always she has fear of the water. When we go on the rapids Sister
Eloise knits or tells her beads or reads--very hard indeed she reads
or knits or prays! She is afraid, but does not like me to know it,"
and his eye twinkled as he spoke.
"Sister Vincent de Paul goes north for the first time," he said,
smiling now at the other of the gray-habited nuns who found themselves
in these strange surroundings. "She is called to Fort Resolution, and
may stay there for some years. We do not know.
"And here," he added, pulling up by the ear a swarthy little boy who
seemed more Indian than white, "this we will call Charl'. We are
taking him back to his father, who is the factor at Resolution. His
mother is native woman, as you see, and this boy has been at Montreal
for two years at school. _Eh bien_, Charl', you will be good boy now?
If not I shall tell your papa!
"You see," he explained to the others who now for the first time were
getting some acquaintance of this mission-work, "we try to do the best
we know, and to make life easier for these people in the Far North. It
is a hard fortune that they have. Always they starve--never have they
enough. And every year the great brigade goes north so that they may
last yet another year."
Presently there came down overland to the fleet yet other men who made
part of the strange, wild company. Cap. Shott, friendly and paternal
in his way, brought on for introduction to the party the Dominion
judge, who every year goes north to settle the legal disputes which
may have arisen at the several posts for a considerable distance to
the north. The judge had with him his clerk and secretary, and there
was also a commissioner, as well as another official, a member of the
Indian Department, who was bound north to pay the tribesmen their
treaty money.
There came also the wife of a member of the Anglican Church, which, as
well as the Catholic Church, has missions all along the great waterway
almost to the Arctic Sea. So that, as may be seen, the personnel of
the brigade that year was of varied and interesting composition.
All came out as Uncle Dick and Father Le Fevre had said--by the time
breakfast was over the half-breed boatmen began to come down at a trot
overland from the town. Few of them had slept. All of them had been
drinking most of the night. They came with their heads tied up, their
eyes red, each man looking uncomfortable, but they all went aboard and
made ready for their work. Father Le Fevre shook his head as he looked
at them.
"Too bad, too bad, my children!" said he, "but you will not learn, you
will not learn at all. However, two days on the river and your heads
will be more clear. Providence has arranged, I presume, that there
shall be two or three days' travel between the landing and the Grand
Rapids. Else fewer of our boats would get through!"
As the scows swung out into the river, under no motive power excepting
that of the current, the men arranged themselves for the long journey,
each to suit himself, but under a loose sort of system of government.
At the long steering-sweep, made from a spruce pole twenty feet in
length, stood always the steersman, holding the scow straight in the
current. The ten tons of luggage was piled high in each scow, and all
covered with a great tarpaulin to protect the cargo of side-meat,
salt, sugar, flour, and steel traps, cloth, strouds, other rough
supplies, as well as the better stock of trade goods--prints, powder,
ball, rifles, matches, a scant supply of canned goods--and such other
additions to the original stock as modern demands instituted by the
independent traders for the most part had now made necessary in the
traffic with the tribes. That year, indeed, a few hand sewing-machines
went north, and some phonographs--things of wonder to the ignorant
native of that far-off land.
The progress of the boats, although steady, seemed very slow, and, as
there was no work to do, the men amused themselves as best they might.
There were several fiddlers in the fleet, and now and then, as the
_Midnight Sun_ swept down, well handled by the commodore, Francois,
they passed a scow on whose bow deck a scantily clad half-breed was
dancing to the music of the violin. Now and again across the water
came the curious droning song of the Cree steersmen, musical but wild.
The great brigade was off on its start for the long journey from the
Rockies to the icy sea, continuing one more year of the wild commerce
which had become a part of the land itself for more than a century
now.
"It's wonderful--wonderful!" said Rob, looking about him at the
strange scene on that morning of their first day of actual travel.
"I've never seen a thing more fascinating than this. I'm sure this is
going to be the best trip we've ever had.
"I tell you what," he added, a moment later, turning to the leader of
their little party, "I believe I'll try to keep a little diary for a
little while at least; it might be nice to have a few notes to refer
to. I doubt if any of us will ever make this trip again."
