upon all those remaining on the bank. The three young lads looked from
one to the other, looked again at the silent face of the tall and
sun-bronzed man who was to lead them out of this country now. A sudden
melancholy had fallen upon them all. The silence, the mystery of the
great North, seemed now to envelop them. They felt strangely
alone--indeed, if truth were told, strangely sad and helpless.
Home--how very far away it seemed! John poked a swift elbow into
Jesse's side, for it seemed to him he had caught just a suspicion of a
tear in the corner of that young traveler's eye.
And now, late in what should have been the evening of the Arctic day,
there arose, as if expressive of the thought in the minds of all, that
strangest and most mournful sound that comes to the ears of man--the
united howling of the dogs of the Far North.
There may have been two or three hundred of them in all, perhaps more,
in the Loucheux village and the remainder of the Eskimo encampment,
but all of them in unison, if not in accord, raised their voices in a
tremulous wail which fairly made the blood run cold.
It was the voice of the far-off, mysterious, and unconquered North!
XII
THE RAT PORTAGE
Before our young adventurers now lay the most dangerous part of their
entire journey in the northern wilderness--that famous Rat Portage
over the Rockies, at which, twenty years earlier, so many parties
bound for the Klondike met disaster. Our young friends had no guides
to lead them through this unknown country, any more than had the first
Klondikers in the gold stampede which came down the Mackenzie and
undertook to get across to the Yukon. No map of that region existed,
or at least not in the knowledge of any of our party. They were,
therefore, as helpless as any explorers ever were in any portion of
the world, and were about to venture into a country as wild as any
upon the North American continent.
It was no wonder, then, that their leader, himself a wise and cautious
man and well versed in all the expedients of outdoor life, hesitated
and pondered, as, standing upon the high crest of Fort McPherson boat
landing, he looked out to the low, dull slopes of the Rockies, far
ahead. He had heard all the stories about this risky undertaking, and
had been cautioned repeatedly by the old trader at Fort McPherson
against endeavoring to get through with no companions but these young
boys. He knew that his supplies would be no more than sufficient, and
that there was no place to get further supplies. Above all, he
pondered over the dissimilarity of opinions expressed about the
distances and difficulties of the proposed route across the Rockies.
Some said it was a hundred miles to the summit, others said
seventy-five, others a hundred and forty. Some said it would take a
week to get to the top, others two weeks, others three, and yet others
said it could not be done at all. Some said there was one lake at the
portage on the summit, others said there were five. No one could give
any clear idea of the country that lay out yonder beyond the dull,
brown tundra.
It was a mysterious land, potent with difficulties and possibly alive
with dangers. Uncle Dick loved these young companions of his beyond
all price, and he knew his own responsibility in undertaking to lead
them through. At times he regretted the whole journey as a mad
enterprise which never ought to have been taken on. But at length,
like any born leader, he pitted the difficulties against the
privileges, made his decision; and, having made it, adhered to it.
"We'll start, boys," said he, "and start to-morrow."
Since, therefore, these young travelers did make this dangerous
journey which had proved impossible for so many older _voyageurs_, it
may be well to allow Rob to tell in his own fashion the story of their
crossing of the Rockies on the old Rat Portage. Rob kept his notes
from day to day during the remainder of their stay at Fort McPherson.
"_Sunday, July 13th._--Cloudy and overcast. Lucky we got our
pictures of the Midnight Sun--this is about the last chance.
We have been living at the Mounted Police barracks. The old
trader keeps to his own house. Uncle Dick says he was to get
us our supplies. We have mended the canoe we brought down on
the steamboat. Not very big for four of us. Uncle Dick says
he has got two Loucheux Indian boys, Johnny and Willy, to
meet us at the mouth of the Rat River and help us to track
up that river to the top. Uncle Dick seems uneasy. We told
him not to bother about us. The independent trader with a
scow of furs is going to try to get across. We ought to beat
them over.
"_Wednesday, July 16th._--Such fuss and fooling around
nobody ever saw. But we're on our way with at least some
supplies. Glad we brought a shot-gun and a fishing-rod. Off
at 4.15. At 7.30 reached a creek coming into the Husky River
from a chain of lakes. Never saw so many fish in my life as
there were of the 'connies.' We caught plenty for a day or
so. Mosquitoes bad in camp. Rain.
"_Friday, July 18th._--Late start, 10.30. At 1.30 made the
mouth of the Rat and picked up the two Indians. This famous
stream is a deep, narrow creek. Mosquitoes the worst I ever
saw. Ate lunch in headnets. Have to write with gloves on.
