CHAPTER XIII

AN ADVENTURE OF THE CASSIAR

The next morning the canoe started down the inlet, following the opposite shore. As they rounded a point of rocks, a few miles below the camp, they saw standing on the rocks close to the shore two deer, a buck and a doe. The sun was yet low, directly behind the canoe, and in the eyes of the deer. The deer saw the vessel, but did not seem able to make it out. The various members of the party got their rifles in readiness and put them where they could be easily reached, and then continued their steady paddling toward the deer. They had come to within a hundred and fifty yards of them, and might have pushed much nearer had not one of the Indians fired a shot. This was the signal for a general fusillade, the result of which was--nothing. It is very often a fact that when several men are firing at one object it is missed by all. There is always a little excitement; each man is anxious to fire as soon as he can, for he is nervous and wishes himself to kill the game. The hurry and confusion throws every one a little off his balance, and the result is poor shooting.

After the deer had disappeared into the forest, and the paddling had been resumed, Hugh said: "Well, I expect I've seen that happen fifty times. When you get a lot of men shooting at a group of animals they almost always get clear off, or if one of them is killed it's just an accident. I remember once seeing half a dozen antelope gallop by not more than fifty yards from a company of soldiers that were halted, and I believe every man fired half a dozen shots and not a hair was touched."

"Yes," said Fannin, "you take even a couple of men who know each other, and who try to fire at game at the same time, and the result is always likely to be a miss; and if there are a lot of men firing at will they send their bullets in every direction except the right one."

Jack felt mortified at his failure to hold his gun as he felt he should have; but he was a little consoled to think that he had done no worse than the two older hunters who had also been shooting.

Charlie, on the other hand, not having a gun, seemed to be quite delighted with the result and did not hesitate to deride the other members of the party on their bad shooting.

At the mouth of the inlet and between that point and Philip's Arm the tide was running very strong. The canoe had a fine sailing breeze behind it, the sails were spread, and the men worked hard at the paddling, but they were barely able to overcome the tide. Jack was interested in the appearance of the current as it ran through the narrow channel. He could see that the surface of the water, instead of being level as we always suppose it to be, was here inclined, and that the water was evidently higher at the point from which it came than at the point toward which it was flowing--in other words, it was like the water in a stream flowing from a high level to a lower one. Jack called Hugh's attention to this singular appearance, and Hugh at first hardly believed that it could be so. But, after carefully looking, he acknowledged that it seemed to be. Fannin said that this was often the case in these narrow channels where the tide ran swiftly.

Just before they reached Philip's Arm the wind fell, and all save the Indians landed on the shore, and, tying a rope to the bow of the boat, pulled it up around the last point into the quiet water beyond. Here they took to the paddles again, and went on until dark, for some time looking in vain for a place where they could camp. The shore rose steeply from the water, and there was no place for one to spread his blankets.

At last, quite after dark, as they were coasting along the shore, the sound of the running water was heard; and, landing near the mouth of the creek, they found a bit of moderately level ground. Now, by the light of the fire, brush, stumps and rocks were cleared away and holes filled up, so that a comfortable night was passed.

The next morning there was a fine breeze, and with some help from the paddles the canoe made good progress. During the day the mouth of two broad but short arms of the sea were passed, which Fannin told them were Frederick's and Philip's Arms. They enter the coast between mountains three or four thousand feet high, and are spots of great beauty. About the middle of the morning Jack saw a couple of canoes, each of which held two or three Indian women. Jack asked Fannin who these people were, and Fannin appealed to Hamset, who told him that they were women who had been gathering berries. While they were still a long way off Hamset hailed the women with a curious singing call, and they replied with the same call, faintly heard across the waters. As the canoe approached the shore there was much conversation between the Indians who chattered at a great rate. They all seemed disposed to stop and visit for a while, but Fannin was anxious to push on, and after a few inquiries of one of the women about the rapids which were just ahead, the vessels parted company. Long after the canoes were out of ear-shot of ordinary conversation the Indians continued their talking to each other, in musical tones, laughing at each other's jokes as they came across the ever widening stretch of water.