"An excellent idea!" said his uncle. "That's the way to get your
information soaked into your head. Write it down, and be careful what
you write. Your notes, together with John's maps, are things you will
prize very much indeed, later in life."
Rob, indeed, did fulfil his promise, beginning that very day, and
perhaps a few notes taken from his diary may be of interest, as
showing what actually happened as recorded by himself.
"_May 29th._--Off late. Ran three miles. Men went back to
town. Found sacks of sugar made a hard bed. Mosquitoes.
"_May 30th._--The grand start of the big brigade. Running
maybe four or five miles an hour. Banks getting lower.
Cottonwoods, some brulee (burned-over forest). Supper 6 P.M.
Ran until 9.45 P.M. Damp camp.
"_May 31st._--Off at 6. In the morning men on the first boat
killed a cow moose and two calves. No game laws north of
53 deg. Men rejoice over meat. Eight mission scows in fleet,
which carry eight to ten tons each. Father Le Fevre says,
except for whitefish, all northern missions would perish. At
2.15 stopped at Pelican Portage, at head of Pelican Rapids,
120 miles below the landing. Head winds yesterday, but
favorable now. Two boats collided, and one damaged. Saw two
dogs carrying packs--first pack-dogs I ever saw. Priest
baptized an Indian baby here. I suppose this is what the
brigade goes north for, in part. Lay here until 7 in the
evening, and then off for our first rapids, the Pelican.
Rough, but not so bad as Columbia Big Bend Rapids. An
eighteen-foot canoe would go through; twelve-foot doubtful.
Scows do it easily. Fast work close to the shore part of the
way. Men know their business. Some system to the brigade.
Camp at foot of rapids. Much excitement. Scows crowding one
another. Many mosquitoes.
"_June 1st, Sunday._--No travel to-day. All of the boatmen
are Catholics. The priest put up a little chapel and said
Mass. Curious scene to see all these half-savages kneeling,
hats off, on the ground. After Mass a good many of them got
their hair cut; one or two men can do barbering-work. The
judge and legal party played cards all the afternoon. John
seems to eat more than ever. A good many mosquitoes.
"_June 2d._--Off at 6, which seems regular starting-time.
Ashore for lunch 11.30. Slow and lazy work floating down,
but pleasant. Tied up at 6 for supper. Much excitement now,
as we are coming down to the head of Grand Island, where we
make the big portage. After supper made a mile or so through
shallow water among many rocks, to the head of the island.
It is low and rocky, covered with cottonwoods, should think
about a mile long, and not over half a mile wide. Very
fierce water to the left, with quiet water above. No boat
ever ran the left channel alive. Many lost here in the
Klondike; they went into that quiet and deep water on the
left and got caught. They say we will try to run the
right-hand side. Did not put up tent to-night, but slept
under mosquito tents. A hundred and sixty-five miles from
Athabasca Landing. Now we begin to feel as though we were to
see the real work."
IV
THE GRAND RAPIDS
It was much as Rob had predicted in the last entry of his diary
previously quoted. Uncle Dick hurried them through their breakfast.
"We'll see some fun to-day, boys," said he.
"How do you mean?" asked Jesse. "Are they going to try to run the
boats through?"
"They'll have to run the scows through light, so Francois tells me.
There isn't water enough to take them through loaded, so practically
each one will have to unship its cargo here.
"You see that wooden tramway running down the island?" He pointed
toward a crooked track laid roughly on cross-ties, the rails of wood.
"That is perhaps the least expensive railroad in the world, and the
one which makes the most money on its capital. I don't think it cost
the Company over eight hundred dollars. It couldn't be crookeder or
worse. And yet it pays for itself each year several times over, just
by the outside trade which it does!
"They built this railroad after the Klondike rush came through here.
Previous to that all the goods had to be taken over the 'short
portage'--you see that place over on the steep hillside at the right
side of the river--a mile and a half of it, and every pound of the
Company and Klondike baggage that went north had to be carried on
men's backs along that slippery footing. It was necessary to run these
rapids and to build this railroad. You will see how both ideas will
work to-day."
