[image]"THE POOR CREATURES WHINNIED APPEALINGLY."It was certainly a pity to leave two such fine animals to perish, but yet what could be done?Striding along on the snow-shoes, in the use of which they were both expert, the superintendent and Harry made better progress than they had been doing in the sleigh, and now the chief anxiety was to hit the right spot on the other side of the lake, where the road continued through the woods.On a clear day Mr. Maynard would have found little difficulty in doing this, but in the midst of a blinding snowstorm it was no easy task; yet their very lives depended upon its successful accomplishment.When they reached the middle of the lake they were dismayed to discover that the heavily-falling snow shrouded not only the shore for which they were making, but the one which they had left. They were absolutely without a mark to guide them.Here was an unexpected peril. Mr. Maynard halted and strove to peer through the ominous obscurity of white, but on every side it was the same."What are we to do now, Harry?" he cried in a tone of deep concern. "I can't make out our way at all."By this time Harry's spirits, which had hitherto been keeping up bravely, were beginning to fall, for he was growing weary of the long struggle with the storm."I'm sure I don't know," he responded ruefully. "I suppose there is nothing else to do but to push ahead and take our chances of hitting the shore somewhere.""That's about all, Harry," was the superintendent's reply. "Just rest a minute to get your breath, and then we'll make a dash for it."For a little space they stood still and silent, the mind of each absorbed in anxious thought, and then Mr. Maynard called out,—"Come along now, Harry. Keep right in my tracks, and I'll see if I can't make the shore all right."For half-an-hour they toiled steadily onward, and well it was for both that they had such skill in the use of snow-shoes. Without them they could not have made a hundred yards' headway, so heavy was the snow. Even as it was, the hard work told upon Harry, and presently he had to call to his companion,—"Hold on a minute, Mr. Maynard; I'm out of breath."The superintendent stopped short and came back to him."Not played out already, are you, Harry?" he asked, peering anxiously into his face."Oh, no!" and the boy made a gallant effort at a reassuring smile. "I just want to get my wind; that's all. This abominable storm nearly suffocates me."As they rested again for a few minutes, the wind suddenly shifted, parting the whirling snow to right and left, and through the rift thus made, Mr. Maynard's keen eyes caught a glimpse of a dark mass rising dimly into the air a little more than a mile away.With a shout of joy he slapped his companion upon the back, crying,—"Eagle Rock, Harry. See!" and he pointed with a quivering finger to the spectral appearance. "Once we make that, I can find the road all right enough. Come along!"Cheered by the sight, which the next moment the snow-curtain again hid from them, they pushed forward with renewed energy.It was terribly hard walking. Their snow-shoes sank deep into the drifts at every step, and it was an effort each time to release them. The afternoon was also waning fast, and they had not more than an hour of daylight left at best. Truly they were in desperate straits.On they went over the drifts that seemed to be determined to bar their way, the superintendent straining his eyes for another glimpse of Eagle Rock. At last, as Harry was about once more to cry halt, his companion exclaimed joyfully,—"There's Eagle Rock, Harry! I see it. We're making straight for it. A few minutes more will take us there."The cheering announcement revived the boy's failing energies for another effort. He shut his lips upon the request for a rest, and doggedly tramped on after his guide.Ten minutes more and they were at the foot of the lofty crag called Eagle Rock, in a friendly recess of which they found welcome shelter from the furious wind."Thank goodness!" ejaculated Harry, throwing himself wearily down upon a snow-bank, "we've got thus far anyway. How many miles more, Mr. Maynard?""About ten, Harry," was the answer, given in quite a matter-of-fact tone."Ten!" echoed Harry in dismay. "I hoped it would only be about five. I'll never do it in the world.""Oh yes, you will, my boy!" replied Mr. Maynard. "I'll help you you know."To their vast relief the snow now began to abate, and presently ceased falling altogether."That's something to be thankful for," said the superintendent. "Are you ready to start again?""Go ahead," was the response.But no sooner had one danger passed than another presented itself. The light began to fail, for night was at hand.A ten-mile tramp on snow-shoes through a desolate forest was not much to be desired under any circumstances. To accomplish it in the dark, tired as they both felt already, was a feat the achieving of which seemed more than doubtful.Mr. Maynard had his misgivings, but he carefully concealed them from his companion, and even started whistling a lively march as he led the way along the faintly discernible road.Never will either of them ever forget that awful tramp.The night soon enfolded them, leaving only the scant light of the glimmering stars for guidance. Every step they took had to be carefully considered, lest they should stray from the track and be hopelessly lost.Again and again the silence through which they marched was broken by the blood-curdling cry of the lynx or the dismal howl of the wolf, seeking what they might devour.The superintendent's rifle hung at his back, and Harry had a good revolver; but they prayed in their hearts that they might have no occasion to use them.Every little while they had to pause that the boy might take a brief rest. Then on they went again.Mile after mile of the dreary, toilsome way was slowly yet steadily overcome, each one adding to poor Harry's weariness, until he felt as if he must give up the struggle and throw himself down in the snow to die.But Mr. Maynard cheered him up and helped him, and kept him going, knowing well that to give up really meant death.At last the exhausted boy sank down with a piteous wail,—"It's no use, Mr. Maynard, I can't take another step.""Oh yes, you can, Harry!" said the superintendent soothingly; "just take a little rest, and then you'll be all right."While Harry rested he went on ahead a short distance, for it seemed to him that they could not be very far from the depot.Presently there came from him a glad hurrah, and running back he put his arm around his companion, and helped him to his feet, exclaiming joyfully,—"I can see a light, Harry. We're safe now. It's the depot."And he was right. They were within half a mile of their haven. Forgetting all their weariness, they put on a gallant spurt, and in less than ten minutes were in the midst of their friends, telling the story of their thrilling experience.All's well that ends well. The superintendent kept his appointments in the city; Harry had a royal Christmas time with the clerks in the depot; and, happy to relate, the horses were not lost, for a relief party that went out the following morning with a big sledge found them still alive, and brought them and the sleigh back to the depot, little the worse for the long imprisonment in the snow-drift.A STRANGE HELPER."There's nothing for it, Maggie, but to let the place go. I've tried my best to raise the money, but those that are willing to help a fellow haven't it to lend, and those that have it ain't willing to help. It's mighty hard lines, I tell you," and, with a groan of despair, Alec M'Leod buried his head in his hands, as he leaned heavily upon the table.Hard lines it was, indeed, as no one knew better than Moses Shearer, the money-lender, to whose conduct was due Alec the miller's anguish of mind. He had chosen that particular time for enforcing satisfaction of his claim, because he understood that it could not be done without a sale of the mill property; and this was just what he desired, as he intended to bid it in for himself.It did seem a cruel thing for Mr. M'Leod to be sold out of the snug, well-equipped mill that represented his whole fortune; and all for a debt of one hundred pounds, incurred under special circumstances for which he was in no wise to blame.No wonder that he was sorely cast down, and that gloom reigned in his household, which consisted of a devoted wife and two children—Robert, the elder, a sturdy, enterprising lad of fourteen, and Jessie, a sweet, fair-haired lassie two years younger. They were all in the room when the miller gave voice to his despair, and Rob, full of sympathy, hastened to say something comforting, with all the hopefulness of youth."Don't give up yet, father," said he. "The sale is more than a week off, and you may be able to get the money somehow before then."Mr. M'Leod shook his head without raising it from his hands. He had exhausted every available resource, and saw no way in which help could come. He was not a religious man, although of unblemished integrity of character, and had no faith to sustain him in his grievous trial; nor did his wife know how to lay hold upon God, and claim the fulfilment of his promises.In this they both had much to learn from their own children, for, thanks to sound teaching in Sunday school, Rob and Jessie believed in the prayer of faith. They believed God was always ready and willing to respond in his wisdom to the petitions of his children, and when they learned of their father's