Chapter 7

"At Fort Resolution there were Chippewyans, Dog Ribs, Slavies, and Yellow Knives, all mixed. At Hay River there were Dog Ribs and Slavies. At Providence they are all Slavies, and the Indian commissioner says they are the worst lot on the whole river. Independent traders very angry here because their clerks have not made any money.

"_Thursday, July 3d._--On the Mackenzie. Reached the 'head of the line'--that is, the country where they have to track boats on the line. At 3 P.M. reached the mouth of the Liard, which seemed as big as the Peace River. It comes in on the left. A grand scene here. On ahead is Fort Simpson on a very high bluff--the most picturesque spot we have seen yet on this trip. They say they once had electric lights here, but not now. Some farms and gardens, much to our surprise. Frost comes about September 1st. They all say there will be a city here some time. Maybe, but I wouldn't like to live there.

"Slavies at this post. Two villages, very wild and barbarous-looking. A great many fine canoes. The life is very wild about us here. One canoe comes in loaded down with rabbits which they have shot along the shores. Much gaudy clothing and savage finery now. Every one wears moccasins. One woman here does fine porcupine-quill work. She is Mrs. McLeod, and is the daughter of Old-man Firth, who is the factor at Fort McPherson, so they say. She is the wife of the factor at Fort Nelson, and knows how to trade. Quill-work costs a lot.

"At this point we lost the wife of an Indian trader who had come this far north with us, also two Mounted Policemen, the ex-Indian agent and his family, a preacher and his son, and several others. The boat company is getting lighter now.

"There was a scow-load of supplies for treaties to be used up the Liard River. Now we find that the Hudson's Bay Company has left all this stuff at Fort Smith, away behind us! This shows what sort of transport it is. The Northwest Mounted Police grub, due last April, is not here yet. No wonder this is a starving country. It is very wild and interesting around here. John and Jesse and I are having a splendid time. This is the best trip we ever had.

"We had a bishop on board here. We boys talked quite a while with the post factor. He says there are many records written in the Company books here which go back seventy-five years and more. We bought a few things here which we thought we could take along with us.

"_Friday, July 4th._--It looked funny to see the British flag, and not the Stars and Stripes, to-day. We three boys celebrated, just the same--we went out in the woods and shot off our rifles several times. Weather is beautiful, soft, and warm. Made many photographs. The river here is about a mile wide.

"We left at 4 P.M., and soon stopped to take on wood. Ran till 8 o'clock before we could begin to see the outlines of the Nahanni Mountains. Suppose they are a spur of the great Rockies wandered this far away from home. A veil of smoke seems to hang over them. We boys could not sleep very well, and were up till 1 o'clock looking at the scenery. Uncle Dick has been talking with the captain of our boat about the Nahanni River, which comes down here through a notch in the mountains. The Indians go up to the North Nahanni, portage across to the South Nahanni, run down to the Liard River, and come down it to the Mackenzie. This is a trip no white man has ever taken. It must be a wild country in there. John is honest with his map, so he just marks this place 'Unknown.' Prospectors have gone up the Liard to the Nahanni. The geologists say there is no chance for gold in there.

"_Saturday, July 5th._--Fort Wrigley at 7.35 in the morning. One independent post besides the H. B. post. A good deal of fur in these two posts, and some very fine fox skins. The marten seem rather yellow, the lynx good, beaver and bear good. We saw one wolverine skin here, a good many mink, and one otter skin. This otter skin was not cased, as we fixed them in Alaska, but was split and stretched like a beaver skin. They say the Indians do that way with their otter here. Did not stop long at this post, as we are beginning to hurry now.

"It is a strange thing to us that we have not seen any game on all this trip. No one has seen a moose since the one that was killed above the Grand Rapids of the Athabasca. I suppose the game country is back in farther. The Indians get plenty of moose for their leather-work.

"In the evening we came to Fort Norman, which marks the entry of the Bear River. I should call that the gate of another land of mystery--up in there somewhere Sir John Franklin perished. They say the white Eskimos are descendants of some of his men. They say a man was taken captive by the Indians up in there, and lived with them several years, and then got out. He lives now somewhere in Saskatchewan.

"At 9.45 we saw a burning bank on the Mackenzie River. It is said to have burned forty-five years. It was in some sort of tar sand, of which we have seen a good deal on our journey. Tied up at 10 o'clock. There is a whole village of Mountain Indians here at the foot of the bluff. A wild sight. The tepees are pitched very close together. Hundreds of dogs. Children are eating and running around everywhere. The boat whistled, and the dogs all ran off up the hill and the children screamed. They say that five years ago these wild Indians left this place and went across the mountains to the Stuart River to trade. They brought back Yukon stoves for their tents, the same as they have up in Alaska. They came down the Gravel River here in skin boats. Their birch-bark canoes look like Eskimo kayaks. They have a short deck fore and aft, and sharply slanting stem and stern posts. The bow does not curve back.

