CHAPTER XI.

THROUGH THE LOWER RAMPARTS, AND THE END OF THE RAFT JOURNEY.

Very well defined indeed are the upper gates of the lower ramparts, and one enters them from above with a suddenness that recalls his childish ideas of mountain ranges taken from juvenile geography-books, where they are represented as a closely connected series of tremendously steep peaks, with no outlying hills connecting them with the level valleys by gently rolling slopes, as nature has fortunately chosen to do; this approach to the lower ramparts being one of the few exceptions. The lower termination is not by any means so well marked as after the rapids at Senati's village are passed; there is a gradual lowering of the range, broken by many abrupt as well as gradual rises until the delta at the mouth of the river is reached, far beyond the point at which any traveler has placed their western limit. I think I agree pretty well with others in placing it about the mouth of the Tanana or Nuklakayet trading station. This would give the lower ramparts a length of about one hundred miles along the river, or about one-fourth the length of the upper ramparts.

On August 3d we started at 7:30 A. M., and half an hour afterward our hearts were gladdened by re-entering the hilly country, for the flat and monotonous districts through which we had been drifting for many days induced a peculiar depression difficult to describe as well as to suffer. Our entry was signaled by the killing of three young but almost full-grown gray geese out of a small flock which we surprised as we floated around a point of land near the northern bank. This incident ushered in a hunting season when our shot-guns might have done great service but for our unfavorable condition for hunting, planted as we were upon a raft in the middle of a broad river.

We had supposed that when we entered the ramparts and the widely-scattered waters of the river were united into a single channel, our speed would surely increase; in fact, we had been told as much by the steamboat men. On the contrary, the current was distinctly slower than that of any main channel of the stream through which we had drifted since leaving the head of the river, and after floating for thirteen hours we could only reckon thirty-six geographical miles to our credit, the poorest record we had made except on days when we had stranded upon a river bar or had been forced down a side channel of slack water.

About one o'clock in the afternoon we passed three canoes hauled up on the right bank, their owners being asleep on the warm sand of the shore, nearly naked. Their clothes were hanging out to dry, and they were evidently remaining over from the heavy rain-storm of the day before. Persistent yelling aroused them, and one of their number put off in his canoe, paddling around the raft, but not understanding each other, he returned to the shore, having uttered but one word that we could comprehend, _chy_ (tea).

A half-hour afterward we passed the mouth of the Che-taut, a fair-sized stream coming in from the north. Near this point and for some distance beyond, we saw a number of old Indian signs, such as graves, habitations and _caches_, but the only living representatives of the tribe were the three sleepers we had seen a few miles back. Numbers of large wicker fish-traps were seen along the beach, none of which, however, were set; and, in general, an air of desolation prevailed. As soon as the early cold snaps of approaching winter along the Arctic coast of Alaska send the reindeer southward on their migrations, these Nimrods of the river hasten northward to meet them, for their skins furnish most acceptable winter clothing, and their meat is a welcome change from the dried salmon of the river. About six o'clock we saw a fair-looking Indian log-house on the right bank of the river, having a _barrabora_ (Russian name for log-cabin, half or nearly underground, the "dug-out" of the West), and _cache_ attached. All of the Indian _caches_ of the lower ramparts, and even further down the river until the Eskimo are encountered, are merely diminutive log-cabins from about four by four to eight by eight, mounted on corner logs so high that one can walk underneath the floor, which is generally made of poles or puncheons. A steep log leans against the door-sill and is cut into steps, to enable the owner to ascend (see initial piece to this chapter). The owner of this particular cabin had displayed much more than the usual energy in the construction of his domicile, there actually being a fence inclosing a small yard on one side of the house, and wooden steps leading up the steep bank from the water's edge to the little plateau upon which the cabin was built. These were roughly but ingeniously constructed of small, short lengths of log, the upper sides being leveled with an adze or ax.

