"About the tenth day out I saw one of these eagles roosting on a tree in the trail ahead of me; and, without seeming to notice it, I pressed on, thinking that before long I would be near enough to kill it, and that would give me so much more food. Before I came within reach, however, it left its perch and soared into the air. But instead of flying away, it merely wheeled high over the valley; and at night, when I went into camp, it alighted in a tree not far off, and sat watching me. This continued for days, and all the time my grub allowance was growing smaller. I cut myself down first to half rations and then to quarter rations. I was beginning to grow weak, and still had a long distance to go before reaching our cabin. Two or three times when the eagle had flown near me I had shot at it on the wing, hoping to kill it; but with no result except to call forth the whistling cry, which some writer has described as a 'maniac laugh.'
"What with my hunger, my weakness, and my loneliness, it got so after a while that that eagle got on my nerves. I began to think that it was following me; just watching and waiting for me to get weak, and stumble, and fall, and freeze to death; and that then it would have a good meal off me. I began to think it was an evil spirit. Every day I saw it, every day I looked for a chance to kill it, and every day it swung over me in broad circles and laughed at my misery.
"I had now been travelling twenty days and knew that I must be getting close to the cabin. My grub was all gone, and I could hardly stagger along; but I still clung to my toboggan, for I knew that without that I couldn't take food back to my partner; and the thought of him back there at work on short allowance, and sure to starve to death unless I got back to him, added to my trouble.
"At last one day about noon I came in sight of the cabin, just able to stagger, but still dragging the toboggan, which had nothing on it except my blanket and a little package of ammunition. I went up to the cabin door, opened it, went in and partly closed the door, leaving a crack through which I could watch for the eagle. I hoped that he would stop on one of the big trees near the cabin, and watch for me to come out. He did so, lighting on a limb about a hundred yards from the door. He made a big mark. I put the rifle through the crack, steadied it against the jamb, took as careful a sight as I ever took at anything, and pulled the trigger. When the gun cracked, the eagle spread his wings, soared off, and taking one turn over the valley, threw back his head, laughing at me. He sailed away over the mountains, and I never saw him again.
"Two or three full meals put heart into me once more, and with a good load of food, I started back to my partner. Although the way was all uphill, I got to him in about two weeks. On the way back I killed two deer and some rabbits, and did not have to break into the load of provisions on my toboggan. When I reached him, I found that he was living in plenty. He had killed four caribou that had wandered down close to the cabin one night, and still had the carcases of two hung up, frozen. Since that time I have never had any use for eagles."
Bute Inlet is the most remarkable as well as the most beautiful of the larger fiords of the British Columbia coast. Its great length and the height of the mountains that wall it in make it unequalled. Nowhere at the sea-level can such stupendous mountains be seen so near at hand, nor such sublime views be had.
At its mouth the Inlet is only about a mile in width, and in its widest portion it is not more than two and a half miles. At the entrance, the hills are not especially high or rugged, but rise from the water in a series of rounded undulations. Densely wooded to their summits, they roll away in smooth green waves to the higher more distant mountains of the interior. No sharp pinnacles of granite nor dark frowning precipices interrupt the green of the forests. The dome-shaped hills come into view one after another, always smooth and ever green. The scene is one of quiet picturesque beauty. A little farther up the inlet the scenery changes. The shores rise more abruptly from the water's edge, but though the mountains increase in height the soft green foliage of firs and cedars still rises toward the summits in an unbroken sweep. Then masses of rock lift themselves above the timber line, glittering in the sunlight as though studded with jewels, or when shadowed by clouds frowning down cold, black, and forbidding. Soon patches of snow begin to appear on the mountains; at first visible only as narrow white lines nestling in the deeper ravines, but farther along large snow banks came into view and before long extensive snow fields are seen, glittering white on the summits, or even down among the green of the mountain sides.
The canoe started early and a fair wind enabled them to set the sail and to sit back at ease all through the long day and view undisturbedly the enchanting scenery which they were passing.
Jack had often heard his uncle describe a trip that he had made to Norway, and his journey up some of the fiords of that rock-bound coast. As he now watched the shore and the mountains of Bute Inlet slip by, these descriptions were constantly brought to his mind. Scarcely less impressive than the wonderful cliffs and mountains that he was seeing, were the beautiful streams, fed by the melting of the perpetual snow high upon the hills. These streams plunged over the precipices in beautiful falls and cascades. Long before the water reached the rocks below, it was broken up into finest spray; and a white veil of mist waved to and fro before the black rocks, in fantastic and ever changing shapes.
Here the mountains had become much higher than any they had approached before. Instead of peaks from twenty-five hundred to four thousand feet in height, they were close to those that reached an altitude of six or eight thousand feet. One of these was Mt. Powell, a naked peak stretching up like a pyramid, more than six thousand feet high; and farther on there were others still higher. The first of the glaciers was seen just to the north of Fawn Bluff, and was recognized by Hugh, who called out to Jack: "There, son, there's a chunk of ice. Don't you see how it shines, blue in the sunlight, just like one of the glaciers that we got sight of in the Piegan country?"
"So it is, Hugh. I recognize it. My! Don't I wish we could get up close to it; but it's awful high on the mountains and terribly thick timber below it."
"Yes," said Hugh, "I reckon it would be quite a climb to get up there."