"Fort Norman is on a high bluff. The H. B. Company has put in some stairs. Not very many buildings, very little goods, and little fur. We did some trading with the Indians for trinkets. There is an Anglican church here, a very small building. The little bell rang, and our bishop started over to hold services. It was said that these Indians who had come back from the Stuart River wanted to go to church again, so this service was held for them. It was the first time in five years in this church. There was a wedding there to-night, they tell me, and several children were christened, three or four years of age. One child was named Woodrow Wilson Quasinay. We did it for a joke, but the parents thought it was a fine name! He was four years old, and very dirty, and cried a good deal when he got his name.

"We are getting to where the sun does not stay down very long. The bishop read his services to-night by the natural light of the window. With the bishop's consent we made a flash-light picture of this scene in the church. Then there was Holy Communion. The services were not done when the whistle of the boat blew and everybody had to run to get on board. The captain scolded the bishop for being so late! This is a funny country, I think.

"This closes a week which has been quite full of events, I think. Jesse and John very happy. The pictures around us seem more savage. We are getting into the Far North of which we have read so much. It is fine!"

IX

UNDER THE ARCTIC CIRCLE

Of the motley assemblages which thronged the capacity of the steamer _Mackenzie River_ our three young companions were usually the first to arise in the morning. Morning, however, had come by this time to be a relative term, for the steady progress into the northern latitudes had now brought them almost under the Midnight Sun, so that there was but a brief period of darkness at any hour of the night. On the morning of July 6th they stood conversing on the fore deck, looking down the vast river as it passed between its bold and broken shores.

"Well," said Rob to the others, "here we are, not quite forty days out from our start, and we have come more than sixteen hundred miles already! We're beginning to add now to our daily mileage, traveling this way day and night."

"Well, even at this rate," rejoined John, "I am not sure that I see how we will get out of this northern country inside of our three months' schedule. If we don't, we'll have to pass the winter, won't we?"

Jesse looked a little bit gloomy at this idea. To tell the truth, he, the youngest of the party, was at times just a little homesick. The country through which they passed seemed so stupendous, so awesome, as almost to oppress the spirits of those not used to it.

"Cheer up! Jess," said Rob, clapping him on the shoulder. "There will be something happening now before long. We're almost up to the Arctic Circle, and to-day, if I'm not mistaken, we run into the best scenery on the Mackenzie River, what they call the Ramparts. The captain was telling me about it yesterday."

They did not, however, reach this portion of their voyage until very late in the evening, when they arrived at the head of that long and gentle bit of water called the Sans Sault Rapids. The river here was about a mile wide, but offered no bad chutes. The captain told them that it only took eight minutes to run through, but that the time coming up with the steamboat usually had averaged one and three-quarter hours.

The strange, luminous twilight of the sub-Artic day continued until midnight. It was, indeed, after eleven o'clock when the steamer struck that narrow shut-in of the Mackenzie River where the great flood, compressed between high and rocky shores, runs steadily and deep for a very considerable distance. Above the actual beginning of the narrower channel lay a great, deep pool, many hundreds of yards wide, while at the right hand of its lower extremity sprang up a bald white rock face of limestone.

So sharp was the bend of the great river here that at the turn it seemed as though the river itself had come to an end or had dropped out of sight. The walls on the left seemed perhaps a trifle higher, ranging in height from one hundred to a hundred and eighty feet, the crest in places broken into crenelated turrets.

"Well," said Rob, "this is the celebrated run of the Ramparts. I must confess I am disappointed. I think the Yukon beats this in a great many places. They may tip this off as a big attraction for tourists, but it's too far to come for the show, in my estimation."

John, busy charting the channel on his map, nodded his head in affirmation. "How wide do you think it is here, Rob?" he asked, and Rob was obliged to ask some of the boat officials as to that. They told him that the river was from three hundred to five hundred yards wide at this place, and that there were two great bends in the six miles of the run between the shut-in walls.

"How far is it to the Arctic Circle, Uncle Dick?" demanded Jesse of their leader when finally he came on deck after finishing his work in his state-room.

The latter rubbed his chin for a time before he could reply. "Well," said he, "I don't know just where it is, but it's somewhere on ahead of Fort Good Hope, and we'll strike Fort Good Hope now just beyond the foot of the Ramparts. We'll say that some time in the night we'll pass the Circle."

"Hurrah for that!" exclaimed Rob, and the other boys also became excited.

"What does the Circle look like?" asked Jesse, with much interest.

"Well," replied his uncle, "I don't think it looks like anything in particular. But I think we'll feel the bump when we run over it in the night. I can assure you of that. Also I can assure you that, once you get above it, at the end of our northern journey, you'll see a country different from any you have seen. You hardly realize, no doubt, the great extent of this tremendous run from the Rockies to the sea."

