It was two o’clock in the morning. There had been no night. The sun had not sunk at all beyond yonder dark, ragged fringe of the spruce-trees marking the horizon. Not even the lower edge of its disk had been broken by the top of the tallest spruce-tree. Yes, for one of the few remaining nights of that year it had been given to our young travelers to see the Midnight Sun at its lowest point.
It was a strange sun, so it seemed to them all. After it had sunk far off to the left of the Peel River it seemed to hang there for a time, and then to go, not in the arc of a circle, but almost in a line parallel with the level of the earth plane, passing with considerable rapidity from left to right in its course. Its reflection upon the water of the Peel River, very noticeable at first, changed until by and by there was no reflection left at all and it hadpassed off across the spruce forest upon the right bank of the river. There again it seemed to hang, as in its upward course it began to forsake its semi-contact with the level of the earth’s sphere. For these few days at this latitude it would make its circle in what Rob called the northwest corner of the heavens, striving to give these poor natives who live in that land some sort of compensation for the terrible sunless nights of the immeasurable Arctic winter.
Our young adventurers, be sure, had lost no time in this fine opportunity for photography—an opportunity given to very few travelers of any age or climate at this particular spot; for since the great Klondike rush had straggled through, broken and failing, twenty years before, few white persons indeed had ever stood upon these shores.
“Run, Jesse, to our tent upon the beach!” called out John. “I’m out of films. Get all we’ve got. We’ll have to try and try again, so as to be sure we’re not missing anything.”
“That’s right,” said Rob. “We don’t know much about this light. It’s soft and faint, but it seems to cut the film, after all, as near as I can tell. I’m going to make all sorts of times—from three seconds and five seconds and ten seconds up to twenty andthirty seconds; and with each of these times that I give it I’m going to use a different stop. Somewhere, some of us will get a picture, I’m sure of that.”
“Well,” said John, looking at Jesse’s hurrying form as he scurried down the steep path to their tent upon the beach, “it would be too bad to come this far and then fail.”
It may be added that the boys did not fail, for certainly they brought out from their trip what then were known as the best amateur negatives ever made in that latitude; and of all the trophies of their northern trips they have prized none so much as these pictures of their own, of that strange spectacle of the great, mysterious North.
It was late that night, or early that morning, when at length they closed their labors with the cameras, all fairly content. Uncle Dick had left them to their own devices, feeling that if they got results—as he felt sure they would—they would feel all the more proud for having done so without the advice and aid of one older than themselves. Indeed, he was beginning more and more to trust these young lads to their own devices. Himself occupied with matters of business which kept him very largely about the government office—as might have been calledthe log barracks of the Northwest Mounted Police which made the only representative of the law in that far-off land—he for some time after the landing of the boat allowed the boys to shift pretty much for themselves, with what results we have seen.
They had pitched their tent farther down the beach than the lowest Eskimo hut, and had in this case put up the great mosquito tent, which stood eight feet high and had windows like a house. Into this, late that night, they now crawled, one after another, through the sleeve of the tent.
“My!” exclaimed Jesse, “I never saw such mosquitoes in my life as these little black fellows! There are simply clouds of them all along the beach here, and they follow you wherever you go.”
They all stood up inside the tent before preparing for bed in their blanket rolls.
“Take your socks, fellows,” said Rob. “We’ll have to kill every one in the tent, or they won’t let us sleep to-night. Jesse’s right; these little fellows bite worse than anything I’ve seen yet. I vow, when I came into the tent they almost scared me when they lit on my head and neck!”
“That trader and his wife didn’t seem to mind them so much,” said John, scratchinghis own neck rather seriously. “She’s a white woman, too—Norwegian, I think some one told me—at least she speaks somewhat broken. She’s a nice woman, too, and I don’t see how she stands it up in this country.”
“Her husband told me this is their third winter in the North,” answered Rob. “They say it takes two or three years to get used to these things, and then you sort of quiet down and get resigned.”
“Or else you die!” grumbled John. “We don’t know how many people there are that don’t get resigned.”
“How long is the boat going to be here yet, Rob?” queried Jesse, sitting up on his bed and unlacing his moccasins.
“Until the jamboree is ended and all the fur is bought from the Huskies,” replied Rob, seriously. “Maybe two or three days yet—I don’t know. There’ll be plenty of time for us to look around a bit to-morrow, and even later. Meantime, Uncle Dick has got to get the supplies ready for our canoe. We’re a long ways from home yet. We’re not going back when the steamer goes, young chaps; you’d better remember that!”
“Huh! Who cares?” said Jesse, contemptuously, pulling his blanket over his head. “I’m not afraid. We’ll get through somehow.”
As Rob had said, they had ample time the next day to look about them in this strange and interesting environment into which they had now come. The unloading of the boat went on steadily, the slow stream of breeds, stooping under their heavy loads, passing up the steep bluff from the boat landing to the trading-post. The boys had time to prowl along the beach and watch the natives run their nets, and even pursue their native art of hunting; for that morning, hearing shots from the bank, they looked out to see a half-dozen native kayaks hurrying to a point out in the river where a black object bobbing up was seen now and then. It was, in fact, a beaver which had been spied. On the bank a half-breed was shooting at it with a rifle, while the Huskies were crowding around, endeavoring to spear it when it came to sight. At last a lucky shot from the rifleman brought an end to the chase. A Husky drove a spear into the body of the dead beaver, and they came ashore with it, all of them shouting and singing and flinging up their paddles or their spear-shafts as they raced ahead.
“Look at those boats,” said Rob, always observant. “In the last five hundred miles we have seen the birch-bark canoe change into a kayak, haven’t we?”
“That’s right,” said John. “First there was the Cree canoe, with the high bow and stern rolling in—much as you could see in Canada anywhere. Then, as the trees got smaller, birch bark scarcer, in the Dog Rib and Rabbit country, the boats got narrower. I wouldn’t have liked to get into one. But they didn’t waste any bark rolling the ends in; the ends came up sharp, as in the kayak.”
“Yes, and at Arctic Red River,” said Jesse, remembering, “they had just a little deck—not much of a one. And now here they are made out of skin and decked all over except a little hole in the middle.”
“And if you’ll look at these Eskimos,” said Rob, again, “and then think of how those Chippewyans looked, you’ll have to admit that they both have the same look and that they both look Japanese. I saw Chippewyans that looked like Japs to me, and that was ’way south of here. I suppose maybe some writers are correct, and that a good many of the tribes, if not all of them, came across the Bering Sea once upon a time, long ago.”
“Uncle Dick is going to get a couple of Indian boys here, Loucheux, to help us up to the divide,” said John. “He told me that to-day. He’s out of patience with the delay here and crazy to get started, but he couldn’tget any supplies. The Hudson’s Bay say that they lost a scow somewhere which ought to have come in here and didn’t come. The Northwest Mounted Police claim that all their bacon is missing. The Indians say they are starving and have to have something for their children. How we’ll get beans enough to carry us across Uncle Dick can’t say.”
“Well, leave it to Uncle Dick,” said Jesse. “I know he’ll fix it all right some way, and we’ll get through, too.”
“That’s the talk, Jesse,” said Rob, slapping a hand on his shoulder. “You’ve got more nerve than you had when you started, and you weigh ten pounds more, too. I’ll warrant that you’ll be the lead dog on the tow-line going up the Rat.”
Thus occupied, they passed the time all too rapidly. In the late evening of their second day the boys noticed a strange hurrying among all the population at the crest of the bluff and on the beach below. Some sort of warning seemed to be in the air; an instant later it became audible in the deep, booming whistle of the steamboat which lay moored below.