Soon after leaving the Indians, the canoe reached the mouth of a narrow channel through which ran a rapid, swifter than any yet seen. The passage was less than a hundred yards in width, and the water, so far as it could be seen ahead, presented to the eye nothing but a milk-white torrent, whose tossing waves were from three to five feet high. The Indians seemed to hesitate a little about running this rapid, and both went ashore and followed down the bank for a little way, looking for the best course to follow. On their return they said that the passage might be made, and in a few moments the canoe was darting over the white water. All that could be done was to keep her straight. Her motion was so rapid that it was quite impossible to feel the water with the paddles. While it lasted the run was quite exciting; but it was soon over, for the channel was only half a mile in length, and there was but little time to think about their possible danger or the pleasure of the passage. To Jack it was a delightfully exhilarating ride, and there was enough uncertainty to it, a possibility of danger, in fact, which made it the most exciting experience of the trip.

As the canoe moved slowly along over the stretch of quiet water at the foot of the rapids Jack happened to glance over the side of the canoe, and saw, lying quietly on the white sand, a large school of beautiful trout. The fish were very large, some of them apparently a foot and a half long. He felt a great longing to stop there and take some of these fish, but they all felt that they had no time now to go fishing. The trout paid no attention to the craft, lying perfectly motionless, except when its shadow fell upon them. Then they moved slowly away into the sunlight.

Threading its way among the beautiful islands which dotted Cardero Channel, the canoe moved slowly along until a point was reached where its course must be changed from southeast to northwest, to pass through the narrow passage between the mainland and Stuart Island, through Arran Rapid and then up into Bute Inlet. Here there had been a fishing station for dog-fish--small sharks, valuable only for the oil that their liver contains, and destructive to all fish life. For some distance the shore was strewn with the carcases of dog-fish captured by the Indians; and in some places the trees were almost black with the crows and ravens which had gathered here in great numbers to feed on the dead fish.

The birds were very tame indeed, and often sat indolently on a limb, under which the canoe was passing. Cocking their heads to one side they looked down on the travellers in an unconcerned and impudent fashion that was amusing or provoking according to the mood of the individual at whom they were gazing.

At the head of the bay, just beyond the point where the ravens were so plenty, is an Indian village where nearly a hundred years before the explorer Vancouver had spent a winter during his voyage along this coast. The village is at the head of a deep bay. A beautiful clear stream of ice-cold water runs by it, and there is a considerable area of arable land on either side of the stream. The canoe stopped here, for the Indians who were navigating it said that they wished to inquire of their friends about the passage of the rapids just ahead. As they waited, Jack noticed running across the bay a number of small logs in a line, and finally inquired of Fannin what this meant, and Fannin asked the Indians. After some little conversation Fannin turned to Jack and said: "Why, that's a line running across the bay from one side to the other, and supported, as you see, by these log floats. About every twenty feet or so, smaller lines, six feet in length, and each one carrying a baited hook, hang down from the main line. You can easily see that as this main line runs right across the bay, no fish can get up or down without passing the baits. I expect they catch a whole lot of fish."

"Why," said Hugh, "there's something that looks like home! That's nothing but a trot line, such as I've seen a thousand times when I was a boy back in Kentucky. It's a sure good way of catching cat fish, but I never would have expected to see it out in this country and among these Indians."

Beyond this village the canoe, after passing the very noticeable mountain which stretches across Stuart Island, and which looks like a high wall built along the coast, ran Arran Rapids. Before entering the passage the party landed and climbed the hills, from which the whole stretch of troubled waters could be seen. To Jack and Hugh, and possibly to Fannin, the prospect seemed rather terrible, and the roar of the torrent was not assuring. In some places the water was tossed up as if by a heavy gale, and white-capped waves reared snowy crests high in the air. Near such an area of agitation were seen other spaces where deep whirlpools sucked away the water, leaving their centres much lower than the neighboring level; and scattered about among the waves and whirlpools were other stretches of water less violently agitated, where the green oil-like fluid rolled over and over with a slow, repressed motion. All the time the dull roar or a muffled moaning rose from the channel. "This," said Fannin, "is what the Indians call a '_Skookumtsook_'" (strong water).