Meantime the boat had been continuing its progress steadily. It required about forty-five minutes to complete the run of the bolder part of the shores known as the Ramparts. Once below, there was to be seen, even in the faint midnight light, the scattered buildings of that far-northern post known as Good Hope.

The boys, with all the rest of the passengers, went ashore here and prowled about the curious old place, examining with much interest the mission school, the church, and the garden. Rob was able to make a picture of the interior of the church, putting his camera on a pile of hymn-books and making a long-time exposure.

The post trader told him later something of the history of this curious building which for some time had stood here upon the utmost borders of civilization.

"You see all the decorations and frescoes of the church, just like those in a cathedral of the Old World," said he. "It was all done by a young priest known as Brother Antel, now gone to his rest. The church was built thirty years ago by Bishop Clute, of Little Slave Lake, who brought up Brother Antel from that lower mission. The altar is considered an astonishing thing to be found here, almost directly under the Arctic Circle."

They all stood with their hats off in this curious and interesting structure of the Far North, hardly being able to realize that they were now so far beyond the land where such things ordinarily are seen.

"The decorations are fine and the frescoes splendid," said Jesse to John, as they passed outside the door, "but I don't see why Father Antel has the angels playing on the mandolin. I didn't know they had mandolins that long ago."

"Never mind about that, Jesse," said Rob, reprovingly. "You mustn't make light of anything of the kind. You must remember that these Slavie Indians, who are the only people who come here for services, are most impressed by pictures which they can see and understand. I suppose it's all right. At any rate, it's an astonishing thing to find such a church away up here, even if it had angels listening to an H. B. phonograph."

The boat remained at Good Hope all too short a time to suit them, because all our young travelers were anxious to go to the top of a certain hill, from which it was said they could have a view of the Midnight Sun, which had disappeared behind the ridge of the hills back of the fort itself. Indeed, one of the crew ascended this eminence, and claimed that he had made a photograph of the Midnight Sun. Certainly, all of the boys were able to testify that it was still light at four o'clock in the morning, for they had remained up that late, eagerly prowling around through the curious and interesting scenes of the far-northern trading-post.

So wearied were they by their long experience afoot on the previous day that on the morning of July 7th they slept a little later than usual, although their total hours of rest were no more than two or three. Uncle Dick was before them on the deck this time, and reproached them very much when they appeared.

"Well, young men," said he, "did you feel any heavy jar, or hear a dull, sickening thud, some time about half an hour or an hour ago?"

"You don't mean that we've passed the Circle, do you, Uncle Dick?" queried John.

"We certainly have. I don't know just where it was. It's seven-thirty o'clock now, and somewhere between here and Fort Good Hope we crossed the Arctic Circle!"

"I can't believe it!" said Rob. "Why, look, the weather is perfectly fine, and there isn't any ice to be seen. On the other hand, there are plenty of mosquitoes. What's more, just back at Fort Good Hope we have seen that they can raise things in their gardens. I would never have believed these things about this northern country if I had not seen them myself."

Through the soft, mild light of the sub-Arctic morning the great steamboat churned on her north-bound way. At ten o'clock they passed an Indian village which they were told was called Chicago--no doubt named by some of the Klondikers who were practically cast away here twenty years earlier. John put it down on his map under that name, as indeed it is charted in all the authentic maps of that upper region. They were told that a good number of Indians come here to make their winter hunt.

An uneventful day, during which the boat logged a great many miles in her steady progress, was passed, until at ten o'clock they tied up at the next to the last of the Hudson's Bay posts on the Mackenzie River, known as Arctic Red River, located at sixty-seven degrees and thirty minutes north latitude.

"Oh, look, look, fellows!" exclaimed John, as they pulled into the landing here. "Now we're beginning to get some real stuff! I feel as though we were pretty near to the end of the world. Look yonder!"

He pointed to where, along the beach at the foot of the bluff, there lay two encampments of natives.

"Look at the difference in the boats!" exclaimed John, running to the side of the boat. "There are whale-boats with sails, something like those we saw out on the Alaska coast. What are they, Uncle Dick?"

"Those are Eskimos, my young friend," said their leader, "and what you see there are indeed whale-boats. The Huskies come up the river this far to trade with the other Indians, and with the white men at this post. This is about as far as they come. They get their boats in trade from the whale-ships somewhere along the Arctic. As John says, this is really a curious and interesting scene that you see.

"Over yonder, I think, are the Loucheux. I don't think they are as strong and able a class of savages as the Huskies. At least, that's what the traders tell me."

"Well, they've got wall tents, anyway," said Jesse, who was fixing his field-glasses on the encampments. "Where did they get them? From the traders, I suppose. My, but they look ragged and poor! I shouldn't wonder if they were about starved."