trouble, their thoughts took the same direction.That night, when Rob went up to his room, he found Jessie there."O Rob!" she hastened to say, "I've been waiting for you to come.""What do you want to do, Jessie?" inquired Rob."Why, Rob, you know when father told us of his trouble, I made up my mind to ask God to help him out of it. What is that in the Bible about God doing anything that two of his people agree to ask for?"Proud of his memory, Rob promptly repeated the verse: "If two of you shall agree on earth as touching anything that they shall ask, it shall be done for them.""Yes, that's it!" exclaimed Jessie. "Now then, Rob, can't we agree to ask God to help father to pay off that dreadful Mr. Shearer?""Of course we can," responded Rob heartily; "and we'll do it right away."So down on their knees they went, and each in turn presented an earnest, simple petition to God that aid should be granted their father in the present emergency. When they rose their faces were radiant."It will be all right now, won't it, Rob?" said Jessie, as she went to her own room.The following day passed without any sign of an answer, and so did the next. Rob, boy-like, began to grow impatient, but Jessie was more trustful. Each night they renewed their united requests.On the third night Rob, the window of whose room overlooked the mill-pond, happening to awake about midnight, thought he heard a most unusual splashing noise coming from the pond. Sitting up in bed, and listening attentively, he asked himself:—"What can it be? Has somebody fallen into the pond? No, it can't be that, or there would be cries for help. Oh! it's only some old cow that's fooling around."He was about to accept this explanation and settle down to sleep again, when there was added to the frantic splashing a hoarse bellow such as no domestic animal ever uttered."I must see what that is," said he to himself. So out of bed he jumped, hurried on his clothes, and slipping quietly out of the house, hastened across the yard to the mill-platform, from which he could command a view of the whole pond.It was a bright, clear night, with the moon at the full, and the still waters of the pond reflected its silver rays like a huge mirror. At first the boy could see nothing to account for the strange noises he had heard, but presently he discovered a big creature, whose exact nature he could not make out, in the deepest part of the pond, where, surrounded by the floating logs which had rendered futile all its efforts to extricate itself, it was, for the moment, resting quietly as though exhausted.Rob's appearance upon the platform evidently aroused the creature to fresh exertions, and it proceeded to fling itself about with reckless fury, in the course of which its head emerged from the shadow into a broad band of light, and with a cry of astonishment Rob, who had been bending over the edge of the platform, sprang to his feet."Why, it's a moose!" he exclaimed; "and a monster one, too. And I'm going to catch him." Then looking down at the imprisoned animal, he added: "Just stay there, my beauty; I'll be back in a jiffy to look after you."Darting over to the house he quickly aroused his father, who, as soon as he had assured himself that his son's story was correct, hastened to call up some of the neighbours. He did not stop to think what he would do with the moose when he had him safely secured. He was merely glad of a diversion that would help him to forget his troubles for a while.But Rob already had a scheme worked out in his mind, of which, however, he intended to say nothing until the capture had been successfully accomplished. Then he would let it be known.The neighbours responded readily to Mr. M'Leod's summons, and in a quarter of an hour half-a-dozen men were upon the scene, some armed with pitchforks, others with stakes, and all eager to have a share in the honours of the capture.Many and various were the suggestions as to the best plan for getting the animal out of the pond uninjured, but no sooner had Mr. M'Leod offered his than it was unanimously adopted as the best.By pushing away the logs a clear space could be made leading to the incline up which the logs were drawn to meet their fate at the saw's teeth, and the miller's idea was to lasso the moose by the antlers, drag the creature through the water to the foot of the incline, then attach the rope to the chain for drawing up the logs, and turn on the water-power.The strongest animal that ever stood on four legs could not resist the tug of the chain, and thus the moose would be drawn up on the platform, and kept there, a safe prisoner, until he could be removed to the barn.Mr. M'Leod had little difficulty in getting the rope fastened to the big branching antlers, and not much more in towing his captive around to the foot of the incline. But then came the rub. The monarch of the forest fought frantically against being drawn out of the water, and it seemed as if he might kill himself in his desperate efforts for freedom.[image]CAPTURING THE MOOSE.There was no resisting the inexorable strain of the log-chain, however, and foot by foot he was compelled to ascend the incline until he reached the platform. Then the power was shut off, and Mr. M'Leod decided that it was best to allow the great creature to stay where he was until daylight.The men all went back to their beds, but Rob remained. He did not want to leave the prize which had thus strangely fallen into his hands, and which he hoped to make signally helpful in his father's trouble. So he chose a corner of the platform where he could keep the moose in full view, and composed himself to wait for the morning.As he sat there his heart went up in gratitude to God, for right before him had he not the answer to the prayer he and Jessie had united in offering?With the dawn Mr. M'Leod and the other men returned, and by dint of much shouting, flourishing of pitchforks, and tugging of ropes, the moose, after many furious attempts at breaking away, was at length safely conveyed to the barn, and securely fastened up in such a manner that he could do himself no hurt, struggle and kick as he might."Hip, hip, hurrah!" shouted Rob as the big door closed with a bang, and he flung himself against it to make sure that it was shut tight. "We've got him all right enough. He can't get out of there until we want him.""And now that you have got him, Robby," said the miller, laying his hand affectionately on the boy's shoulder. "perhaps you'll tell us what you are going to do with him."Up to this point Rob had kept his own counsel, because his Scotch shrewdness told him it would be best to do so until the capture was successfully effected. But now there was no longer need for reserve."You remember that gentleman who was here hunting last winter, don't you, father?" said he, looking up eagerly into Mr. M'Leod's face."You mean Professor Owen from New York.""Yes. Well, you know he said he'd give a hundred pounds for a full-grown moose alive; and now you must write and tell him you've got a beauty for him, and to come along and get it."The miller's face became radiant as his son spoke. He now understood what had been in Rob's mind, and why he had shown such intense anxiety to secure the moose uninjured."God bless you, my boy!" he exclaimed, throwing his arms around his neck, for the revulsion of feeling broke down his characteristic reserve. "I see what you've been driving at. You always were a bright lad, and now, maybe, you're going to save me from ruin. I won't wait to write Professor Owen; I'll telegraph him. He left me his address so that I might let him know when the hunting was good."Mounting his best horse, Mr. M'Leod hastened to the village, and sent this despatch to the professor: "Have a splendid live moose in my barn. Do you want him?"Before many hours the reply came: "Am coming for him by first train."The following evening Professor Owen appeared. When he saw the moose he fairly shouted with delight."A perfect specimen, and in the very prime of life," he cried. "I'll give you a hundred pounds for him on the spot. Will that be right?"The offer was gladly accepted; and as soon as the necessary arrangements could be made, the moose was taken away to become the chief attraction in a famous zoological garden.On the day before the sheriff's sale Mr. M'Leod, greatly to the money-lender's chagrin, paid his claim in full, and cleared his property from all encumbrance.That night they had a praise-meeting at the mill; for when Mr. M'Leod was told about Rob and Jessie praying together for his deliverance from the grasp of Moses Shearer his heart was deeply stirred, and he joined in thanking God who had thus signally answered the children's petitions. Not only so, but both he and his wife were moved to withhold no longer from God's service, and they became active, happy members of the church.As for Rob and Jessie, their faith was wonderfully strengthened, and often afterwards the recollection of this incident helped them to be trustful in the midst of many difficulties.FORTY MILES OF MAELSTROM.The Canadian Pacific train, speeding swiftly on toward Winnipeg, had just dashed over an iron bridge which threw its audacious spider-web across a foaming torrent. Pointing down at the tumbling water beneath, one of the men in the smoking compartment of a palace car exclaimed,—"I'd like to try that rapid in myRice Lake.""Are you so fond of a wetting as all that?" asked Charlie Hall with a smile."Oh, I'd risk the wetting. I've been through worse rapids than