Current sluggish. We still can paddle up-stream. It is at
least seventy-five miles, possibly a hundred, to the top.
"At 11.15 thought we were near Destruction City, the old
Klondike camp where so many died. Some women wintered here.
Must have been an awful bunch of tenderfeet. We are maybe
ten to fifteen miles above the mouth of the Rat. Shores
sandy and covered with willows. Cooked a pot of beans. We
have a few beans, a little tea, some dried fruit, a little
flour, and some side-meat for grease. Not much more. Fish
are said to be plenty, also plenty of ptarmigan and rabbits
farther up. Pretty tired to-night. Have done maybe twenty
miles.
"_Saturday, July 19th._--Current stiffer. Passed a creek
coming from Black Mountains. Shores began to change in the
afternoon. Tundra coming down to banks. Began to see rocks
on shore--glad to see them after so much mud and willow
flats. At 4 P.M. made Destruction City--probably twenty-five
miles above the mouth of the Rat. Going slower than we
thought, as we hoped to make this yesterday. Caught some big
trout, very fine to eat. They take the fly splendidly. At 5
P.M. we laid aside the paddles and had to begin to track.
The Indians are patient now, and very useful. Tracking is
beastly hard work. You put a collar around your breast and
shoulder. We had to walk in the water. Uncle Dick and the
Indians and I took turns. John steered pretty well. All got
our feet and legs wet a hundred times. Jesse went along
shore most of the way. The canoe rode light, and we made
pretty good time.
"_Sunday, July 20th._--Mosquitoes still with us. Rain lets
up. We have been sleeping pretty wet, but don't mind.
Rerigged our tracking-line. Got some pictures. Started at
10.30 and traveled nearly five hours to foot of a bad rapid
above a deep pool. Camped on a beach. Made a big fire to dry
our clothes. We are wet all the time, all of us. Jesse shot
three rabbits. He hunts while we track the boats. We don't
let him get out of sight very far. I saw one lynx to-day.
Astonishing how little game we have been seeing on this
whole trip in this big wild country. Saw an abandoned
Klondike camp. They say they are scattered through all these
woods here. Sometimes they have found skeletons since. A boy
was lost in here and found dead. Traces of the big Klondike
migration now getting scarce. Saw some iron on the beach,
and ax marks on trees.
"_Monday, July 21st._--Heavy going. Hard strain on all of
us. Think this would try the best sort of man if he had
heavy supplies along in his boat. We have to hurry or we
won't have enough to eat. Lunch at 2 P.M. Saw the mountains
far ahead. A great sight. They seem not more than
twenty-five miles. Indian boys very useful, quiet, and
patient. One says he paid twenty-five dollars for his hat at
the trading-post. It was worth about two dollars in the
States. Saw some blazed trees. This was written on one,
'Colin's rifle in tent here 25th.' Don't know what this
meant, but suppose a party had split and some gone ahead,
and left word. Gum had grown all over the writing. Saw some
more sled irons. Jesse got eight rabbits and two ptarmigan.
We make a stew and keep putting more things in it as we
travel along.
"_Tuesday, July 22d._--We started about 10 o'clock this
morning. Take turns on the line, each going as fast and as
far as he can, until he gets pretty tired. Saw a coal seam
in a cut rock wall on the bank. Mounted a series of heavy
rapids all day. At 7 P.M. hit a canyon and had hard work to
get up the rapids, for almost a mile. All worn out. Camp
8.30. Jesse plumb fagged out. Everybody wet. We dried our
clothes around the fire before we went to bed. Can see how
hard this would be for real tenderfeet. Found an old
Klondike shack, fallen in, this afternoon, apparently
deserted nearly twenty years. Caught some splendid Arctic
trout on the fly--the gamest fish we ever saw, and mighty
good to eat. They look like sea-trout, although they are a
hundred and fifty miles from the sea here. Our camp in a
round pocket to-night. The canyon bends sharp to the right.
Can see one mountain ahead, but not the big range. John
making a map all the time. Stories told us no use this far;
things don't check out.
"_Wednesday, July 23d._--Off at 10.30. Much to our joy, have
fine tracking nearly all day. Rapids less powerful, and
bends wider, and better beaches to walk on. At 6.30 passed a
small creek and explored it. Nowhere near summit yet. We
thought we logged twelve miles to-day. Probably haven't
averaged half that the other three days. It looks mighty
puzzling on ahead. They told us to look out for a sharp,
high peak which marked the portage. We can't figure it out.