"How different these mountains are," said Jack, "from our Rockies. They rise so much more steeply; but like the Rockies, there is a big cliff of wall rock on the top of each one of them."
"Yes," said Hugh, "in the mountains that we see from the plains the slope is more gradual; first foot hills, and then a long timber slope, and then lastly the rocky peaks that rise above the timber line. But here there are no foot-hills, and there are no gradual rising slopes between us and the main peaks. A man's eye doesn't get a chance to adapt itself to the highest hills by measuring the gentler slopes that are nearer to him. Here the mountains rise either in a continual slope or else in a series of cut walls, one above the other, to the straight up peaks. I don't believe the distance on foot to one of these mountains is more than twice the mountain's height. I don't believe many people that have not been here have had a chance to stand at the sea-level and look straight up to a snow peak right above them as high as these are. That is what makes these mountains seem so high and so wonderful."
A few moments later the canoe rounded a point and a long reach of the inlet was exposed to view.
"There," said Fannin, "look off to the right! There's something that I don't think many people have seen."
"My! I guess not!" exclaimed Jack.
Off to the right was a tall mountain whose summit was hidden, but which seemed to end in a long horizontal crest crowned by a wavy covering of palest blue, the lower end of a great glacier. It could be conjectured that, running down from some very high point, this river of ice reached the top of this mighty precipice, and little by little was pushed over, breaking off in huge masses, which, from time to time, fell over the cliff and down into the hidden recesses at its foot, where possibly another smaller glacier made up of these icy fragments ran, for a little way, down the valley.
"Look at those little grassy spots scattered here and there along the mountain side," said Fannin; "how are those for goat pastures? How bright those little meadows are by contrast with the dark foliage of the forest, the gray of the rocks, and the white of the snow banks. Those must be great feeding places for the goats, and there, I guess, they are never bothered except by the eagles that try to catch the kids. Surely there they must be safe from everything except enemies that can fly. Except for the goats and the wood-chucks, I don't believe there are any living things up there but birds. I'll bet there are lots of ptarmigan up there, brown in summer and white in winter. The little mother bird scratches out a hollow in the turf and moss near some fringe of willows, and lays her brown spotted eggs there, which by this time are hatched. The young are queer, downy little chicks, buff in color, and streaked here and there with brown. You would hardly think it possible that they could stand the cold winds, the fogs, the rain, and the snows that they must be exposed to."
"Did you ever find a nest, Mr. Fannin?" asked Jack.
"Yes," said Fannin, "when we crossed the mountains on our way from the East, nearly twenty years ago, I found the nest of a white-tailed ptarmigan high up on the range, but I have never seen a nest of these black-tailed ptarmigan, such as we killed up on the head of the North Arm. Once or twice, though, I have come across a mother with her young ones, and I tell you the mother is a plucky bird. If you catch one of the young birds she will come back and attack you and make a pretty good fight. I have had one come up to my very feet and then fly against my legs, pecking at my overalls and rapping my legs with her wings, trying to frighten me into letting the young one go; and, of course, I always did it after I had finished looking at it."
"I don't suppose there's much game up here," said Hugh to Fannin, "except these goats that live high up in the mountains. It seems too cold and damp here for anything like deer."
"Well," said Fannin, "I don't know much about that. I, myself, have never been here before, and Bute Inlet is as strange to me and just as beautiful as it is to you."
While all this talk was going on the canoe, pushed along by a good wind, had been hurrying up the inlet. They passed one great gorge between two mountains, so nearly straight that, as they looked up at it, they could see on the mountain's crest a great glacier; and, pouring out beneath it, a thundering torrent, which rushed down the gorge toward the inlet. From beneath the blue mountains of ice a tiny white thread ran down the slope, constantly increasing in size, its volume swollen by a hundred lesser streams which joined it on its way. Always a torrent, and always milky white, it swept on, sometimes running along an even slope, at others leaping down precipices a hundred feet high, now undermining a thick crust of soil green with spruces, again burrowing beneath snowdrifts which almost filled the gorge. Long before they came to it they heard the roar of its fall; and as they passed its mouth they could not hear the words that one called to the other. The rush of this great mass of water Jack thought enough to frighten one.
When they reached the mouth of the Homalko River, at the head of the inlet, the sun had disappeared and the great walls of rock about them cast dark shadows. The peaks of the mountains were still touched by the sun, and the snow took on a rosy tint; and even the black granite walls were lightened and softened by a ruddy glow. But over the snow fields, on the high mountains, the rock walls and peaks cast strange, long shadows. As the sun sank lower and lower these shapes seemed to lengthen and to march along as if alive. Slowly this glow faded, until only the highest peaks were touched by it; and then, one by one, as they grew dull, twilight, with stealthy footstep, cast shadows that softened and blended the harsher outlines of the scene.
At the mouth of the Homalko River began a couple of miles of long, hard pulling against its hurrying current. At last, however, after winding through wide meadows and among clumps of willows, they saw before them an open spot, and presently the houses of the Indian village appeared, standing close to the border of the timbered stream. Soon they had landed close to the houses, transferred their load to their shelter, and lifted the canoe up onto the meadow. The day had been one of excitement, if not of continued effort, and all were tired and hungry. Moreover, as soon as the river had been entered, vast swarms of mosquitoes attacked them and made life miserable. Happily, the insects did not enter the Siwash house that they had appropriated, but any one who ventured out of doors was at once attacked. That night the party went to bed with little delay, hoping to spend the next two or three days in an investigation of the mountains that walled in the narrow river valley on both sides.
