When he returned to camp, Charlie said: "I heard them fellows shooting, but I reckon they didn't get nothing; maybe a duck or two, but nothing fit to eat, like them fish you brought in."
"Yes," said Jack, "I heard the shot, but it was from the shot-gun, not from a rifle."
In the meantime the party in the canoe had pushed its way quite a long distance up the river. There was a possibility that a deer might be seen along the bank, or a brood of ducks feeding in the shallow water, and rifles and shot-gun were ready to secure anything that might make its appearance. For a long way the canoe advanced through the dense forest without much difficulty. Then it came to a series of shallow rapids, up which so large a craft could not be taken. The canoe was then drawn as near the bank as possible. The Indian carried the two white men ashore on his shoulders, and all three followed up the stream through the now darkening woods. They found many old tracks of deer, and from time to time passed the fresher slide of an otter; but no game was seen. As the light grew more and more dim, they faced about, went back to the canoe, and turned its nose down the stream.
As the vessel swept noiselessly along the swift current, two or three broods of ducks were surprised by its sudden approach from behind the bend. On the upward journey the birds, warned by the noise of the paddles, had seen the craft before it was near them, and had crept ashore and hidden themselves in the grass. But now there was not time for this. A flock of mallards, startled from the water, sprang away in flight, and two of them were stopped by Fannin, and fell back into the stream, to be picked up by Hamset as the canoe swept by.
It was only gray light next morning when all hands were astir. While the breakfast was being cooked bundles of bedding were rolled up and transported to the shore; and as soon as breakfast was over and the dishes washed, the canoe was pushed off and loaded; the paddlers took their places, and they set out again at just six o'clock by Mr. Fannin's watch.
The day was bright and pleasant, with light airs from half a dozen quarters, but no breeze strong enough to justify the setting of the sail.
Just after they had pushed out of the mouth of the river, Jack called Fannin's attention to a flock of birds sitting on the water; and they were presently made out to be scoter ducks, of two kinds. There was an enormous multitude of them, and almost all seemed to be males. When too closely approached, fifty or five hundred of them would rise on the wing, swing out over their fellows, and then alight on the outside of the flock.
"Where in the world do all those birds come from, Mr. Fannin?" asked Jack. "These are the birds that we call coots down on the Atlantic coast; but I don't think at any one time I ever saw so many of them as we see this morning."
"I don't know just what they're doing here," said Fannin. "But, as nearly as I can see with my glasses, they seem to be all males; and I shouldn't be a bit surprised if the females were all ashore, at little springs or lakes, raising their broods. Pretty soon these birds will begin to moult, and then the Indians will try to get around them and drive them ashore and kill them. But this is a method that seldom succeeds with these birds. If they see that they are going to be forced on the shore they will dive and swim back under the boat."
"That's pretty smart," said Jack. "I have heard of the loons doing something like that, but I didn't suppose a coot had sense enough for that."
"Yes," said Fannin, "that's what they're said to do."
As they paddled along the head of a seal appeared above the water, close to them, and after watching them for a moment or two sank back out of sight.
"Son, why don't you try one of those fellows with your rifle," suggested Hugh. "It looks as if there were time enough to draw a bead on one and kill it. I hear these Indians eat that sort of meat; and I suppose what they can do we can too, if we get a chance."
Jack pulled his gun out of its case, put a couple of cartridges in his vest pocket, and declared he would try the seals the next time one gave him a chance. He did so, but the animals kept their heads above water so short a time that he was unable to get a satisfactory sight on one, and did not fire.
"Well," said Hugh, "these fellows are pretty watchful and pretty quick; and as you don't know when they're coming up, it's a pretty hard matter to shoot at them."
"So it is," said Fannin, "and yet I think if one had practice enough they would be easy to kill. Certainly the Indians here, and still more to the north, get a great many of them, shooting them and then paddling quickly up and putting a spear in them before they sink. These little seals that we see are, of course, nothing but the common harbor seal; but when the big fur-seal herds pass up the coast the Indians get a good many of them in that way, though many are killed by paddling up close to them when they are asleep on the water and spearing them. A long line is attached to the lance, the head of which is barbed, so that it will not draw out; and at length they pull the seal up close to the canoe and kill it, either with a club or by spearing it again. Seal meat and seal oil are pretty important parts of the native food supply on this coast; but more so to the north than down here, where the food is more varied."
"Well," said Hugh, "we've surely got to get some fresh meat of one kind or other, on this trip; if we don't, our grub will give out, and we'll have to travel back to the settlement hungry. There seems to be a world of food lying around,—deer, and fish, and seals, and all that. You see, Fannin, Jack and I are prairie men, and don't know how to earn a living on this water. If we were travelling back on the plains, or in the mountains, we'd think it mighty queer if we couldn't keep the camp in meat; but here we don't know how to go to work to do it. Don't either of these Indians understand how to catch these fish or to kill these animals?"
"I expect the Indians do," said Fannin, "but I don't, for I never have had occasion to live in the country along the shore here. I'm something like you, a mountain hunter. But we ought to be able to catch some salmon, and to do it right here. You know that in a few days or weeks now all the rivers along the coast will be full of salmon, running up toward the heads of the stream to spawn. At the present time they are gathering in the salt water, each fish pushing toward the mouth of the river, in which it was hatched, and down which it made its way toward the sea. They say that all salmon go back to the streams in which they were bred to spawn. Now, when they are in salt water, and before they reach the mouths of the rivers, the salmon will bite, and a great many of them are caught by trolling, either with bait or with a spoon. Haven't you some fishing tackle there that you could throw overboard now, and let the bait follow the canoe? If we could get a few fish it would help out mightily with our eating."
"Why, yes," said Jack; "of course there's some fishing tackle. Let's get it out and try them."
Hugh bent down; and after fumbling in the provision box for a few moments, brought out a package which he passed over to Fannin, saying to him: "You know more about these things than either of us, and you'd better pick out the lines and baits that are to be used."
The long, strong line, with a lure of metal and feathers attached to it, was soon overboard, and dragging in the long sinuous wake that stretched out behind the canoe. Jack held it in one hand as he wielded the paddle. All the power that they had was needed to push the boat along; and if one man should sit and fish in idleness it would not have been fair to the others.
Jack sat hopefully, expecting each moment to feel a tug on the line, but none came. "Tell me, Mr. Fannin," he asked, "don't salmon bite after they get into the fresh water? You said that when in salt water they were caught in numbers. Does that mean that they do not take the bait in fresh water?"
"Yes," replied Fannin, "that's just what it means. When they get into the fresh water they seem to lose all interest in the food question, and will not take the bait or rise to a fly. Some friends of mine, who are great fishermen, have tried bait,—spoons, flies, and grasshoppers,—but no attention was paid to any of these things. There's a story, you know, about some British commissioner, sent out years ago, when England and the United States were quarrelling over the question of who owned Oregon and Washington, and they say that this commissioner was a great salmon angler. They say that he was here during the salmon run, and fished the streams faithfully for them, without even getting a rise, though he could see millions of them. The story goes that he was so disgusted with the way the salmon acted that he went back to England and reported that the great territory in dispute was not worth quarrelling about, and not worth holding by Great Britain, because the salmon in the stream would not rise to a fly."