Some of the boats had been loaded so heavily that part of the cargo
had to be left above the shallow water--one more handling of the
freightage necessitated in the north-bound journey, but each boat,
carrying as much as could be floated, now came poling down through the
rocks to the head of the island.
The men, half in and half out of the water, began to unload this cargo
and to pile it in a great heap at the head of the wooden railroad.
There were two flat-cars, and rapidly these were loaded and pushed off
to the foot of the island, half or three-quarters of a mile. There
every pound of the baggage had to be unloaded once more, and after
that once more carried from the landing into the boats at the foot of
the island.
"Well, are they going to take the boats down on the cars, too?"
demanded Jesse.
"They have done that for others," answered Uncle Dick, "and charged
them ten dollars a boat for doing it, too. But as I said, we'll have
to run our scows down on the right-hand passage. That's the fun I was
talking about."
Rob came up to him now excitedly. "Tell me, Uncle Dick, can't I go
through--couldn't I go through with you in the very first boat?"
His uncle looked at him for a time soberly before he replied. "Well, I
don't like to mollycoddle any of you," said he, "but I'll tell you
what we'll do. We'll have to leave John and Jesse here on the island.
If Francois says it's safe I'll let you go through with me on the
first boat. It's no place for us to be in this country if we're going
to sidestep every little bit of risk there is. That isn't a manly
thing to do. But the other two boys will have to wait for a while.
"There's bad news," he said to Rob, a little later, aside. "Word has
just come up by canoe from the Long Rapids below here that four men
were drowned day before yesterday. They were going down to McMurray,
and although they had a native pilot they got overturned in the
rapids and couldn't get out. The Mounted Police are looking for the
bodies now."
It was with rather sober faces that our young travelers now watched
the boatmen at their portage-work, although the latter themselves were
cheerful as always, and engaged, as before, in friendly rivalry in
feats of strength. Everything was confusion, yet there was a sort of
system in it, after all, for each man was busy throughout the long
hours of the day. As a scow came in its cargo was rapidly taken out,
as rapidly piled up ashore, and quite as rapidly flung on top of the
flat-cars for transport across the great portage.
Our young adventurers saw with interest that a good many of the
boatmen were quite young, boys of fifteen, sixteen, and eighteen years
of age. Some of these latter did the full work of a man, and one
slight chap of seventeen, with three sacks of flour, and another youth
of his own weight on top of it all, stood for a time supporting a
staggering weight of several hundred pounds while Jesse fumbled with
his camera to make a picture of him.
At about eleven o'clock in the morning of the second day Uncle Dick
came to Rob and drew him aside.
[Illustration: AN ENCAMPMENT OF ESKIMOS ON THE BEACH AT FORT
McPHERSON]
"The first boat is going through," said he. "Francois will take it
down. It's a Company scow with about a quarter of its cargo left in.
Cap. Shott says it is all right. Are you still of a mind to go, or do
you want to stay here?"
"Not at all, sir!" rejoined Rob, stoutly. "I'll go through, of
course."
So presently they both stepped into the lightly loaded scow which lay
at the head of the island. The men consisted of the steersman,
Francois; a bowman, Pierre; and four oarsmen. They all were stripped
to trousers and shirts. At a word from Francois the boat pushed out,
the men poling it through the maze of rocks at the head of the island
to a certain point at the head of the right-hand channel where the
current steadied down over a wide and rather open piece of water.
The bowman carried in his hand a long lance-like shaft or pole, and
stood with it upon the short bow deck. At the stern of the boat there
was a plank laid across which acted as a bridge for the commodore,
Francois, who walked back and forward across it as he worked his great
steering-oar, which ran out at the back of the scow.
If the men had any anxiety about their undertaking, they did not show
it. Francois smoked calmly. It was to be noted that Cap. Shott did
not go through on the first boat, but remained on the shore. The skill
of his wild calling had been passed down to the next generation.
Francois at last gave a short word or so of command in Cree. The
oarsmen straightened out the boat. Francois motioned now to all the
occupants to keep to the side, so that he would have a clear view
ahead.
Little by little, as the current caught it, the scow began to slip on
faster and faster. By and by waves began to come up alongside, almost
to the gunwale. Rob had the vague impression that this boat was made
of astonishingly thin boards, and that the water made a great noise
upon it. Under the oars it creaked and strained and seemed very frail.
