Chapter 3

It came out precisely as Uncle Dick had said. Very late in the afternoon--late by the clock, though not so late by the sun, which at this latitude sank very late in the west--there came a great shouting and outcry, followed by firing of guns, much as though a battle were in progress. Men, hurrying and crying excitedly as they ran, went aboard the boats. One after another the mooring-ropes were cast off. The poles and oars did their work, and slowly, piecemeal, but in a vast aggregate, the great Mackenzie brigade was on its way!

The first boat of the fleet, as had been predicted, ran no more than three or four miles before it pulled ashore at a landing-place which seemed well known to all. Here the scows came in slowly and clumsily, but without disorder and without damage, until the entire bank for a half-mile was turned into a sort of shipyard of its own.

Here and there men were working the little wooden pumps, because for the first day or two the scows were sure to leak.

The boys made their own camp that night aboard the boat. At each end was a short deck, and that in the rear offered space for their blanket beds. Rob undertook to sleep on top of the cargo under the edge of the great tarpaulin which covered all. They had their little Yukon stove, which accompanied them, and on the front deck, where a box of earth had been provided, they set this up and did their own cooking, as they preferred.

In the morning Father Le Fèvre paddled over to them in a canoe from his own scow.

"_Bon jour_, gentlemen!" said he. "I called to ask you if you would not like to have breakfast with us. Sister Eloise is known for her skill in cookery."

The leader of our little party accepted with great cheerfulness, so that they all climbed into the canoe, and presently were alongside the mission scow. All over the great fleet of scows everything now was silent. Each boat had its watchman, but he alone, of all the crew, had remained aboard.

"My poor children!" said Father Le Fèvre, smiling as he looked about him. "They indeed are like children. Presently they will come. Then we shall see."

Our young travelers now became acquainted with yet others of the north-bound party. Sister Eloise, stout and good-natured, proved herself all that had been promised as a cook.

"Yes, yes, she has gone north before," said the good Father. "But always she has fear of the water. When we go on the rapids Sister Eloise knits or tells her beads or reads--very hard indeed she reads or knits or prays! She is afraid, but does not like me to know it," and his eye twinkled as he spoke.

"Sister Vincent de Paul goes north for the first time," he said, smiling now at the other of the gray-habited nuns who found themselves in these strange surroundings. "She is called to Fort Resolution, and may stay there for some years. We do not know.

"And here," he added, pulling up by the ear a swarthy little boy who seemed more Indian than white, "this we will call Charl'. We are taking him back to his father, who is the factor at Resolution. His mother is native woman, as you see, and this boy has been at Montreal for two years at school. _Eh bien_, Charl', you will be good boy now? If not I shall tell your papa!

"You see," he explained to the others who now for the first time were getting some acquaintance of this mission-work, "we try to do the best we know, and to make life easier for these people in the Far North. It is a hard fortune that they have. Always they starve--never have they enough. And every year the great brigade goes north so that they may last yet another year."

Presently there came down overland to the fleet yet other men who made part of the strange, wild company. Cap. Shott, friendly and paternal in his way, brought on for introduction to the party the Dominion judge, who every year goes north to settle the legal disputes which may have arisen at the several posts for a considerable distance to the north. The judge had with him his clerk and secretary, and there was also a commissioner, as well as another official, a member of the Indian Department, who was bound north to pay the tribesmen their treaty money.

There came also the wife of a member of the Anglican Church, which, as well as the Catholic Church, has missions all along the great waterway almost to the Arctic Sea. So that, as may be seen, the personnel of the brigade that year was of varied and interesting composition.

All came out as Uncle Dick and Father Le Fèvre had said--by the time breakfast was over the half-breed boatmen began to come down at a trot overland from the town. Few of them had slept. All of them had been drinking most of the night. They came with their heads tied up, their eyes red, each man looking uncomfortable, but they all went aboard and made ready for their work. Father Le Fèvre shook his head as he looked at them.

"Too bad, too bad, my children!" said he, "but you will not learn, you will not learn at all. However, two days on the river and your heads will be more clear. Providence has arranged, I presume, that there shall be two or three days' travel between the landing and the Grand Rapids. Else fewer of our boats would get through!"

As the scows swung out into the river, under no motive power excepting that of the current, the men arranged themselves for the long journey, each to suit himself, but under a loose sort of system of government. At the long steering-sweep, made from a spruce pole twenty feet in length, stood always the steersman, holding the scow straight in the current. The ten tons of luggage was piled high in each scow, and all covered with a great tarpaulin to protect the cargo of side-meat, salt, sugar, flour, and steel traps, cloth, strouds, other rough supplies, as well as the better stock of trade goods--prints, powder, ball, rifles, matches, a scant supply of canned goods--and such other additions to the original stock as modern demands instituted by the independent traders for the most part had now made necessary in the traffic with the tribes. That year, indeed, a few hand sewing-machines went north, and some phonographs--things of wonder to the ignorant native of that far-off land.