TheMackenzie River, last unit of the modern fur brigade, was ready to turn back from her farthest north and take up her weary wayonce more, bucking the tremendous current of the Mackenzie River for more than a thousand miles to the southward.
Again and again the whistle’s echoes rang along the steep shore, and here and there whites and natives, all the tribesmen, every unit of the motley population of the place, hurried down to the landing, until the narrow beach was packed. Men shouted and waved to others now gone aboard the boat. The two red-clad police officers now going back home smiled their pleasure at the thought of the long journey that lay ahead of them; whereas the two who took their place stood looking upon them somewhat ruefully, but bravely as they might, facing their own two years of exile, during which they would never again see a white face until they themselves were relieved. A few Huskies now came hurriedly, offering bargains in their coveted white-fox skins, and some of the great Arctic mink which had not yet all been traded even by the shrewd district agent who had come north with the steamer to see after this particular portion of the territory of his Company, always so prolific in good furs.
HUSKY FLEET—FORT McPHERSONHUSKY FLEET—FORT McPHERSON
Men joked and chaffed each other here and there across the narrow strip of water. Dogs howled each time the whistle blast rang out.A few enthusiasts on the top of the bank wasted precious ammunition in a salute. A few cronies drank a parting stirrup cup out of their scant remaining alcoholic stores. Yonder the Eskimos now began to man their whale-boats for their long voyage to the Arctic Sea. The women were packing up their own supplies now, herding the dogs together, pulling the kayaks up on the decks of the sailing-schooners. The great event of the year was coming to its close and camp was breaking. Now the head of the brigade, this unit farthest north, must begin its long and laborious passage southward once more against the current. As it had brought north such store as was possible of bulky goods, now it carried back, tight packed in its hold, the bales of the precious fur, so much less bulky than the goods which had been brought north, and so far more valuable.
The old trader, gray, grizzled, and taciturn, who had done his Company the service of accumulating all this store of fur, stood leaning against the beam of the great fur-press which but now had been busy in baling the precious white-fox fur, the mink and marten, of this great and solitary country of the North. He would not again see a civilized face until that time in the followingyear, if he still were living then. He made no comment, nor did the swarthy men of his immediate command who stood about him, grim and taciturn, and disdaining to show the emotion of a salute to the passing crew of theMackenzie River.
But at last the conclusion of all these partings came. All the government men and Company men who were going out went on board ship. The bell jingled under the hand of the captain in his pilot-house above. The strong-armed breeds hauled in the gang-plank, and with a parting shrill salute the steamer began to swing her nose into the current of the Peel.
Majestically she turned about to pick up the current for her brief run down that stream to the great river which she was now to ascend. The boys on the bank plied their cameras as she swung midstream, and worked them yet further as the Eskimo whale-boats fell in her wake.
By and by the last cheering ceased to be heard. A blank silence fell upon all those remaining on the bank. The three young lads looked from one to the other, looked again at the silent face of the tall and sun-bronzed man who was to lead them out of this country now. A sudden melancholy had fallen uponthem all. The silence, the mystery of the great North, seemed now to envelop them. They felt strangely alone—indeed, if truth were told, strangely sad and helpless. Home—how very far away it seemed! John poked a swift elbow into Jesse’s side, for it seemed to him he had caught just a suspicion of a tear in the corner of that young traveler’s eye.
And now, late in what should have been the evening of the Arctic day, there arose, as if expressive of the thought in the minds of all, that strangest and most mournful sound that comes to the ears of man—the united howling of the dogs of the Far North.
There may have been two or three hundred of them in all, perhaps more, in the Loucheux village and the remainder of the Eskimo encampment, but all of them in unison, if not in accord, raised their voices in a tremulous wail which fairly made the blood run cold.
It was the voice of the far-off, mysterious, and unconquered North!
Before our young adventurers now lay the most dangerous part of their entire journey in the northern wilderness—that famous Rat Portage over the Rockies, at which, twenty years earlier, so many parties bound for the Klondike met disaster. Our young friends had no guides to lead them through this unknown country, any more than had the first Klondikers in the gold stampede which came down the Mackenzie and undertook to get across to the Yukon. No map of that region existed, or at least not in the knowledge of any of our party. They were, therefore, as helpless as any explorers ever were in any portion of the world, and were about to venture into a country as wild as any upon the North American continent.
It was no wonder, then, that their leader, himself a wise and cautious man and well versed in all the expedients of outdoor life,hesitated and pondered, as, standing upon the high crest of Fort McPherson boat landing, he looked out to the low, dull slopes of the Rockies, far ahead. He had heard all the stories about this risky undertaking, and had been cautioned repeatedly by the old trader at Fort McPherson against endeavoring to get through with no companions but these young boys. He knew that his supplies would be no more than sufficient, and that there was no place to get further supplies. Above all, he pondered over the dissimilarity of opinions expressed about the distances and difficulties of the proposed route across the Rockies. Some said it was a hundred miles to the summit, others said seventy-five, others a hundred and forty. Some said it would take a week to get to the top, others two weeks, others three, and yet others said it could not be done at all. Some said there was one lake at the portage on the summit, others said there were five. No one could give any clear idea of the country that lay out yonder beyond the dull, brown tundra.
It was a mysterious land, potent with difficulties and possibly alive with dangers. Uncle Dick loved these young companions of his beyond all price, and he knew his own responsibility in undertaking to lead themthrough. At times he regretted the whole journey as a mad enterprise which never ought to have been taken on. But at length, like any born leader, he pitted the difficulties against the privileges, made his decision; and, having made it, adhered to it.
“We’ll start, boys,” said he, “and start to-morrow.”
Since, therefore, these young travelers did make this dangerous journey which had proved impossible for so many oldervoyageurs, it may be well to allow Rob to tell in his own fashion the story of their crossing of the Rockies on the old Rat Portage. Rob kept his notes from day to day during the remainder of their stay at Fort McPherson.