We camped at 8:30 P.M. near several Indian graves, about a mile or two above the mouth of the Whymper River, which comes in from the left, and just on the upper boundary of the conspicuous valley of that stream. There were quite a number of graves at this point, forming the first and only burying place we saw on the river that might be called a family graveyard, _i.e._, a spot where a number, say six or seven, were buried in a row within a single inclosure. From its posts at the corners and sides were the usual _totems_ and old rags flying, two of the carvings representing, I think, a duck and a bear respectively, while the others could not be made out. We had heard, in an imperfect way, on the upper river, that some disease was raging among the natives on the lower part, and that whole villages had been swept away and bodies left unburied, but this proved to be wholly sensational. A mild form of measles had indeed attacked a small town, causing one or two deaths, but this was the only foundation we could find for the report. The Yukon River, however, is a great thoroughfare for contagious disease, and maladies raging among the Chilkats have been known to travel its whole course as rapidly as we had done, and from the river as a base had spread right and left among the native tribes, until the cold weather of approaching winter subdued them, if they were amenable to the influence of temperature. I have never heard of any returning against the stream, but instances of their descending it are not infrequent. Dr. Wilson tried to get a skull out of the many we assumed were at hand, to send to the Army Museum's large craniological collection, but although several very old-looking sites were opened, the skulls were too fresh to be properly prepared in the brief time at our disposal.

The most welcome change in this hilly country is the diminishing of the gnats and mosquitoes into quite endurable numbers. We found several varieties of berries near this camp, one or two of which were quite palatable; the crisp rosebuds still continuing to appear, although perhaps they were not so large as those we found near old Fort Yukon.

These lower ramparts so closely resemble the ramparts of the Upper Yukon in many particulars that the conviction seemed irresistible that they are one and the same chain of mountains, and if I may be excused the simile, are stretched like a bow-string across the great arc of the Yukon, as it bends northward into the Arctic flat-lands, which latter beyond the timber line become the great Arctic tundra.

The night of August 3d was very cold, only a few degrees above freezing, and besides the chance it gave us for a most comfortable night's rest, it stiffened up the few mosquitoes of the evening before so completely that they had to suspend operations altogether. Just before starting Corporal Shircliff killed a large porcupine near camp, an animal said to be quite numerous along the river, and so abundant in the flat-lands near Fort Yukon as to attach his name to the large tributary which joins the river at that point. It was nearly eight o'clock when we started, and after a mile's drifting we passed the mouth of the Whymper River, which we could not see until after we had got well past it. Its valley, however, is quite noticeable, and one would immediately conjecture that a river of considerable dimensions flowed through it.

A somewhat ludicrous incident took place at a short distance below this point. As we were drifting along a couple of wolves came trotting leisurely around a point of land just ahead of us, and the corporal and the cook picking up their rifles began firing at them with the usual fatal results--to the ammunition--the wolves simply snapping at each shot as it was fired, but not apparently increasing their pace, though they were but seventy-five or a hundred yards away. After fully half a dozen shots had been discharged as fast as the two could load and fire, an Indian house broke unexpectedly into view around the point from which the wolves had come, and in one breath two or three of the amused spectators called out to the sportsmen that they were firing at Indian dogs, as was proved by the tameness of the animals and their proximity to the house; whereupon I told the men to desist. The funny thing was that they really were wolves, and the two men had fired so rapidly and the bullets had struck the bank and torn out the gravel just beyond the animals so fast that all their attention was absorbed in that direction and thus they did not observe us, the reports of the shots and the echoes of the impacts being so confusing. The moment we ceased and they heard our voices and got one look at us out on the river the rapidity with which they sought the woods, left no doubt as to their species. The Indian house and surroundings were deserted and the wolves had been smelling around and investigating some old animal refuse near by.

This part of the river was particularly abundant in Indian signs of a permanent character on both banks of the river, but not a living soul was seen anywhere.