"That's sure comical," said Hugh; "but after all there's a good deal of human nature in it. We're all likely to look at things from our little narrow point of view and to think only of matters as they interest us."
Before very long Jack found the holding of the trolling line something of a nuisance, and at Fannin's suggestion passed it over to Jimmie, the steersman, who tied it about one of his arms and kept up the work of paddling. That there was salmon about now was very evident, for great silvery fish were frequently seen jumping out of the water, or floundering about on the surface, throwing shining drops about them in showers.
"Why do these fish jump in that way, Mr. Fannin?" asked Jack. "It's common enough to see fish jump out of the water and then fall back, but these, when they strike the water, act almost like a fish thrown on the shore, and flopping there."
"The Indians say," replied Fannin, "and I guess very likely it's true, that this flopping around by the salmon is done for the purpose of ridding themselves of certain parasites that are attached to their bodies. I've often seen these parasites. They are flat, oval crustaceans, and a good deal like the common sow bugs—those little flattish, purple, many-legged bugs that we find under the bark of dead trees or sometimes under stones, back in the East. Almost all salmon caught in salt water have some of these things stuck to them, sometimes only one and sometimes a dozen. They will be found chiefly about the fins, and especially on those of the back. They cling closely to the skin, and some force is needed to dislodge them; but as soon as the fish get in the fresh water they die and drop off."
They were paddling along, not very far from a kelp bed, which lay north and south, along the channel that they were following for a mile or more, when suddenly Jimmie dropped his paddle and began to haul in on his line. A moment's work, however, showed that he had no fish on it, and he let it go again. But Fannin told him to draw in the line and see that the spoon was all right; for it occurred to him that the current might have carried the spoon in among the leaves of the kelp bed, that it might have caught in one of them, and been torn off. When the end of the line was recovered it appeared that this was just what had happened; and Fannin, grumbling at the Indian's carelessness, put on another spoon and threw the line overboard, but this time kept it in his own hand. It had hardly straightened out, when there was a violent tug on it, and Fannin dropped his paddle and began to haul in the line rapidly, hand over hand. Every one in the boat was more or less excited at the capture, and they all stopped paddling. The great fish was drawn nearer and nearer; sometimes out of sight, and sometimes struggling on the surface of the water and making a great splashing. It was not very long before it was close to the side. All the paddles were taken in; and Fannin, being very careful to keep the fish away from the side of the canoe, let his right hand down close to the line, and grasped the fish close behind the gills, and lifted it into the canoe. Jack, Hugh, and Charlie cheered vigorously, and the Indians grinned with delight.
It was a fine silvery fish, of ten pounds weight, fat and firm, promising delicious food. The fish was passed aft for the inspection of Hugh and Jack; and Fannin called their especial attention to the presence on its back of three of the parasites of which they had been talking only a few moments ago. Then, after they had all admired the fish, it was laid aside in a shady place and the canoe went on.
The voyagers worked on steadily through the day, and three or four hours before sundown they landed at Comox Spit, two or three miles from the village of Comox. All through the day numbers of hair-seals had been seen diligently fishing in the shoal waters, and often an old one was accompanied by her tiny young. There were hosts of water-fowl about the shore,—ducks of several kinds, seagulls, guillemots, and auks; while along the beach ran oyster catchers, turnstones, and many other shore birds. All these were picking a fat living there from the water or from the gravelly beach at the water's edge. The larger fowl fed on fish and mollusks on the bottom; the lesser ones on the small crustaceans, which are abundant among the vegetable life near the beach. At the end of the day the canoe passed through a great multitude of ducks, which seemed to contain many thousands of birds. Near these were hundreds of great seagulls, sitting on the sand spits which project from the islands far out into the water. As the canoe moved toward these great flocks of ducks, the noise of their rising, the whistling rush of their wings and the pattering of their feet upon the water made such a tumult as almost to drown ordinary conversation.
It was low water when they landed, and the boat's cargo had to be carried a long distance up to the meadow above the beach. After this had been done, the fire kindled and the tent put up, Charlie called to them: "Why don't you men try that mud flat for clams? You have a salmon to do to-night, but that won't last very long, and you had better try to get some more fresh meat."
Arming themselves with sharpened sticks, they scattered out over the mud flat, looking carefully for signs of clams, and before long were hard at work gathering them. Jack had dug clams in the East before, but this was new business for Hugh; and it was fun for Jack to tell him how to look for the clams and how to unearth them when found. It took them but a short time to gather over half a bushel of the bivalves, which were taken up to the camp and washed off and covered up.
Their dinner of salmon was greatly enjoyed. After dinner Jack and Fannin, seeing some fish jumping out at the mouth of the river, pushed off in the canoe and spent some time casting for them. But although they tried almost all their most attractive flies, they did not get a single rise, though the fish kept jumping all around them. While still occupied at this, the sun went down and before long the Indians began to make an extraordinary disturbance about the camp fire—shouting, rushing about, stooping down, and then throwing up their hands. When the two anglers reached the shore and inquired what had caused all the excitement, Hugh picked up by the wing and held aloft a tiny mottled owl. The little bird had been hunting about over the flat, and, attracted by the light of the fire, had flown about it several times; and the Indians, excited by its near approach, had begun to throw stones at it. A well-aimed shot by Jimmie had brought down the bird, which Charlie suggested would do for the next day's dinner.
"We haven't got down quite to eating owls," said Jack, with a laugh.
"Well," said Hugh, "I've eaten owl a number of times, and it's not at all bad eating, though, of course, it depends a little bit on how hungry you are. I guess most everything that runs or flies is pretty good to eat, if one only has appetite enough. I have tried a whole lot of things, and I put owl down among the things that are real good."
"How did you come to eat owl, Hugh?" asked Jack. "And when was it?"
"It's a good many years ago," said Hugh, "that I started, late in December, south from the Platte River with Lute North, expecting to load up a wagon with buffalo meat at once. We didn't take much grub with us as we meant to be gone only for a few days; and as buffalo had been plenty in the country to which we were going, we thought we could soon load the wagon.
"We travelled three days without seeing a head of game, and then crossed the Republican River and kept on south. In the river bottom we killed a turkey, but all the four-footed game seemed to have left the country. After going south two days longer and finding no game, not even an old bull, we turned back, for provisions were getting low. We crossed the Republican again, but got stuck in the quicksands; and the wagon sunk so low that the water came into the wagon box and wet our things, without doing much harm, however, for the sugar was the only thing that was spoiled. The flour got wet, and left us only about enough for two or three more loaves of bread. But we had a little piece of bacon left, so we had enough to carry us through. It took some hours to get the wagon out; and that afternoon, after leaving the river, we saw three old bulls feeding on the side of a ridge. At first Lute and I both intended to go after them; but as there was a better chance of approaching them if only one man went, and as Lute was a fine shot, I told him to go ahead, and I waited in the wagon. He took a circuit and got around the bulls so that the wind was right, then crept up behind a ridge until he was within a hundred yards, and fired—and the bulls ran off over the hills. When Lute came back, and I asked him how he came to miss them, he could give no explanation. 'I had as good a bead on that bull as I ever had on anything, and yet I missed him clean,' he said; 'shot clear over him.'