The men were silent now, but eager. Francois, pipe in mouth, was very
calm as he stood at the oar, his eyes fixed straight ahead.
About half-way down the side of the island came the most dangerous
part of the run. Suddenly the bowman sprang erect and cried out
something in Cree, pointing sharply almost at right angles to the
course of the boat. Francois gave a few quick orders and the oarsmen
swung hard upon one side. The head of the scow swung slowly into the
current. The channel here, however, passed between two great
boulders, over the lower one of which the river broke in a high white
wave. It was the duty of the steersman to swing the boat between these
giant rocks, almost straight across the course of the river, a feat of
extreme difficulty with such a craft or indeed with any craft. This
was the bad place in the channel always known as "The Turn."
It seemed to Rob as if the whole river now was eager to accomplish
their destruction. He was certain that the scow would be dashed upon
the rocks and wrecked.
It was dashed upon the rocks! The turn was not made quite
successfully, because of the too great weight of the cargo left in
this boat. With a crash the scow ran high up on the lower rock, and
lay there, half out of water, apparently the prey of the savage river.
Rob felt a hand laid upon his shoulder.
"Steady, old chap!" said Uncle Dick. "Keep quiet now. We're still
afloat."
This accident seemed to be something for which the men were not
altogether unprepared. If they were alarmed they did not show it.
There were a few quick words in Cree, to be sure, but each man went
about his work methodically. Under the orders of Francois they shifted
the cargo now to the floating side of the boat. All of the men except
two or three pole-men took that side also. Then, under command, with
vast heaving and prying on the part of the pole-men, to the surprise
of Rob at least, the boat began to groan and creak, but likewise to
slide and slip. Little by little it edged down into the current, until
the bow was caught by the sudden sweep of the water beyond and the
entire craft swung free and headed down once more! It seemed to these
new-comers as an extraordinary piece of river work, and such indeed it
was. A stiffer boat than this loose-built scow might have broken its
back and lost its cargo, and all its crew as well. As it was, this
boat went on down-stream, carrying safely all its contents.
Rob drew a long breath, but he would not show to the men any sign that
he had been afraid.
Here and there among the rocks the oarsmen, under the commands of the
steersman, picked their way, the lower half of the passage being much
more rapid. On ahead, the river seemed to bend sharply to the left.
Now Rob saw once more the bowman spring to his feet on his short
forward deck. Calling out excitedly, he pointed far to the left with
his shaft. Rob looked on down-stream, and there, a mile and a half
below, he saw erected against a high bank a diamond-shaped frame or
target. At this the bowman was pointing directly with his lance. It
was the target put up there after the Klondike disasters by the
Mounted Police, and indicated the course of the safe channel at the
lower end of the chute.
Francois, pipe in mouth, calmly swung his sinewy body against the
steering-oar. The bow of the boat crawled around to the left, far off
from the island, toward the shore, where was a toboggan-like pitch of
very fast but safe water for a distance of some hundreds of yards.
As they entered the head of this chute, the bowman still crouching
with his pole poised, it seemed to Rob that he heard shouts and cries
from the island, where, indeed, all those left behind were gathered in
a body, waiting for the first boat in the annual brigade to go
through--something of an event, as they regarded it.
But Rob's eyes were on ahead. He saw the boat hold its course straight
as an arrow toward the great target on the farther bank. With
astonishing speed it coasted down the last incline of the Grand
Rapids. Then, under the skilful handling of steersman and oarsmen, the
boat swung to the right, around a sort of promontory which extended
around the right-hand bank. Rob looked around at Uncle Dick, who was
curiously regarding him. But neither spoke, for both of them knew the
etiquette of the wilderness--not to show excitement or uneasiness in
any unusual or dangerous circumstances.
Francois, who had narrowly regarded his young charge, now smiled at
him.
"Dot leetle boy, she is good man," he said to Uncle Dick. "He'll is
not got some scares."
Rob did not tell him whether or not this was the exact truth, but only
smiled in turn.