By this time the boat was coming to her landing, and the boys hurried ashore to see what they could find in this curious and interesting encampment.

There were two trading-posts at Arctic Red River--the Hudson's Bay Company post, and that of an independent trading company, both on top of the high bluff and reached by a stairway which ran part way up the face.

Some of the tribesmen from the encampment now hurried down to meet the boat--tall and stalwart Eskimos in fur-trimmed costumes which the boys examined with the greatest of interest and excitement, feeling as they did that now indeed they were coming into the actual North of which they had read many years before.

"Uncle Dick is right," said Rob. "These Eskimos are bigger and stronger than any of the Indians we have seen. I don't think the women are so bad-looking, either, although the children look awfully dirty."

"It's like Alaska, isn't it?" said John. "Look at the parkies they wear, even here in the summer-time. That's just like the way Alaska Indians and white men dress in the winter-time."

"Well," said Jesse, "maybe that's the only clothes they've got. I'll warrant you they have on their best, because this is the great annual holiday for them, when the Company boat comes in."

Rob looked at his watch. "Twelve o'clock!" said he. "I can't tell whether the sun is up yet or not, because it is so cloudy. Anyhow, we can say that we are now under the Midnight Sun, can't we?--because here we are right among the Eskimos."

Uncle Dick joined them after a while, laughing. "Talk about traders!" said he. "No Jew and no Arab in the world would be safe here among these Huskies! They are the stiffest traders I ever saw in my life. You can't get them to shade their prices the least bit on earth.

"These boats," he continued, "are crammed full of white-fox skins and all sorts of stuff--beaver, marten, and mink--and some mighty good fur at that. But those people haven't seen any white men's goods for at least a year, and yet they act as if they hadn't an intention in the world of parting with their furs. Look here," he continued, holding out his hand.

The boys bent over curiously to see what he had.

"Stone things," said John. "What are they?"

"What they call 'labrets,'" said his uncle, taking up one of the little articles. "They make them out of stone, don't you see?--with a groove in the middle. If you will look close at some of these Eskimo women, or even men, you will find that they have a hole through their lower lip, and some of them wear this little 'labret.' Here also are some made out of walrus ivory."

"Well, now I know what it was I saw that tall Husky had in his face awhile ago," said John. "Something was sticking through his lower lip, and I know now it was the glass stopper of a bottle of Worcester sauce."

Uncle Dick laughed. "Correct!" said he. "I saw the same fellow, and, now that you mention it, I gave him three dollars for that glass stopper from the bottle! I don't suppose any one will believe the story, but it's true.

"If you get a chance to trade any of these Huskies out of one of their pipes, do it, boys," said he, "especially if you can get one of the old bluestone pipe bowls. Pay as much as five dollars for it--which would be ten 'skins' up here. I don't suppose you could find one for a hundred dollars anywhere in the museums of our country, for they are very rare. I have my eye on one, and I hope before we get out of this northern country to close a trade for it, but the old fellow is mighty stiff."

"You say that five dollars is ten 'skins' up here, Uncle Dick," commented Rob. "At Fort Smith and Fort Simpson a 'skin' was only thirty cents--three to the dollar."

"That custom varies at the different posts," was Uncle Dick's reply. "Of course you understand that a 'skin' is not a skin at all, but simply a unit of value. Sometimes a trader will give an Indian a bowlful of bullets representing the total value in 'skins' of the fur which he has brought in. Each one of those bullets will be a 'skin.' The Indian doesn't know anything about dollars or cents, and indeed very little of value at all. You have to show him everything in an objective way. So when the Indian wants to trade for white men's goods, he asks for his particular bowl of bullets--which, child-like, he has left with the trader himself. The traders are, however, honest. They never cheat the Indian, in that way at least. So the trader hands down the bowl of bullets. The Indian sees what he wants on the shelves behind the counter, and the trader holds up as many fingers as the value is in 'skins.' The Indian picks out that many bullets from his bowl and hands them to the trader, and the trader hands him his goods.

"You can see, therefore, that the Indian's bowlful of bullets in this country would not buy him as much fur as he would have gotten farther down the river. At the same time, this is farther north, and the freight charges are necessarily high. Perhaps there is just a little in the fact that competition of the independents is not as keen here as it is farther to the south!

"But whatever be the price of a 'skin,'" Uncle Dick went on, somewhat ruefully, "these Huskies take it out of us cheechackos when we come in. We passed the last of the Slavies at Fort Good Hope. Now we are among the Loucheux. But these Huskies run over the Loucheux as if they were not there."

There was plenty of time given to the passengers at this landing to visit the boats and encampments of the natives, so that our young investigators were able to obtain considerable information about the methods of the country.