wages which these men received for this hard labor. He was told that
they were paid by the trip from Athabasca Landing to McMurray, which
covered the bad water to the head of steamboat transport. The
steersmen for the round trip received about eighty dollars and their
board, and the river-men forty to fifty dollars. All walked back
across country, a shorter distance than that by water. Some of the men
had along on the scows the large dogs which they used in the
winter-time, and which they now purposed to employ in packing a part
of their loads on the return journey.
John also discovered that the cargo of a scow averaged about
twenty-five hundred dollars in value, and that it would cost sometimes
almost a third of that amount to deliver the freight at its
destination. For instance, the charge of the Hudson's Bay Company for
freight from Athabasca Landing to Fort McPherson was thirteen dollars
and fifty cents per hundred pounds. For the use of the little railroad
a quarter of a mile in length on the island itself the charge to
outsiders was one dollar a ton, and ten dollars for every boat taken
across on the cars.
All the boys now began to learn more of the extreme risk and waste of
this, the north-bound transit. It was not unusual, as they learned,
for a scow to be lost with all its cargo, in which case the post for
which it was destined would need to go without supplies until the
brigade came north in the following year. Damage to goods from
wetting, damage to boats from collisions--all these things went into
the large figures of cost which were to be set against the figures of
the large gain in this commerce of the Far North.
John got many of his figures from the Hudson's Bay Company clerk, a
young man stationed here on Grand Island throughout the season, who
was very friendly to all the strangers in the country. He expressed
himself as very glad to see the brigade come north, for it was the
only interesting time in his season's work. He and one associate
remained here, cut off from the world, all through the summer season,
and he was not very happy, although, as he said, he was president and
general traffic-manager, as well as superintendent and board of
directors, of his railroad, and section boss as well. His duties were
to have general charge of the transport of cargoes at the island, and
to keep a record of the day's doings.
Boat after boat now went through, as has been said, but without
accident, although one or two hung up at The Turn, as the dangerous
passage between the two great rocks in midstream now was called by
all. Below that, as Rob expressed it, the bottom dropped out of the
river and the boat traveled very fast.
John timed some of the boats through, and found that it took about
eight minutes from the head of the eddy to the bottom of the chute.
This Rob could hardly believe, as he said that when he went through it
seemed not more than two minutes at the outside.
John and Jesse grew very grumpy over the prestige Rob had gained by
his journey through the rapids, and besought Uncle Dick to allow them
also to make the passage. Late in the third day, when most of the
boats were through, they renewed their importunities, and he finally
replied:
"Well, young men, I've about concluded to let you go through with the
last boat. Francois says that he has been watching you all, and
believes that you would not get 'some scares.' He says he will take
you through in your own boat, which will be the last one of the
brigade. The river has come up three or four inches since we struck
in, and he says we can run through without unshipping much, if any, of
our cargo, which doesn't amount to very much. Rob has made the trip,
and I figure now that we are all in the same boat together. Sometimes
it is necessary to be either a man or a mouse. I want to see you grow
up men. Well, are you ready now?"
All the boys gladly said that they were, Rob insisting on accompanying
the boat once more, as indeed was necessary, since there would be no
transport after that.
They took ship at the head of the island, and were tooled across the
shallow water to the head of the rapids on the farther shore. Here the
men all disembarked and sat silently along the edge of the bluff,
taking one of the pipe-smokes which make so regular a part of the
_voyageur's_ day's employment. They seemed to get some sort of comfort
out of their pipes, and almost invariably when undertaking any
dangerous enterprise a quiet smoke was a part of the preparation.
Francois talked to them, meantime, seeing that they were eager to
learn about the customs of this strange and wild country into which
they now were going. He told them, motioning to the steep hillside on
the right of the channel, that in the old times he used to pack stuff
across the mile-and-a-half portage there for fifty cents a hundred
pounds. It was hard work, and yet he made it pay. When they began to
portage on the island, and not along the mountain-side, he had made as
much as fifty dollars a day, for he got five dollars for taking a boat
through the rapids, or thirty dollars for running it down to Fort
McPherson; so that a season's work would bring him, in very good
years, over a thousand dollars, if he worked.
"But yong man, she spend the mon'," said he, smiling.