A most exasperating gale of wind raged all day, driving us into areas of slack-water in which we could scarcely move, and keeping us alongside of steep banks in the river bends; and when camp was made shortly after eight o'clock, after being on the water over twelve hours, we had made but twenty-six and a half miles.

During the day we saw a number of places at which the red rocks crop out from the summits of the high hills, resembling those on the eastern side of Lake Lindeman, which had been named the "Iron-Capped Mountains" on that account. The contrast of color was not so great, however, for on the latter range the rocks projected through the snow and blue-ice of the glacier-cap, while in the lower ramparts they were surrounded by brownish-red soil and autumnal foliage. I doubt if I should have noticed them but for their great similarity to those on the headwaters of the river.

Our Camp 47 was near a small stream on the left bank and I observed that all of these little creeks passing through the wet moss and tundra-like carpet underneath the dense timber, were highly colored with a port-wine hue, although their waters were so clear that one could often see to the bottom in places three and four feet deep. Probably these streams have their sources in the iron-impregnated soil and rock of the adjacent mountains, and if flowing through land where the drainings have absorbed the dyes from decaying leaves and vegetation, acquire this deep red color, almost verging on purple, forming a sort of natural ink, as it were. Wherever these streams empty themselves, their waters make a striking contrast with the white and muddy river, and often where there was nothing else to indicate that we were approaching a tributary, we would see ahead a dark stripe running out from the bank and curving down stream as it took up the new direction of the river's course, and this would indicate the presence of a creek from the hillsides, long before we could reach its mouth.

Two days after entering this hilly country we approached the rapids of the lower ramparts, of which we had heard and read so much that we felt a little anxiety as to the danger of approaching them. We had a very good map, Raymond's, of this part of the river, and knew just about where to expect them, and this circumstance, coupled with the instructions received on the upper river to keep well toward the left bank, reassured us somewhat; but still we had double complements of men at both bow and stern oars to be used in case of emergency. A little bit uncertain at one point in regard to our position with respect to the rapids we made hasty inquiries at a small Indian village near which we drifted, and its occupants told us that we had passed the rapids about half a mile back, the natives pointing to an insignificant reef of low white bowlders that jutted out a short distance from the right bank. They were certainly the mildest rapids had ever seen. During higher water, when the current is swifter and the reef just projects from the swift water, these rapids may appear more formidable, but if this part of the river had been wholly unexplored until our arrival, I doubt seriously whether we should ever have observed them. At this point the river is only about two hundred and fifty yards wide, and although the current noticeably increases, its increase can not, I think, be in any proportional to the vast volume of water the river must carry through such a narrow channel; the stream must, therefore, be unusually deep. This part of the lower ramparts, which may be assumed to be the "backbone" or summit of the chain of high hills through which the river has cut its way, is very picturesque, and had it not been for the squally weather and the black clouds that were lowering over the crests, I should have lingered awhile so as to procure a few photographs of the scenery. Gloster's sketches served our purpose too well in such places to think of delaying very long for this object at any point of the journey, and one of them is shown on page 295. I think it would be a fair estimate to say that the hills of the upper ramparts in their highest elevations are nearly twice the height of the corresponding ones in the lower ramparts.

We passed the rapids of the ramparts at 2:10 P.M., and the Indian village below ten minutes later. This is called Senati's (Senatee's) village upon previous maps, and at the date of our arrival was made up of two well-worn tents and four birch-bark houses, the whole containing from forty to fifty souls. Over half a dozen canoes put off from the village and were soon paddling around us, whereupon a lively competition ensued for supplying us with dried and smoked salmon. It was at this village that I first noticed the round-rimmed hand net spoken of in a former chapter as appearing on the lower river. Their handles of ten and twelve feet in length may appear to contradict my conjecture as to the unusual depth of the river here, or the Indians may go further down to fish, as we saw large numbers of their _caches_ perched along the right bank some distance below. Our camp was a forced one that evening,--the 5th--as we got stuck on a sandspit at the head of an island where we had to make "a rubber-boot camp" as the men designated any place where we grounded in shoal water so far from the shore that rubber-boots had to be put on in order to carry the cooking and camping effects to the selected spot. Cold and stormy as the day had been the mosquitoes sent a fair representation to inform us that we had not been deserted by them. From Camp 47 to Camp 48, Mr. Homan figured the day's run of nearly twelve hours' uninterrupted drift at but twenty-seven miles, and this in the narrowest portion of the ramparts, where we had hoped the current would increase. I was much inclined to think that our progress had been underestimated four or five miles, and that a desire to coincide with Captain Raymond's maps had marred an otherwise almost faultless reckoning.