The progress of the boats, although steady, seemed very slow, and, as there was no work to do, the men amused themselves as best they might. There were several fiddlers in the fleet, and now and then, as the _Midnight Sun_ swept down, well handled by the commodore, François, they passed a scow on whose bow deck a scantily clad half-breed was dancing to the music of the violin. Now and again across the water came the curious droning song of the Cree steersmen, musical but wild.

The great brigade was off on its start for the long journey from the Rockies to the icy sea, continuing one more year of the wild commerce which had become a part of the land itself for more than a century now.

"It's wonderful--wonderful!" said Rob, looking about him at the strange scene on that morning of their first day of actual travel. "I've never seen a thing more fascinating than this. I'm sure this is going to be the best trip we've ever had.

"I tell you what," he added, a moment later, turning to the leader of their little party, "I believe I'll try to keep a little diary for a little while at least; it might be nice to have a few notes to refer to. I doubt if any of us will ever make this trip again."

"An excellent idea!" said his uncle. "That's the way to get your information soaked into your head. Write it down, and be careful what you write. Your notes, together with John's maps, are things you will prize very much indeed, later in life."

Rob, indeed, did fulfil his promise, beginning that very day, and perhaps a few notes taken from his diary may be of interest, as showing what actually happened as recorded by himself.

"_May 29th._--Off late. Ran three miles. Men went back to town. Found sacks of sugar made a hard bed. Mosquitoes.

"_May 30th._--The grand start of the big brigade. Running maybe four or five miles an hour. Banks getting lower. Cottonwoods, some brûlée (burned-over forest). Supper 6 P.M. Ran until 9.45 P.M. Damp camp.

"_May 31st._--Off at 6. In the morning men on the first boat killed a cow moose and two calves. No game laws north of 53°. Men rejoice over meat. Eight mission scows in fleet, which carry eight to ten tons each. Father Le Fèvre says, except for whitefish, all northern missions would perish. At 2.15 stopped at Pelican Portage, at head of Pelican Rapids, 120 miles below the landing. Head winds yesterday, but favorable now. Two boats collided, and one damaged. Saw two dogs carrying packs--first pack-dogs I ever saw. Priest baptized an Indian baby here. I suppose this is what the brigade goes north for, in part. Lay here until 7 in the evening, and then off for our first rapids, the Pelican. Rough, but not so bad as Columbia Big Bend Rapids. An eighteen-foot canoe would go through; twelve-foot doubtful. Scows do it easily. Fast work close to the shore part of the way. Men know their business. Some system to the brigade. Camp at foot of rapids. Much excitement. Scows crowding one another. Many mosquitoes.

"_June 1st, Sunday._--No travel to-day. All of the boatmen are Catholics. The priest put up a little chapel and said Mass. Curious scene to see all these half-savages kneeling, hats off, on the ground. After Mass a good many of them got their hair cut; one or two men can do barbering-work. The judge and legal party played cards all the afternoon. John seems to eat more than ever. A good many mosquitoes.

"_June 2d._--Off at 6, which seems regular starting-time. Ashore for lunch 11.30. Slow and lazy work floating down, but pleasant. Tied up at 6 for supper. Much excitement now, as we are coming down to the head of Grand Island, where we make the big portage. After supper made a mile or so through shallow water among many rocks, to the head of the island. It is low and rocky, covered with cottonwoods, should think about a mile long, and not over half a mile wide. Very fierce water to the left, with quiet water above. No boat ever ran the left channel alive. Many lost here in the Klondike; they went into that quiet and deep water on the left and got caught. They say we will try to run the right-hand side. Did not put up tent to-night, but slept under mosquito tents. A hundred and sixty-five miles from Athabasca Landing. Now we begin to feel as though we were to see the real work."

IV

THE GRAND RAPIDS

It was much as Rob had predicted in the last entry of his diary previously quoted. Uncle Dick hurried them through their breakfast.

"We'll see some fun to-day, boys," said he.

"How do you mean?" asked Jesse. "Are they going to try to run the boats through?"

"They'll have to run the scows through light, so François tells me. There isn't water enough to take them through loaded, so practically each one will have to unship its cargo here.

"You see that wooden tramway running down the island?" He pointed toward a crooked track laid roughly on cross-ties, the rails of wood. "That is perhaps the least expensive railroad in the world, and the one which makes the most money on its capital. I don't think it cost the Company over eight hundred dollars. It couldn't be crookeder or worse. And yet it pays for itself each year several times over, just by the outside trade which it does!