“Sunday, July 13th.—Cloudy and overcast. Lucky we got our pictures of the Midnight Sun—this is about the last chance. We have been living at the Mounted Police barracks. The old trader keeps to his own house. Uncle Dick says he was to get us our supplies. We have mended the canoe we brought down on the steamboat. Not very big for four of us. Uncle Dick says he has got two Loucheux Indian boys, Johnny and Willy, to meet us at the mouth of theRat River and help us to track up that river to the top. Uncle Dick seems uneasy. We told him not to bother about us. The independent trader with a scow of furs is going to try to get across. We ought to beat them over.“Wednesday, July 16th.—Such fuss and fooling around nobody ever saw. But we’re on our way with at least some supplies. Glad we brought a shot-gun and a fishing-rod. Off at 4.15. At 7.30 reached a creek coming into the Husky River from a chain of lakes. Never saw so many fish in my life as there were of the ‘connies.’ We caught plenty for a day or so. Mosquitoes bad in camp. Rain.“Friday, July 18th.—Late start, 10.30. At 1.30 made the mouth of the Rat and picked up the two Indians. This famous stream is a deep, narrow creek. Mosquitoes the worst I ever saw. Ate lunch in headnets. Have to write with gloves on. Current sluggish. We still can paddle up-stream. It is at least seventy-five miles, possibly a hundred, to the top.“At 11.15 thought we were near Destruction City, the old Klondike camp where so many died. Some women winteredhere. Must have been an awful bunch of tenderfeet. We are maybe ten to fifteen miles above the mouth of the Rat. Shores sandy and covered with willows. Cooked a pot of beans. We have a few beans, a little tea, some dried fruit, a little flour, and some side-meat for grease. Not much more. Fish are said to be plenty, also plenty of ptarmigan and rabbits farther up. Pretty tired to-night. Have done maybe twenty miles.“Saturday, July 19th.—Current stiffer. Passed a creek coming from Black Mountains. Shores began to change in the afternoon. Tundra coming down to banks. Began to see rocks on shore—glad to see them after so much mud and willow flats. At 4p.m.made Destruction City—probably twenty-five miles above the mouth of the Rat. Going slower than we thought, as we hoped to make this yesterday. Caught some big trout, very fine to eat. They take the fly splendidly. At 5p.m.we laid aside the paddles and had to begin to track. The Indians are patient now, and very useful. Tracking is beastly hard work. You put a collar around your breast and shoulder.We had to walk in the water. Uncle Dick and the Indians and I took turns. John steered pretty well. All got our feet and legs wet a hundred times. Jesse went along shore most of the way. The canoe rode light, and we made pretty good time.“Sunday, July 20th.—Mosquitoes still with us. Rain lets up. We have been sleeping pretty wet, but don’t mind. Rerigged our tracking-line. Got some pictures. Started at 10.30 and traveled nearly five hours to foot of a bad rapid above a deep pool. Camped on a beach. Made a big fire to dry our clothes. We are wet all the time, all of us. Jesse shot three rabbits. He hunts while we track the boats. We don’t let him get out of sight very far. I saw one lynx to-day. Astonishing how little game we have been seeing on this whole trip in this big wild country. Saw an abandoned Klondike camp. They say they are scattered through all these woods here. Sometimes they have found skeletons since. A boy was lost in here and found dead. Traces of the big Klondike migration now getting scarce. Saw some iron on the beach, and ax marks on trees.“Monday, July 21st.—Heavy going. Hard strain on all of us. Think this would try the best sort of man if he had heavy supplies along in his boat. We have to hurry or we won’t have enough to eat. Lunch at 2p.m.Saw the mountains far ahead. A great sight. They seem not more than twenty-five miles. Indian boys very useful, quiet, and patient. One says he paid twenty-five dollars for his hat at the trading-post. It was worth about two dollars in the States. Saw some blazed trees. This was written on one, ‘Colin’s rifle in tent here 25th.’ Don’t know what this meant, but suppose a party had split and some gone ahead, and left word. Gum had grown all over the writing. Saw some more sled irons. Jesse got eight rabbits and two ptarmigan. We make a stew and keep putting more things in it as we travel along.“Tuesday, July 22d.—We started about 10 o’clock this morning. Take turns on the line, each going as fast and as far as he can, until he gets pretty tired. Saw a coal seam in a cut rock wall on the bank. Mounted a series of heavy rapids all day. At 7p.m.hit a cañon and had hard work to get up the rapids, for almost a mile.All worn out. Camp 8.30. Jesse plumb fagged out. Everybody wet. We dried our clothes around the fire before we went to bed. Can see how hard this would be for real tenderfeet. Found an old Klondike shack, fallen in, this afternoon, apparently deserted nearly twenty years. Caught some splendid Arctic trout on the fly—the gamest fish we ever saw, and mighty good to eat. They look like sea-trout, although they are a hundred and fifty miles from the sea here. Our camp in a round pocket to-night. The cañon bends sharp to the right. Can see one mountain ahead, but not the big range. John making a map all the time. Stories told us no use this far; things don’t check out.“Wednesday, July 23d.—Off at 10.30. Much to our joy, have fine tracking nearly all day. Rapids less powerful, and bends wider, and better beaches to walk on. At 6.30 passed a small creek and explored it. Nowhere near summit yet. We thought we logged twelve miles to-day. Probably haven’t averaged half that the other three days. It looks mighty puzzling on ahead. They told us to look out for a sharp, high peak whichmarked the portage. We can’t figure it out. They told us to look for a river coming from the right. We don’t find one. We seem a long way from the summit. Camp 9.30 on rocky flat. Trout and grayling both for supper. Very fine.“Thursday, July 24th.—Haven’t slept very well. Everybody getting sore and tired. Don’t think we went over four or five miles all day to-day. Uncle Dick called it ‘unmitigated hell.’ Water icy cold now and very fast and heavy. A great many round, smooth stones in the river, so we can hardly walk. Our shoes are worn out, and we are only wearing double moccasins, so that our feet can hardly stand it. Uncle Dick fell down once and hurt his leg pretty bad. An accident might happen any time. The Indian boys are tired but game. When we asked them how far to the top they said, ‘I dinno,’ which is about all the English they have. Current getting worse and worse, and the bad part is that the water is so shallow that in places it is hard to get even our light canoe through. We have to make crossings, and then there is risk of the boat swinging down and pulling us off our feet. I suppose a fellowwould drown with the track-line around him. Mighty hard work. At nine o’clock the two Indian boys all in, and had to stop. At ten I went up with Uncle Dick to explore. A river came from the right, so we thought this was the junction of which they told us at McPherson. Went back and got the rest and camped here about midnight. Tundra under the trees. Couldn’t drive tent-pegs for ice. A bad camp. Everybody tired.“Here we found the Summit Tree, not far from the beach. It says: ‘Summit Tree. Please register.’ Many names under date of 1898. Couldn’t read all of them. A grizzly had registered on this tree, too—scraped the bark off high up. Some names we saw were Watt, Goldheim, Marks, Jones, etc. As is the custom, we cut our names in, too, with the date, so that others might see them. We slashed down the brush to the water so that any others coming in now might see this tree easier and so know where they were. If we had not found this tree we would not have been sure we had reached the summit. Well, we are mighty glad, anyhow. Wet and tired, but pretty confident. Not much grub. Some rapids!“Friday, July 25th.—So tired we slept late. Everybody stiff. Took the left-hand creek that comes in here, and had a hard pull over a little cataract. This should be called Summit Creek. It doesn’t seem to have any name. It runs narrow, and fringed with alders. Very crooked. Saw some jack-snipe and a robin to-day, up here on the summit of the Rockies, almost at the Arctic Sea and above the Arctic Circle!“We had to drop the line in the brush here and use paddle and pole. Went for an hour and a half and then could see lake on the right. Small creek coming in. Another lake ahead. Everything was blank. It looked like a big country and we had no map. John set down everything as we found it out for ourselves. We climbed the foot-hills to look about. Of course we wanted to find the headwaters of the Bell River, or rather the Little Bell, which runs into the Big Bell, and then into the Porcupine, which runs into the Yukon, but we did not know which gap held the headwaters of the Bell. On the left we saw a chain of little lakes, four or five of them. Supposed there might be channels, so bore to lefttoward these lakes. We’re now on a flat country high up, with rock walls far away on either side and mountains on ahead. We are on the tundra now. It is broken up into humps. The French call them ‘têtes des femmes,’ or ‘woman heads,’ because of the long grass that hangs down from the top. Mighty hard to walk over. There is a land portage from Fort McPherson to the summit. A Catholic priest has made it, and he used snow-shoes on these ‘woman heads,’ although there was no snow. A man could hardly walk in any other way.