"We camped that night in a wide and deep ravine, and in the morning when we got up we found that we were covered with snow, which was two or three feet deep, and which still kept falling. This was certainly a bad state of things. We lay in camp all day, only leaving it to tie the horses up to some brush where they could get something to eat. It stopped snowing that night, and the next morning we started out to try to kill something, but had no luck. The snow was so deep in the ravine that we could not travel there, but on the divide the wind had blown it all off. Lute saw a wolf, but could not get a shot at it. I had seen nothing. We spent the rest of the evening trying to break a road out to the divide, and at night we made our last loaf of bread and ate half of it. It took us all the next day to get out to where the horses could travel, but we made some little distance, stopping at night and melting some snow for the horses, and for a cup of coffee apiece. Next morning, as we were hitching up, I saw a white owl hunting along the edge of the ravine. The bird alighted about half a mile away, and I took my rifle and went out to try to kill it. I got to within seventy-five yards of it, and then it saw me; so I fired, and it did not fly away. When I got hold of it I found that I had shot high, and that my ball had just cut the top of its head. Half an inch higher, and I would have missed. We ate half the owl that morning, and the rest that night. The next night we crossed the Platte. When within four or five miles of town, just when we didn't need it, we killed a white-tail deer."
"Well," said Jack, "you must have been pretty hungry when you got it."
"Yes," said Hugh, "but it isn't very hard to go without eating. A man feels pretty wolfish for the first twenty-four hours, but then he doesn't get any hungrier. After that he begins to get weak; not very fast, of course, but he can't do as much as he can when he's well fed. He can't walk as far or climb as hard. To go without water, though, is a very different thing. If a man can't drink, he suffers a great deal, and keeps getting worse all the time."
"Well," said Fannin, "in this country no man need suffer for want of water. These mountains are covered with it; it is running down them everywhere. There is usually food too, though sometimes fish and game, and seaweed and fern roots fail, and then the Indians get hungry. One thing the Indians eat, which I never saw eaten anywhere before, and that is the octopus or devil fish, as they're sometimes called. It isn't bad eating, and the Indians think a great deal of it. They cut off the arms and boil them, and then when the skin is peeled off, they are perfectly white, looking almost like stalks of celery. The meat is tender and quite good, though to tell the truth, it hasn't got much flavor to it."
"You speak of fern roots, Mr. Fannin," said Jack, "I didn't know that they were ever eaten."
"Yes," replied Fannin. "They're gathered and roasted in time of scarcity, and will support life for a time. The Indians here have quite a variety in the way of vegetable food in dulse, seaweed, and berries. They dry the berries of different kinds, making them into cakes when they're nearly dry, and using them as a sort of bread in winter. There's what is called the soap-berry, which they use as a sort of flavoring. The berries are dried and pressed into cakes. When they want to use it, a portion of a cake is broken off, crumbled into fine pieces and put into a bucket with a little water. Then a woman with bare arm begins to stir the mixture with her hand, and soon it becomes frothy. The more she stirs it, the more it foams up; and as the volume increases, more water is added, until at last the vessel which contains it, and which may hold several gallons, is full of this foam. Then the Indians sit about it, and scraping up the foam on their fingers, draw them between their lips. The taste of the foam is sharply bitter, something like the inner bark of the red willow. I've always supposed that these berries possessed some tonic quality like quinine. There are two or three kinds of seaweed that the Indians eat. One they boil, and it makes a dish a great deal like what we call 'greens.' The other is dried, pressed into cakes, and used later in soups. This seaweed seems to be full of gelatine and thickens the soup. It is still the custom in the villages which are far from the settlements, for young women to chew this seaweed fine before cooking it. It's necessary to make it small before the boiling will soften it. The Indians who live near the settlement, however, chop up the vegetable with a knife, a pair of scissors, or a tobacco cutter."
"Well," said Jack, "I guess we'll want to avoid any soup if we stop at any Indian villages."
"Well," said Fannin, "it might be a good idea to be on the lookout, but they use this seaweed chiefly in the winter, so I don't think we need to be alarmed."
Camp was broken early next morning, and a start made soon after daylight. There was a long day of paddling. Camp was made shortly before sundown, and soon after supper was eaten all hands went to bed.
Of course, efforts were made to procure fresh meat, but no more salmon were caught, nor any deer seen, though each day Fannin was lucky enough to kill a few ducks with a shot-gun.
Each night as the time for camping approached, Mr. Fannin and the Indians would be on the watch for a good landing-place. This had to be carefully chosen on account of the danger of scratching the bottom of the boat or striking it sharply on some rock or pebble, which might result in accident and cause several days' detention, or possibly even a serious calamity.
When a landing was made, it was the first duty of the party to unload the canoe, and then to drag it up on the beach, safe above reach of the waves. As has been stated, the prow of the canoe was turned away from the shore, and she was backed toward some place where the sand was smooth and free from stones, or else where the pebbles were smoothly spread out, and as nearly as possible of the same size. The approach to the shore was slow and made carefully, and the paddles of those in the stern were thrust, handles down, against the beach, to ease the shock of her touching. Then the steersman leaped overboard, and lifted and drew the canoe as far up the beach as he could. The others disembarked and helped to lift her still farther on to the beach. Then her load was taken out, and carried up above high-water mark. After the whole load had been transported to the spot selected for the camp, every one, except the cook, who at once busied himself with preparations for the meal, returned to the water's edge. The loose boards in the bottom of the canoe—put there to protect the bottom from the careless dropping of some heavy article, or from a too heavy footfall—were taken out and placed on the beach, so as to form a smooth roadway for the canoe to slide on, and she was then dragged well up above high-water mark. The Indians went into the forest to cut poles and pins for the tent, which was soon set up, and the beds made. Before dinner was ready, the camp was in complete order. Sometimes it happened that no satisfactory landing-place could be made, and then it was impossible to get the canoe out of the water on the rocks or the narrow beach where they were obliged to camp. In such cases the Indians, after they had eaten, would re-embark, take the canoe out some distance from the shore and anchor it there, and spend the night in the vessel. Next morning all the operations of unloading the canoe were reversed. While breakfast was being cooked the blankets were rolled up, the tent torn down, and everything but the mess kit and the provision boxes carried down to the canoe. After breakfast, and while the dishes were being washed, the canoe was loaded, the last thing put aboard being the mess kit and the provision boxes.