The Indians were watching the flood, waiting for the proper time to make a start, and at last Hamset rose and led the way down to the canoe. The tide was just at the full; and at the end of the rapids the ebb was met and a hard struggle ensued, the paddles and oars flying as fast as they could. The canoe began to go backward, and as it slowly yielded to the irresistible force, Hamset, the bowman, turned and shouted that they must make for the shore. They did so, and when they had nearly reached it he turned again and declared that a present must be given to the water or they would all be drowned; but before this sacrifice had been made, a few strokes carried the vessel into an eddy, which enabled it to creep along close to the shore until the more quiet water at the mouth of Bute Inlet was reached.

Just after leaving the rapids they came upon an Indian camp, whose people had come down from their main village at the head of the Inlet. The canoe pushed to shore to enable the travellers to talk with the people of the camp, and to make inquiries about the Inlet, and what was to be found at its head. The Indians had pleasant faces and manners, and seemed a kindly folk, much interested in the movements of the three "Boston men," for they were quick to recognize Hugh, Jack, and Charlie as different from Fannin. They said that their village stood on a flat at the head of the inlet where the Homalko River entered it. On the mountains about the village they said there was much ice, and that a trail led from the village to one of these glaciers. "Now," they said, "our houses are empty, all our people being scattered along the coast fishing." This camp was the last to start out to try its luck. For provisions they had a porpoise, which they had killed on the way down, some herring, and one twenty-five pound salmon.

Charlie, who discovered the salmon, seized it at once, and lifted it up to view; and Hugh, who was always amused at Charlie's interest in the question of eatables, joked him about the way he "froze to" the fish, which Fannin presently bought for "four bits" or half a dollar.

A little later Hugh, who was wandering about the camp, called Jack, and pointed out to him one of the rakes with which the Indians caught herrings. It was just as the sailor had described it to them when they were on the steamer; and it was easy to see how the keen points of the nails which projected from either edge of the pole could pierce and hold the herring.

After they had left the village of the friendly Homalko Indians the canoe moved slowly along up the inlet, and an hour or two before sunset made camp on a gravelly beach two or three miles above the Amor Point.

Near camp there were a few trees, and noticeable among them a tall dead spruce, in which was a huge eagle's nest. From the time of their arrival until dark one of the eagles was coming and going, bringing food to the whistling young, whose voices were plainly heard and whose movements were sometimes seen. No feature of this coast was more interesting or more surprising to Jack than the abundance of the eagles. They were seen everywhere and at all times. Sometimes during the morning fifteen or twenty of the great birds were passed, and half a dozen of their nests.

Jack talked with Fannin about their abundance.

"Of course they're plenty," said Fannin, "and there's no reason why they shouldn't be. You see they're absolutely without enemies; no one ever thinks of injuring them, and none die except from old age or accident. They breed undisturbed, and there is, as you have seen, an unending supply of food. Why shouldn't they increase? I can fancy that a time might come when the eagles would be so abundant here as to be a pest. Though, just what harm they could do, it is hard to say. I hate an eagle, myself, and would be glad to destroy them all if I could; but then, I have a special reason for it."

That night, as they were sitting about the fire, Jack asked Fannin what his reason was for disliking the eagles; and after a little hesitation Fannin told him a story.