They told us to look for a river coming from the right. We
don't find one. We seem a long way from the summit. Camp
9.30 on rocky flat. Trout and grayling both for supper. Very
fine.
"_Thursday, July 24th._--Haven't slept very well. Everybody
getting sore and tired. Don't think we went over four or
five miles all day to-day. Uncle Dick called it 'unmitigated
hell.' Water icy cold now and very fast and heavy. A great
many round, smooth stones in the river, so we can hardly
walk. Our shoes are worn out, and we are only wearing double
moccasins, so that our feet can hardly stand it. Uncle Dick
fell down once and hurt his leg pretty bad. An accident
might happen any time. The Indian boys are tired but game.
When we asked them how far to the top they said, 'I dinno,'
which is about all the English they have. Current getting
worse and worse, and the bad part is that the water is so
shallow that in places it is hard to get even our light
canoe through. We have to make crossings, and then there is
risk of the boat swinging down and pulling us off our feet.
I suppose a fellow would drown with the track-line around
him. Mighty hard work. At nine o'clock the two Indian boys
all in, and had to stop. At ten I went up with Uncle Dick to
explore. A river came from the right, so we thought this was
the junction of which they told us at McPherson. Went back
and got the rest and camped here about midnight. Tundra
under the trees. Couldn't drive tent-pegs for ice. A bad
camp. Everybody tired.
"Here we found the Summit Tree, not far from the beach. It
says: 'Summit Tree. Please register.' Many names under date
of 1898. Couldn't read all of them. A grizzly had registered
on this tree, too--scraped the bark off high up. Some names
we saw were Watt, Goldheim, Marks, Jones, etc. As is the
custom, we cut our names in, too, with the date, so that
others might see them. We slashed down the brush to the
water so that any others coming in now might see this tree
easier and so know where they were. If we had not found this
tree we would not have been sure we had reached the summit.
Well, we are mighty glad, anyhow. Wet and tired, but pretty
confident. Not much grub. Some rapids!
"_Friday, July 25th._--So tired we slept late. Everybody
stiff. Took the left-hand creek that comes in here, and had
a hard pull over a little cataract. This should be called
Summit Creek. It doesn't seem to have any name. It runs
narrow, and fringed with alders. Very crooked. Saw some
jack-snipe and a robin to-day, up here on the summit of the
Rockies, almost at the Arctic Sea and above the Arctic
Circle!
"We had to drop the line in the brush here and use paddle
and pole. Went for an hour and a half and then could see
lake on the right. Small creek coming in. Another lake
ahead. Everything was blank. It looked like a big country
and we had no map. John set down everything as we found it
out for ourselves. We climbed the foot-hills to look about.
Of course we wanted to find the headwaters of the Bell
River, or rather the Little Bell, which runs into the Big
Bell, and then into the Porcupine, which runs into the
Yukon, but we did not know which gap held the headwaters of
the Bell. On the left we saw a chain of little lakes, four
or five of them. Supposed there might be channels, so bore
to left toward these lakes. We're now on a flat country
high up, with rock walls far away on either side and
mountains on ahead. We are on the tundra now. It is broken
up into humps. The French call them '_tetes des femmes_,' or
'woman heads,' because of the long grass that hangs down
from the top. Mighty hard to walk over. There is a land
portage from Fort McPherson to the summit. A Catholic priest
has made it, and he used snow-shoes on these 'woman heads,'
although there was no snow. A man could hardly walk in any
other way.
"We left two lakes to the right, followed the creek, and
came to an old landing. Camped at 6 P.M. to eat. Instead of
two lakes up here there are five! We don't know where we are
going, but are hanging to our creek. Signs of a portage
other side of the lake, so guess we are on the right trail.
This is a blind pass. Some danger, I suppose. We are not
scared. We all hang together, because any one left here
would be helpless.
"_Saturday, July 26th._--Flies not so bad. Tried out our
creek farther and came into third small lake. Cut a portage
into next lake. The creek is very blind--wanders around
through the willows and grass. Jesse and John got away for
an hour or two to-day, and were lost; they went to the right
where we thought the channel ran, but it didn't go there.
Everybody much scared. The last portage is on ahead, six
hundred yards from Summit Lake to Loon Lake. Everybody seems
to forget these other little lakes, which are confusing. We
see signs of old ax-work, so think we must be on the trail.