"Well, here we are," said he. "But what good does it do us? There's
the foot of the island up there, three or four hundred yards away at
least. And how can we get a boat up against these rapids, I'd like to
know? Right here is where both the big chutes join. It would take a
steamboat to get up there."
Francois, who understood a little English, did not vouchsafe any
explanation, but only smiled, and Uncle Dick gravely motioned silence
as well. Rob could see the eyes of Francois fixed out midstream, and,
following his gaze, he presently saw some dark object bobbing about
out there, going slowly down-stream.
"Look, Uncle Dick!" he cried. "What's that? It looks like a seal."
The latter shook his head. "No seals in here," said he. "That must be
a log."
"So it is," said Rob. "But look at it--it's stopped now."
No one explained to him what all this meant. Francois sprang to his
steering-oar and gave some swift orders. The boat swung out from the
bank, and under the sweeps made straight out midstream, where the
black object now bobbed at the edge of the slack water. Rob could see
what had stopped it now--it was made fast by a long rope, which was in
turn made fast somewhere up-stream, he could not tell where.
With a swift pass of his pole the bowman caught the rope as the boat
swung near. Rapidly he pulled in the short log and made fast the rope
to the bow of the boat. The scow now swung into the current, its head
pointed up-stream, and hung stationary there, supported against the
current by some unseen power. To Rob's surprise, the oarsmen now took
in their oars.
"Well, now, what's going to happen?" he asked of Uncle Dick.
But the latter only shook his head and motioned for silence.
Slowly but steadily the scow now began to ascend the river, to breast
the white waters which came rolling down, to surmount the full force
of the current of the Athabasca River in its greatest rapids!
Rob glanced on ahead. He could see a long line of men bending under
the great rope which had been floated down to them in this curious
way. They walked inshore, steadily following the line of the railroad
track for almost a quarter of a mile, as it seemed to the other boys
who watched this proceeding ashore.
Steadily the boat climbed up the river, and now, with the aid of the
oarsmen and the steersman, it finally came to rest at a sheltered
little cove at the foot of the island, in slack water, where the
landing was good and cargo could easily be transhipped.
Rob and his older companions stepped ashore, and each smiled as he
looked at the other.
"Don't tell me, son," said Uncle Dick, "that these people don't know
their business! That's the finest thing I've ever seen in rough-neck
engineering in all my life--and I've seen some outdoor work, too."
He stood now looking up the white water down which they had come, and
at the rough hillside beyond where the old portage had lain in earlier
days.
"It's the only way it could have been done!" said he. "You see, these
fellows don't carry a pound that they don't have to, but they don't
risk losing a cargo by trying to run through with full load when the
water won't allow it. They don't get rattled and they know their
business. It's fine--fine!"
"That's what it is, sir," said Rob. "I never saw better fun in all my
life."
By this time Jesse and John came running up, and the boys fell into
one another's arms, asking a dozen questions all at once.
"Weren't you awfully scared?" said Jesse, somewhat awed at Rob's
accomplishment.
"Well," said Rob, truthfully, "I did a good deal of thinking when we
went fast on that rock out there in the middle. That was pretty bad."
"Uncle Dick," called out John, excitedly now. "Say, now, it's no fair
for Rob to go through and us others not. Can't we go with the next
boat?"
Uncle Dick stood looking at them quietly for a time, his hands in his
pockets.
"You wait awhile," said he. "There'll be forty or fifty boats going
through here. Time enough later to see whether it's safe for you two
youngsters to risk it."
V
WHITE-WATER DAYS
For three days the work of portaging on the Grand Island continued
steadily, boat after boat going down to the head of the island to
discharge, then taking the run through the channel of the right-hand
side. Some excitement was shown when in the still water at the head of
the murderous left-hand chute, which never was attempted by the
_voyageurs_, a roll of bedding with a coat tied to it was seen
floating in the current. It was supposed that somewhere up the river
an accident had occurred, but, as it was impossible to tell when or
where, no attempt was made to solve the mystery, and the labor of
advancing the brigade northward went on without further delay.
As the boys watched the river-men at their hard and heavy work, they
came more and more to respect them. Throughout long hours of
labor--and in this northern latitude the sun did not set until after
nine o'clock--there was never a surly word or a complaint heard from
any of them.