that without so much as being sprinkled." He proceeded to support his assertion by relating some of his adventures.When Jack Fleming came to the end of his tether, the others had their say, for they had not been without experiences of a similar nature. Meanwhile, the fourth member of the group had been listening with interested attention, as if their stories were so novel that he did not wish to lose a word of them. He was merely a chance acquaintance, who had fallen into conversation with his fellow-travellers through the freemasonry of the pipe. They knew his name; Ronald Cameron, but they knew nothing more about him.It was more for the sake of saying something courteous than with any idea of drawing the stranger out that Fleming turned to him and said, "Perhaps you know something about running rapids too?"The stranger's bronzed face broke out into a smile, which meant unmistakably, "As well ask Grant if he knew something about fighting battles;" but there was not the faintest trace of boastfulness in his tone as he replied, "I have run a few rapids in my time.""Well, it's your turn now; tell us your experience," said Fleming, and without much urging Cameron began."I must explain that I am in the employ of the Hudson Bay Company, and have spent many years in the North-west districts. My duties have required frequent long trips by York boat and bark canoe, in the course of which I have had my full share of tussles with rapids of all kinds. I could tell you half-a-dozen rather exciting little episodes, but I'll give you only one just now, namely, my passage of the Long Cañon of the Liard in a canvas boat.""In a canvas boat?" broke out Fleming, half incredulously."Yes, in a canvas boat," repeated Cameron. "Not a particularly seaworthy craft, I must confess. But it was a notion of my own in order to get over the difficulty in which I was placed. I had been over in British Columbia, and was on my way back to Athabasca. The season was growing late, and I had only two men with me—an Indian and a half-breed. The Indian was a splendid canoe-man, but the half-breed was not of much account. The first part of the journey could be made by boat easily enough, but for us three men to drag a heavy boat over Grizzly Portage, which is about six miles long, and has a portage-path that climbs a thousand feet up the mountain side, was quite out of the question."So before I started I had a boat made out of tent canvas, which would be no trouble to carry. The wooden boat was to be left at the head of Grizzly Portage to take care of itself."Well, we got on smoothly until we passed the portage, and the Long Cañon opened out before us. As I looked at its wild rush of water, and realized that this was only the beginning, and far from the worst of it, I confess I felt tempted to turn back. But my pride soon banished that thought, and I set about getting my frail craft ready for the trip. Dennazee, the Indian, did not show the slightest concern; but Machard, the half-breed, was evidently much frightened."Assuming a cheery indifference I by no means felt, I went about the work in the most matter-of-fact way, and, with Dennazee helping heartily, the canvas boat was put together and set afloat."But it became evident immediately that she was not minded to stay afloat long. Although I had taken the precaution to give the canvas a good coat of oil, no sooner were we on board than, the treacherous stuff leaked through every pore. Clearly this must be remedied before we could attempt the passage."Bidding the men gather all the gum and balsam they could find, I put the whole of our bacon, some ten pounds at least, half-a-dozen candles, and the gum and balsam into our pot, set it over a brisk fire, and produced the most extraordinary compound you can imagine."With this we thickly daubed the outside of the boat from stem to stern, and then left her for the night. The next morning she was as tight as a drum, and we started off, the poor half-breed muttering prayers in full expectation of a watery grave, the Indian as stolid as a statue, and myself much more anxious at heart than I cared to have either man know."The cañon is about forty miles long, and in that distance the river falls quite five hundred feet. Old Lepine, who has piloted boats up and down the Liard for thirty years or more, asserts that once, when the water was unusually high, he went through the whole length of the cañon in a York boat in two hours. The old man may be a few minutes short of the record, but there is no doubt that in the spring, when the snow is melting on the mountain slopes, the river runs at a fearful rate. I had hoped for low water, but, as luck would have it, a sudden spell of intensely hot weather had set the snow going, and the Liard was just high enough to be a very ugly customer."Well, we paddled out into the current, and then there was nothing to do but steer. I had the stern, and Dennazee the bow, while Machard clung tightly to the centre thwart, and was useful only as ballast. Like an arrow our little boat sped down stream, darting this way and that, dipping and dancing about like a cork, doing exactly what the water willed."At the very first swirl I found out something that gave me an additional shiver. This was that the boat could bear very little pressure from the paddle. If the water pulled one way and the paddle the other, the frail thing squirmed and twisted like a snake instead of obeying the steersman, so that it was quite impossible to make her respond readily or to effect a sharp turn. No doubt Dennazee discovered this as soon as I did, but he gave no hint of it, as with intent face and skilful arm he did his part of the work to perfection."The first few miles were not very bad, but we soon came to a place where whirlpool followed whirlpool in fearfully quick succession, and I no sooner caught my breath after escaping one than we were struggling with another. Our canvas cockle-shell appeared to undulate over the frothing waves rather than cut through them. I seemed to feel every motion of the water through her thin skin. In the very thick of it I could not help admiring the wonderful skill of the Indian in the bow. Again and again he saved us from dashing against a rock, or whirling around broadside to the current."For mile after mile we were tumbled about, and tossed from wave to wave like a chip of bark. My heart was in my mouth. I could scarcely breathe. My knees quaked, though my hand was firm, as, with eyes fixed upon Dennazee, I instantly obeyed every motion of his paddle."In this fashion, one hairbreadth escape succeeding another, we did half the distance unscathed, and made the shore by the aid of an eddy at the head of the Rapids of the Drowned. These rapids got their forbidding name from the fate of eight voyagers, who lost their lives while attempting to run them in a large canoe. Being studded with rocks, these rapids are extremely dangerous. As the cañon widens out sufficiently to leave a narrow beach at this point, we preferred portaging our canvas boat to impaling her on one of the rocks."It was a strange thing that our sudden appearance should have so startled two moose who were standing on the shore that, instead of retreating up the hill, they plunged boldly into the river, of whose pitiless power they evidently knew nothing, and were borne helplessly away to destruction. A little later we saw their bodies stranded on a shoal, and the sight gave me a chill as I thought that that perhaps would be our fate, too, before we escaped from the Long Cañon."We had hard work getting the boat and ourselves over the broken, boulder-strown beach beside the Rapids of the Drowned, and the boat had more than one 'close call' as we slipped and stumbled about. I've no doubt Machard would have been glad to see it perforated with a hole beyond repair. But by dint of great care and hard work we did manage to bring it through uninjured, and then we halted for a rest and a bit of dinner."When it came to starting again, Machard vowed he would not get aboard. He pleaded to be allowed to follow us on foot; but I would not listen to him. I needed him for ballast in the first place, and moreover, if we did get through alive, I could not afford to waste half a day waiting for him to overtake us. Drawing my revolver, I ordered him to get on board. He obeyed, trembling, and we started again, Dennazee as imperturbable as ever.