John set down in his book the facts and figures, the date of 1871,
which was the time when old Cap. Shott first ran a boat through the
Grand Rapids. Since that time a few other pilots had come on who
proved able to handle scows in white water. But old Cap. Shott
and his long-time friend, Louis La Vallee, were now both of them
old--"h'almost h'eighty year, she is, each of him," said Francois.
"Well, now," he added at length, "we will ron h'on the _rapide_."
He rose and motioned to his men, who once more took their places at
the oars, as they had in the boat which carried Rob through. Again the
bowman squatted on his short fore deck. Francois, the steersman,
stood on his plank walk at the handle of the great steering-oar.
Gently they pushed out from shore, the last boat of the brigade.
"Here goes the _Midnight Sun_!" cried Jesse, waving his hat.
Uncle Dick watched them closely as the boat advanced. The boys spoke
little or not at all, and John later accused Jesse of trying to pinch
a piece out of the side of the boat, he held on so tight. But not one
of them showed the white feather, nor made any trouble for the men in
their work of running the fast water.
The boat at first ran along gently, the little waves lapping along the
sides smartly, but not excitingly. Then at the end of the lower third
the water gained in speed very much. At The Turn the waves were no
doubt ten feet high. Francois, with a great sweep of his oar, fairly
flung the boat athwart the current here, and the passage was made with
no more than a scraping on the dangerous lower rock--the one which
Uncle Dick called Scylla. The upper one he called Charybdis.
"You'll learn what those two words mean when you go to school a little
later," said he, smiling.
Once beyond The Turn John and Jesse understood perfectly well what
Rob had meant by saying that the bottom fell out of the river. They
were excited, but had no thought of fear by the time they entered the
last chute where the scow tobogganed down to the foot of the island. A
moment later it was at rest once more in the eddy below the
promontory.
Rob explained now about the log float which had carried the rope down
to their boat when he first went through. There was, however, no
longer need for the float to carry down a line to the boat. The
brigade was through and the last scow below the island. The clerk and
his taciturn companion were left alone. They stood now, both of them,
waving their hats to the occupants of the _Midnight Sun_ as, after a
little, at the command of Francois, she pushed out from the eddy and
took her place in the long procession of the north-bound brigade,
every man of which now felt a sense of relief, since the most
dangerous part of the early journey, the portage of the Grand Rapids
of the Athabasca, had been safely accomplished.
The flotilla was now strung out over many miles of water, but it was
the intention to make several miles additional before stopping for the
night. In the late twilight, here strangely long and bright, Rob went
on with his notes in his diary, while John worked at his map, charting
as best he could the right-hand channel through which they had made
their exciting journey. Rob's notes later proved of interest to his
friends, as they explained very much about the journey of this
dangerous two hundred and fifty miles of the white-water transport.
"_Wednesday, June 4th._--Everybody busy all day. At 5 P.M.
most of the freight on the island, and getting loaded on
cars. Slept in the little mosquito tents. Very busy day.
"_Thursday, June 5th._--Many pictures to-day, and we all
were busy. Curious work running boats through the rapids and
getting boat back to end of island. I think that rope that
they let down to the boat is almost a quarter of a mile
long. It takes twenty men or more to haul a boat up against
the rapids, empty, of course.
"Off in the _Midnight Sun_ below the island late afternoon.
Ran the little Grand Rapids, and swung into the Second Eddy
for supper. After that ran seven miles. Camp ground very
bad. Mosquitoes getting worse.
"_Friday, June 6th._--A great many rapids to-day. The
Buffalo seems mild to us after the Grand. The Brule Rapids
we liked because they had some pep to them. At about 3 P.M.
we hit the Boiler Rapids, which is one of the worst. Name
because a scow was lost here that was carrying a boiler up
north. The boiler has never been recovered. Rapids full of
boulders, and in low water very bad. Not very dangerous at
this stage. Everybody was still as we went through this
place and came into what they called the Rapids of the
Drowned. They say a great many men have been drowned there,
and it certainly looked bad. These two rapids are about a
mile and a half altogether.
"Four boats were tied back because not everybody can run
these rapids. Our boat was in the lead. Then four pilots
walked back to bring through the boats which had been held
up. We made pictures of them as they came through. Supper at
5 as we floated along, and then we dropped into the Middle
Rapids and had a beautiful time.