When Jack awoke next morning he saw that it was daylight,—gray dawn, as he thought,—and he turned over and settled himself for another nap, to await Charlie's announcement that breakfast was nearly ready. A little later some movement awakened him, and when he opened his eyes he saw Fannin standing by the fire already dressed.
Jack asked: "Is it time to turn out, Mr. Fannin?"
But Mr. Fannin, with an expression of much disgust on his usually cheerful countenance, answered briefly: "You can sleep all day, if you want to."
"What do you mean?" said Jack, in some astonishment.
"Mean?" replied Fannin; "why, it's raining, and you can't see across the river."
Jack hardly understood what this meant, but as he got up to dress he heard the heavy patter of rain on the building, and when he looked out of doors he saw that the valley was full of a white fog, almost thick enough to be cut with a knife. Nothing could be seen of the surrounding mountains, the mist hid everything except a few yards of muddy water by the house, and the lower branches of the forest behind it. It was useless to venture out of doors, because nothing could be seen. It would have been folly to attempt to climb the mountains in such a fog.
The rain continued all day long, and the white men sat around the fire and smoked and talked and grumbled. The Indians had a better time. Immediately after breakfast they returned to their blankets and went to sleep. After lunch they slept again until dinner was ready, and after dinner they went to bed for the night. Every little while one of the white men would go to the door in the hope that he might see some sign of fair weather, but none greeted him.
The second day at the Indian village was like the first; it rained all day long, and this was followed by a third day of downpour. There seemed no prospect that the rain would ever stop. Fresh provisions had given out, and the party was once more reduced to bread and bacon.
The fourth morning it was still raining, and, after consultation, it was determined that the bow of the canoe should be turned down the Inlet and that they should seek fairer weather on the more open water of the Gulf. To all hands it was a disappointment to go away without seeing something of the mountains they had so much admired at a distance. But the flight of time and the scarcity of provisions made it seem necessary to proceed on their way. Accordingly, on the morning of the fourth day the canoe was loaded and the travellers clad in oil skins and rubber coats, headed down the Homalko River. The rain still fell with the steady persistent pour of the last few days, the mountain sides were veiled with a thick mist, and the party had only the memories of the wonderful beauties of the sail up the inlet to console them, as they swung their paddles on the return journey. The mountain climbing, the exploration of the glaciers, the views of the towering snow-clad heights, and the hunting of the sure-footed goats—these pleasures must all be abandoned. So they paddled down the Inlet through the fog, with nothing to see and with nothing to do but to paddle.
During the next two days the weather continued bad, with wind and rain. The party camped at Clipper Point on Bute Inlet and at Deceit Bay on Redonda Island. On the third day, near White Island, a heavy gale sprang up, blowing from the quarter toward which the canoe was headed, and the paddlers not only were unable to paddle against it, but could not even hold their own. It was therefore necessary to land, unload the canoe, and take it up on the beach out of reach of the waves, and to wait until the wind went down. Fresh meat was still needed, and Hugh, Jack, and Fannin started out to see whether they could get anything. The country was a pleasant one to hunt in, and consisted of open ridges with bushy ravines between, and a little scattering timber on the ridges. Deer and bear signs were plentiful, and Jack was much interested in noticing the great size of the stones turned over by the bears in their search for worms, bugs, and ant eggs. One large piece of granite, lately turned out of its bed by a bear, was not less than two feet in any direction, and so heavy that Jack could not stir it.
Jack was walking quietly along a ridge, watching on either side of him, when a small buck that he had passed unseen, ran out of the brush and half way up the slope of the ravine, and stopped to look back. It was a fatal error, for a moment later Jack's ball pierced his heart. Like all the deer here, this one was small. Jack remembered his struggle with a previous deer, and only attempted to carry half of it into camp. When he got there he sent one of the Indians for the remainder.
Hugh had also killed a small deer, which he had brought into camp; and so, for the present, all anxiety about fresh meat was at an end.
They had a good dinner that night. After it was over, they lounged in much comfort around the crackling blaze, for the rain had gone with the gales that had blown, and the night was fair and cool.
"Hugh," said Jack, "you must have seen bears feeding often, and I wish you would tell me how they do it. Of course I've seen places where they have torn logs to pieces, and turned over stones; and the other day I saw that black bear gathering berries up on the river at the head of the North Arm, but that's the only bear that I've seen feeding. I wish you'd tell me how you've seen bears act when they were feeding."
"Well," said Hugh, as he pushed down the fire in his pipe with the end of his forefinger, "that's asking me to tell you a good deal. I've happened to see bears feeding a number of times; but, of course, usually I was more interested in killing the bear than I was in seeing how it gathered its grub, and when the time came for a good shot, I fired."
"Yes," said Jack, "that is natural and I suppose that is just what I would have done; but I can't help wondering how the bears, which are such big, strong fellows, living as everybody says, on berries, mice, beetles, and ants, ever get enough to eat to keep themselves alive; and yet, as I understand it, they always go into their holes fat, in the Autumn."
"So they do, so they do," assented Hugh.