[image]SHOOTING A FALL."We had the worst part of the passage still before us. The sides of the cañon drew close together until they became lofty walls, between which the river shot downward like a mill-race. The great black cliffs to right and left frowned upon us as if indignantly, and at every turn in the cañon a whirlpool yawned, ready to engulf us. Again and again I thought we were caught in a whirl, but in some marvellous manner Dennazee extricated us, and we darted on to try our fate with another."Extreme as our peril was, it had a wonderful thrill and excitement about it, and in the midst of it I found myself thinking that were I only in a big York boat I would be shouting for joy instead of filled with apprehension."The great difficulty was to keep our boat straight with the stream, for, as I have already told you, she was so pliant that she bent and twisted instead of keeping stiff, and more than once I felt sure she would cave in under the tremendous pressure upon her thin sides. To make matters worse she began to leak again, and although I commanded Machard to bail her out with a pannikin, he did it so clumsily in his terror that I was afraid he would upset us, and had to order him to stop."We must have had an hour or more of this, when for the first time Dennazee spoke. Turning round just for a moment he pointed ahead, and exclaimed, 'Hell Gate!'"I knew at once what he meant. We had almost reached the end of the cañon. There remained only Hell Gate, and our perils would be over.Only Hell Gate! I've not been much of a hand at praying, but I'm not ashamed to confess that I imitated poor Machard's example then. As for him, the moment he heard what Dennazee said, he fell on his knees in the bottom, and, clinging to the thwart, set to praying with all his might and main."With a thrilling rush we swept around the curve and plunged into Hell Gate. It is an awful place. The walls of the cañon are two hundred feet high, and not more than a hundred feet apart. The deep water spins along at the rate of twenty miles an hour, while at the end is a sort of drop into a black, dreadful pool, where the whirls are the worst of all."We got through the narrow passage all right, and then, with a dive that made my heart stand still, entered the whirlpools. There were three of them, and we struck the centre one. In spite of our desperate efforts, it got its grip full upon us, and round and round we went like a teetotum."It is not at all likely that I shall ever forget that experience. Our flimsy craft seemed to be trying to collapse every moment. It writhed and squirmed like a living thing, and at every turn of the awful circle we drew nearer to its centre, which yawned to engulf us."I had given up all hope, and was about to throw away my paddle and prepare for the last struggle, when suddenly there came a great rush of water down the cañon. The whirlpools all filled up and levelled over; for one brief minute the river was on our side."With a whoop of delight Dennazee dug his paddle deep into the water, and put all his strength upon it. I seconded his efforts as well as I could. The boat hesitated, then obeyed, and moved slowly but surely forward; and after some moments of harrowing suspense we found ourselves floating swiftly but safely onward, with no more dangers ahead."Cameron ceased speaking, and picked up his pipe. There was a moment of silence, and then Fleming, drawing a deep breath, said with a quizzical smile, "Perhaps you do know something about running rapids."[image]ESKIMO WOMAN WITH TAIL AND AMOOK, OR HOOD.THE CANADIAN CHILDREN OF THE COLD.After centuries of seclusion and neglect, broken only by the infrequent visits of ambitious seekers for the north pole, or mercenary hunters for the right whale, and by the semi-religious, semi-commercial ministrations of the Moravian missionaries, the Eskimos of the Labrador and Hudson Bay region suddenly had the eyes of the world turned inquiringly upon them.The shocking story was published far and wide that a winter that did not change to spring in the usual way had cut off their supply of food, and that in consequence they were devouring one another with the ghastly relish of a Fiji cannibal. Although this report proved untrue, happily, the Eskimos are sufficiently interesting to attract attention at all times, and are little enough known to furnish an adequate excuse at this time for a brief paper upon them.I.To aid me in presenting the earliest glimpses of the Eskimos, I am fortunate in having before me a manuscript prepared by the late Robert Morrow of Halifax, Nova Scotia, an accomplished student of the literatures of Iceland and Denmark.That to the Norsemen and not to the Spaniards rightfully belongs the credit of first discovering America is now settled, and that when the Norsemen first touched American soil they found the Eskimos already in possession is also certain. Yet it was not these bold adventurers that gave these curious people the name by which they are most commonly known. In the expressive Norse tongue they were described as "Skraelings"—that is, the "chips, parings." The intention was not, of course, to convey the idea that they were cordially accepted as "chips of the old block," but, on the contrary, to show that they were regarded by their handsome and stalwart discoverers as little better than mere fragments of humanity—a view which, however unflattering, their squat stature, ugly countenances, and filthy habits went far to justify.The name "Eskimo" was given to them by the Abenaki, a tribe of Indians in southern Labrador. It is an abbreviation of "Eskimautsik," which means "eating raw fish," in allusion to their repulsive custom of eating both fish and flesh without taking the preliminary trouble of cooking it. The Eskimos themselves assert very emphatically that they are "Innuit"—that is, "the people"—just as though they were the only people in the world (and, by the way, it is worth noticing that each particular tribe of these "Huskies" thinks itself the entire population of the globe until undeceived by the advent of visitors). Their national name, if they have one at all, is "Karalit," the plural of "Karalik," meaning "those that stayed behind."With reference to this latter title, Mr. Morrow points out a curious fact, which is suggestive. Strahlenburg, in his description of the northern part of Asia, states, on the authority of the Tartar writer Abulgazi Chan, that Og, or Ogus Chan, who reigned in Tartary long before the birth of Christ, made an inroad into the southern Asiatic countries, and as some of his tribes stayed behind, they were called in reproach "Kall-atzi," and also "Karalik." Now this "Karalik," with its plural "Karalit," is the very name that the Eskimos give themselves. So striking a resemblance, amounting in fact to identity, can surely be accounted for in no other way (and for this suggestion I must assume all responsibility) than that those who stayed behind in Tartary subsequently moved over to the American continent.When Eric the Red sailed across from Iceland to Greenland (somewhere about the year 985), he found many traces of the Eskimos there: and when Thorvald, some twenty years later, ventured as far south as Vinland, identified as the present Martha's Vineyard (with which he was so delighted that he exclaimed, "Here is a beautiful land, and here I wish to raise my dwelling"), the unexpected discovery of three skin boats upon the beach affected him and his followers much as the imprint of a human foot did Robinson Crusoe. They found more than the boats, however, for each boat held three men, all but one of whom they caught and summarily despatched, for reasons that the saga discreetly forbears to state.But retribution followed fast. No sooner had the invaders returned to their ships than the Skraelings attacked them in great force, and although the Norsemen came out best in the fighting, their leader, Thorvald, received a mortal wound. He charged his men to bury him upon the cape "at which he had thought it best to dwell;" for, as he pathetically added, "it may happen that it was a true word that fell from my mouth that I should dwell here for a time." His men did as they were bid. They set up two crosses over his grave, whose site is now known as Summit Point. They then hastened homeward.After the lapse of two years, one Thorfinn Karlsifori, fired by what he heard in Iceland of the wonderful discoveries made by the hardy sons of Eric the Red, fitted out an imposing expedition, his boats carrying one hundred and sixty men, besides women, cattle, etc., and set sail for Vinland. He reached his destination in safety, and remaining there for some time, improved upon his predecessor's method of treating the Skraelings. Instead of aimlessly killing them, he cheerfully cheated them, getting huge packs of furs in exchange for bits of red cloth. He has thus described his customers' chief characteristics: "These men were black and ill-favoured, and had straight hair on their heads. They had large eyes and broad cheeks." All of which shows that although the Eskimos have changed their habitat since then, they have not altered much in their appearance.After two years of prosperous trading, the relations between the Norsemen and the Skraelings became strained from a cause too amusing not to be related. As already stated, the visitors brought a few of their cattle with them, and it happened one day that a huge bull had his feelings excited some way or other, perhaps by a piece of red cloth thoughtlessly paraded in his view; at all events he bellowed very loud, and charging upon the terrified Eskimos, tossed them about in the most lively fashion. They incontinently tumbled into their boats, and, without a word of farewell, rowed off, to the vast amusement of the bull's owners. But the latter's laughter vanished when presently the runaways returned "in whole ranks, like a rushing stream," and began an attack in which the Norsemen were vanquished by sheer force of numbers, and deemed it prudent to make off without standing upon the order of their going.
[image]"THE POOR CREATURES WHINNIED APPEALINGLY."
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"THE POOR CREATURES WHINNIED APPEALINGLY."
It was certainly a pity to leave two such fine animals to perish, but yet what could be done?
Striding along on the snow-shoes, in the use of which they were both expert, the superintendent and Harry made better progress than they had been doing in the sleigh, and now the chief anxiety was to hit the right spot on the other side of the lake, where the road continued through the woods.