"One or two canoes ran through with breeds. Pretty exciting.
They say few of these breeds can swim, but they don't seem
to mind that. Saw several wrecks of scows along the shores
here, and one boat upset in the middle of the rapids. Some
machinery on shore below rapids, very rusty. Begin to
understand why freight comes high. Sometimes half a cargo is
wasted or lost. No farms, no horses, no cows. A good game
country. They say the game and fish keep the white men
alive. The little boy Charl' keeps with the good Sisters. He
was scared going through the rapids, and so were they.
"On the Long Rapids, as we passed through, we saw the fresh
grave of one of the men who was drowned here the other day.
Only one body was found. Their canoe was all broken up.
"On the Crooked Rapids we saw where the men have to track
the boats going up-stream. Don't see how they keep from
falling off the bank. Below the Crooked come the Stony
Rapids, and what the boatmen call the Dive, a sudden dip
down of three or four feet. Sometimes boats ship seas.
Scenery this evening bold and interesting. Some cliffs. Fast
water all day. Camp at 8 o'clock on a good high bluff.
Mosquitoes not quite so bad. Nights cool. This ended the
most glorious day I ever spent out of doors, I believe.
"_Saturday, June 7th._--Beautiful weather. Passed cliffs
where they say there is oil. I don't know. We heard heavy
rapids below, and at 7 A.M. got into them. They call this
the Little Cascade. A ledge runs across the river. At 9
o'clock we came to one of the big jumps on the river known
as the Grand Cascade. About the worst man-trap there is in
low water, they say. We concluded to run her. Our boat goes
first. Some boats tie back to wait for our pilots. There are
three good pilots to eight boats. Many pictures of boats
running the Cascade, which drops eight or ten feet like a
mill-dam. Wonderful what these men can do with the boat.
"Now three or four small rapids which I don't mind, then at
11.45 we struck Mountain Rapids, which made little Charl'
'get some scares,' as Francois says. Sometimes we eat on the
boat. I asked Father Le Fevre if he had prayed for high
water, and he said yes. Then I asked him what he did if high
water didn't come. He said, 'My son, although in that case
I prayed for high water, perhaps God likewise took another
way to show His power, and so saved us out of even greater
danger and discomfort.' He's a bird.
"The Moberly Rapids don't amount to much. We ran them at
1.30--the last on the great chain of rapids, so they say. In
about fifteen minutes we could see Fort McMurray on ahead.
Many scows were lying along the shore, mostly loaded, some
empty. Climbed up a steep hill to a fine flat on top of the
bluff. Woods all around. A fine site for a town, and the
Indians have it. The flat was covered with tepees, also some
tents. There were dogs and dogs and babies and babies
everywhere, with squaws and Indian men walking around all
dressed up in their best. The Indian agent is going to pay
their treaty money. It is only eight hundred and fifty
dollars altogether--not very much, I think. Hear a lot of
talk about lands and towns and railroads and oil.
"There are some Chippewyans here, and a lot of Crees, but
these northern Indians don't speak the Cree language. Got
my moccasins mended. Made some pictures. The _Grahame_ is
the name of the H. B. steamboat which is going to take us
down the river from here. We will tow our scow and sleep on
the steamboat. Monday morning is when we start.
"_Sunday, June 8th._--The treaty payment goes on, although
it is Sunday. Indian men sitting down on the grass before
the commissioner. He asks each one what right he has to
claim money from the Great Father, I suppose. Once in a
while he turns to the clerk and says, 'We'll give this old
duffer twenty bucks.' This doesn't look to me like very much
money. I don't think they get much help. They are poor and
dependent. If they couldn't rustle well out of doors they
all would die. Much trade finery among the natives, who
dress very bright. Several Northwest Mounted Policemen in
red-jacket uniform who go north with us on the boat. She is
going to be crowded. The judge and his party are going on
the scows.
"Well, this is the end of the scow-work for us, so it seems.
Uncle Dick thinks we will be more comfortable on the
steamer, and will see more people to talk to than if we
stuck to our own scow. We will tow her alongside. I hope
they will let us run through the Smith's Landing portage, on
the Little Slave, a hundred miles below here. I never had a
better time in my life than the first 250 miles. The
mosquitoes don't bother us quite so much. John eats a great
deal, and Jesse is getting fat. Having a bully time."