About noon the next day, upon rounding a point of land, some low houses were seen in a little bay, and Fannin, after speaking to the Indians, said to the others: "Here's the village of the Cape Mudge Indians. Had we not better stop here and see if we can't buy some dried salmon? We have got to have some provisions, unless you hunters can do better."
When they paddled up to the village they found that it consisted of large houses made of "shakes," somewhat like the Indian village that they had seen near Nanaimo. In front of several of the houses stood poles, from forty to sixty feet high and curiously carved. One such pole, not yet erected, and in process of being carved, bore on one end the head of a large bird, which by some stretch of imagination might be taken for that of an eagle. The Indians seen here, though little resembling the Indians Jack and Hugh were familiar with on the plains, were at least clad like Indians, that is to say, in breech-clout and blanket. Physically they bore little resemblance to the more symmetrical horse Indians of the plains, for, though their bodies seemed large and well developed, their legs were small and shrunken.
The party's stay here was short, but they succeeded in purchasing a few salmon and then pushed off again. Just outside of the village was a burial place of considerable size, in which were many small houses. The bodies of the dead were deposited in the small board houses, though those of poorer people were said to be placed in old canoes, which were then covered with boards. In front or at the side of each house stood a number of small poles, ten or twelve feet high, which indicated the number of potlatches or great feasts that the dead man had given, each pole standing for a potlatch. Fastened to stouter and larger poles were small profiles of canoes carved out of thin boards, which showed how many canoes the dead man had given away during his life. Over some of the houses stood large crosses, eight or ten feet high and covered with white cloth.
"You see," said Fannin, "a good many Indians along the coast here are supposed to be Christians, though it is pretty hard to tell just how much the Indians understand of what the missionaries tell them, and just how far their lives are influenced by their teachings. No matter how good Christians these Indians who are buried here may have been, every one of them has been fitted out by his relations with a canoe for use in the land of the future, for they can conceive of no country where there is no water, nor of any means of getting about except in a canoe."
That night after dinner as they were seated about the fire, Hugh and Fannin pulling at their pipes, Charlie smoking a cigarette, and the Indians—who that night slept aboard the canoe—singing one of their plaintive songs, Jack asked Mr. Fannin to explain the meaning of the word "potlatch," which he had used earlier during the day.
"Well," said Fannin, "potlatch is a word of the Chinook jargon, and means to give, or a gift, according to the connection in which it is used. As we've been paddling along you've heard the Indians say, 'Potlatch tsook,' which means 'give water.' In other words, they want a drink. The great ambition of every Indian in this country is to get property in such quantity that he can give a big feast, call all the people together, sometimes one village, sometimes all the villages of the tribe, and then hand around presents to everybody. It is in this way, according to their estimation, that they become chiefs or men of importance. Wealth, in fact, seems to constitute a standard of rank among them, and the man who gives away the most is the biggest chief. Later, he receives the reward of his generosity, for at subsequent potlatches, given by other people, he receives a gift proportionate to the amount of his own potlatch. When, therefore, an Indian has accumulated money enough, he is likely to buy a great lot of food, crackers, tea, sugar, molasses, and flour, as well as calico and blankets. Then he proceeds to invite all his friends, up and down the coast, to a potlatch. The feast consists mainly of boiled deer meat and salmon and oolichan oil, with the other food I have just mentioned. Every guest has all the crackers he can eat. Perhaps there is a small canoe full of molasses. Each guest receives so many yards of calico, a part of the blankets are distributed among the visitors, and the remainder are scrambled for among the young men, the donor perhaps getting on top of a house and throwing the blankets down into the crowd below. The feasting and the giving may last for a week; and when the affair is over the guests go their several ways, leaving the giver of the potlatch a poor man. When the next potlatch takes place, however, he recovers a portion of his wealth, and after a few more have been given, he is better off than ever. Sometimes at these feasts canoes are given away, and even guns and ammunition; and the greater the gift, the more is due the giver when those who have received gifts from him themselves give potlatches."
"Well," said Jack, "that's a queer custom and a queer way of thinking. It seems, in certain ways, though, a good deal like the orders that were given in the Bible, to take all you have and give it to the poor. But I suppose as a matter of fact, instead of giving it to the poor, these men who give these potlatches try to give to the rich instead, so that they may receive their gifts back again."
"Well," said Hugh, "you will find among Indians everywhere, that one making a gift to another, or a contribution for any purpose, expects to receive it back again. If a man should die before he had paid back the gift, his relations are required to make it up."
"I guess Indians are alike everywhere," said Fannin. "Queer people, queer people."
"Well," said Hugh, "that's just exactly what the Indians say about us: 'the white people are queer.'"
The next morning, after the canoe had been loaded, Hugh said to Fannin: "What's the course of the canoe from here? Are you going to cross over any of those channels, or shall you follow the shore?"
"We'll follow the shore," said Fannin. "If this canoe wasn't so heavy we could carry it across this little point and save ourselves three or four miles of paddling, for you see, we've got to go way east and then come back west again, and follow around the bay that lies just over there."
"That's just what I thought," said Hugh. "Now, suppose instead of my going into the canoe, and helping you fellows to paddle, I take it afoot across this neck, and along the shore; and see if I can't kill something. We need meat and there must be lots of deer here, though we've not seen any yet. There's plenty of sign, though."
"That's a good idea," said Fannin, "and I wish you would do it. You'll have a lot of time to hunt, but keep close to the shore and if you see us coming, get down on the beach and make a fire as a signal for us; otherwise we might overlook and pass you."
"All right," said Hugh, "I'll do so."
"Don't you want to go along, Jack?" asked Mr. Fannin. Secretly Jack did want to go, very much, for he had an idea that Hugh would find some game, and that there would be a chance to kill one of these Island deer; but on the other hand, he thought he should not shirk his share of the paddling, and that one man could kill any deer that was seen just as well as two. So he said: "No, I'll go in the canoe;" and they pushed off and were soon growing smaller in the distance.
Hugh started across the open meadow, which lay between them and the other side of the long point. As he passed along through the grass, he saw many deer beds, and a number of tracks of wild animals among which was one in a muddy place, made by an enormous wolf. He walked slowly and watched the country, and at last came to the shore, followed it and was soon walking under the tall evergreens that grew down to the beach. Turning into the forest, he moved quietly along among the great tree trunks. The ground was free from undergrowth, and moss covered, and here and there little rivulets trickled over the ground, sometimes bridged by fallen tree trunks, over which great bunches of soft green moss hung down to the ground. Here and there, in the moss, were seen the sharply defined tracks of deer, seemingly just made, yet no indication of life was seen, save the occasional shadow of a bird, moving among the tree tops far above him. Hugh had gone perhaps half a mile, keeping nearly parallel to the beach, and back from it about a hundred yards, when without warning, a deer stepped out from behind a group of tree trunks, and stood looking curiously at him. There was no wind, and the animal did not seem in the least alarmed. The shot was an easy one, and it was the work of but a few seconds to fire. The animal fell at once, and stepping up to him, Hugh found that it was dead. It was very small, scarcely larger than a yearling black-tail of the Rocky Mountains, although it was a full grown buck. It resembled the Rocky Mountain black-tail somewhat, but its ears were small and the tail was quite different, being haired below. In a very few moments Hugh had prepared the animal for transportation to the beach, and putting it on his back walked down to the shore. The canoe was not yet in sight, and Hugh considered a little if it would be better to go on farther to see whether he could get another deer, but after thinking a few moments he determined to be satisfied with the one he had secured. So he built his fire as a signal for the canoe, skinned his deer, and for an hour or two sat waiting. At last a black speck was seen on the water close to the shore of the point, and as it crept forward, it grew larger and larger, until Hugh could recognize his fellow travellers.