On a clear day Mr. Maynard would have found little difficulty in doing this, but in the midst of a blinding snowstorm it was no easy task; yet their very lives depended upon its successful accomplishment.
When they reached the middle of the lake they were dismayed to discover that the heavily-falling snow shrouded not only the shore for which they were making, but the one which they had left. They were absolutely without a mark to guide them.
Here was an unexpected peril. Mr. Maynard halted and strove to peer through the ominous obscurity of white, but on every side it was the same.
"What are we to do now, Harry?" he cried in a tone of deep concern. "I can't make out our way at all."
By this time Harry's spirits, which had hitherto been keeping up bravely, were beginning to fall, for he was growing weary of the long struggle with the storm.
"I'm sure I don't know," he responded ruefully. "I suppose there is nothing else to do but to push ahead and take our chances of hitting the shore somewhere."
"That's about all, Harry," was the superintendent's reply. "Just rest a minute to get your breath, and then we'll make a dash for it."
For a little space they stood still and silent, the mind of each absorbed in anxious thought, and then Mr. Maynard called out,—
"Come along now, Harry. Keep right in my tracks, and I'll see if I can't make the shore all right."
For half-an-hour they toiled steadily onward, and well it was for both that they had such skill in the use of snow-shoes. Without them they could not have made a hundred yards' headway, so heavy was the snow. Even as it was, the hard work told upon Harry, and presently he had to call to his companion,—
"Hold on a minute, Mr. Maynard; I'm out of breath."
The superintendent stopped short and came back to him.
"Not played out already, are you, Harry?" he asked, peering anxiously into his face.
"Oh, no!" and the boy made a gallant effort at a reassuring smile. "I just want to get my wind; that's all. This abominable storm nearly suffocates me."
As they rested again for a few minutes, the wind suddenly shifted, parting the whirling snow to right and left, and through the rift thus made, Mr. Maynard's keen eyes caught a glimpse of a dark mass rising dimly into the air a little more than a mile away.
With a shout of joy he slapped his companion upon the back, crying,—
"Eagle Rock, Harry. See!" and he pointed with a quivering finger to the spectral appearance. "Once we make that, I can find the road all right enough. Come along!"
Cheered by the sight, which the next moment the snow-curtain again hid from them, they pushed forward with renewed energy.
It was terribly hard walking. Their snow-shoes sank deep into the drifts at every step, and it was an effort each time to release them. The afternoon was also waning fast, and they had not more than an hour of daylight left at best. Truly they were in desperate straits.
On they went over the drifts that seemed to be determined to bar their way, the superintendent straining his eyes for another glimpse of Eagle Rock. At last, as Harry was about once more to cry halt, his companion exclaimed joyfully,—
"There's Eagle Rock, Harry! I see it. We're making straight for it. A few minutes more will take us there."
The cheering announcement revived the boy's failing energies for another effort. He shut his lips upon the request for a rest, and doggedly tramped on after his guide.
Ten minutes more and they were at the foot of the lofty crag called Eagle Rock, in a friendly recess of which they found welcome shelter from the furious wind.
"Thank goodness!" ejaculated Harry, throwing himself wearily down upon a snow-bank, "we've got thus far anyway. How many miles more, Mr. Maynard?"
"About ten, Harry," was the answer, given in quite a matter-of-fact tone.
"Ten!" echoed Harry in dismay. "I hoped it would only be about five. I'll never do it in the world."
"Oh yes, you will, my boy!" replied Mr. Maynard. "I'll help you you know."
To their vast relief the snow now began to abate, and presently ceased falling altogether.
"That's something to be thankful for," said the superintendent. "Are you ready to start again?"
"Go ahead," was the response.
But no sooner had one danger passed than another presented itself. The light began to fail, for night was at hand.
A ten-mile tramp on snow-shoes through a desolate forest was not much to be desired under any circumstances. To accomplish it in the dark, tired as they both felt already, was a feat the achieving of which seemed more than doubtful.
Mr. Maynard had his misgivings, but he carefully concealed them from his companion, and even started whistling a lively march as he led the way along the faintly discernible road.
Never will either of them ever forget that awful tramp.
The night soon enfolded them, leaving only the scant light of the glimmering stars for guidance. Every step they took had to be carefully considered, lest they should stray from the track and be hopelessly lost.
Again and again the silence through which they marched was broken by the blood-curdling cry of the lynx or the dismal howl of the wolf, seeking what they might devour.
The superintendent's rifle hung at his back, and Harry had a good revolver; but they prayed in their hearts that they might have no occasion to use them.
Every little while they had to pause that the boy might take a brief rest. Then on they went again.
Mile after mile of the dreary, toilsome way was slowly yet steadily overcome, each one adding to poor Harry's weariness, until he felt as if he must give up the struggle and throw himself down in the snow to die.
But Mr. Maynard cheered him up and helped him, and kept him going, knowing well that to give up really meant death.
At last the exhausted boy sank down with a piteous wail,—
"It's no use, Mr. Maynard, I can't take another step."
"Oh yes, you can, Harry!" said the superintendent soothingly; "just take a little rest, and then you'll be all right."
While Harry rested he went on ahead a short distance, for it seemed to him that they could not be very far from the depot.
Presently there came from him a glad hurrah, and running back he put his arm around his companion, and helped him to his feet, exclaiming joyfully,—
"I can see a light, Harry. We're safe now. It's the depot."
And he was right. They were within half a mile of their haven. Forgetting all their weariness, they put on a gallant spurt, and in less than ten minutes were in the midst of their friends, telling the story of their thrilling experience.
All's well that ends well. The superintendent kept his appointments in the city; Harry had a royal Christmas time with the clerks in the depot; and, happy to relate, the horses were not lost, for a relief party that went out the following morning with a big sledge found them still alive, and brought them and the sleigh back to the depot, little the worse for the long imprisonment in the snow-drift.
A STRANGE HELPER.
"There's nothing for it, Maggie, but to let the place go. I've tried my best to raise the money, but those that are willing to help a fellow haven't it to lend, and those that have it ain't willing to help. It's mighty hard lines, I tell you," and, with a groan of despair, Alec M'Leod buried his head in his hands, as he leaned heavily upon the table.
Hard lines it was, indeed, as no one knew better than Moses Shearer, the money-lender, to whose conduct was due Alec the miller's anguish of mind. He had chosen that particular time for enforcing satisfaction of his claim, because he understood that it could not be done without a sale of the mill property; and this was just what he desired, as he intended to bid it in for himself.
It did seem a cruel thing for Mr. M'Leod to be sold out of the snug, well-equipped mill that represented his whole fortune; and all for a debt of one hundred pounds, incurred under special circumstances for which he was in no wise to blame.
No wonder that he was sorely cast down, and that gloom reigned in his household, which consisted of a devoted wife and two children—Robert, the elder, a sturdy, enterprising lad of fourteen, and Jessie, a sweet, fair-haired lassie two years younger. They were all in the room when the miller gave voice to his despair, and Rob, full of sympathy, hastened to say something comforting, with all the hopefulness of youth.
"Don't give up yet, father," said he. "The sale is more than a week off, and you may be able to get the money somehow before then."
Mr. M'Leod shook his head without raising it from his hands. He had exhausted every available resource, and saw no way in which help could come. He was not a religious man, although of unblemished integrity of character, and had no faith to sustain him in his grievous trial; nor did his wife know how to lay hold upon God, and claim the fulfilment of his promises.
In this they both had much to learn from their own children, for, thanks to sound teaching in Sunday school, Rob and Jessie believed in the prayer of faith. They believed God was always ready and willing to respond in his wisdom to the petitions of his children, and when they learned of their father's trouble, their thoughts took the same direction.