VI
ON THE STEAMBOAT
As Rob indicated in his diary, the start from McMurray was made early
on Monday morning, but the stop was long enough for the boys to gain
an idea of the importance of this busy frontier settlement. Here also
came in the Clearwater River, down which, by way of a chain of lakes,
all the brigade traffic used to come before the discovery that the
Grand Rapids themselves could be run. When it is remembered that the
start was made from Athabasca Landing on May 29th, and the arrival at
McMurray on June 7th, it will be seen that, crude as the system and
the means of transport had been, a great deal of results had been
attained. Rob figured that at the rate of two hundred and fifty miles
a week they would not get very far, but Uncle Dick pointed out that
now, since they had reached steamer transport, the journey would
advance very rapidly.
The steamboat, after its start, passed the string of scows, among
which were some boats of independent traders, and a few hardy
adventurers bound north, for what purpose they hardly knew.
The _Grahame_ advanced steadily and rapidly down-stream. Some of the
passengers excitedly tried to point out to Uncle Dick the value of the
oil-lands in this part of the world, but Uncle Dick only smiled and
said he was out for a good time, and not building railroads now.
The weather grew quite warm, and in the state-rooms the boys found
that the thermometer stood at ninety degrees. With one stop for wood
at a yard where the natives had piled up enormous quantities of
cordwood, the boat tied up after making perhaps sixty miles.
On the following day she continued her steady progress down-stream
between the green-lined shores. The banks of the river now grew lower
and lower, and by nine o'clock in the evening, at which time it still
was light, there began to show the marshes of the Peace River Delta,
one of the most important deltas in all the world. The boat ran on
into the night, and before midnight had passed the mouths of the
Quatre Fourches, or Four Forks, which make the mouth of the Peace
River.
The boys wondered at the great marshes which now they saw, and Uncle
Dick explained to them that here was one of the greatest wild-fowl
breeding-grounds in all the world.
"If there were any way in the world for sportsmen to get up here,"
said he, "this country would soon be famous, for it certainly is a
wilderness. Here is where the natives shoot wild geese for their
winter's meat. And as for ducks, there is no numbering them."
Every one sat on the decks of the boat late at night, and we may rest
assured that the boys were on hand when finally the _Grahame_ swung to
her moorings along the rocky shore of historic Fort Chippewyan.
In the morning they went ashore eagerly and gazed with wonderment over
the wild scene which lay all about. The point where they landed was a
rocky promontory. Before it lay high, rocky islands, among which ran
the channels of the two great rivers which here met in the great
waters of Athabasca Lake.
"Just to think," said Rob to his friends, "this post here was founded
a hundred and forty-three years ago. My, but I'd have liked to have
been with old Sir Alexander at that time! He ought to have a monument
here, it seems to me, or some sort of tablet; but there isn't a thing
to tell about his having found this place or done anything
extraordinary."
"I wonder how much these natives here are going to get in the way of
treaty money," said John, as he saw the commissioner again putting up
his tent with the flag of his country above it. "There are a lot of
canoes coming in from everywhere, so they say--fifty Cree boats from
their camp. They tell me that the Crees and Chippewyans don't mix any
too well. I think the Crees have got them scared when it comes to
that."
"Well, these dogs have got me scared," complained Jesse. "I never saw
so many dogs in all my life. And there isn't a cow anywhere in the
world, nor even a goat or sheep."
"They have to have these dogs in the winter-time, you understand,"
said John, paternally. "They pull as much as a team of horses would in
the snow."
"Yes, and they eat as much as a horse would," said Jesse. "The bacon
for Fort Resolution was unloaded here last night, and the dogs ate up
more than a ton of it; there's nothing left there except a lot of
paper and pieces of canvas! I'll bet it's the first time these dogs
here ever had a square meal in their lives!"
"I don't know about that," said Rob, laughing. "Look over yonder." He
pointed to where an Indian woman sat on the ground, cleaning a lot of
fish. Around her squatted a circle of gaunt, wolfish creatures which
seemed ready to devour her and her fish alike.
Uncle Dick joined their group as they wandered around, and explained
such things as they did not understand.