When they came up to him, they wore broad smiles of satisfaction at his success, and when he had stepped on board the canoe went on again. It was not long after this that they were obliged to run Seymour Narrows, a contracted channel through which the tide boils, making eddies, whirlpools, and tide-rips, and where it was hard to see how a canoe could live. Just before reaching it they passed a cliff on Valdes Island that was full of interest for Jack and Fannin. The dark gray precipice, crannied and creviced from base to summit, was occupied by a multitude of sea birds which were nesting in the holes and fissures in the rocks. Of these, by far the most numerous were the pigeon guillemots, thousands of which were fishing in the waters close to the shore, or flying backward and forward between the water and their secure homes in the rocks. It was a pretty sight to see them diving for food, emerging from the depths with something in their bills, rising from the water, and each one swiftly flying toward some hole in the face of the precipice into which it disappeared without checking its flight; or at the mouth of which it alighted, and, clinging swallow-like to the inequalities of the rock, was met by its mate who took from it the food it had brought. Then the bird would leave its position, fly horizontally over the water for a little distance, and drop vertically into the water, striking it with a great splash. The scene was a busy and noisy one, for the birds were continually chattering and calling among themselves. Gracefully floating on the water, or winnowing their slow way to and fro over its surface, were white-breasted seagulls of several kinds; and fishing and hunting along the shore were ravens and crows, while white-headed eagles rested in the tall trees.
Before attempting the passage of Seymour Narrows, it was necessary to ascertain the stage of the water. To pass the Narrows when the tide was against them was obviously impossible; nor would it do to attempt a passage at half tide, even if it were in their favor, for at that time the tossing waters would prove extremely dangerous to the canoe,—so the Indians told Fannin, and so Fannin reported to the others.
The bowman and two or three of the party landed near the head of the Narrows and climbed high enough on the hillside to see the whole of the sluice-way, and as soon as the Indian had looked at it, he turned about and started back, declaring that it was just at the end of the flood, and they should start without delay. To Jack, the sight of the boiling water, the tossing waves and hurrying tide-rips seemed rather alarming, but there was no time to think of this. They embarked, and a few strokes of the paddle sent the canoe dashing along the rapid current. For the white occupants of the canoe, there was nothing to do but to paddle hard, each in his own place. It was interesting to watch the skill with which the Indians guided the craft. It was of the first importance that steerage way should be kept on the canoe, for there were constant eddies and whirlpools, which must either be avoided or taken advantage of; and yet at the rate at which the craft was being hurried along by the tide, it was not easy to add to her speed. Before long, the run became very exciting. Hats were torn off and thrown into the bottom of the boat, perspiration started from every brow, and the men tore at their paddles as if their lives depended on it. Even Hugh, who was rarely moved, seemed to partake of the general excitement and his eye glowed and his color rose as his white hair and beard flew out in the wind. Hamset, standing erect, in the bow of the canoe, flourished his mighty paddle, and in his own language shouted directions to Jimmie, and in Chinook to the remainder of the crew. At length the channel was reached, and here it became evident that the vessel had been a little late in starting; for, meeting the beginning of the ebb-tide, the canoe was checked, and presently it stood still and for nearly half an hour obstinately refused to move forward. But at length the efforts of the paddlers seemed to overcome the current and the boat started on, very slowly at first but fast enough to encourage the motive power. Redoubling their efforts they rounded a little point, and taking advantage of a favoring eddy, passed out into quieter water and camped half an hour later in a little bay, which Fannin said might fairly be named Fatigue Bay.
That night, after the evening meal had been eaten, there was still an hour or two of daylight; and while Fannin and Charlie got out their lines and prepared to go fishing, Hugh and Jack took their rifles and climbed a thousand feet or so up the hillside to look at the view that lay before them, up and down the channel. During the climb they saw fresh bear-tracks and a number of familiar birds,—the Louisiana tanager, the black-throated green warbler, and some others. Not far away, a ruffed grouse was heard drumming.
While perched on the face of the hillside, Hugh told Jack the simple story of the killing of the deer.
"There was no special hunting to it," he said, "I just went through the timber, quietly, and presently the deer walked out and got shot. I didn't even know that it was there, but I'm glad to have the meat."
They sat there until the sun had set, delighted with the calm beauty of the scene. In the trees above their heads, the little birds moved about uttering soft, faint notes. Up from a ravine on the right came, again and again at short intervals, the vibrating thunder of the ruffed grouse's drumming, low and muttering at first, and finally dying away into the silence.
Twilight was upon the hill before they returned to camp, and as they picked their way down the steep rocks they heard from the direction of the boat a shot, and then another—both from Hamset's rifle, and learned a little later that the Indian had been shooting at a seal. Fannin and Charlie had caught some rock-cod, curious red and black fish with staring eyes, said to live at great depths.
As the cliff rose straight up from the water's-edge, and there was no beach on which the canoe could be drawn, it was necessary that night to anchor it at a distance, and the two Indians slept in it and chanted their plaintive songs until the middle of the night. Around the camp fire the white men sat in silence, watching the strange shadows cast by the dancing flames on the overhanging rocks, or listening to the faintly heard rushing of the waters in the Narrows, which they had just passed; or to the moonlight drumming of the grouse on the mountain side above them. It had been a hard day, and there was little inclination to talk. Charlie, however, who was gratified at the killing of the deer, commented on that, and on deer hunting in distant lands.
"Why," said he, "you ought to see them Pueblo Indians go deer hunting down in Arizona! They start off without anything but a knife, and when they find a deer, they just start to run after him and don't stop until they get him."
"You don't mean," interrupted Jack, "that they run him down?"
"They do," said Charlie; "run him down, catch him and cut his throat. Why, sir, they are the best trailers in the world, and as for travelling, they can kill any horse that was ever foaled. They start after the deer, and when he sees them coming, of course he lights out, and is not seen again for some time. The Indians take his trail, and start off at a dog trot, which they can keep up all day. Every time they start the deer, he lets them get a little closer, and at last he's so tired that he only keeps a few yards ahead of them, but they keep on until he fairly drops, plum give out! I have known them, when the deer got pretty tired, to turn him and drive him right into the camp and kill him there, to save themselves the trouble of packing in the meat—make the game pack itself, you see."