"They built this railroad after the Klondike rush came through here. Previous to that all the goods had to be taken over the 'short portage'--you see that place over on the steep hillside at the right side of the river--a mile and a half of it, and every pound of the Company and Klondike baggage that went north had to be carried on men's backs along that slippery footing. It was necessary to run these rapids and to build this railroad. You will see how both ideas will work to-day."

Some of the boats had been loaded so heavily that part of the cargo had to be left above the shallow water--one more handling of the freightage necessitated in the north-bound journey, but each boat, carrying as much as could be floated, now came poling down through the rocks to the head of the island.

The men, half in and half out of the water, began to unload this cargo and to pile it in a great heap at the head of the wooden railroad. There were two flat-cars, and rapidly these were loaded and pushed off to the foot of the island, half or three-quarters of a mile. There every pound of the baggage had to be unloaded once more, and after that once more carried from the landing into the boats at the foot of the island.

"Well, are they going to take the boats down on the cars, too?" demanded Jesse.

"They have done that for others," answered Uncle Dick, "and charged them ten dollars a boat for doing it, too. But as I said, we'll have to run our scows down on the right-hand passage. That's the fun I was talking about."

Rob came up to him now excitedly. "Tell me, Uncle Dick, can't I go through--couldn't I go through with you in the very first boat?"

His uncle looked at him for a time soberly before he replied. "Well, I don't like to mollycoddle any of you," said he, "but I'll tell you what we'll do. We'll have to leave John and Jesse here on the island. If François says it's safe I'll let you go through with me on the first boat. It's no place for us to be in this country if we're going to sidestep every little bit of risk there is. That isn't a manly thing to do. But the other two boys will have to wait for a while.

"There's bad news," he said to Rob, a little later, aside. "Word has just come up by canoe from the Long Rapids below here that four men were drowned day before yesterday. They were going down to McMurray, and although they had a native pilot they got overturned in the rapids and couldn't get out. The Mounted Police are looking for the bodies now."

It was with rather sober faces that our young travelers now watched the boatmen at their portage-work, although the latter themselves were cheerful as always, and engaged, as before, in friendly rivalry in feats of strength. Everything was confusion, yet there was a sort of system in it, after all, for each man was busy throughout the long hours of the day. As a scow came in its cargo was rapidly taken out, as rapidly piled up ashore, and quite as rapidly flung on top of the flat-cars for transport across the great portage.

Our young adventurers saw with interest that a good many of the boatmen were quite young, boys of fifteen, sixteen, and eighteen years of age. Some of these latter did the full work of a man, and one slight chap of seventeen, with three sacks of flour, and another youth of his own weight on top of it all, stood for a time supporting a staggering weight of several hundred pounds while Jesse fumbled with his camera to make a picture of him.

At about eleven o'clock in the morning of the second day Uncle Dick came to Rob and drew him aside.

"The first boat is going through," said he. "François will take it down. It's a Company scow with about a quarter of its cargo left in. Cap. Shott says it is all right. Are you still of a mind to go, or do you want to stay here?"

"Not at all, sir!" rejoined Rob, stoutly. "I'll go through, of course."

So presently they both stepped into the lightly loaded scow which lay at the head of the island. The men consisted of the steersman, François; a bowman, Pierre; and four oarsmen. They all were stripped to trousers and shirts. At a word from François the boat pushed out, the men poling it through the maze of rocks at the head of the island to a certain point at the head of the right-hand channel where the current steadied down over a wide and rather open piece of water.

The bowman carried in his hand a long lance-like shaft or pole, and stood with it upon the short bow deck. At the stern of the boat there was a plank laid across which acted as a bridge for the commodore, François, who walked back and forward across it as he worked his great steering-oar, which ran out at the back of the scow.

If the men had any anxiety about their undertaking, they did not show it. François smoked calmly. It was to be noted that Cap. Shott did not go through on the first boat, but remained on the shore. The skill of his wild calling had been passed down to the next generation.

François at last gave a short word or so of command in Cree. The oarsmen straightened out the boat. François motioned now to all the occupants to keep to the side, so that he would have a clear view ahead.

Little by little, as the current caught it, the scow began to slip on faster and faster. By and by waves began to come up alongside, almost to the gunwale. Rob had the vague impression that this boat was made of astonishingly thin boards, and that the water made a great noise upon it. Under the oars it creaked and strained and seemed very frail.

The men were silent now, but eager. François, pipe in mouth, was very calm as he stood at the oar, his eyes fixed straight ahead.

About half-way down the side of the island came the most dangerous part of the run. Suddenly the bowman sprang erect and cried out something in Cree, pointing sharply almost at right angles to the course of the boat. François gave a few quick orders and the oarsmen swung hard upon one side. The head of the scow swung slowly into the current. The channel here, however, passed between two great boulders, over the lower one of which the river broke in a high white wave. It was the duty of the steersman to swing the boat between these giant rocks, almost straight across the course of the river, a feat of extreme difficulty with such a craft or indeed with any craft. This was the bad place in the channel always known as "The Turn."