"It was back in the sixties," he said; "and I had joined the rush to Cassiar, and my partner and myself had struck a prospect late in the summer. It looked well, and we held on until too late. The snow came, and fell heavily, and we made up our minds that we would have to winter there, yet we had practically nothing to eat. We had built a cabin, but it was not fitted up for winter, and there was no stock of provisions. The question was, what should we do? If we started to go back to our own cabin, two hundred miles away, where our main supplies were stored, we could probably get there on short commons. On the other hand, this would mean wintering away from our prospect, doing no work on it through the winter, and wasting some weeks of time in spring to get back to it. On the other hand, if one of us stayed in the cabin with what provisions we had, and the other went back and got a fresh supply, we could winter by the prospect, work on it during the winter, and be on hand in the spring to push the summer work. This seemed the best thing for us to do. Then came the question: 'Who should go for the grub?' We were both willing to go. There was no special choice between going and staying. The man who stayed behind would have a pretty lonesome time of it, but would have enough to occupy him. The man who went would have a lonely time, too, but he would be travelling constantly and working hard. We could not make up our minds which should go, and finally we drew lots for it, and it fell to me to go. I took my snowshoes and toboggan and some grub, and started. As I would be gone some weeks, most of the food must be left with my partner, and I could depend in some sort on my rifle. I should have no time to hunt, but there was always some likelihood of running on game.

"I started early one morning, and that afternoon it began to snow, and it kept on snowing for four days. I travelled slowly, for the ground was covered deep with a light, fluffy snow, on which snowshoes were not much good; and it was hard to haul the toboggan. Moreover, the ground being hidden, I could not choose my way, and two or three times I got among rocks and timber, and broke one of my snowshoes. That meant a halt to mend it--a further delay. It was soon evident that I was going to run short of food. I kept going as fast as I could, and kept a good lookout for game, but saw nothing, in fact, not even a track.

"About the tenth day out I saw one of these eagles roosting on a tree in the trail ahead of me; and, without seeming to notice it, I pressed on, thinking that before long I would be near enough to kill it, and that would give me so much more food. Before I came within reach, however, it left its perch and soared into the air. But instead of flying away, it merely wheeled high over the valley; and at night, when I went into camp, it alighted in a tree not far off, and sat watching me. This continued for days, and all the time my grub allowance was growing smaller. I cut myself down first to half rations and then to quarter rations. I was beginning to grow weak, and still had a long distance to go before reaching our cabin. Two or three times when the eagle had flown near me I had shot at it on the wing, hoping to kill it; but with no result except to call forth the whistling cry, which some writer has described as a 'maniac laugh.'

"What with my hunger, my weakness, and my loneliness, it got so after a while that that eagle got on my nerves. I began to think that it was following me; just watching and waiting for me to get weak, and stumble, and fall, and freeze to death; and that then it would have a good meal off me. I began to think it was an evil spirit. Every day I saw it, every day I looked for a chance to kill it, and every day it swung over me in broad circles and laughed at my misery.

"I had now been travelling twenty days and knew that I must be getting close to the cabin. My grub was all gone, and I could hardly stagger along; but I still clung to my toboggan, for I knew that without that I couldn't take food back to my partner; and the thought of him back there at work on short allowance, and sure to starve to death unless I got back to him, added to my trouble.

"At last one day about noon I came in sight of the cabin, just able to stagger, but still dragging the toboggan, which had nothing on it except my blanket and a little package of ammunition. I went up to the cabin door, opened it, went in and partly closed the door, leaving a crack through which I could watch for the eagle. I hoped that he would stop on one of the big trees near the cabin, and watch for me to come out. He did so, lighting on a limb about a hundred yards from the door. He made a big mark. I put the rifle through the crack, steadied it against the jamb, took as careful a sight as I ever took at anything, and pulled the trigger. When the gun cracked, the eagle spread his wings, soared off, and taking one turn over the valley, threw back his head, laughing at me. He sailed away over the mountains, and I never saw him again.

"Two or three full meals put heart into me once more, and with a good load of food, I started back to my partner. Although the way was all uphill, I got to him in about two weeks. On the way back I killed two deer and some rabbits, and did not have to break into the load of provisions on my toboggan. When I reached him, I found that he was living in plenty. He had killed four caribou that had wandered down close to the cabin one night, and still had the carcases of two hung up, frozen. Since that time I have never had any use for eagles."