"Well," said Jack, "tell me, then, how do they keep themselves alive?"
"That's hard to tell," said Hugh. "Of course, on the plains, as long as there are buffalo, the bears get a plenty. There are always buffalo dying of old age, being mired in the quicksand, drowned in the rivers, blinded by fire, or killed by the wolves; and the bears, being great travellers, come across these carcases all the time, and feed on them. Then, of course, they catch buffalo sometimes, by crawling on them through the brush; and at other times, by hiding near a buffalo trail and grabbing an animal that goes past. You've surely heard Wolf Eagle tell about the big fight that he saw once up in the Piegan country, between a buffalo bull and a bear, and if you have, you will remember that the bull killed the bear."
"Yes," said Jack, "I think I heard of that, but don't know that the story was ever told me in detail; what was it?"
"Why, the way Wolf Eagle tells it, he was cached down near a little creek waiting for a bunch of buffalo to come to the water, so that he might kill one. They came on, strung out one after another, and had got nearly down to the edge of the water when, as they were passing under a cut bank, a bear that was lying on the ledge of this bank jumped down on the leading heifer and caught her around the neck. Of course, the buffalo all scattered, and the bear was trying to bite the heifer and kill her, and she was trying to get away. In a minute, however, a big bull came charging down the trail, and butted the bear, knocking him down and making him let go the heifer. Then there was a big fight, and one which scared the Indian a whole lot, so much that he did not dare to show himself, as he would have had to, to get away. The bull kept charging the bear, and every time he struck him fairly he knocked him down; and every time the bull charged, the bear struck at him and tried to catch him by the head and to hold him, but this he could not do. They fought there for quite a little time, both of them fierce, and both of them quick as lightning. After a while, the bear had had all the fight that he wanted, and tried to get away, but the bull wouldn't have it. He kept knocking him down and goring him, until at last he had killed him. Even after the bear was dead, the bull would charge the carcase, and stick his horns in it and lift it off the ground. The Indian said that the bull was a sight: that he didn't have any skin on his head and shoulders, but that he was mad clear through, and seemed to be looking around for something else to fight. Wolf Eagle was almighty glad when at last the bull went off and joined the band."
"That's a mighty good story, Hugh," said Jack. "I guess in those old days, bears killed a good deal of game, didn't they?"
"I expect likely they did," said Hugh. "I know that whenever you hear any story about anything a bear has done, the Indians speak of his killing something. You remember Old White Calf Robe? You must have seen him in the camp. He was there two years ago at the medicine lodge. I remember him there, distinctly."
"No," said Jack, "I don't think I do remember him."
"Well," said Hugh, "he tells a story about being carried home by a bear, one time, many years ago, after he had been wounded in war. I don't doubt but that the old man believes that he is telling the plain truth, just as it happened; but in that story, he travelled along with a bear and a wolf, and I know that he says that the bear killed an elk for him to eat, and I think the wolf killed something for him, too, but I can't be sure.
"But of course," Hugh went on, "bears don't get very much meat. Certainly they don't live on meat, by any means. When they first come out in the spring, they generally travel pretty high up on the bare ridges, and live largely on the fresh green grass that starts early on the hillsides. They are always on the watch for mice and ground squirrels, and they dig out a good many wood-chucks, but I fancy their main food is grass. Then, a little later, roots start up which they like to gather,—pomme-blanche, camas, and a whole slew of other plants,—and that carries them along pretty well until the berry time. In the early summer I have seen them in little mountain parks, digging out mice or ground squirrels. A bear will see where a mouse or ground squirrel has a run close to the surface of the ground, and if his nose or any other sense tells him that it is inhabited, he will quickly run his paw along the tunnel, digging it up, and if the animal happens to be there, throwing it out on the surface of the earth. Then it is fun to see a big bear that will weigh three or four hundred pounds, and maybe twice as much, dancing around and striking the ground with his paws to try to kill the little animal that is dodging about, trying to get away. You'd never think how mighty active a bear can be under those circumstances.
"When berry time comes the bears spend a great deal of time around the sarvis berry patches, the plum thickets, and the choke-cherry groves; and every now and then a number of Indian women gathering berries, will run across one, and the women will get scared half to death, and light out for camp. Once in a long time an Indian gathering berries will suddenly come on a bear, and the bear will kill him; or, perhaps, sometimes an old bear that is mean will lay for an Indian, and kill him just for fun.
"The Indians say that when the sarvis berries are ripe, bears will ride down the taller bushes, pressing the stems down under their breasts, and walking along them with their forelegs on either side of the stem. I never saw them do it, but I've seen plenty of places where the bushes have been ridden down in this way, and had bear hair stuck to them. I once saw a mother and some cubs picking huckleberries high up in the mountains during fall. They walked about from one bush to another, and seemed to be picking the berries one by one, though I was so far away that I couldn't tell much about it.
"It's fun to see them turn over stones, and they're mighty cute about it, too. Now, if you or I have occasion to turn over a stone, the chances are we'll stoop over it, take hold of it by its farther edge, and pull it over toward us, and of course, unless we straddle it or watch it pretty close, we're likely to drop it on our toes; but a bear always turns a stone over not toward himself, but to one side. He gets his hind feet well under him, braces one fore foot, and then with the other fore foot turns over the stone, swinging it out from him to one side, and after he has finished the motion, he drops his head into the bed where the stone lay and gobbles up whatever insects are there. Sometimes he makes a claw or two with one foot into the bed, perhaps to turn up the ground to see whether there are some insects below the surface, or to see if there may be the hole of some little animal passing close beneath the stone."
