The Greatest Works of Emerson Hough – 19 Books in One Volume (Illustrated Edition). Emerson Hough
Читать онлайн книгу.
the oars, as they had in the boat which carried Rob through. Again the bowman squatted on his short fore deck. François, the steersman, stood on his plank walk at the handle of the great steering-oar. Gently they pushed out from shore, the last boat of the brigade.
“Here goes the Midnight Sun!” cried Jesse, waving his hat.
Uncle Dick watched them closely as the boat advanced. The boys spoke little or not at all, and John later accused Jesse of trying to pinch a piece out of the side of the boat, he held on so tight. But not one of them showed the white feather, nor made any trouble for the men in their work of running the fast water.
The boat at first ran along gently, the little waves lapping along the sides smartly, but not excitingly. Then at the end of the lower third the water gained in speed very much. At The Turn the waves were no doubt ten feet high. François, with a great sweep of his oar, fairly flung the boat athwart the current here, and the passage was made with no more than a scraping on the dangerous lower rock — the one which Uncle Dick called Scylla. The upper one he called Charybdis.
“You’ll learn what those two words mean when you go to school a little later,” said he, smiling.
Once beyond The Turn John and Jesse understood perfectly well what Rob had meant by saying that the bottom fell out of the river. They were excited, but had no thought of fear by the time they entered the last chute where the scow tobogganed down to the foot of the island. A moment later it was at rest once more in the eddy below the promontory.
Rob explained now about the log float which had carried the rope down to their boat when he first went through. There was, however, no longer need for the float to carry down a line to the boat. The brigade was through and the last scow below the island. The clerk and his taciturn companion were left alone. They stood now, both of them, waving their hats to the occupants of the Midnight Sun as, after a little, at the command of François, she pushed out from the eddy and took her place in the long procession of the north-bound brigade, every man of which now felt a sense of relief, since the most dangerous part of the early journey, the portage of the Grand Rapids of the Athabasca, had been safely accomplished.
The flotilla was now strung out over many miles of water, but it was the intention to make several miles additional before stopping for the night. In the late twilight, here strangely long and bright, Rob went on with his notes in his diary, while John worked at his map, charting as best he could the right-hand channel through which they had made their exciting journey. Rob’s notes later proved of interest to his friends, as they explained very much about the journey of this dangerous two hundred and fifty miles of the white-water transport.
“Wednesday, June 4th. — Everybody busy all day. At 5 p.m. most of the freight on the island, and getting loaded on cars. Slept in the little mosquito tents. Very busy day.
“Thursday, June 5th. — Many pictures to-day, and we all were busy. Curious work running boats through the rapids and getting boat back to end of island. I think that rope that they let down to the boat is almost a quarter of a mile long. It takes twenty men or more to haul a boat up against the rapids, empty, of course.
“Off in the Midnight Sun below the island late afternoon. Ran the little Grand Rapids, and swung into the Second Eddy for supper. After that ran seven miles. Camp ground very bad. Mosquitoes getting worse.
“Friday, June 6th. — A great many rapids to-day. The Buffalo seems mild to us after the Grand. The Brûlé Rapids we liked because they had some pep to them. At about 3 p.m. we hit the Boiler Rapids, which is one of the worst. Name because a scow was lost here that was carrying a boiler up north. The boiler has never been recovered. Rapids full of boulders, and in low water very bad. Not very dangerous at this stage. Everybody was still as we went through this place and came into what they called the Rapids of the Drowned. They say a great many men have been drowned there, and it certainly looked bad. These two rapids are about a mile and a half altogether.
“Four boats were tied back because not everybody can run these rapids. Our boat was in the lead. Then four pilots walked back to bring through the boats which had been held up. We made pictures of them as they came through. Supper at 5 as we floated along, and then we dropped into the Middle Rapids and had a beautiful time.
“One or two canoes ran through with breeds. Pretty exciting. They say few of these breeds can swim, but they don’t seem to mind that. Saw several wrecks of scows along the shores here, and one boat upset in the middle of the rapids. Some machinery on shore below rapids, very rusty. Begin to understand why freight comes high. Sometimes half a cargo is wasted or lost. No farms, no horses, no cows. A good game country. They say the game and fish keep the white men alive. The little boy Charl’ keeps with the good Sisters. He was scared going through the rapids, and so were they.
“On the Long Rapids, as we passed through, we saw the fresh grave of one of the men who was drowned here the other day. Only one body was found. Their canoe was all broken up.
“On the Crooked Rapids we saw where the men have to track the boats going up-stream. Don’t see how they keep from falling off the bank. Below the Crooked come the Stony Rapids, and what the boatmen call the Dive, a sudden dip down of three or four feet. Sometimes boats ship seas. Scenery this evening bold and interesting. Some cliffs. Fast water all day. Camp at 8 o’clock on a good high bluff. Mosquitoes not quite so bad. Nights cool. This ended the most glorious day I ever spent out of doors, I believe.
“Saturday, June 7th. — Beautiful weather. Passed cliffs where they say there is oil. I don’t know. We heard heavy rapids below, and at 7 a.m. got into them. They call this the Little Cascade. A ledge runs across the river. At 9 o’clock we came to one of the big jumps on the river known as the Grand Cascade. About the worst man-trap there is in low water, they say. We concluded to run her. Our boat goes first. Some boats tie back to wait for our pilots. There are three good pilots to eight boats. Many pictures of boats running the Cascade, which drops eight or ten feet like a mill-dam. Wonderful what these men can do with the boat.
“Now three or four small rapids which I don’t mind, then at 11.45 we struck Mountain Rapids, which made little Charl’ ‘get some scares,’ as François says. Sometimes we eat on the boat. I asked Father Le Fèvre if he had prayed for high water, and he said yes. Then I asked him what he did if high water didn’t come. He said, ‘my son, although in that case I prayed for high water, perhaps God likewise took another way to show His power, and so saved us out of even greater danger and discomfort.’ He’s a bird.
“The Moberly Rapids don’t amount to much. We ran them at 1.30 — the last on the great chain of rapids, so they say. In about fifteen minutes we could see Fort McMurray on ahead. Many scows were lying along the shore, mostly loaded, some empty. Climbed up a steep hill to a fine flat on top of the bluff. Woods all around. A fine site for a town, and the Indians have it. The flat was covered with tepees, also some tents. There were dogs and dogs and babies and babies everywhere, with squaws and Indian men walking around all dressed up in their best. The Indian agent is going to pay their treaty money. It is only eight hundred and fifty dollars altogether — not very much, I think. Hear a lot of talk about lands and towns and railroads and oil.
“There are some Chippewyans here, and a lot of Crees, but these northern Indians don’t speak the Cree language. Got my moccasins mended. Made some pictures. The Grahame is the name of the H. B. steamboat which is going to take us down the river from here. We will tow our scow and sleep on the steamboat. Monday morning is when we start.
“Sunday, June 8th. — The treaty payment goes on, although it is Sunday. Indian men sitting down on the grass before the commissioner. He asks each one what right he has to claim money from the Great Father, I suppose. Once in a while he turns to the clerk and says, ‘We’ll give this old duffer twenty bucks.’ This doesn’t look to me like very much money. I don’t think they get much help. They are poor and dependent. If they couldn’t rustle well out of doors they all would die. Much trade finery among the natives, who dress very bright. Several Northwest Mounted Policemen in red-jacket uniform who go north with us on the boat. She is going to be crowded. The judge and his party are going on the scows.
“Well,