That night, when Rob went up to his room, he found Jessie there.
"O Rob!" she hastened to say, "I've been waiting for you to come."
"What do you want to do, Jessie?" inquired Rob.
"Why, Rob, you know when father told us of his trouble, I made up my mind to ask God to help him out of it. What is that in the Bible about God doing anything that two of his people agree to ask for?"
Proud of his memory, Rob promptly repeated the verse: "If two of you shall agree on earth as touching anything that they shall ask, it shall be done for them."
"Yes, that's it!" exclaimed Jessie. "Now then, Rob, can't we agree to ask God to help father to pay off that dreadful Mr. Shearer?"
"Of course we can," responded Rob heartily; "and we'll do it right away."
So down on their knees they went, and each in turn presented an earnest, simple petition to God that aid should be granted their father in the present emergency. When they rose their faces were radiant.
"It will be all right now, won't it, Rob?" said Jessie, as she went to her own room.
The following day passed without any sign of an answer, and so did the next. Rob, boy-like, began to grow impatient, but Jessie was more trustful. Each night they renewed their united requests.
On the third night Rob, the window of whose room overlooked the mill-pond, happening to awake about midnight, thought he heard a most unusual splashing noise coming from the pond. Sitting up in bed, and listening attentively, he asked himself:—
"What can it be? Has somebody fallen into the pond? No, it can't be that, or there would be cries for help. Oh! it's only some old cow that's fooling around."
He was about to accept this explanation and settle down to sleep again, when there was added to the frantic splashing a hoarse bellow such as no domestic animal ever uttered.
"I must see what that is," said he to himself. So out of bed he jumped, hurried on his clothes, and slipping quietly out of the house, hastened across the yard to the mill-platform, from which he could command a view of the whole pond.
It was a bright, clear night, with the moon at the full, and the still waters of the pond reflected its silver rays like a huge mirror. At first the boy could see nothing to account for the strange noises he had heard, but presently he discovered a big creature, whose exact nature he could not make out, in the deepest part of the pond, where, surrounded by the floating logs which had rendered futile all its efforts to extricate itself, it was, for the moment, resting quietly as though exhausted.
Rob's appearance upon the platform evidently aroused the creature to fresh exertions, and it proceeded to fling itself about with reckless fury, in the course of which its head emerged from the shadow into a broad band of light, and with a cry of astonishment Rob, who had been bending over the edge of the platform, sprang to his feet.
"Why, it's a moose!" he exclaimed; "and a monster one, too. And I'm going to catch him." Then looking down at the imprisoned animal, he added: "Just stay there, my beauty; I'll be back in a jiffy to look after you."
Darting over to the house he quickly aroused his father, who, as soon as he had assured himself that his son's story was correct, hastened to call up some of the neighbours. He did not stop to think what he would do with the moose when he had him safely secured. He was merely glad of a diversion that would help him to forget his troubles for a while.
But Rob already had a scheme worked out in his mind, of which, however, he intended to say nothing until the capture had been successfully accomplished. Then he would let it be known.
The neighbours responded readily to Mr. M'Leod's summons, and in a quarter of an hour half-a-dozen men were upon the scene, some armed with pitchforks, others with stakes, and all eager to have a share in the honours of the capture.
Many and various were the suggestions as to the best plan for getting the animal out of the pond uninjured, but no sooner had Mr. M'Leod offered his than it was unanimously adopted as the best.
By pushing away the logs a clear space could be made leading to the incline up which the logs were drawn to meet their fate at the saw's teeth, and the miller's idea was to lasso the moose by the antlers, drag the creature through the water to the foot of the incline, then attach the rope to the chain for drawing up the logs, and turn on the water-power.
The strongest animal that ever stood on four legs could not resist the tug of the chain, and thus the moose would be drawn up on the platform, and kept there, a safe prisoner, until he could be removed to the barn.
Mr. M'Leod had little difficulty in getting the rope fastened to the big branching antlers, and not much more in towing his captive around to the foot of the incline. But then came the rub. The monarch of the forest fought frantically against being drawn out of the water, and it seemed as if he might kill himself in his desperate efforts for freedom.
[image]CAPTURING THE MOOSE.
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CAPTURING THE MOOSE.
There was no resisting the inexorable strain of the log-chain, however, and foot by foot he was compelled to ascend the incline until he reached the platform. Then the power was shut off, and Mr. M'Leod decided that it was best to allow the great creature to stay where he was until daylight.
The men all went back to their beds, but Rob remained. He did not want to leave the prize which had thus strangely fallen into his hands, and which he hoped to make signally helpful in his father's trouble. So he chose a corner of the platform where he could keep the moose in full view, and composed himself to wait for the morning.
As he sat there his heart went up in gratitude to God, for right before him had he not the answer to the prayer he and Jessie had united in offering?
With the dawn Mr. M'Leod and the other men returned, and by dint of much shouting, flourishing of pitchforks, and tugging of ropes, the moose, after many furious attempts at breaking away, was at length safely conveyed to the barn, and securely fastened up in such a manner that he could do himself no hurt, struggle and kick as he might.
"Hip, hip, hurrah!" shouted Rob as the big door closed with a bang, and he flung himself against it to make sure that it was shut tight. "We've got him all right enough. He can't get out of there until we want him."
"And now that you have got him, Robby," said the miller, laying his hand affectionately on the boy's shoulder. "perhaps you'll tell us what you are going to do with him."
Up to this point Rob had kept his own counsel, because his Scotch shrewdness told him it would be best to do so until the capture was successfully effected. But now there was no longer need for reserve.
"You remember that gentleman who was here hunting last winter, don't you, father?" said he, looking up eagerly into Mr. M'Leod's face.
"You mean Professor Owen from New York."
"Yes. Well, you know he said he'd give a hundred pounds for a full-grown moose alive; and now you must write and tell him you've got a beauty for him, and to come along and get it."
The miller's face became radiant as his son spoke. He now understood what had been in Rob's mind, and why he had shown such intense anxiety to secure the moose uninjured.
"God bless you, my boy!" he exclaimed, throwing his arms around his neck, for the revulsion of feeling broke down his characteristic reserve. "I see what you've been driving at. You always were a bright lad, and now, maybe, you're going to save me from ruin. I won't wait to write Professor Owen; I'll telegraph him. He left me his address so that I might let him know when the hunting was good."
Mounting his best horse, Mr. M'Leod hastened to the village, and sent this despatch to the professor: "Have a splendid live moose in my barn. Do you want him?"
Before many hours the reply came: "Am coming for him by first train."
The following evening Professor Owen appeared. When he saw the moose he fairly shouted with delight.
"A perfect specimen, and in the very prime of life," he cried. "I'll give you a hundred pounds for him on the spot. Will that be right?"
The offer was gladly accepted; and as soon as the necessary arrangements could be made, the moose was taken away to become the chief attraction in a famous zoological garden.
On the day before the sheriff's sale Mr. M'Leod, greatly to the money-lender's chagrin, paid his claim in full, and cleared his property from all encumbrance.
That night they had a praise-meeting at the mill; for when Mr. M'Leod was told about Rob and Jessie praying together for his deliverance from the grasp of Moses Shearer his heart was deeply stirred, and he joined in thanking God who had thus signally answered the children's petitions. Not only so, but both he and his wife were moved to withhold no longer from God's service, and they became active, happy members of the church.
As for Rob and Jessie, their faith was wonderfully strengthened, and often afterwards the recollection of this incident helped them to be trustful in the midst of many difficulties.
FORTY MILES OF MAELSTROM.
The Canadian Pacific train, speeding swiftly on toward Winnipeg, had just dashed over an iron bridge which threw its audacious spider-web across a foaming torrent. Pointing down at the tumbling water beneath, one of the men in the smoking compartment of a palace car exclaimed,—
"I'd like to try that rapid in myRice Lake."