"That's mighty interesting, Hugh," said Jack, "and I am greatly obliged to you for telling us about it. Now, Mr. Fannin, have you seen much of the way bears of this country feed?"
"No," said Fannin, "I have not. You see in this country we don't have a chance to see very far. It's all covered with timber, and it's only once in a while, in such a situation as we got to the other day when we were goat hunting, that we have an opportunity to see any considerable distance. So, really, all that I know about the feeding of bears is what I have discovered from cutting them open and seeing the contents of their stomachs. I told you the other day about how the bears sometimes came in and carried off hogs for us."
"Yes," said Jack, "I remember that, of course. Hugh," he went on, "where are bears most plenty back in our country?"
"Well," said Hugh, "there are a good many bears along the Missouri River, and in the low outlying ranges like the Moccasin, Judith, Snowy, and Belt mountains, but I think the places where they are the plentiest is along the foot of the Big Horn Range. You take it in the early summer, there's a terrible lot of bears to be found there."
"And which are the most plentiful, the black or the grizzly?" asked Jack.
"Why," said Hugh, "there's no comparison. The grizzlies outnumber the blacks about three to one, I should say. Black bears in that country are mighty scarce."
"And in this country," said Fannin, "you can say the same of the grizzly."
The next morning the sea was as calm and placid as if its surface had never been ruffled by a gale, and the canoe pushed along at a good rate of speed. During the early part of the afternoon Jack saw on a long, low rock, close to which the canoe would pass, a number of shore birds, running here and there, busily feeding at the edge of the water, but did not recognize them, and asked Fannin what they were. After a close look, Fannin replied: "Those here are turnstones; those others seem to be black oyster catchers."
"Oh!" said Jack, "try and kill some of them please. I have never seen either bird. I know the oyster catcher of the Atlantic coast, for I have seen several that were killed on Long Island. I should like to have some of these birds in my hand."
Fannin got his gun ready and presently fired both barrels at the birds, and in a few moments Jack was admiring them, and comparing each sort with its corresponding species of the Atlantic coast. Before the gun was fired, he had noticed that the oyster catchers acted very much like those he had seen on Long Island. They had the same sharp whistle and ran along the shore in the same way; but these in his hand were entirely black, while those that he had seen in the East were brownish with much white, and only a little black.
During the day they saw many old squaw ducks, which Jack knew in the East only as winter birds.
About the middle of the afternoon the wind rose again, and began to blow so violently that it was necessary to go ashore and camp. At the point where they landed, deer seemed to be plenty, and the beach was dotted in many places with their tracks, made during the day. The recent rains, however, had made the underbrush quite wet, and as there was plenty of fresh meat in camp, there seemed no special reason for hunting.
During the night a deer passed along the beach near the tent, and when he had come close to the place where Charlie had made his bed, the animal saw the tent or smelt its occupants, stopped and stood for a while, and then jumped over Charlie, running off with long bounds, into the forest.
The next morning the wind still blew hard, and it was uncertain whether the party could get away or not. The two Indians therefore asked permission to hunt, and Fannin loaned his rifle to Jimmie. An hour or two later Hamset returned without anything; but a little later Jimmie came in with a broad grin on his face, his clothes in tatters. He was soaked to the skin, but in a high state of delight, for he had killed a deer—his first. He was quite exhausted, for he had carried the animal quite a long way through the woods down to the beach, where he had left it, unable to bring it farther. Fannin and Charlie at once went off to get it; and while they were gone, the boy, in a mixture of Chinook, English, and signs, told Hugh and Jack the story of his hunt. He had gone a long way through the forest, but at last had seen a deer feeding, and crept up close to it. It had looked at him. He had fired twice at it, the last time striking it in the throat and breaking its neck, and it had fallen dead. He ended his account with a loud shout of laughter and the words: "Hai-asmowitch (big deer), me kill." Later in the day he confided to Fannin the information that "the hearts of his friends were very good toward him because he had killed a deer that was big and fat."
As they coasted along the shore that day they saw a blue grouse sitting on a rock, on a small island, and landing found about a dozen full-grown birds. The shot-gun accounted for four or five of them, and Jack and Hugh shot the heads off several more that took refuge in the branches of the trees. Food, therefore, was now plenty.
As they were passing near the mouth of the Hotham Sound, and close to the shores of Hardy and Nelson Islands, the remarkable Twin Falls, just within the entrance of the Sound, came into view. They seemed so attractive that it was decided to visit them on their return trip. On rounding a point on the shore of Hardy Island, two moving objects, on a low seaweed-covered point half a mile ahead, were seen. For a time they puzzled Indians and white men alike. They were not deer, for they were too low; nor bears, for the color was not right; nor seals, for they had neither the shape nor the movements of those animals. So there was much guessing at random as to what they were. But at last, when the canoe had come close enough for the creatures to be seen distinctly, white men and Indians made them out to be eagles. They were young birds, so young and inexperienced, in fact, that they permitted the canoe to approach within fifty feet of them without moving from their places, and when at last they did consent to disturb themselves the canoe was within thirty or forty feet of them. Then one flew to a pine, a few yards distant, while the other hopped on a log six feet from where he had been sitting, and surveyed the canoe with the utmost indifference. Though full-grown they had probably never seen white men before. They had been feeding on a dog-fish, which lay there among the seaweed, still breathing and writhing, although the birds had torn a great hole in its side.