"That's a pretty tough story," said Hugh, "but I guess it's all right. I've heard something about those fellows, though I never saw them. I once walked down an antelope, myself, and I wouldn't have believed it, if I hadn't done it. The antelope was wounded, of course.
"The camp needed meat the worst way, and nobody seemed to be able to kill anything. There were antelope in the country, but very wild. I started on foot one afternoon, to try to get something, and after travelling two or three miles I looked over a little ridge, and saw three buck antelope feeding up a ravine toward a table-land above the valley where I was hunting. I could easily get around to the head of the ravine up which they were going, and if I could get there before they reached it, I would be sure to kill one of them. I started running as hard as I could, and had got within a quarter of a mile of the ravine, when, on taking a look, I saw that they had nearly reached the top. I was still about a hundred and fifty yards away when I saw the horns of one of them, as he walked up on the mesa. I dropped, and, when I had a fair shot, fired. I ought to have killed of course, but whether it was because I was so anxious to get him, or because I had been running hard and my hand was unsteady, I only broke the buck's hind leg just above the hock. All three started off, but the wounded one soon tailed out and then turned down a broad valley which led into the one up which I had come, but several miles farther from camp. Well, I started after that buck, and after a long walk found him lying down in the valley. He saw me and ran off down the valley, long before I was able to shoot. I followed as fast as I could, running till my wind gave out, and then walking till I got it again. Whenever I could get near enough, I fired a shot, just to keep him going. At last he grew so tired that he would let me get pretty close up to him before starting, and finally he lay down behind a bank, where I could creep up and kill him. I carried the meat into camp that evening, but when I got there I was so thirsty that I could not speak. My throat was swollen and my tongue was half as big as my fist."
"Well," said Jack, "the antelope is a tough beast and will take a lot of killing, and of course you know better than I do, Hugh, that the plains Indians always speak of it as the swiftest and most long winded of animals."
"Yes," said Hugh. "A man often ties an antelope's horn round his horse's neck by a string, to make the horse swift and long winded."
"I saw a few antelope," said Fannin, "when we crossed the plains, but not many, and I never killed one. They are mighty interesting animals, and what always seemed to me the most extraordinary thing about them is that they shed their horns."
"Yes," said Hugh, "that's so, of course, all mountain men have always known that, but I heard only a few years ago that them professors that claim to know everything about all animals only found it out within the last fifteen or twenty years. Something strange about that."
"Yes," said Fannin, "but I suppose, maybe, these professors never had a chance to see many antelopes or know much about them."
"Yes, likely," said Hugh.
"Well," he added, "it's getting late, and I expect we're all ready for bed. Let's turn in;" and they did so.
The next morning an early start and a full day's paddling carried the travellers to a point known as Struggle Cove, which they reached several hours before sundown. The country here looked better for hunting than any Jack had seen, and he determined to start out to see if he could not find a deer. The woods were open, the ground carpeted, and the trees draped with a luxuriant growth of bright green moss, on which the foot fell as noiselessly as on a cushion. Higher up on the mountain side there was the usual tangle of underbrush, but a little valley that skirted its base was comparatively open. As soon as dinner had been eaten Jack set out. He had not gone far from camp when he came on to fresh deer tracks, which, after a little, turned up the hill and into the thick brush, where it seemed useless to follow. Two or three other tracks were seen, all of which led into the same thick place; but at length he saw one that kept up the valley, and as it had been made but a short time before, he had strong hopes that he should see the deer. He followed the track very slowly and carefully, and as it grew more and more fresh, his caution became greater. He entered a low growth of hemlock, going very slowly, and, just as he was passing out, on the other side, he heard a deer jump, not fifty yards away, and in a moment saw it bound off up the mountain side. He threw up his gun and was just about to press the trigger when the animal stopped and looked back, giving him a certain shot. With the sound of the rifle the deer sank and rolled part way down the hill.
This was very satisfactory. They had now two deer—enough to keep them in fresh meat quite a long time, for the weather was so cool that meat would not spoil.
The deer taken was a buck, whose horns, still in the velvet, as did also his teeth, showed that he was full grown. Yet, compared with the Rocky Mountain deer that Jack had seen, he was quite a small animal.
Jack was doubtful about his ability to carry the carcase to camp, which was quite distant. But after dressing the deer and removing the head and shanks, he got it on his shoulders and slowly staggered toward the camp. It was a heavy load, and he was often obliged to stop and rest. Before he got half way to his destination he was rejoiced to see Hugh striding toward him.
"Well," said Hugh, as he came up to where Jack was sitting, "I had half a notion that you had killed something, and knew that if you had you would find your meat a pretty heavy load, so I came up to spell you in carrying it in. Pretty heavy, isn't it?"
"Yes," said Jack, "it weighs something, and the hardest part about it is to get it upon my back again after I've dropped it off to rest."
"Well," said Hugh, "I'll smoke a pipe, and then take it the rest of the way. I guess I'm something more used to big loads, to say nothing about being some bigger and stronger."
After Hugh had finished his pipe he swung the deer on his shoulders with hardly an effort, and Jack could not help envying him the splendid strength that he displayed. The advent of the second deer in camp was greeted with rejoicing. The Indians grinned at the prospect of unlimited meat; Charlie was delighted because he knew that the party would rather eat deer than bacon; and Fannin and Hugh realized that the provisions would hold out just so much longer for this reinforcement of food.
It was at this camp that a slight modification of the manner of propelling the canoe was proposed and carried out. When the party had left Nanaimo a couple of long, heavy, rough oars of Indian manufacture had been thrown into the boat; and during the many days of paddling that had elapsed, the idea had occurred to Fannin that if these oars could be used, more power could be applied to them than to two paddles. He therefore consulted with Hamset on the question of rigging some rowlocks for the canoe, and this was easily arranged. The Indians chose a couple of cedar saplings, each of which had two small branches growing from it on the same side, at right angles to the stem and three or four inches apart. He cut off about six inches of the main stem, trimmed down the side branches to within three inches of their point of outgrowth, and then split the main stem lengthwise so as to leave the branches standing up, looking like two thole pins. With a large awl he punched several holes in the side of the canoe just below the gunwale, and, taking some cedar twigs, warmed them in the ashes of the fire, and when they had become hot and pliable he sewed the piece of wood holding the thole pins firmly to the gunwale, afterward driving wedges beneath it so as to make it tight. This formed a capital rowlock. This was done on both sides of the boat, and thereafter Fannin and Charlie handled the oars, and their influence was felt at once in the increased speed of the canoe.
Rowing was much harder work than paddling, but it was also much more effective.
The next day, however, the oars were not needed; the wind blew fair, the sail was hoisted, and the party ran through Cardero Channel and up Loughborough Inlet to its head, camping late in the afternoon.
The scenery was very beautiful, with rounded or dome-shaped mountains timbered to their summits, and occasionally a sharp granite peak which ran up much higher and was covered with snow. The hills stood back at some distance from the water, and thus looked lower than they really were.