“We left two lakes to the right, followed the creek, and came to an old landing. Camped at 6p.m.to eat. Instead of two lakes up here there are five! We don’t know where we are going, but are hanging to our creek. Signs of a portage other side of the lake, so guess we are on the right trail. This is a blind pass. Some danger, I suppose. We are not scared. We all hang together, because any one left here would be helpless.“Saturday, July 26th.—Flies not so bad. Tried out our creek farther and came into third small lake. Cut a portage into next lake. The creek is veryblind—wanders around through the willows and grass. Jesse and John got away for an hour or two to-day, and were lost; they went to the right where we thought the channel ran, but it didn’t go there. Everybody much scared. The last portage is on ahead, six hundred yards from Summit Lake to Loon Lake. Everybody seems to forget these other little lakes, which are confusing. We see signs of old ax-work, so think we must be on the trail. The Hudson’s Bay people have used this in the past as well as the Klondike outfits. These latter people must have had an awful time getting over.“The whole country of the Rat and the country on the summit in this pass may be called altogether new and unknown to any one. We had to find it as much as if no one had ever been there before, except one or two places we saw where men had been. There is no map of it. Now we have made two short portages and one long portage in getting to Loon Lake; and Loon Lake, we are pretty sure, drains into the headwaters of the Bell River.“This creek is so shallow we have to drag our boat across the tundra. Willyhad gone on ahead, and says he has found the Bell River. It is not anywhere near where we thought it was. I thought the pass lay far off to the right. Opposite our camp on Loon Lake there is a ‘sharp, high peak,’ all right, and this no doubt is the one the traders told us about. The trouble is when you say ‘sharp, high peak’ you may see any one of fifty which you think is the right one, and it may be wrong.“Found the new creek, which we think is the Little Bell, down a deep bank. Plenty of water and plenty of current. It looks as if it ran back into the mountains fifteen or twenty miles. No one knows anything about it. No one knows anything about this country at all. We call ourselves explorers as much as anybody. I am pretty sure now that this is the right ‘sharp, high peak.’ There was a trader by name of Charles Camsell came across here, and he made a sort of map. The government maps only guess at this as far as they try to describe it.“I think it is risky to depend on loose talk of a new country like this. They told us there were only two portages and two lakes, but I have counted eleven lakes andponds on the summit of the Rockies here. We really crossed five lakes, counting in Loon Lake, and we made two short creek portages, one long lake-to-lake portage, and one long lake-to-river portage—the five-hundred-yards drag into the Little Bell. I think this is accurate. John has it all down on his map this way. Many ptarmigan. Plenty of rabbits. The Bell River full of grayling. Never saw the like.“Our Indian boys left us to-day. They are going back home by themselves. They have a rifle and we have given them a few beans and a little flour and a small piece of bacon—all we can spare. Uncle Dick paid them well. They have helped out very much. Without them I don’t know whether we boys could have got the boat up the Rat or not. It was mighty rough, mean work, I can say that. John and Jesse helped all they could, and so did we all. Well, here we are at the summit.“The Midnight Sun is gone now—there was a sunset to-night. We got to bed about 12 o’clock midnight. Sorry to have the Indian boys go back, as they were cheerful, fine chaps. They say we are all right now, and that this river runs to the Porcupine. I would rather trustan Indian than a Klondiker in getting across country.“We are getting so we don’t like rabbits very much. The ptarmigan and grayling still taste good. Our new river is full of grayling, and we have explored it a little bit. It is fine up here in the mountains. John and Jesse and I feel that this is the greatest trip we ever had, or that anybody could have in this country. We feel more alone here than in any place we have ever been in all our lives.“We now think we can get through.”
“Sunday, July 13th.—Cloudy and overcast. Lucky we got our pictures of the Midnight Sun—this is about the last chance. We have been living at the Mounted Police barracks. The old trader keeps to his own house. Uncle Dick says he was to get us our supplies. We have mended the canoe we brought down on the steamboat. Not very big for four of us. Uncle Dick says he has got two Loucheux Indian boys, Johnny and Willy, to meet us at the mouth of theRat River and help us to track up that river to the top. Uncle Dick seems uneasy. We told him not to bother about us. The independent trader with a scow of furs is going to try to get across. We ought to beat them over.
“Wednesday, July 16th.—Such fuss and fooling around nobody ever saw. But we’re on our way with at least some supplies. Glad we brought a shot-gun and a fishing-rod. Off at 4.15. At 7.30 reached a creek coming into the Husky River from a chain of lakes. Never saw so many fish in my life as there were of the ‘connies.’ We caught plenty for a day or so. Mosquitoes bad in camp. Rain.
“Friday, July 18th.—Late start, 10.30. At 1.30 made the mouth of the Rat and picked up the two Indians. This famous stream is a deep, narrow creek. Mosquitoes the worst I ever saw. Ate lunch in headnets. Have to write with gloves on. Current sluggish. We still can paddle up-stream. It is at least seventy-five miles, possibly a hundred, to the top.
“At 11.15 thought we were near Destruction City, the old Klondike camp where so many died. Some women winteredhere. Must have been an awful bunch of tenderfeet. We are maybe ten to fifteen miles above the mouth of the Rat. Shores sandy and covered with willows. Cooked a pot of beans. We have a few beans, a little tea, some dried fruit, a little flour, and some side-meat for grease. Not much more. Fish are said to be plenty, also plenty of ptarmigan and rabbits farther up. Pretty tired to-night. Have done maybe twenty miles.
“Saturday, July 19th.—Current stiffer. Passed a creek coming from Black Mountains. Shores began to change in the afternoon. Tundra coming down to banks. Began to see rocks on shore—glad to see them after so much mud and willow flats. At 4p.m.made Destruction City—probably twenty-five miles above the mouth of the Rat. Going slower than we thought, as we hoped to make this yesterday. Caught some big trout, very fine to eat. They take the fly splendidly. At 5p.m.we laid aside the paddles and had to begin to track. The Indians are patient now, and very useful. Tracking is beastly hard work. You put a collar around your breast and shoulder.We had to walk in the water. Uncle Dick and the Indians and I took turns. John steered pretty well. All got our feet and legs wet a hundred times. Jesse went along shore most of the way. The canoe rode light, and we made pretty good time.
“Sunday, July 20th.—Mosquitoes still with us. Rain lets up. We have been sleeping pretty wet, but don’t mind. Rerigged our tracking-line. Got some pictures. Started at 10.30 and traveled nearly five hours to foot of a bad rapid above a deep pool. Camped on a beach. Made a big fire to dry our clothes. We are wet all the time, all of us. Jesse shot three rabbits. He hunts while we track the boats. We don’t let him get out of sight very far. I saw one lynx to-day. Astonishing how little game we have been seeing on this whole trip in this big wild country. Saw an abandoned Klondike camp. They say they are scattered through all these woods here. Sometimes they have found skeletons since. A boy was lost in here and found dead. Traces of the big Klondike migration now getting scarce. Saw some iron on the beach, and ax marks on trees.
“Monday, July 21st.—Heavy going. Hard strain on all of us. Think this would try the best sort of man if he had heavy supplies along in his boat. We have to hurry or we won’t have enough to eat. Lunch at 2p.m.Saw the mountains far ahead. A great sight. They seem not more than twenty-five miles. Indian boys very useful, quiet, and patient. One says he paid twenty-five dollars for his hat at the trading-post. It was worth about two dollars in the States. Saw some blazed trees. This was written on one, ‘Colin’s rifle in tent here 25th.’ Don’t know what this meant, but suppose a party had split and some gone ahead, and left word. Gum had grown all over the writing. Saw some more sled irons. Jesse got eight rabbits and two ptarmigan. We make a stew and keep putting more things in it as we travel along.
“Tuesday, July 22d.—We started about 10 o’clock this morning. Take turns on the line, each going as fast and as far as he can, until he gets pretty tired. Saw a coal seam in a cut rock wall on the bank. Mounted a series of heavy rapids all day. At 7p.m.hit a cañon and had hard work to get up the rapids, for almost a mile.All worn out. Camp 8.30. Jesse plumb fagged out. Everybody wet. We dried our clothes around the fire before we went to bed. Can see how hard this would be for real tenderfeet. Found an old Klondike shack, fallen in, this afternoon, apparently deserted nearly twenty years. Caught some splendid Arctic trout on the fly—the gamest fish we ever saw, and mighty good to eat. They look like sea-trout, although they are a hundred and fifty miles from the sea here. Our camp in a round pocket to-night. The cañon bends sharp to the right. Can see one mountain ahead, but not the big range. John making a map all the time. Stories told us no use this far; things don’t check out.