That night camp was made on Nelson Island. It rained very hard, and everything became wet. There was a fine chance for grumbling at the weather if they wanted to, but these were old travellers, and accustomed to meet with philosophy whatever fortune sent them in the way of weather and discomfort. Besides this, they were getting used to rain, for some had fallen every day since they had reached the head of Bute Inlet. The next day they would enter Jervis Inlet, of whose beauties they had heard so much that they thought it would be almost as wonderful as Bute. A study of the Admiralty charts, with which Fannin had provided himself before leaving Victoria, and which were carried in a tin case in the provision chest, seemed to confirm all that they had heard of Jervis; and it was with anxious hearts and earnest hopes for good weather that the party went to bed that night.
They were not disappointed. The day dawned fair, an early start was made, and they paddled toward the mouth of the Inlet. For some miles a long point ahead of them cut off the view of the Inlet, and when they passed this point, its beauties were revealed as a real surprise to them. Directly before them, but on the farther side of the Inlet, rose a superb snow cone, five thousand feet in height; and beyond that could be seen a broad bay leading up to a narrow dark green forest, closely shut in between two ranges of mountains, far down whose sides extended the white mantle which in this region crowns every considerable height.
A little farther on the travellers found themselves directly in front of Marlborough Heights, mountains which, even in this land of grand scenery are unequalled for majesty. Two of them rise almost sheer from the water's edge to a height of over sixty-one hundred feet, and the third, standing a little farther back from the water, lifts its great head between the two, as if looking over its brothers' shoulders. The summits of these do not run up into peaks and needles of rock, but appear rather like blunt cones of solid granite. There is a little timber on the slopes, but except for this nothing is to be seen but the black rocks. Scarcely a patch of snow was visible, for the unceasing winds, which blow on these lofty peaks, sweep the snow into the valleys and lower lands before it can lay hold on the smooth bare granite. Some of these peaks rise in unbroken cliffs. Other heights come down to the water's edge in a long series of steps, many of them showing the rounded, smoothing action of the great glacier which passed over them as it cut out this cañon.
Down near the water, tall grass and underbrush grow among these dark, rounded, naked rocks, which look like the backs of so many great elephants sleeping in a jungle, whose growth is not tall enough to hide them.
Though for the most part narrow,—not more than a mile in width,—the Inlet often broadens out and has a lake-like appearance, especially where side valleys come down into it, showing the course of tributary streams of the old glacier.
At Deserted Bay, a little river enters the Inlet, and at its mouth is a wide stretch of meadow land.
Long before they reached this point something white could be seen on the shore. Hugh and Jack were curious to know what it could be, and appealed to Fannin and the Indians for information. No one could tell, and the glasses only made the white objects appear a little larger. Gradually, however, as the canoe approached them, it was seen that here was an Indian village and a burial place, and that the white objects were the white cloth coverings of the crosses and the houses of the dead. There seemed to be no one at the village, and the canoe did not stop, but kept on until sunset, reaching a level, grassy piece of land at the mouth of a mountain torrent, where the party put ashore and camped.
Evidently this was a favorite camping-ground, for there were found here the remains of fires, a rude shanty put up for protection against the weather, many old poles, and a scaffold erected for the purpose of drying fish.
Down the side of the mountains came thundering the large stream which had formed the little flat where they camped, and which was more than a brook and rather less than a river.
After camp had been made, Hugh, Fannin, and Jack climbed the mountain for a few hundred feet along the stream's course, and they were greatly impressed by the tumultuous rush with which it tumbled from pool to pool in tempestuous descent. The hillside was so steep that climbing was done by pulling one's self up by the trees, underbrush, and rocks. The ever rising spray of the torrent had moistened the earth, grass, and moss, making the ground so slippery that it was often difficult to keep one's footing. The stream made leaps of twenty, forty, and fifty feet at a time, falling with a dull sullen roar into the deep rocky basins which it had dug out for itself, making the milk-white foam which they contained surge and whirl over and over in unceasing motion. The constant moisture of the stream nourished a rank growth of vegetation. Rocks and fallen tree trunks were covered by a thick growth of long, pale green moss, into which the feet sank ankle deep, and from which water could be wrung as from a well-soaked sponge. In the crevices of the rocks grew bunches of tall grasses, sparkling with drops of water, as though there had been a rain storm. Everywhere there were tall flower stalks, brilliant with blossoms of yellow or blue. Back from the bed of the stream grew a thick tangle of undergrowth and young trees, which it would have been very hard to penetrate.
Many questions suggested themselves to Jack during the climb. But the noise of the fall was so great that it was impossible to hear conversation, and it was not until they had reached camp that he was able to try to inform himself in regard to any of the matters about which he had wished to ask.
That night as they sat around the fire after dinner, he said to Fannin and Hugh: "I want to know how these big arms of the sea came to be formed. Why is it that every little way here we find an immense cañon running away back into the mountains, and the sea ebbing and flowing in it? Of course there's some reason for it. I don't understand what it is, but somebody must know."