Shortly after noon on the 6th--having started at half-past eight--we passed the mouth of the Tanana, having found one more island on this stretch of the river than is mapped by Raymond. A half-dozen more islands in many parts of the wide river or even half a hundred more or less at any point in the flat-lands might have escaped detection on any previous map, but here the shores are so bold and the islands so few and conspicuous that they can hardly escape casual observation, and an error of even one upon the map would attract notice.

The Tanana River, to which I have referred, is the largest tributary of the Yukon, and is fully the peer of the parent stream, at the point of confluence. Were it not for the fact that the geographical features which must necessarily limit the drainage area of each preclude the Tanana basin from equaling that of the Yukon, a casual observer standing at the junction of the two might well be puzzled to know which of the two was entitled to be regarded as the main stream. The Yukon River at this point is a little over thirteen hundred miles in length from its head, and a glance at a map will show that in its great northward bend it has inclosed the Tanana, which would have to make a great many windings within this area in order to equal the Yukon in length, a case which we are not justified in assuming. There is a rough method, however, of arriving at its length, according to the story told me by an old trader on the river, upon whose word I can rely. With one white companion, and some Indians as packers, he crossed from the trading station at Belle Isle, near Johnny's village or _Klat-ol-klin_, in a south-west direction, over the hills that divide the Yukon and Tanana basins, ascending a tributary of the former and descending one of the latter, the journey occupying two or three weeks, after which the Indians were sent back. A boat was constructed from the hide of a moose, resembling the "bull-boat" of the western frontiersmen, and in this they drifted to the river's mouth. At the point where the two travelers first sighted the Tanana, the trader estimated it to be about twelve hundred yards wide, or very nearly three-quarters of a mile, and as they were floating fifteen or sixteen hours a day for ten days, on a current whose speed he estimated at six or seven miles an hour, it being much swifter than the Yukon at any point as high as Belle Isle, my informant computed his progress at from ninety to a hundred miles a day; or from nine hundred to a thousand miles along the Tanana. He estimates the whole length of the river by combining the result of his observation with Indian reports, at from ten to twelve hundred miles. Fear of the Tanana Indians appears to be the motive for the rapid rate of travel through their country, and although in general a very friendly tribe to encounter away from home, they have always opposed any exploration of their country. The trader's companion had suggested and promoted the journey as a _quasi_ scientific expedition, and he collected a few skulls of the natives and some botanical specimens, but no maps or notes were made of the trip, and it was afterward said by the Alaska Company's employes that the explorer was an envoy of the "opposition," as the old traders called the new company, sent to obtain information regarding the country as a trading district. Allowing a fair margin for all possible error, I think the river is from eight hundred to nine hundred miles long, not a single portion of which can be said to have been mapped.[3] This would probably make the Tanana, if I am right in my estimate, the longest wholly unexplored river in the world, certainly the longest of the western continent.

[3] I have since learned that Mr. Bates made a map and took notes.