“Wednesday, July 23d.—Off at 10.30. Much to our joy, have fine tracking nearly all day. Rapids less powerful, and bends wider, and better beaches to walk on. At 6.30 passed a small creek and explored it. Nowhere near summit yet. We thought we logged twelve miles to-day. Probably haven’t averaged half that the other three days. It looks mighty puzzling on ahead. They told us to look out for a sharp, high peak whichmarked the portage. We can’t figure it out. They told us to look for a river coming from the right. We don’t find one. We seem a long way from the summit. Camp 9.30 on rocky flat. Trout and grayling both for supper. Very fine.
“Thursday, July 24th.—Haven’t slept very well. Everybody getting sore and tired. Don’t think we went over four or five miles all day to-day. Uncle Dick called it ‘unmitigated hell.’ Water icy cold now and very fast and heavy. A great many round, smooth stones in the river, so we can hardly walk. Our shoes are worn out, and we are only wearing double moccasins, so that our feet can hardly stand it. Uncle Dick fell down once and hurt his leg pretty bad. An accident might happen any time. The Indian boys are tired but game. When we asked them how far to the top they said, ‘I dinno,’ which is about all the English they have. Current getting worse and worse, and the bad part is that the water is so shallow that in places it is hard to get even our light canoe through. We have to make crossings, and then there is risk of the boat swinging down and pulling us off our feet. I suppose a fellowwould drown with the track-line around him. Mighty hard work. At nine o’clock the two Indian boys all in, and had to stop. At ten I went up with Uncle Dick to explore. A river came from the right, so we thought this was the junction of which they told us at McPherson. Went back and got the rest and camped here about midnight. Tundra under the trees. Couldn’t drive tent-pegs for ice. A bad camp. Everybody tired.
“Here we found the Summit Tree, not far from the beach. It says: ‘Summit Tree. Please register.’ Many names under date of 1898. Couldn’t read all of them. A grizzly had registered on this tree, too—scraped the bark off high up. Some names we saw were Watt, Goldheim, Marks, Jones, etc. As is the custom, we cut our names in, too, with the date, so that others might see them. We slashed down the brush to the water so that any others coming in now might see this tree easier and so know where they were. If we had not found this tree we would not have been sure we had reached the summit. Well, we are mighty glad, anyhow. Wet and tired, but pretty confident. Not much grub. Some rapids!
“Friday, July 25th.—So tired we slept late. Everybody stiff. Took the left-hand creek that comes in here, and had a hard pull over a little cataract. This should be called Summit Creek. It doesn’t seem to have any name. It runs narrow, and fringed with alders. Very crooked. Saw some jack-snipe and a robin to-day, up here on the summit of the Rockies, almost at the Arctic Sea and above the Arctic Circle!
“We had to drop the line in the brush here and use paddle and pole. Went for an hour and a half and then could see lake on the right. Small creek coming in. Another lake ahead. Everything was blank. It looked like a big country and we had no map. John set down everything as we found it out for ourselves. We climbed the foot-hills to look about. Of course we wanted to find the headwaters of the Bell River, or rather the Little Bell, which runs into the Big Bell, and then into the Porcupine, which runs into the Yukon, but we did not know which gap held the headwaters of the Bell. On the left we saw a chain of little lakes, four or five of them. Supposed there might be channels, so bore to lefttoward these lakes. We’re now on a flat country high up, with rock walls far away on either side and mountains on ahead. We are on the tundra now. It is broken up into humps. The French call them ‘têtes des femmes,’ or ‘woman heads,’ because of the long grass that hangs down from the top. Mighty hard to walk over. There is a land portage from Fort McPherson to the summit. A Catholic priest has made it, and he used snow-shoes on these ‘woman heads,’ although there was no snow. A man could hardly walk in any other way.
“We left two lakes to the right, followed the creek, and came to an old landing. Camped at 6p.m.to eat. Instead of two lakes up here there are five! We don’t know where we are going, but are hanging to our creek. Signs of a portage other side of the lake, so guess we are on the right trail. This is a blind pass. Some danger, I suppose. We are not scared. We all hang together, because any one left here would be helpless.
“Saturday, July 26th.—Flies not so bad. Tried out our creek farther and came into third small lake. Cut a portage into next lake. The creek is veryblind—wanders around through the willows and grass. Jesse and John got away for an hour or two to-day, and were lost; they went to the right where we thought the channel ran, but it didn’t go there. Everybody much scared. The last portage is on ahead, six hundred yards from Summit Lake to Loon Lake. Everybody seems to forget these other little lakes, which are confusing. We see signs of old ax-work, so think we must be on the trail. The Hudson’s Bay people have used this in the past as well as the Klondike outfits. These latter people must have had an awful time getting over.
“The whole country of the Rat and the country on the summit in this pass may be called altogether new and unknown to any one. We had to find it as much as if no one had ever been there before, except one or two places we saw where men had been. There is no map of it. Now we have made two short portages and one long portage in getting to Loon Lake; and Loon Lake, we are pretty sure, drains into the headwaters of the Bell River.
“This creek is so shallow we have to drag our boat across the tundra. Willyhad gone on ahead, and says he has found the Bell River. It is not anywhere near where we thought it was. I thought the pass lay far off to the right. Opposite our camp on Loon Lake there is a ‘sharp, high peak,’ all right, and this no doubt is the one the traders told us about. The trouble is when you say ‘sharp, high peak’ you may see any one of fifty which you think is the right one, and it may be wrong.
“Found the new creek, which we think is the Little Bell, down a deep bank. Plenty of water and plenty of current. It looks as if it ran back into the mountains fifteen or twenty miles. No one knows anything about it. No one knows anything about this country at all. We call ourselves explorers as much as anybody. I am pretty sure now that this is the right ‘sharp, high peak.’ There was a trader by name of Charles Camsell came across here, and he made a sort of map. The government maps only guess at this as far as they try to describe it.
“I think it is risky to depend on loose talk of a new country like this. They told us there were only two portages and two lakes, but I have counted eleven lakes andponds on the summit of the Rockies here. We really crossed five lakes, counting in Loon Lake, and we made two short creek portages, one long lake-to-lake portage, and one long lake-to-river portage—the five-hundred-yards drag into the Little Bell. I think this is accurate. John has it all down on his map this way. Many ptarmigan. Plenty of rabbits. The Bell River full of grayling. Never saw the like.
“Our Indian boys left us to-day. They are going back home by themselves. They have a rifle and we have given them a few beans and a little flour and a small piece of bacon—all we can spare. Uncle Dick paid them well. They have helped out very much. Without them I don’t know whether we boys could have got the boat up the Rat or not. It was mighty rough, mean work, I can say that. John and Jesse helped all they could, and so did we all. Well, here we are at the summit.
“The Midnight Sun is gone now—there was a sunset to-night. We got to bed about 12 o’clock midnight. Sorry to have the Indian boys go back, as they were cheerful, fine chaps. They say we are all right now, and that this river runs to the Porcupine. I would rather trustan Indian than a Klondiker in getting across country.
“We are getting so we don’t like rabbits very much. The ptarmigan and grayling still taste good. Our new river is full of grayling, and we have explored it a little bit. It is fine up here in the mountains. John and Jesse and I feel that this is the greatest trip we ever had, or that anybody could have in this country. We feel more alone here than in any place we have ever been in all our lives.
“We now think we can get through.”
Rob’s journal and John’s map later proved most prized possessions of our young explorers, so they were glad they kept them up, although it ever was rather unwelcome work to sit in a cramped-up tent, or out in the air among the mosquitoes, and write or draw for a long time while still tired and wet. Both of them, however, persisted till the end, and later did not regret it.