Hugh smoked in silence for a few moments, and then, taking his pipe from his mouth and clearing his throat, said: "Yes, somebody must know, of course, and I expect to them that does know, it's mighty simple. I expect likely your uncle, Mr. Sturgis, knows about all these things, but I don't. I've got an idea from what I've heard him say, and from what I've seen up in the northern countries, that these big cañons were cut out by glaciers,—these big masses of ice, very heavy, and moving along all the time. It's easy for any one who has ever been around a glacier to see something of the terrible power that such a mass of ice has, and to see how it cuts and grinds away the surface of the earth and rock that it passes over. You've heard, and I've heard your uncle talk about these here cañons on the coast of Norway, that, from his tell, seem about just like these that we are travelling up and down, except that maybe these are bigger. We can all understand that if a very big glacier got running in a certain course, and kept running for thousands and thousands of years, it would cut out in the surface of the mountains a deep, narrow groove that might be like these cañons; but as I say, I don't know anything about them. I'm just guessing from what I've heard say."
"Well," said Fannin, "I don't know much about them either, but judging from what I've read, you're about on the right track. The books I've read say that there was a time, a good way back, when the whole of the northern part of North America was covered with a big sheet of ice, thousands of feet thick. That is what was called the glacial period, or ice age. This ice, if I understand it, was thicker towards the north—where it was piling up all the time, and getting still thicker—than it was toward the south, where the climate was milder, and where it was melting all the time. Now, although ice seems to us, who perhaps don't know much about it, about as firm and solid as anything can be, yet really it is not so. Learned men have made lots of experiments, which show that ice will change its form; and we all know that these glaciers that we see here are moving all the time, and, what's more, that they are moving faster in the middle than they are at the sides, where they rub against the mountains; in other words, where there is friction. That shows that ice is plastic, somewhat we'll say like molasses in January. It will flow, but it flows very slowly, and to make it flow at all the pressure on it may have to be very great. In other words, there's got to be a great force behind it, pushing it. Now the books say, that in the time of the ice age the sheet of ice that covered the country, being thick toward the north and thin toward the south, was constantly moving slowly from north to south; and I think the men that have studied them have seen in the scratches that the ice sheet made on the rocks and in the gravel and boulders and so on, that it carried along with it from one place to another strong evidence of this motion. Then, after a while, as I understand it, the weather got warmer, the ice sheet kept melting faster and faster from the south toward the north, and gradually the land got bare of ice. Of course it melted first on the lower lands, and last on the hills and mountains and peaks. It melted very slowly, and as it melted it left behind it on the mountains and in sheltered places where it was coldest, masses of ice which continued to flow along as ice streams, long after the general ice sheet had disappeared. These masses that were left did not move from north to south, because they were no longer being pushed in that direction. They just flowed down hill.
"If I understand it, there is only one place now in the world, in the North at least, that is covered by an ice sheet, and that's Greenland. But in the Northern mountains there are still a lot of remnants of the old ice sheet, and it is these remnants, I think, only thousands of times more powerful than they are now, that cut out these inlets that we are travelling over.
"We think that these are mighty deep, and so they are; but maybe you don't recognize how much depth there is below the water. Sometimes these inlets are sixty or eighty fathoms deep. There's from three hundred and fifty to five hundred feet from the surface of the water to the bottom of the Inlet, and nobody knows how deep the mud may be there before you could reach the bed-rock below it."
"I am very glad to know this," said Jack. "Most of it I have heard before; it sounds pretty familiar, but I never before heard it in such a connected way, and I never understood just what it meant. It seems to me pretty clear now, all except one point that I want to ask about. We all know how easily ice slips down over any surface, and there doesn't seem to be much friction. Now I can't understand just how the ice should cut out such a groove in the earth in any length of time, however long it might be. How is that? Can you explain it to me?"
For a little while Fannin sat thoughtfully staring into the fire, and then he replied: "Well, I think I understand it myself, and I think I can make you understand it as I do, but of course I do not guarantee that I am right about it. I only give you my idea.
"Suppose you take a piece of pine board and tilt it up and brace it to represent the side of your mountain. Then suppose you take a strip of paper, two inches wide, and we'll say of an indefinite length, because you've got to draw that paper down over that board, for say a thousand years, and never let it stop; for the glacier never stops, it is always being renewed at its head, and keeps on pushing down the mountain sides, just as a brook does that starts from a spring on a hilltop. Now, you might draw that paper down over that board for a thousand years, if you lived so long, and you would never wear much of a groove in the board. If you did wear one, it would be awful slow work. But now suppose, in the place of that strip of paper, you have a strip of sandpaper, just as wide, and just as long, and keep drawing that down for a thousand years, you can see that long before your thousand years were over you would have cut a big groove in the board, and in time, of course, you'd cut through the board. That, according to my understanding, is the way that the glacier acts. It isn't the ice by itself that cuts out the groove, but the ice is constantly picking up and rolling along under it fragments of rock and pebbles, and sand, and grinding these hard substances against the hard rock that makes up the faces of the mountains. So it is sawing down into the mountains all the time.