The Hudson's Bay people have used this in the past as well
as the Klondike outfits. These latter people must have had
an awful time getting over.
"The whole country of the Rat and the country on the summit
in this pass may be called altogether new and unknown to any
one. We had to find it as much as if no one had ever been
there before, except one or two places we saw where men had
been. There is no map of it. Now we have made two short
portages and one long portage in getting to Loon Lake; and
Loon Lake, we are pretty sure, drains into the headwaters of
the Bell River.
"This creek is so shallow we have to drag our boat across
the tundra. Willy had gone on ahead, and says he has found
the Bell River. It is not anywhere near where we thought it
was. I thought the pass lay far off to the right. Opposite
our camp on Loon Lake there is a 'sharp, high peak,' all
right, and this no doubt is the one the traders told us
about. The trouble is when you say 'sharp, high peak' you
may see any one of fifty which you think is the right one,
and it may be wrong.
"Found the new creek, which we think is the Little Bell,
down a deep bank. Plenty of water and plenty of current. It
looks as if it ran back into the mountains fifteen or twenty
miles. No one knows anything about it. No one knows anything
about this country at all. We call ourselves explorers as
much as anybody. I am pretty sure now that this is the right
'sharp, high peak.' There was a trader by name of Charles
Camsell came across here, and he made a sort of map. The
government maps only guess at this as far as they try to
describe it.
"I think it is risky to depend on loose talk of a new
country like this. They told us there were only two portages
and two lakes, but I have counted eleven lakes and ponds on
the summit of the Rockies here. We really crossed five
lakes, counting in Loon Lake, and we made two short creek
portages, one long lake-to-lake portage, and one long
lake-to-river portage--the five-hundred-yards drag into the
Little Bell. I think this is accurate. John has it all down
on his map this way. Many ptarmigan. Plenty of rabbits. The
Bell River full of grayling. Never saw the like.
"Our Indian boys left us to-day. They are going back home by
themselves. They have a rifle and we have given them a few
beans and a little flour and a small piece of bacon--all we
can spare. Uncle Dick paid them well. They have helped out
very much. Without them I don't know whether we boys could
have got the boat up the Rat or not. It was mighty rough,
mean work, I can say that. John and Jesse helped all they
could, and so did we all. Well, here we are at the summit.
"The Midnight Sun is gone now--there was a sunset to-night.
We got to bed about 12 o'clock midnight. Sorry to have the
Indian boys go back, as they were cheerful, fine chaps. They
say we are all right now, and that this river runs to the
Porcupine. I would rather trust an Indian than a Klondiker
in getting across country.
"We are getting so we don't like rabbits very much. The
ptarmigan and grayling still taste good. Our new river is
full of grayling, and we have explored it a little bit. It
is fine up here in the mountains. John and Jesse and I feel
that this is the greatest trip we ever had, or that anybody
could have in this country. We feel more alone here than in
any place we have ever been in all our lives.
"We now think we can get through."
Rob's journal and John's map later proved most prized possessions of
our young explorers, so they were glad they kept them up, although it
ever was rather unwelcome work to sit in a cramped-up tent, or out in
the air among the mosquitoes, and write or draw for a long time while
still tired and wet. Both of them, however, persisted till the end,
and later did not regret it.
XIII
DOWN THE PORCUPINE
"I'm awfully tired, Uncle Dick," said Jesse when he sleepily rolled
out of his blankets on the following morning. "It was midnight when we
went to bed, and I don't feel as though I had slept at all. Besides,
it's Sunday."
"Yes," said his uncle, "it's Sunday, July twenty-seventh, according to
my notes, and we've been gone from Fort McPherson one week and four
days. I think we've made mighty good time this far, for I believe we
must be considerably over a hundred miles from Fort McPherson to this
place where we stand."
"It's a fine morning for a little rest," suggested Rob. "Maybe it
wouldn't be wrong to make a few photographs. I'd like to make a
picture of that high peak across from here, which we ought to call
Castle Mountain. That's the mountain we've been hunting for the last
three or four days."
"Agreed!" said Uncle Dick. "I think it would be an excellent plan to
rest here for a time to-day, and then it would be no harm to start on.
Will you let me see the notes of your diary, Rob? We've been relying
on you to keep a record of our journey across the mountains, because
I've been too busy and, to tell the truth, too worried, to have much
time for making notes of the trip."
