hours repairing the canoe, then they
studied the river in hopes of recovering the guns. How well the
river-men seemed to know it! Its every ripple and curl told them
a story of the bottom and the flood.
"There must be a ledge there," said Billy, "just where we upset.
If the guns went down at once they are there. If they were carried
at all, the bottom is smooth to the second ledge and they are
there." He pointed a hundred yards away.
So they armed themselves with grappling-poles that had nails for
claws. Then we lowered Rob in the canoe into the rapid and held on
while he fished above the ledge.
"I tink I feel 'em," said Rob, again and again, but could not bring
them up. Then Billy tried.
"Yes, they are there." But the current was too fierce and the hook
too poor; he could not hold them.
Then I said: "There is only one thing to do. A man must go in at
the end of the rope; maybe he can reach down. I'll never send any
man into such a place, but I'll go myself."
So I stripped, padded the track-line with a towel and put it around
my waist, then plunged in. Ouch! it was cold, and going seven miles
an hour. The boys lowered me to the spot where I was supposed to
dive or reach down. It was only five feet deep, but, struggle as
I might, I could not get even my arm down. I ducked and dived, but
I was held in the surface like a pennant on an air-blast. In a few
minutes the icy flood had robbed me of all sensation in my limbs,
and showed how impossible was the plan, so I gave the signal to
haul me in; which they did, nearly cutting my body in two with the
rope. And if ever there was a grovelling fire-worshipper, it was
my frozen self when I landed.
Now we tried a new scheme. A tall spruce on the shore was leaning
over the place; fifty feet out, barely showing, was the rock that
wrecked us. We cut the spruce so it fell with its butt on the shore,
and lodged against the rock. On this, now, Rob and Billy walked
out and took turns grappling. Luck was with Rob. In a few minutes
he triumphantly hauled up the rifle and a little later the shotgun,
none the worse.
Now, we had saved everything except the surplus provisions and my
little camera, trifling matters, indeed; so it was with feelings
of triumph that we went on south that day.
In the afternoon, as we were tracking up the last part of the Boiler
Rapid, Billy at the bow, Rob on the shore, the line broke, and we
were only saved from another dreadful disaster by Billy's nerve
and quickness; for he fearlessly leaped overboard, had the luck to
find bottom, and held the canoe's head with all his strength. The
rope was mended and a safe way was found. That time I realized
the force of an Indian reply to a trader who sought to sell him a
cheap rope. "In the midst of a rapid one does not count the cost
of the line."
At night we camped in a glorious red sunset, just above the Boiler
Rapid. On the shore was a pile of flour in sacks, inscribed in
Cree, "Gordon his flour."
Here it was, the most prized foreign product in the country, lying
unprotected by the highway, and no man seemed to think the owner
foolish. Whatever else, these Indians are, they are absolutely
honest.
The heavenly weather of the Indian Summer was now upon us. We
had left all storms and frost behind, and the next day, our final
trouble, the lack of food, was ended. A great steamer hove in
sight--at least it looked like a steamer--but, steadily coming on,
it proved a scow with an awning and a stove on it. The boys soon
recognised the man at the bow as William Gordon, trader at Fort
McMurray. We hailed him to stop when he was a quarter of a mile
ahead, and he responded with his six sturdy oarsmen; but such was
the force of the stream that he did not reach the shore till a
quarter-mile below us.
"Hello, boys, what's up?" He shouted in the brotherly way that
all white men seem to get when meeting another of their race in a
savage land.
"Had an upset and lost all our food."
"Ho! that's easy fixed." Then did that generous man break open
boxes, bales, and packages and freely gave without a stint, all the
things we needed: kettles, pans, sugar, oatmeal, beans, jam, etc.
"How are you fixed for whiskey?" he asked, opening his own private,
not-for-sale supply.
"We have none and we never use it," was the reply. Then I fear I
fell very low in the eyes of my crew.
"Never use it! Don't want it! You must be pretty damn lonesome in
a country like this," and he seemed quite unable to grasp the idea
of travellers who would not drink.
Thus the last of our troubles was ended. Thenceforth the journey
was one of warm, sunny weather and pleasant travel. Each night the
sun went down in red and purple fire; and each morning rose in gold
on a steel-blue sky. There was only one bad side to this, that was
the constant danger of forest fire. On leaving each camp--we made
four every day--I put the fire out with plenty of water, many
buckets. Rob thought it unnecessary to take so much trouble. But
great clouds of smoke were seen at several reaches of the river,
to tell how dire it was that other campers had not done the same.