“
I’m awfully tired, Uncle Dick,” said Jesse when he sleepily rolled out of his blankets on the following morning. “It was midnight when we went to bed, and I don’t feel as though I had slept at all. Besides, it’s Sunday.”
“Yes,” said his uncle, “it’s Sunday, July twenty-seventh, according to my notes, and we’ve been gone from Fort McPherson one week and four days. I think we’ve made mighty good time this far, for I believe we must be considerably over a hundred miles from Fort McPherson to this place where we stand.”
“It’s a fine morning for a little rest,” suggested Rob. “Maybe it wouldn’t be wrong to make a few photographs. I’d like to make a picture of that high peak across from here, which we ought to call Castle Mountain. That’s the mountain we’ve been hunting for the last three or four days.”
“Agreed!” said Uncle Dick. “I think it would be an excellent plan to rest here for a time to-day, and then it would be no harm to start on. Will you let me see the notes of your diary, Rob? We’ve been relying on you to keep a record of our journey across the mountains, because I’ve been too busy and, to tell the truth, too worried, to have much time for making notes of the trip.”
Rob produced his diary, and Uncle Dick read it page by page. “Fine!” said he. “Fine! This doesn’t go into many details, but it will cover the story of our trip as well as I could have done it myself. Now, after we get started down the Bell and the Porcupine, I want you to keep up the same thing, so that we will have some sort of a record of our journey in this wild part of the world.
“I’ll have to admit to you boys, now that we are alone, that I don’t think we ought to waste any time in here. The two Indian boys who have left us have cut down our supplies considerably, but as they can’t possibly get back to McPherson in less than four days, it seemed only fair to share with them what little we had, though it means less for us. We’ll have to hurry.”
“I’m so sick and tired of rabbits by this time,” grumbled John, “that I don’t everwant to see one again. I don’t like to clean them any more, and I don’t like to smell them when they are cooking in the kettle.”
“You’re not the first man in the North to get tired of rabbits,” said Uncle Dick. “For a day or two they are all right, but there is really very little strength in the meat. They are, however, the main prop of the fur trade in the North, and the mainstay of the savage population as well. Except for rabbits, all these natives would starve to death in the winter-time. They have almost nothing to eat from one season to the next after the caribou have gone by.”
“Where is the caribou migration in here?” asked John.
“It won’t pass here at all,” replied their leader. “They tell me that the caribou are north of the Porcupine, toward the Arctic, and that they work south along toward the latter part of August. There are a few sheep in here, but mountain-sheep is a hard meat to kill. There is mighty little hope for us to get anything unless we can catch some fish as we go along—and unless we continue to eat rabbits, and maybe some ptarmigan. I shouldn’t wonder if the ptarmigan would grow much scantier when we get down out of the mountains farther.
“Jesse,” he continued, “there’ll be no harm in your taking your gun and going over to see if you can get us some young geese or some young ducks before we start out, over at the edge of Loon Lake. We’ve got to have all the food-supplies we can possibly get hold of, because we don’t know what is ahead. Hurry up, now, for pretty soon we must call ourselves rested and be on our way. Our canoe is waiting for us, already launched, and it won’t take long to get the loads aboard.”
Jesse complied with his uncle’s instructions, and, taking his light shot-gun, disappeared in the fringe of willows which lay between the camp and the marshy borders of the lake out of which they had made their last portage on the Rocky Mountain summit. It was not long before they began to hear the reports of his gun, and so proficient had he by this time become in its use that when he returned in the course of three-quarters of an hour he had a young goose and a half-dozen mallard ducks to add to the larder.
“Fine!” said Uncle Dick. “Throw them in the boat, son, and we’ll be getting ready.
“Rob, go on with your diary; and, John, be sure that you keep up your maps. There isn’t a single report of any kind in print or in manuscript, so far as I know, which tells thetruth about this summit of the Rockies. We are just as much explorers as if we were the first to cross. The Klondikers left no records.
“And now take one last look around you, for I question if you will ever be in a more remote corner of the world in all your lives. This is the most northerly pass of the Rockies. Yonder above us, at the end of what they call the Black Mountain range, lie the last foot-hills between here and the Arctic. Off in that direction the Little Bell finds its head—no man knows where, so far as I can tell. Westward in general lies our course now, and we’ve got to make five hundred miles between McPherson and the mouth of the Porcupine River, and make it in jig time too, if we want to catch an up-bound boat on the Yukon this fall.”
“Well,” said Rob, “I suppose if we had to we could play Robinson Crusoe here at least as well as those poor Klondikers did who came to grief here twenty years ago. But as for me, I want to get home on time—not only because we have to go to school and because our parents are waiting for us, but because we set out to make our round trip within certain dates, and we ought to do so if that is a possible thing.”
“That’s the talk!” said Uncle Dick. “Comeahead then, boys. Now we are alone—let us see how we can travel.”
Rob did as requested and made brief notes of their course throughout the remainder of their trip to the Yukon River, which are given here as he wrote them:
“Sunday, July 27th.—Beautiful weather. Little Bell very deep, with pools on the bends literally full of grayling. They call them ‘bluefish’ here, and they look purple in the deep, clear water. The Indian boys showed us how to cook them. They split them down the back and skewer them flat, and then hang them up before the fire, flesh side to the fire. They eat them off the skin for a plate. You wouldn’t believe how good they are.“Rabbits and ptarmigan all along the banks. Sometimes we have to get out to ease the canoe down the rocky rapids, for we must not cut her, since she is the only boat we have, and to be without her would ruin us. Water is icy cold, even colder than the head of the Rat, which was bad enough.“At 6.30 to-day struck the Big Bell, a deep and clear river. We were all cold, so built a fire. Caught some graylingthen. Ran till 10 o’clock. Camp on the tundra. Wet and cold, but had plenty of wood near by, so had good fires.“LaPierre House, an old trading-post, now abandoned, must be not far ahead. That’s where the land trail comes in from Fort McPherson, according to the stories. We don’t believe anything we hear any more, as all the tales have been unreliable and confusing. Must have made thirty miles to-day before we camped.“Monday, July 28th.—Steady grind down the Bell, which now is crooked and sluggish. At 2.15 in the afternoon found a cabin, but it was not LaPierre House. Found many names on this cabin. Also statement, ‘It is ten miles to LaPierre House.’ One man here left statement that he was bound for Fairbanks in Alaska. Another man and his wife passed in an earlier year, ‘Eleven days out from McPherson in canoes.’ This party had four Indian boys, who expected to take nine days to get back to McPherson. This man must have gone on down the Bell River alone.“Did five hours before lunch, and six after, and still no LaPierre House. Traveled until 10.15 and stopped to cook.Rigged a light outrigger for our canoe for night travel, which might be dangerous. We’ve got to travel day and night, and take turns steering. Don’t think we got over three and a half to four miles an hour, it may be three miles only, but think we did thirty-five miles to-day. No game and no fish but a few grayling in the morning. We feel a little bit glum. We can’t tell where we are. Rigged a short sail, and it helped us a little bit. Mosquitoes not quite so bad. Making slower time than we hoped.“Tuesday, July 29th.—Tried to sleep in boat, and didn’t do very well. I steered part of the night, and Uncle Dick part of the time. At 7a.m.made LaPierre House. It is eighty miles from the summit at least, and that is fully twice as far as we were told that it was! Some said it was only thirty miles beyond the summit. Saw signs where raft had been built—maybe some Indians coming down-stream for their winter quarters. Heard a man started across McPherson to LaPierre House on the land trail with two dogs. Too much plunder, and he nearly died. Don’t know where he is now. Rain and cold all day.“Ate at midnight. We take turns paddling the best we can, but John and Jesse get pretty tired. We let them sleep more. Weather dismal and cold. It is hard for two to sleep in our canoe and two to run it at night. Have been wet and cold a good deal.