Rob produced his diary, and Uncle Dick read it page by page. "Fine!"
said he. "Fine! This doesn't go into many details, but it will cover
the story of our trip as well as I could have done it myself. Now,
after we get started down the Bell and the Porcupine, I want you to
keep up the same thing, so that we will have some sort of a record of
our journey in this wild part of the world.
"I'll have to admit to you boys, now that we are alone, that I don't
think we ought to waste any time in here. The two Indian boys who have
left us have cut down our supplies considerably, but as they can't
possibly get back to McPherson in less than four days, it seemed only
fair to share with them what little we had, though it means less for
us. We'll have to hurry."
"I'm so sick and tired of rabbits by this time," grumbled John, "that
I don't ever want to see one again. I don't like to clean them any
more, and I don't like to smell them when they are cooking in the
kettle."
"You're not the first man in the North to get tired of rabbits," said
Uncle Dick. "For a day or two they are all right, but there is really
very little strength in the meat. They are, however, the main prop of
the fur trade in the North, and the mainstay of the savage population
as well. Except for rabbits, all these natives would starve to death
in the winter-time. They have almost nothing to eat from one season to
the next after the caribou have gone by."
"Where is the caribou migration in here?" asked John.
"It won't pass here at all," replied their leader. "They tell me that
the caribou are north of the Porcupine, toward the Arctic, and that
they work south along toward the latter part of August. There are a
few sheep in here, but mountain-sheep is a hard meat to kill. There is
mighty little hope for us to get anything unless we can catch some
fish as we go along--and unless we continue to eat rabbits, and maybe
some ptarmigan. I shouldn't wonder if the ptarmigan would grow much
scantier when we get down out of the mountains farther.
"Jesse," he continued, "there'll be no harm in your taking your gun
and going over to see if you can get us some young geese or some young
ducks before we start out, over at the edge of Loon Lake. We've got to
have all the food-supplies we can possibly get hold of, because we
don't know what is ahead. Hurry up, now, for pretty soon we must call
ourselves rested and be on our way. Our canoe is waiting for us,
already launched, and it won't take long to get the loads aboard."
Jesse complied with his uncle's instructions, and, taking his light
shot-gun, disappeared in the fringe of willows which lay between the
camp and the marshy borders of the lake out of which they had made
their last portage on the Rocky Mountain summit. It was not long
before they began to hear the reports of his gun, and so proficient
had he by this time become in its use that when he returned in the
course of three-quarters of an hour he had a young goose and a
half-dozen mallard ducks to add to the larder.
"Fine!" said Uncle Dick. "Throw them in the boat, son, and we'll be
getting ready.
"Rob, go on with your diary; and, John, be sure that you keep up your
maps. There isn't a single report of any kind in print or in
manuscript, so far as I know, which tells the truth about this summit
of the Rockies. We are just as much explorers as if we were the first
to cross. The Klondikers left no records.
"And now take one last look around you, for I question if you will
ever be in a more remote corner of the world in all your lives. This
is the most northerly pass of the Rockies. Yonder above us, at the end
of what they call the Black Mountain range, lie the last foot-hills
between here and the Arctic. Off in that direction the Little Bell
finds its head--no man knows where, so far as I can tell. Westward in
general lies our course now, and we've got to make five hundred miles
between McPherson and the mouth of the Porcupine River, and make it in
jig time too, if we want to catch an up-bound boat on the Yukon this
fall."
"Well," said Rob, "I suppose if we had to we could play Robinson
Crusoe here at least as well as those poor Klondikers did who came to
grief here twenty years ago. But as for me, I want to get home on
time--not only because we have to go to school and because our parents
are waiting for us, but because we set out to make our round trip
within certain dates, and we ought to do so if that is a possible
thing."
"That's the talk!" said Uncle Dick. "Come ahead then, boys. Now we
are alone--let us see how we can travel."
Rob did as requested and made brief notes of their course throughout
the remainder of their trip to the Yukon River, which are given here
as he wrote them:
"_Sunday, July 27th._--Beautiful weather. Little Bell very
deep, with pools on the bends literally full of grayling.
They call them 'bluefish' here, and they look purple in the
deep, clear water. The Indian boys showed us how to cook
them. They split them down the back and skewer them flat,
and then hang them up before the fire, flesh side to the
fire. They eat them off the skin for a plate. You wouldn't
believe how good they are.
"Rabbits and ptarmigan all along the banks. Sometimes we
have to get out to ease the canoe down the rocky rapids, for
we must not cut her, since she is the only boat we have, and
to be without her would ruin us. Water is icy cold, even
colder than the head of the Rat, which was bad enough.