"Are you so fond of a wetting as all that?" asked Charlie Hall with a smile.
"Oh, I'd risk the wetting. I've been through worse rapids than that without so much as being sprinkled." He proceeded to support his assertion by relating some of his adventures.
When Jack Fleming came to the end of his tether, the others had their say, for they had not been without experiences of a similar nature. Meanwhile, the fourth member of the group had been listening with interested attention, as if their stories were so novel that he did not wish to lose a word of them. He was merely a chance acquaintance, who had fallen into conversation with his fellow-travellers through the freemasonry of the pipe. They knew his name; Ronald Cameron, but they knew nothing more about him.
It was more for the sake of saying something courteous than with any idea of drawing the stranger out that Fleming turned to him and said, "Perhaps you know something about running rapids too?"
The stranger's bronzed face broke out into a smile, which meant unmistakably, "As well ask Grant if he knew something about fighting battles;" but there was not the faintest trace of boastfulness in his tone as he replied, "I have run a few rapids in my time."
"Well, it's your turn now; tell us your experience," said Fleming, and without much urging Cameron began.
"I must explain that I am in the employ of the Hudson Bay Company, and have spent many years in the North-west districts. My duties have required frequent long trips by York boat and bark canoe, in the course of which I have had my full share of tussles with rapids of all kinds. I could tell you half-a-dozen rather exciting little episodes, but I'll give you only one just now, namely, my passage of the Long Cañon of the Liard in a canvas boat."
"In a canvas boat?" broke out Fleming, half incredulously.
"Yes, in a canvas boat," repeated Cameron. "Not a particularly seaworthy craft, I must confess. But it was a notion of my own in order to get over the difficulty in which I was placed. I had been over in British Columbia, and was on my way back to Athabasca. The season was growing late, and I had only two men with me—an Indian and a half-breed. The Indian was a splendid canoe-man, but the half-breed was not of much account. The first part of the journey could be made by boat easily enough, but for us three men to drag a heavy boat over Grizzly Portage, which is about six miles long, and has a portage-path that climbs a thousand feet up the mountain side, was quite out of the question.
"So before I started I had a boat made out of tent canvas, which would be no trouble to carry. The wooden boat was to be left at the head of Grizzly Portage to take care of itself.
"Well, we got on smoothly until we passed the portage, and the Long Cañon opened out before us. As I looked at its wild rush of water, and realized that this was only the beginning, and far from the worst of it, I confess I felt tempted to turn back. But my pride soon banished that thought, and I set about getting my frail craft ready for the trip. Dennazee, the Indian, did not show the slightest concern; but Machard, the half-breed, was evidently much frightened.
"Assuming a cheery indifference I by no means felt, I went about the work in the most matter-of-fact way, and, with Dennazee helping heartily, the canvas boat was put together and set afloat.
"But it became evident immediately that she was not minded to stay afloat long. Although I had taken the precaution to give the canvas a good coat of oil, no sooner were we on board than, the treacherous stuff leaked through every pore. Clearly this must be remedied before we could attempt the passage.
"Bidding the men gather all the gum and balsam they could find, I put the whole of our bacon, some ten pounds at least, half-a-dozen candles, and the gum and balsam into our pot, set it over a brisk fire, and produced the most extraordinary compound you can imagine.
"With this we thickly daubed the outside of the boat from stem to stern, and then left her for the night. The next morning she was as tight as a drum, and we started off, the poor half-breed muttering prayers in full expectation of a watery grave, the Indian as stolid as a statue, and myself much more anxious at heart than I cared to have either man know.
"The cañon is about forty miles long, and in that distance the river falls quite five hundred feet. Old Lepine, who has piloted boats up and down the Liard for thirty years or more, asserts that once, when the water was unusually high, he went through the whole length of the cañon in a York boat in two hours. The old man may be a few minutes short of the record, but there is no doubt that in the spring, when the snow is melting on the mountain slopes, the river runs at a fearful rate. I had hoped for low water, but, as luck would have it, a sudden spell of intensely hot weather had set the snow going, and the Liard was just high enough to be a very ugly customer.
"Well, we paddled out into the current, and then there was nothing to do but steer. I had the stern, and Dennazee the bow, while Machard clung tightly to the centre thwart, and was useful only as ballast. Like an arrow our little boat sped down stream, darting this way and that, dipping and dancing about like a cork, doing exactly what the water willed.
"At the very first swirl I found out something that gave me an additional shiver. This was that the boat could bear very little pressure from the paddle. If the water pulled one way and the paddle the other, the frail thing squirmed and twisted like a snake instead of obeying the steersman, so that it was quite impossible to make her respond readily or to effect a sharp turn. No doubt Dennazee discovered this as soon as I did, but he gave no hint of it, as with intent face and skilful arm he did his part of the work to perfection.
"The first few miles were not very bad, but we soon came to a place where whirlpool followed whirlpool in fearfully quick succession, and I no sooner caught my breath after escaping one than we were struggling with another. Our canvas cockle-shell appeared to undulate over the frothing waves rather than cut through them. I seemed to feel every motion of the water through her thin skin. In the very thick of it I could not help admiring the wonderful skill of the Indian in the bow. Again and again he saved us from dashing against a rock, or whirling around broadside to the current.
"For mile after mile we were tumbled about, and tossed from wave to wave like a chip of bark. My heart was in my mouth. I could scarcely breathe. My knees quaked, though my hand was firm, as, with eyes fixed upon Dennazee, I instantly obeyed every motion of his paddle.
"In this fashion, one hairbreadth escape succeeding another, we did half the distance unscathed, and made the shore by the aid of an eddy at the head of the Rapids of the Drowned. These rapids got their forbidding name from the fate of eight voyagers, who lost their lives while attempting to run them in a large canoe. Being studded with rocks, these rapids are extremely dangerous. As the cañon widens out sufficiently to leave a narrow beach at this point, we preferred portaging our canvas boat to impaling her on one of the rocks.
"It was a strange thing that our sudden appearance should have so startled two moose who were standing on the shore that, instead of retreating up the hill, they plunged boldly into the river, of whose pitiless power they evidently knew nothing, and were borne helplessly away to destruction. A little later we saw their bodies stranded on a shoal, and the sight gave me a chill as I thought that that perhaps would be our fate, too, before we escaped from the Long Cañon.
"We had hard work getting the boat and ourselves over the broken, boulder-strown beach beside the Rapids of the Drowned, and the boat had more than one 'close call' as we slipped and stumbled about. I've no doubt Machard would have been glad to see it perforated with a hole beyond repair. But by dint of great care and hard work we did manage to bring it through uninjured, and then we halted for a rest and a bit of dinner.
"When it came to starting again, Machard vowed he would not get aboard. He pleaded to be allowed to follow us on foot; but I would not listen to him. I needed him for ballast in the first place, and moreover, if we did get through alive, I could not afford to waste half a day waiting for him to overtake us. Drawing my revolver, I ordered him to get on board. He obeyed, trembling, and we started again, Dennazee as imperturbable as ever.
[image]SHOOTING A FALL.
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SHOOTING A FALL.
"We had the worst part of the passage still before us. The sides of the cañon drew close together until they became lofty walls, between which the river shot downward like a mill-race. The great black cliffs to right and left frowned upon us as if indignantly, and at every turn in the cañon a whirlpool yawned, ready to engulf us. Again and again I thought we were caught in a whirl, but in some marvellous manner Dennazee extricated us, and we darted on to try our fate with another.
"Extreme as our peril was, it had a wonderful thrill and excitement about it, and in the midst of it I found myself thinking that were I only in a big York boat I would be shouting for joy instead of filled with apprehension.