“Wednesday, July 30th.—Breakfast in rain. Built a big fire. We slept a little where we could be warm. Off at 12.50. Found a big river coming in from the left, and knew that it must be the Porcupine. Struck it about 2 o’clock. A big wind coming up-stream. At first we thought the Porcupine was running to the left. Of course it had to run to the right. Found the wind hard to buck with the canoe, so that we stood still sometimes. At 6.30 went ashore, built a log fire, and dried our clothes and beds. Everything very wet. John and Jesse very tired and shivering. Both seem pretty near exhausted. Wind becoming more gusty. Fixed our canoe, which was leaking a little. We don’t know just how far it is from here to the Porcupine. Jesse killed a beaver. We boiled the tail and ate it, and it was good. Pushed on a little farther in the dark.“Thursday, July 31st.—Summer is going awfully fast. Ran in for breakfast on a stony ledge. Think we are only going about two miles an hour. After breakfast tried to sail, and think we ran ten or twelve miles easier. Had to paddle then. The reaches of this river are long and the current is slow. The man who calls the Porcupine and the Bell ‘rapid mountain streams’ doesn’t know what he is talking about, for neither is rapid. Passed the mouth of the Eagle River early in the day. Landed late at the mouth of the Driftwood River, as it is marked on the government map. Found an Indian here with one canoe. He has his wife and two children and seven dogs here. One strange dog has come into his camp. It howls a great deal and is lost. We don’t know whose it is or where it came from.“These Indians are starving, and, little as we have, we have to give them something. They wanted some flour and fat, and we shared almost our last. They have nets set and are waiting for the salmon to run. The Indian has only caught one salmon, and he said if they did not come pretty soon his people would die. They conclude to go on farther down thestream with us. He says he can take everything he has in that little canoe. They are wonders with boats.“We all hustle now, because starvation threatens every one in our party. Even rabbits are scarce. No ptarmigan, no ducks, no fish. The river is big and the wind affects the down-stream speed.“The Indian keeps along with us. His canoe has about an inch and a half free-board, and is loaded down with children, dogs, nets, and so forth. Glad to have the Indian with us, because he knows something of the country. He says Fish River, the next stream below, is half-way to Old Crow. This is an old trading-post which gets supplies from the Yukon, and we will feel safe if we can get there.“Our new Indian is named Andrew. He can talk a little. He says the land portage from Fort McPherson to Fort LaPierre is lined with cast-off stuff that people have tried to carry and couldn’t. It is a starving country and a starving march. So is this a starving journey by water. When we went ashore it was in a rousing gale of wind. Uncle Dick baked some bannocks in our old way, leaning the frying-pan against a stick drivendown before the fire. We are so tired that when we don’t have to work we just fall asleep wherever we are. We always have some one awake to watch things and to tell the others when to wake up. We have been wet a great deal of the time from rain and waves. Dried our bedding this time, once more. Not much excitement and plenty of hard work. I don’t know whether any of us would come across here again or not. Probably not.“After a long wait the wind let up, and we started in the late evening for the run to Old Crow, which we are anxious to see. Head winds. Hard paddling. Kept on into the night, but met an awful storm. Wind was almost a tornado, and for a wonder snow fell in sheets. Our canoe got turned around two or three times in the night, and we wouldn’t know which way to go, for the wind came up-stream and every other way. We nearly swamped. Managed to get ashore, drenched to the skin and very cold. It looks like winter. Andrew’s children are crying a great deal now. We haven’t much to eat. It was about the worst night we ever had. We pushed on downas fast as we could as soon as we got warm enough to work. Reached Old Crow trading-post 8a.m., after the worst night I ever spent.“Saturday, August 2d.—What luck! Old Crow post is deserted—no one here at all—not even a native hanging around! Uncle Dick thought it was right to break open a window and go in. There was a stove, so we made a fire. The trader had left his stock here. Of course it was burglary to open the store. If an Indian did it they probably would follow him a thousand miles and punish him. We left a note telling them who we were and what we had taken—another blanket or so, some pairs of mittens, and a little clothing for the Indian children, who were almost frozen. The trader lives at Fort Yukon, and we will pay him there.“Andrew says the next stop is going to be at Rampart House, sixty miles down the river. We have taken about fourteen hours to make the last thirty-five miles, as near as we can tell. We are all in bad shape. Getting a little weak.“The trader’s goods have been damaged by water. This wet snow fell more than a foot deep over everything, and theroof has leaked. Well, we can’t stay here long, and we’ll have to travel day and night the best we can. Any accident now would be very bad for everybody.“John and Jesse paddle all they can. We all get very cold, as it seems almost like winter. Stopped to get warm and eat. Uncle Dick says plenty of tea won’t hurt us if we work. We take turns fair as we know how, the ones paddling who can stay awake.“Well, we are nearer to being safe. By traveling all the time, fifteen and a half hours from Old Crow, we made Rampart House—not bad time if the distance is correct. Weather cold. Snow threatening again.“Sunday, August 3d.—At Rampart House. One week from the summit. Two weeks from the mouth of the Rat. Rampart House looks mighty good to us all. Here there is a Hudson’s Bay post with some goods in stock and a young Englishman running it. Natives almost starving. No fish yet. The men are just starting out for caribou, which are now reported thirty miles north of here. Not much goods left in the trading-post. Our reception here very chilly. No oneseems to care whether we live or not, and sometimes we have been so tired we hardly did ourselves.“The trader tells us it is 240 miles from here to the Yukon, and it seems a long way. At least we can get warm and dry here.“Next day. We slept eighteen hours out of twenty-four. Weather warming up. Hunters not back, but one Indian caught a king salmon in a net, so the village is more cheerful. Everybody shared the salmon, which was a large one, fifty pounds. These people are Loucheux. Sometimes squaw-men live in here at Rampart House. More dogs here than I ever saw. One ate my moccasins last night—the ones that I had extra soles on. I wish he hadn’t done it, because I needed them.“This is an important post in the North. It is old and well known, and it has special interest because it is directly on the International Boundary-line. There is a monument here which the American surveyors put up not long ago. They were in here quite a while, but their work of marking out the International Boundary between Alaska and the Dominion of Canada is now done.
“Sunday, July 27th.—Beautiful weather. Little Bell very deep, with pools on the bends literally full of grayling. They call them ‘bluefish’ here, and they look purple in the deep, clear water. The Indian boys showed us how to cook them. They split them down the back and skewer them flat, and then hang them up before the fire, flesh side to the fire. They eat them off the skin for a plate. You wouldn’t believe how good they are.
“Rabbits and ptarmigan all along the banks. Sometimes we have to get out to ease the canoe down the rocky rapids, for we must not cut her, since she is the only boat we have, and to be without her would ruin us. Water is icy cold, even colder than the head of the Rat, which was bad enough.
“At 6.30 to-day struck the Big Bell, a deep and clear river. We were all cold, so built a fire. Caught some graylingthen. Ran till 10 o’clock. Camp on the tundra. Wet and cold, but had plenty of wood near by, so had good fires.
“LaPierre House, an old trading-post, now abandoned, must be not far ahead. That’s where the land trail comes in from Fort McPherson, according to the stories. We don’t believe anything we hear any more, as all the tales have been unreliable and confusing. Must have made thirty miles to-day before we camped.
“Monday, July 28th.—Steady grind down the Bell, which now is crooked and sluggish. At 2.15 in the afternoon found a cabin, but it was not LaPierre House. Found many names on this cabin. Also statement, ‘It is ten miles to LaPierre House.’ One man here left statement that he was bound for Fairbanks in Alaska. Another man and his wife passed in an earlier year, ‘Eleven days out from McPherson in canoes.’ This party had four Indian boys, who expected to take nine days to get back to McPherson. This man must have gone on down the Bell River alone.