It seemed to Rob as if the whole river now was eager to accomplish their destruction. He was certain that the scow would be dashed upon the rocks and wrecked.

It was dashed upon the rocks! The turn was not made quite successfully, because of the too great weight of the cargo left in this boat. With a crash the scow ran high up on the lower rock, and lay there, half out of water, apparently the prey of the savage river. Rob felt a hand laid upon his shoulder.

"Steady, old chap!" said Uncle Dick. "Keep quiet now. We're still afloat."

This accident seemed to be something for which the men were not altogether unprepared. If they were alarmed they did not show it. There were a few quick words in Cree, to be sure, but each man went about his work methodically. Under the orders of François they shifted the cargo now to the floating side of the boat. All of the men except two or three pole-men took that side also. Then, under command, with vast heaving and prying on the part of the pole-men, to the surprise of Rob at least, the boat began to groan and creak, but likewise to slide and slip. Little by little it edged down into the current, until the bow was caught by the sudden sweep of the water beyond and the entire craft swung free and headed down once more! It seemed to these new-comers as an extraordinary piece of river work, and such indeed it was. A stiffer boat than this loose-built scow might have broken its back and lost its cargo, and all its crew as well. As it was, this boat went on down-stream, carrying safely all its contents.

Rob drew a long breath, but he would not show to the men any sign that he had been afraid.

Here and there among the rocks the oarsmen, under the commands of the steersman, picked their way, the lower half of the passage being much more rapid. On ahead, the river seemed to bend sharply to the left. Now Rob saw once more the bowman spring to his feet on his short forward deck. Calling out excitedly, he pointed far to the left with his shaft. Rob looked on down-stream, and there, a mile and a half below, he saw erected against a high bank a diamond-shaped frame or target. At this the bowman was pointing directly with his lance. It was the target put up there after the Klondike disasters by the Mounted Police, and indicated the course of the safe channel at the lower end of the chute.

François, pipe in mouth, calmly swung his sinewy body against the steering-oar. The bow of the boat crawled around to the left, far off from the island, toward the shore, where was a toboggan-like pitch of very fast but safe water for a distance of some hundreds of yards.

As they entered the head of this chute, the bowman still crouching with his pole poised, it seemed to Rob that he heard shouts and cries from the island, where, indeed, all those left behind were gathered in a body, waiting for the first boat in the annual brigade to go through--something of an event, as they regarded it.

But Rob's eyes were on ahead. He saw the boat hold its course straight as an arrow toward the great target on the farther bank. With astonishing speed it coasted down the last incline of the Grand Rapids. Then, under the skilful handling of steersman and oarsmen, the boat swung to the right, around a sort of promontory which extended around the right-hand bank. Rob looked around at Uncle Dick, who was curiously regarding him. But neither spoke, for both of them knew the etiquette of the wilderness--not to show excitement or uneasiness in any unusual or dangerous circumstances.

François, who had narrowly regarded his young charge, now smiled at him.

"Dot leetle boy, she is good man," he said to Uncle Dick. "He'll is not got some scares."

Rob did not tell him whether or not this was the exact truth, but only smiled in turn.

"Well, here we are," said he. "But what good does it do us? There's the foot of the island up there, three or four hundred yards away at least. And how can we get a boat up against these rapids, I'd like to know? Right here is where both the big chutes join. It would take a steamboat to get up there."

François, who understood a little English, did not vouchsafe any explanation, but only smiled, and Uncle Dick gravely motioned silence as well. Rob could see the eyes of François fixed out midstream, and, following his gaze, he presently saw some dark object bobbing about out there, going slowly down-stream.

"Look, Uncle Dick!" he cried. "What's that? It looks like a seal."

The latter shook his head. "No seals in here," said he. "That must be a log."

"So it is," said Rob. "But look at it--it's stopped now."

No one explained to him what all this meant. François sprang to his steering-oar and gave some swift orders. The boat swung out from the bank, and under the sweeps made straight out midstream, where the black object now bobbed at the edge of the slack water. Rob could see what had stopped it now--it was made fast by a long rope, which was in turn made fast somewhere up-stream, he could not tell where.

With a swift pass of his pole the bowman caught the rope as the boat swung near. Rapidly he pulled in the short log and made fast the rope to the bow of the boat. The scow now swung into the current, its head pointed up-stream, and hung stationary there, supported against the current by some unseen power. To Rob's surprise, the oarsmen now took in their oars.

"Well, now, what's going to happen?" he asked of Uncle Dick.

But the latter only shook his head and motioned for silence.

Slowly but steadily the scow now began to ascend the river, to breast the white waters which came rolling down, to surmount the full force of the current of the Athabasca River in its greatest rapids!