It was not easy to find a good place to camp here. The meadow at the head of the inlet looked as if it might shelter many mosquitoes, but a little farther down the inlet was a flat, grass-grown but dangerously near to high-water mark. Fannin shook his head doubtfully when he looked it over, for on the grass were a few fragments of seaweed; though the fresh meadow grass seemed to show that the flat was seldom covered by the tide. Camp was made, and after supper Fannin and both of the Indians started off to look for game. Jack and Hugh were keeping camp, when suddenly Jack observed that the water was rising higher than had been expected, and it was soon evident that a few inches more would cover the flat. They waited for a little while, in the hope that it would recede, but presently all hands had to rush about to keep things from getting wet. It took but a short time to roll up the bedding and carry it into the forest, to pull down the tent and to lift the provisions and mess kit up on drift logs. Half an hour later camp had been remade in the forest, and six inches of water covered the flat where they had expected to sleep.
The next morning the canoe started down the inlet, following the opposite shore. As they rounded a point of rocks, a few miles below the camp, they saw standing on the rocks close to the shore two deer, a buck and a doe. The sun was yet low, directly behind the canoe, and in the eyes of the deer. The deer saw the vessel, but did not seem able to make it out. The various members of the party got their rifles in readiness and put them where they could be easily reached, and then continued their steady paddling toward the deer. They had come to within a hundred and fifty yards of them, and might have pushed much nearer had not one of the Indians fired a shot. This was the signal for a general fusillade, the result of which was—nothing. It is very often a fact that when several men are firing at one object it is missed by all. There is always a little excitement; each man is anxious to fire as soon as he can, for he is nervous and wishes himself to kill the game. The hurry and confusion throws every one a little off his balance, and the result is poor shooting.
After the deer had disappeared into the forest, and the paddling had been resumed, Hugh said: "Well, I expect I've seen that happen fifty times. When you get a lot of men shooting at a group of animals they almost always get clear off, or if one of them is killed it's just an accident. I remember once seeing half a dozen antelope gallop by not more than fifty yards from a company of soldiers that were halted, and I believe every man fired half a dozen shots and not a hair was touched."
"Yes," said Fannin, "you take even a couple of men who know each other, and who try to fire at game at the same time, and the result is always likely to be a miss; and if there are a lot of men firing at will they send their bullets in every direction except the right one."
Jack felt mortified at his failure to hold his gun as he felt he should have; but he was a little consoled to think that he had done no worse than the two older hunters who had also been shooting.
Charlie, on the other hand, not having a gun, seemed to be quite delighted with the result and did not hesitate to deride the other members of the party on their bad shooting.
At the mouth of the inlet and between that point and Philip's Arm the tide was running very strong. The canoe had a fine sailing breeze behind it, the sails were spread, and the men worked hard at the paddling, but they were barely able to overcome the tide. Jack was interested in the appearance of the current as it ran through the narrow channel. He could see that the surface of the water, instead of being level as we always suppose it to be, was here inclined, and that the water was evidently higher at the point from which it came than at the point toward which it was flowing—in other words, it was like the water in a stream flowing from a high level to a lower one. Jack called Hugh's attention to this singular appearance, and Hugh at first hardly believed that it could be so. But, after carefully looking, he acknowledged that it seemed to be. Fannin said that this was often the case in these narrow channels where the tide ran swiftly.
Just before they reached Philip's Arm the wind fell, and all save the Indians landed on the shore, and, tying a rope to the bow of the boat, pulled it up around the last point into the quiet water beyond. Here they took to the paddles again, and went on until dark, for some time looking in vain for a place where they could camp. The shore rose steeply from the water, and there was no place for one to spread his blankets.
At last, quite after dark, as they were coasting along the shore, the sound of the running water was heard; and, landing near the mouth of the creek, they found a bit of moderately level ground. Now, by the light of the fire, brush, stumps and rocks were cleared away and holes filled up, so that a comfortable night was passed.
The next morning there was a fine breeze, and with some help from the paddles the canoe made good progress. During the day the mouth of two broad but short arms of the sea were passed, which Fannin told them were Frederick's and Philip's Arms. They enter the coast between mountains three or four thousand feet high, and are spots of great beauty. About the middle of the morning Jack saw a couple of canoes, each of which held two or three Indian women. Jack asked Fannin who these people were, and Fannin appealed to Hamset, who told him that they were women who had been gathering berries. While they were still a long way off Hamset hailed the women with a curious singing call, and they replied with the same call, faintly heard across the waters. As the canoe approached the shore there was much conversation between the Indians who chattered at a great rate. They all seemed disposed to stop and visit for a while, but Fannin was anxious to push on, and after a few inquiries of one of the women about the rapids which were just ahead, the vessels parted company. Long after the canoes were out of ear-shot of ordinary conversation the Indians continued their talking to each other, in musical tones, laughing at each other's jokes as they came across the ever widening stretch of water.
Soon after leaving the Indians, the canoe reached the mouth of a narrow channel through which ran a rapid, swifter than any yet seen. The passage was less than a hundred yards in width, and the water, so far as it could be seen ahead, presented to the eye nothing but a milk-white torrent, whose tossing waves were from three to five feet high. The Indians seemed to hesitate a little about running this rapid, and both went ashore and followed down the bank for a little way, looking for the best course to follow. On their return they said that the passage might be made, and in a few moments the canoe was darting over the white water. All that could be done was to keep her straight. Her motion was so rapid that it was quite impossible to feel the water with the paddles. While it lasted the run was quite exciting; but it was soon over, for the channel was only half a mile in length, and there was but little time to think about their possible danger or the pleasure of the passage. To Jack it was a delightfully exhilarating ride, and there was enough uncertainty to it, a possibility of danger, in fact, which made it the most exciting experience of the trip.
As the canoe moved slowly along over the stretch of quiet water at the foot of the rapids Jack happened to glance over the side of the canoe, and saw, lying quietly on the white sand, a large school of beautiful trout. The fish were very large, some of them apparently a foot and a half long. He felt a great longing to stop there and take some of these fish, but they all felt that they had no time now to go fishing. The trout paid no attention to the craft, lying perfectly motionless, except when its shadow fell upon them. Then they moved slowly away into the sunlight.
Threading its way among the beautiful islands which dotted Cardero Channel, the canoe moved slowly along until a point was reached where its course must be changed from southeast to northwest, to pass through the narrow passage between the mainland and Stuart Island, through Arran Rapid and then up into Bute Inlet. Here there had been a fishing station for dog-fish—small sharks, valuable only for the oil that their liver contains, and destructive to all fish life. For some distance the shore was strewn with the carcases of dog-fish captured by the Indians; and in some places the trees were almost black with the crows and ravens which had gathered here in great numbers to feed on the dead fish.
The birds were very tame indeed, and often sat indolently on a limb, under which the canoe was passing. Cocking their heads to one side they looked down on the travellers in an unconcerned and impudent fashion that was amusing or provoking according to the mood of the individual at whom they were gazing.