“Did five hours before lunch, and six after, and still no LaPierre House. Traveled until 10.15 and stopped to cook.Rigged a light outrigger for our canoe for night travel, which might be dangerous. We’ve got to travel day and night, and take turns steering. Don’t think we got over three and a half to four miles an hour, it may be three miles only, but think we did thirty-five miles to-day. No game and no fish but a few grayling in the morning. We feel a little bit glum. We can’t tell where we are. Rigged a short sail, and it helped us a little bit. Mosquitoes not quite so bad. Making slower time than we hoped.
“Tuesday, July 29th.—Tried to sleep in boat, and didn’t do very well. I steered part of the night, and Uncle Dick part of the time. At 7a.m.made LaPierre House. It is eighty miles from the summit at least, and that is fully twice as far as we were told that it was! Some said it was only thirty miles beyond the summit. Saw signs where raft had been built—maybe some Indians coming down-stream for their winter quarters. Heard a man started across McPherson to LaPierre House on the land trail with two dogs. Too much plunder, and he nearly died. Don’t know where he is now. Rain and cold all day.
“Ate at midnight. We take turns paddling the best we can, but John and Jesse get pretty tired. We let them sleep more. Weather dismal and cold. It is hard for two to sleep in our canoe and two to run it at night. Have been wet and cold a good deal.
“Wednesday, July 30th.—Breakfast in rain. Built a big fire. We slept a little where we could be warm. Off at 12.50. Found a big river coming in from the left, and knew that it must be the Porcupine. Struck it about 2 o’clock. A big wind coming up-stream. At first we thought the Porcupine was running to the left. Of course it had to run to the right. Found the wind hard to buck with the canoe, so that we stood still sometimes. At 6.30 went ashore, built a log fire, and dried our clothes and beds. Everything very wet. John and Jesse very tired and shivering. Both seem pretty near exhausted. Wind becoming more gusty. Fixed our canoe, which was leaking a little. We don’t know just how far it is from here to the Porcupine. Jesse killed a beaver. We boiled the tail and ate it, and it was good. Pushed on a little farther in the dark.
“Thursday, July 31st.—Summer is going awfully fast. Ran in for breakfast on a stony ledge. Think we are only going about two miles an hour. After breakfast tried to sail, and think we ran ten or twelve miles easier. Had to paddle then. The reaches of this river are long and the current is slow. The man who calls the Porcupine and the Bell ‘rapid mountain streams’ doesn’t know what he is talking about, for neither is rapid. Passed the mouth of the Eagle River early in the day. Landed late at the mouth of the Driftwood River, as it is marked on the government map. Found an Indian here with one canoe. He has his wife and two children and seven dogs here. One strange dog has come into his camp. It howls a great deal and is lost. We don’t know whose it is or where it came from.
“These Indians are starving, and, little as we have, we have to give them something. They wanted some flour and fat, and we shared almost our last. They have nets set and are waiting for the salmon to run. The Indian has only caught one salmon, and he said if they did not come pretty soon his people would die. They conclude to go on farther down thestream with us. He says he can take everything he has in that little canoe. They are wonders with boats.
“We all hustle now, because starvation threatens every one in our party. Even rabbits are scarce. No ptarmigan, no ducks, no fish. The river is big and the wind affects the down-stream speed.
“The Indian keeps along with us. His canoe has about an inch and a half free-board, and is loaded down with children, dogs, nets, and so forth. Glad to have the Indian with us, because he knows something of the country. He says Fish River, the next stream below, is half-way to Old Crow. This is an old trading-post which gets supplies from the Yukon, and we will feel safe if we can get there.
“Our new Indian is named Andrew. He can talk a little. He says the land portage from Fort McPherson to Fort LaPierre is lined with cast-off stuff that people have tried to carry and couldn’t. It is a starving country and a starving march. So is this a starving journey by water. When we went ashore it was in a rousing gale of wind. Uncle Dick baked some bannocks in our old way, leaning the frying-pan against a stick drivendown before the fire. We are so tired that when we don’t have to work we just fall asleep wherever we are. We always have some one awake to watch things and to tell the others when to wake up. We have been wet a great deal of the time from rain and waves. Dried our bedding this time, once more. Not much excitement and plenty of hard work. I don’t know whether any of us would come across here again or not. Probably not.
“After a long wait the wind let up, and we started in the late evening for the run to Old Crow, which we are anxious to see. Head winds. Hard paddling. Kept on into the night, but met an awful storm. Wind was almost a tornado, and for a wonder snow fell in sheets. Our canoe got turned around two or three times in the night, and we wouldn’t know which way to go, for the wind came up-stream and every other way. We nearly swamped. Managed to get ashore, drenched to the skin and very cold. It looks like winter. Andrew’s children are crying a great deal now. We haven’t much to eat. It was about the worst night we ever had. We pushed on downas fast as we could as soon as we got warm enough to work. Reached Old Crow trading-post 8a.m., after the worst night I ever spent.
“Saturday, August 2d.—What luck! Old Crow post is deserted—no one here at all—not even a native hanging around! Uncle Dick thought it was right to break open a window and go in. There was a stove, so we made a fire. The trader had left his stock here. Of course it was burglary to open the store. If an Indian did it they probably would follow him a thousand miles and punish him. We left a note telling them who we were and what we had taken—another blanket or so, some pairs of mittens, and a little clothing for the Indian children, who were almost frozen. The trader lives at Fort Yukon, and we will pay him there.
“Andrew says the next stop is going to be at Rampart House, sixty miles down the river. We have taken about fourteen hours to make the last thirty-five miles, as near as we can tell. We are all in bad shape. Getting a little weak.
“The trader’s goods have been damaged by water. This wet snow fell more than a foot deep over everything, and theroof has leaked. Well, we can’t stay here long, and we’ll have to travel day and night the best we can. Any accident now would be very bad for everybody.
“John and Jesse paddle all they can. We all get very cold, as it seems almost like winter. Stopped to get warm and eat. Uncle Dick says plenty of tea won’t hurt us if we work. We take turns fair as we know how, the ones paddling who can stay awake.
“Well, we are nearer to being safe. By traveling all the time, fifteen and a half hours from Old Crow, we made Rampart House—not bad time if the distance is correct. Weather cold. Snow threatening again.
“Sunday, August 3d.—At Rampart House. One week from the summit. Two weeks from the mouth of the Rat. Rampart House looks mighty good to us all. Here there is a Hudson’s Bay post with some goods in stock and a young Englishman running it. Natives almost starving. No fish yet. The men are just starting out for caribou, which are now reported thirty miles north of here. Not much goods left in the trading-post. Our reception here very chilly. No oneseems to care whether we live or not, and sometimes we have been so tired we hardly did ourselves.
“The trader tells us it is 240 miles from here to the Yukon, and it seems a long way. At least we can get warm and dry here.
“Next day. We slept eighteen hours out of twenty-four. Weather warming up. Hunters not back, but one Indian caught a king salmon in a net, so the village is more cheerful. Everybody shared the salmon, which was a large one, fifty pounds. These people are Loucheux. Sometimes squaw-men live in here at Rampart House. More dogs here than I ever saw. One ate my moccasins last night—the ones that I had extra soles on. I wish he hadn’t done it, because I needed them.
“This is an important post in the North. It is old and well known, and it has special interest because it is directly on the International Boundary-line. There is a monument here which the American surveyors put up not long ago. They were in here quite a while, but their work of marking out the International Boundary between Alaska and the Dominion of Canada is now done.