"This is one of the greatest posts of all the fur trade," said he. "It
is the center, as you have learned, of a lot of the native tribes in
this part of the world. It ships from here an enormous amount of fur
which the traders collect. The independent traders are breaking in
here now, but the natives learn to catch more and more fur, so it
seems. I suppose in time it will be exterminated. Then the natives
will go, too.
"Over yonder is a tombstone, but not any monument for Sir Alexander.
It tells about the life-history of an old factor who lived here for so
long in this wilderness. It's all old, old, old--older almost than any
city in the United States, or at least older than a great many of our
considerable cities. But you would think this was at the beginning.
There are the natives, and there are the dogs, just as they were when
Sir Alexander came through. Perhaps they didn't have so much calico
then. Of course they didn't have repeating-rifles then, and surely not
steel traps. But they talked the same language, and in my opinion they
had about as much religion then as they have now."
"What's that boat out there with a sail on it?" demanded Rob, after a
time, pointing to a small craft which was moored near by.
"Goodness only knows," replied Uncle Dick. "There are all sorts of
fool adventurers in the world, and they take all sorts of fool
chances. I have heard that there are a half-dozen prospectors in that
schooner, going north, they don't know where nor why.
"Well, at least we can say we're in the North here," he added. "They
get just nine mails a year at Chippewyan, about four mails in and the
rest of them go out. In the summer-time mail service runs about once a
month.
"They say they did have a horse in here two years ago, and that it ran
off, and they did not find it for two years. They had a team at Fort
McMurray, and it was lost, too. I wouldn't call this a good horse
country myself! No, it's a fur country and an Indian country. That's
why it's interesting to us, isn't it?"
"Well," said John, "we ought to get some pictures of the treaty
payments to the Indians to show our folks back home how they live up
here. I wish I had brought along twice as many rolls of film as I've
got. I never get tired of making pictures of dogs and Indians."
"Well, when you are photographing Indians study Indians, too," said
Uncle Dick. "Most people look at Indians just as an object of
curiosity, but he may be quite a fellow, even so. For instance, there
are these Crees sitting over there in the grass before the flag,
waiting for their treaty money. They flock by themselves, quite
distinct from the Chippewyans; they don't camp within three miles of
each other. As you know, the Crees are of the Algonquin family. They
have pushed west all the way from eastern Canada, following the fur
trade. They have followed up the Red River and down the Athabasca, and
they have overrun all the intervening tribes and elected themselves
chiefs and bosses pretty much. You may call the Cree half-breed the
mainstay of all the northern fur trade.
"But now," he added, "we are getting beyond the country even of the
Crees. Here at Chippewyan is the farthest north of the Cree so far.
Now we are going to find a lot of other different tribes."
The boys passed here and there along the rocky shore among the
villages of the natives and among the stoutly built log houses of the
fur-post itself. Here and there a woman was sitting in front of her
tent, trying to operate one of the little cheap hand sewing-machines
which had been brought on for the first time that year. In another
tent strange sounds came which seemed familiar to the boys. They
discovered that a proud family had purchased a cheap phonograph, and
under the instruction of one of the clerks was proceeding to produce
what is sometimes called melody. These things, however, did not
interest the young adventurers so much as the more primitive scenes of
the native life.
Here they saw a boatman fresh from his nets, with half a boat-load of
fish still alive, throw out some of the live fish, among them a number
of pickerel, or Great Northern Pike, to his dogs, which sat waiting on
the shore for his arrival. A dog would seize a five-pound fish by the
head, kill it, and eat it outright, bones and all.
"They never get enough to eat," said John. "They're hungry all the
time."
"Well," said Jesse, laughing, "that's the same way with you, isn't it,
John?"
"That's all right," said John, testily. "I'm growing, that's why I eat
so much. But as for you, Jesse, you'd better keep away from these
dogs. Do you know what I heard? It was old Colin Frazer, the
fur-trader, told me. He said there was a child killed last winter out
on the ice by dogs, and they ate it up, every bit. You see, it had on
a caribou coat, and it was alone at the time. The dogs killed it and
ate it. Sometimes they eat little dogs, too. They'll eat anything and
never get enough. But I suppose they have to have dogs here the same
as they have to have Indians, else they could have no fur trade."