"The great difficulty was to keep our boat straight with the stream, for, as I have already told you, she was so pliant that she bent and twisted instead of keeping stiff, and more than once I felt sure she would cave in under the tremendous pressure upon her thin sides. To make matters worse she began to leak again, and although I commanded Machard to bail her out with a pannikin, he did it so clumsily in his terror that I was afraid he would upset us, and had to order him to stop.
"We must have had an hour or more of this, when for the first time Dennazee spoke. Turning round just for a moment he pointed ahead, and exclaimed, 'Hell Gate!'
"I knew at once what he meant. We had almost reached the end of the cañon. There remained only Hell Gate, and our perils would be over.Only Hell Gate! I've not been much of a hand at praying, but I'm not ashamed to confess that I imitated poor Machard's example then. As for him, the moment he heard what Dennazee said, he fell on his knees in the bottom, and, clinging to the thwart, set to praying with all his might and main.
"With a thrilling rush we swept around the curve and plunged into Hell Gate. It is an awful place. The walls of the cañon are two hundred feet high, and not more than a hundred feet apart. The deep water spins along at the rate of twenty miles an hour, while at the end is a sort of drop into a black, dreadful pool, where the whirls are the worst of all.
"We got through the narrow passage all right, and then, with a dive that made my heart stand still, entered the whirlpools. There were three of them, and we struck the centre one. In spite of our desperate efforts, it got its grip full upon us, and round and round we went like a teetotum.
"It is not at all likely that I shall ever forget that experience. Our flimsy craft seemed to be trying to collapse every moment. It writhed and squirmed like a living thing, and at every turn of the awful circle we drew nearer to its centre, which yawned to engulf us.
"I had given up all hope, and was about to throw away my paddle and prepare for the last struggle, when suddenly there came a great rush of water down the cañon. The whirlpools all filled up and levelled over; for one brief minute the river was on our side.
"With a whoop of delight Dennazee dug his paddle deep into the water, and put all his strength upon it. I seconded his efforts as well as I could. The boat hesitated, then obeyed, and moved slowly but surely forward; and after some moments of harrowing suspense we found ourselves floating swiftly but safely onward, with no more dangers ahead."
Cameron ceased speaking, and picked up his pipe. There was a moment of silence, and then Fleming, drawing a deep breath, said with a quizzical smile, "Perhaps you do know something about running rapids."
[image]ESKIMO WOMAN WITH TAIL AND AMOOK, OR HOOD.
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ESKIMO WOMAN WITH TAIL AND AMOOK, OR HOOD.
THE CANADIAN CHILDREN OF THE COLD.
After centuries of seclusion and neglect, broken only by the infrequent visits of ambitious seekers for the north pole, or mercenary hunters for the right whale, and by the semi-religious, semi-commercial ministrations of the Moravian missionaries, the Eskimos of the Labrador and Hudson Bay region suddenly had the eyes of the world turned inquiringly upon them.
The shocking story was published far and wide that a winter that did not change to spring in the usual way had cut off their supply of food, and that in consequence they were devouring one another with the ghastly relish of a Fiji cannibal. Although this report proved untrue, happily, the Eskimos are sufficiently interesting to attract attention at all times, and are little enough known to furnish an adequate excuse at this time for a brief paper upon them.
I.
To aid me in presenting the earliest glimpses of the Eskimos, I am fortunate in having before me a manuscript prepared by the late Robert Morrow of Halifax, Nova Scotia, an accomplished student of the literatures of Iceland and Denmark.
That to the Norsemen and not to the Spaniards rightfully belongs the credit of first discovering America is now settled, and that when the Norsemen first touched American soil they found the Eskimos already in possession is also certain. Yet it was not these bold adventurers that gave these curious people the name by which they are most commonly known. In the expressive Norse tongue they were described as "Skraelings"—that is, the "chips, parings." The intention was not, of course, to convey the idea that they were cordially accepted as "chips of the old block," but, on the contrary, to show that they were regarded by their handsome and stalwart discoverers as little better than mere fragments of humanity—a view which, however unflattering, their squat stature, ugly countenances, and filthy habits went far to justify.
The name "Eskimo" was given to them by the Abenaki, a tribe of Indians in southern Labrador. It is an abbreviation of "Eskimautsik," which means "eating raw fish," in allusion to their repulsive custom of eating both fish and flesh without taking the preliminary trouble of cooking it. The Eskimos themselves assert very emphatically that they are "Innuit"—that is, "the people"—just as though they were the only people in the world (and, by the way, it is worth noticing that each particular tribe of these "Huskies" thinks itself the entire population of the globe until undeceived by the advent of visitors). Their national name, if they have one at all, is "Karalit," the plural of "Karalik," meaning "those that stayed behind."
With reference to this latter title, Mr. Morrow points out a curious fact, which is suggestive. Strahlenburg, in his description of the northern part of Asia, states, on the authority of the Tartar writer Abulgazi Chan, that Og, or Ogus Chan, who reigned in Tartary long before the birth of Christ, made an inroad into the southern Asiatic countries, and as some of his tribes stayed behind, they were called in reproach "Kall-atzi," and also "Karalik." Now this "Karalik," with its plural "Karalit," is the very name that the Eskimos give themselves. So striking a resemblance, amounting in fact to identity, can surely be accounted for in no other way (and for this suggestion I must assume all responsibility) than that those who stayed behind in Tartary subsequently moved over to the American continent.
When Eric the Red sailed across from Iceland to Greenland (somewhere about the year 985), he found many traces of the Eskimos there: and when Thorvald, some twenty years later, ventured as far south as Vinland, identified as the present Martha's Vineyard (with which he was so delighted that he exclaimed, "Here is a beautiful land, and here I wish to raise my dwelling"), the unexpected discovery of three skin boats upon the beach affected him and his followers much as the imprint of a human foot did Robinson Crusoe. They found more than the boats, however, for each boat held three men, all but one of whom they caught and summarily despatched, for reasons that the saga discreetly forbears to state.
But retribution followed fast. No sooner had the invaders returned to their ships than the Skraelings attacked them in great force, and although the Norsemen came out best in the fighting, their leader, Thorvald, received a mortal wound. He charged his men to bury him upon the cape "at which he had thought it best to dwell;" for, as he pathetically added, "it may happen that it was a true word that fell from my mouth that I should dwell here for a time." His men did as they were bid. They set up two crosses over his grave, whose site is now known as Summit Point. They then hastened homeward.
After the lapse of two years, one Thorfinn Karlsifori, fired by what he heard in Iceland of the wonderful discoveries made by the hardy sons of Eric the Red, fitted out an imposing expedition, his boats carrying one hundred and sixty men, besides women, cattle, etc., and set sail for Vinland. He reached his destination in safety, and remaining there for some time, improved upon his predecessor's method of treating the Skraelings. Instead of aimlessly killing them, he cheerfully cheated them, getting huge packs of furs in exchange for bits of red cloth. He has thus described his customers' chief characteristics: "These men were black and ill-favoured, and had straight hair on their heads. They had large eyes and broad cheeks." All of which shows that although the Eskimos have changed their habitat since then, they have not altered much in their appearance.
After two years of prosperous trading, the relations between the Norsemen and the Skraelings became strained from a cause too amusing not to be related. As already stated, the visitors brought a few of their cattle with them, and it happened one day that a huge bull had his feelings excited some way or other, perhaps by a piece of red cloth thoughtlessly paraded in his view; at all events he bellowed very loud, and charging upon the terrified Eskimos, tossed them about in the most lively fashion. They incontinently tumbled into their boats, and, without a word of farewell, rowed off, to the vast amusement of the bull's owners. But the latter's laughter vanished when presently the runaways returned "in whole ranks, like a rushing stream," and began an attack in which the Norsemen were vanquished by sheer force of numbers, and deemed it prudent to make off without standing upon the order of their going.