As we drifted by its mouth we could only form an approximate idea of its width, which was apparently two or three miles, including all channels and islands, which may be of the nature of a delta. It seemed to be very swift and brought down quantities of uprooted drift timber of large dimensions as compared with that brought by the Yukon. Looking back it resembled a suddenly exposed inland lake on the borders of the main stream, and its swift waters so overwhelmed those of the Yukon that a great slackening took place in the latter near their confluence, forming a sluggish pool into which we helplessly drifted. All these circumstances give to the Tanana the appearance of equality with the more important stream. Once in its current we went skimming along at a rapid rate that revealed the force of the new stream.

At 1:40 P.M. we passed an Indian village of four tents and two birch-bark houses, containing from twenty to twenty-five souls. Among the canoemen who visited us was a half-breed Indian, very neatly and jauntily dressed, who spoke English quite well, and whom we hired to pilot us to the trading station at Nuklakayet, the channel to which was very blind, and difficult to follow, as we had been told at old Fort Yukon. An hour later a large native village was passed on the north bank, apparently deserted; and another hour brought us to the "opposition" store of the old Northern Trading Company, around which was grouped quite an extensive collection of Indian cabins, graves, _caches_, and other vestiges of habitation. The old store was nearly demolished, while the once thriving Indian village had hardly a sign of life in it.

At half-past four o'clock we passed two or three small Indian camps on the upper ends of some contiguous islands, upon which they were spending the summer in fishing for salmon. At the upper ends of these islands they build oblique weirs or wicker-work wing-dams converging to a certain point, at which a large wicker-work net is placed, and into the latter the salmon are directed and there caught. These wicker-work nets are similar to those heretofore spoken of as having been seen scattered along the beach in front of a small house just after entering the ramparts, and some of them are so large that a man might walk into their open mouths, while they are probably a score of feet in length. These, together with the native hand-nets, already spoken of, are the only appliances I saw used for catching fish; but they serve amply to supply the natives throughout the year, and to give their numerous dogs a salmon apiece every day.

A little after six o'clock we sighted the Nuklakayet trading station, and after much hard labor succeeded in making a landing there, for the channel was most tortuous, and without our Indian pilot we should probably have missed the place altogether, so much dodging through winding ways and around obscure islands was necessary. Mr. Harper, whom we found in charge, was the only white man present, although Mr. McQuestion, and another trader who was down the river at the time (Mr. Mayo), make the station their headquarters. It is the furthest inland trading post at present maintained by the Alaska Commercial Company--or any other corporation on the river--although there were formerly others of which mention has been made, but an occasional visit of the river steamer has taken their place. Nuklakayet was once on the flat bottom land at the junction of the Tanana and the Yukon, and was considered a sort of neutral ground for the British traders from above and the Russians below, there being at that time summer trading camps only in existence.

Here Mr. Harper had attempted a small garden, which is certainly the most northerly garden existing in the territory of the United States, if not in the western continent; it being eighty-five geographical or ninety-eight statute miles from the Arctic circle, or within a couple of days' journey of the polar regions. The garden is shown in the illustration taken from a photograph made by Mr. Homan. Its principal vegetables were turnips, the largest of which raised that year weighed a little over six pounds. They seemed particularly crisp and acceptable to our palates, most of us eating them raw, _à la_ Sellers. I never knew before that turnips were so palatable. A few other hardy plants and vegetables completed the contents of the garden. Gardening in this country, however, must be greatly impeded by the swarms of mosquitoes, while agriculture on a considerable scale would be retarded by the wet and mossy character of the soil. Mr. Harper has chosen a south-eastern slope directly on the river bank, and here the immediate drainage has helped him to overcome the latter obstacle to the success of his garden.

We inspected the "barka," or decked schooner of ten or twelve tons, and I decided to take her, although fearing that we might find many more discomforts in her cramped quarters, than upon our old raft.

Here, too, the old raft was laid away in peace, perhaps to become kindling-wood for the trader's stove. Rough and rude as it was, I had a friendliness for the uncouth vessel, which had done such faithful service, and borne us safely through so many trials, surprising us with its good qualities. It had explored a larger portion of the great river than any more pretentious craft, and seemed to deserve a better fate.