At the head of the bay, just beyond the point where the ravens were so plenty, is an Indian village where nearly a hundred years before the explorer Vancouver had spent a winter during his voyage along this coast. The village is at the head of a deep bay. A beautiful clear stream of ice-cold water runs by it, and there is a considerable area of arable land on either side of the stream. The canoe stopped here, for the Indians who were navigating it said that they wished to inquire of their friends about the passage of the rapids just ahead. As they waited, Jack noticed running across the bay a number of small logs in a line, and finally inquired of Fannin what this meant, and Fannin asked the Indians. After some little conversation Fannin turned to Jack and said: "Why, that's a line running across the bay from one side to the other, and supported, as you see, by these log floats. About every twenty feet or so, smaller lines, six feet in length, and each one carrying a baited hook, hang down from the main line. You can easily see that as this main line runs right across the bay, no fish can get up or down without passing the baits. I expect they catch a whole lot of fish."
"Why," said Hugh, "there's something that looks like home! That's nothing but a trot line, such as I've seen a thousand times when I was a boy back in Kentucky. It's a sure good way of catching cat fish, but I never would have expected to see it out in this country and among these Indians."
Beyond this village the canoe, after passing the very noticeable mountain which stretches across Stuart Island, and which looks like a high wall built along the coast, ran Arran Rapids. Before entering the passage the party landed and climbed the hills, from which the whole stretch of troubled waters could be seen. To Jack and Hugh, and possibly to Fannin, the prospect seemed rather terrible, and the roar of the torrent was not assuring. In some places the water was tossed up as if by a heavy gale, and white-capped waves reared snowy crests high in the air. Near such an area of agitation were seen other spaces where deep whirlpools sucked away the water, leaving their centres much lower than the neighboring level; and scattered about among the waves and whirlpools were other stretches of water less violently agitated, where the green oil-like fluid rolled over and over with a slow, repressed motion. All the time the dull roar or a muffled moaning rose from the channel. "This," said Fannin, "is what the Indians call a 'Skookumtsook'" (strong water).
The Indians were watching the flood, waiting for the proper time to make a start, and at last Hamset rose and led the way down to the canoe. The tide was just at the full; and at the end of the rapids the ebb was met and a hard struggle ensued, the paddles and oars flying as fast as they could. The canoe began to go backward, and as it slowly yielded to the irresistible force, Hamset, the bowman, turned and shouted that they must make for the shore. They did so, and when they had nearly reached it he turned again and declared that a present must be given to the water or they would all be drowned; but before this sacrifice had been made, a few strokes carried the vessel into an eddy, which enabled it to creep along close to the shore until the more quiet water at the mouth of Bute Inlet was reached.
Just after leaving the rapids they came upon an Indian camp, whose people had come down from their main village at the head of the Inlet. The canoe pushed to shore to enable the travellers to talk with the people of the camp, and to make inquiries about the Inlet, and what was to be found at its head. The Indians had pleasant faces and manners, and seemed a kindly folk, much interested in the movements of the three "Boston men," for they were quick to recognize Hugh, Jack, and Charlie as different from Fannin. They said that their village stood on a flat at the head of the inlet where the Homalko River entered it. On the mountains about the village they said there was much ice, and that a trail led from the village to one of these glaciers. "Now," they said, "our houses are empty, all our people being scattered along the coast fishing." This camp was the last to start out to try its luck. For provisions they had a porpoise, which they had killed on the way down, some herring, and one twenty-five pound salmon.
Charlie, who discovered the salmon, seized it at once, and lifted it up to view; and Hugh, who was always amused at Charlie's interest in the question of eatables, joked him about the way he "froze to" the fish, which Fannin presently bought for "four bits" or half a dollar.
A little later Hugh, who was wandering about the camp, called Jack, and pointed out to him one of the rakes with which the Indians caught herrings. It was just as the sailor had described it to them when they were on the steamer; and it was easy to see how the keen points of the nails which projected from either edge of the pole could pierce and hold the herring.
After they had left the village of the friendly Homalko Indians the canoe moved slowly along up the inlet, and an hour or two before sunset made camp on a gravelly beach two or three miles above the Amor Point.
Near camp there were a few trees, and noticeable among them a tall dead spruce, in which was a huge eagle's nest. From the time of their arrival until dark one of the eagles was coming and going, bringing food to the whistling young, whose voices were plainly heard and whose movements were sometimes seen. No feature of this coast was more interesting or more surprising to Jack than the abundance of the eagles. They were seen everywhere and at all times. Sometimes during the morning fifteen or twenty of the great birds were passed, and half a dozen of their nests.
Jack talked with Fannin about their abundance.
"Of course they're plenty," said Fannin, "and there's no reason why they shouldn't be. You see they're absolutely without enemies; no one ever thinks of injuring them, and none die except from old age or accident. They breed undisturbed, and there is, as you have seen, an unending supply of food. Why shouldn't they increase? I can fancy that a time might come when the eagles would be so abundant here as to be a pest. Though, just what harm they could do, it is hard to say. I hate an eagle, myself, and would be glad to destroy them all if I could; but then, I have a special reason for it."
That night, as they were sitting about the fire, Jack asked Fannin what his reason was for disliking the eagles; and after a little hesitation Fannin told him a story.
"It was back in the sixties," he said; "and I had joined the rush to Cassiar, and my partner and myself had struck a prospect late in the summer. It looked well, and we held on until too late. The snow came, and fell heavily, and we made up our minds that we would have to winter there, yet we had practically nothing to eat. We had built a cabin, but it was not fitted up for winter, and there was no stock of provisions. The question was, what should we do? If we started to go back to our own cabin, two hundred miles away, where our main supplies were stored, we could probably get there on short commons. On the other hand, this would mean wintering away from our prospect, doing no work on it through the winter, and wasting some weeks of time in spring to get back to it. On the other hand, if one of us stayed in the cabin with what provisions we had, and the other went back and got a fresh supply, we could winter by the prospect, work on it during the winter, and be on hand in the spring to push the summer work. This seemed the best thing for us to do. Then came the question: 'Who should go for the grub?' We were both willing to go. There was no special choice between going and staying. The man who stayed behind would have a pretty lonesome time of it, but would have enough to occupy him. The man who went would have a lonely time, too, but he would be travelling constantly and working hard. We could not make up our minds which should go, and finally we drew lots for it, and it fell to me to go. I took my snowshoes and toboggan and some grub, and started. As I would be gone some weeks, most of the food must be left with my partner, and I could depend in some sort on my rifle. I should have no time to hunt, but there was always some likelihood of running on game.
"I started early one morning, and that afternoon it began to snow, and it kept on snowing for four days. I travelled slowly, for the ground was covered deep with a light, fluffy snow, on which snowshoes were not much good; and it was hard to haul the toboggan. Moreover, the ground being hidden, I could not choose my way, and two or three times I got among rocks and timber, and broke one of my snowshoes. That meant a halt to mend it—a further delay. It was soon evident that I was going to run short of food. I kept going as fast as I could, and kept a good lookout for game, but saw nothing, in fact, not even a track.