"Did you ever go into a marble yard and see the people cutting the stone into blocks there? They have metal saws that go backward and forward, sawing on the marble, but if they had nothing but the metal to saw with, they would wear out their saws before they would saw the marble, so they put fine sand between the saw and the marble; and that sand, moving backward and forward, cuts through the marble pretty nearly as a knife cuts through cheese. We have seen here, and you have very likely seen in other places, how the water that comes out from under a glacier is white or gray. That is, it is full of something held in suspension in the water, and that something is the fine powder which is ground off the pebbles and rocks that are being pushed along under the glacier, and ground off the face of the mountains too. It's what you might call flour of rock. That's my idea of how the glaciers cut these deep grooves. We've seen, as we did just below here, lots of great, rounded rocks, on the shore, and we've seen in a number of places, big scratches in the rocks; and these scratches, I suppose, were made by some big chunk of rock, pushed along under the mass of the ice and scratching against the face of the mountains, gouging out quite a furrow in the rock. I don't know that I can explain it any plainer than that. Of course, it's a big subject."
"Well," said Jack, "I don't see how anything could be plainer than that; and it seems to me that I understand just exactly how the thing is done. I suppose sometime, when I go to college, I will get a chance to find out all about these things; and when I do, it will be a mighty good help to me to have seen these things here and to have had your explanation. I couldn't think how the ice, by itself, could cut out these grooves, and yet I believe I have had it all explained to me before; but never, I think, by such clear examples. That explanation of the sandpaper makes it mighty clear."
"Well," said Fannin, "we saw at the head of Bute Inlet a lot of these glaciers. Of course they were high up on the mountains, and mighty small compared with the ice that must have cut out these inlets; still, I believe if we could get up close to them we would see pretty clearly how they work, and you'd understand the whole thing a great deal better than you do now. If I were you, I'd be on the watch for things that have a bearing on this work of the ice, and if you keep the thing in your mind, it will be likely to work itself out very clearly."
"Well," said Hugh, "I think I begin to savvy this glacier business, a little, myself. Fannin has, sure, given us a pretty good explanation."
For a number of days, Jack, Hugh, and Fannin had been studying the charts with much interest, speculating about Princess Louise Inlet, a tiny branch, only four or five miles long, which puts off from the head of Jervis Inlet. On the chart, its entrance appeared a mere thread, but within it widened and seemed to be several miles in length, though not very wide, while at its head were one or two quite high mountains. This inlet they reached the next day.
It was yet early morning when, coasting along close to the shore, they saw a narrow break in the precipice under which they were passing. As they advanced, they saw that it stretched some distance inland. This, they believed, must be the entrance to Princess Louise Inlet, but no one knew. It was almost low water and a current of considerable force was drawing out of the narrow channel. The men landed, and Fannin and Hamset walked a little way up the beach to see whether the passage was practicable or not. They were soon turned back, by coming up against the vertical walls of the precipice, but the Indians declared that if they started now they could go through.
Re-embarking, the canoe was pushed up into the narrow channel, where now the water seemed to be almost still, and a few strokes of the paddle sent the vessel in between high walls, which could almost be touched by an outstretched paddle from either side of the boat. Out in the main Inlet the sun had been warm and bright, but here the water, shadowed by the tall rocks which rose on either side, was overhung by a thick, cold mist. Although passing along close under the walls of the Inlet on either side, they could only occasionally see them, and they groped along aimlessly, not knowing where they were going. The sun does not penetrate this narrow gorge until it has risen high in the heavens, and in the darkness and utter silence of their surroundings, the place seemed very solemn. The strangeness of the situation awed them all, and hardly a word was spoken, or if one ventured a remark he spoke in a low tone.
Hamset in the bow was keenly on the lookout for rocks or obstructions of any kind, but the chart had said "Deep water," for the Inlet, and they paddled on with confidence. As they advanced the mist grew thicker and the canoe's bow could not be seen from the stern. No sound was heard save the regular dip of the paddles, and each one of the crew was wrought into a high state of expectancy, not knowing what the next moment might bring forth.
An hour after their entrance into this twilight, the mist before them grew a little lighter, and in a few moments, without any warning, the dark curtain was lifted from the water and rolled away up the mountain sides. The mist rose slowly, and there appeared, first the trees on the beach, then, immediately back of them, the piled-up rocks which had fallen from the precipice; and lastly, as the clouds and vapor rose higher and higher, the black vertical cliffs and snow-clad peaks of the mountains.
In a few moments not a cloud or a trace of mist was to be seen, except in one long, narrow ravine where it still remained, shut in by high walls of granite.
The Indians continued the regular movements of their paddles, but those of the white men were idle, and for some little time not a word was spoken. Before them was a basin, which they were now entering, less than a quarter of a mile in width. All about them was an unbroken line of snow—here close at hand, there miles away—patched toward its lower border with occasional masses of green or gray. Beneath the edge of the snow line was the sombre gray of the mountain side, dark and forbidding. Still farther down the slope scanty and ill-nourished timber grew in scattering clumps or single trees, down to the verge of the precipices that overhung the water's edge. To the south and east the hills rose sharply and continuously, forming an unbroken wall until the snow level was reached; but toward the northeast this wall did not exist, and a wide but steep valley, the ancient bed of a tremendous glacier, stretched away for miles toward the snowy heights of the interior. The water before them seemed like a beautiful lake lying among the mountain peaks. In its unruffled surface each detail of the walls of rock that shut it in on every hand was mirrored with faithful accuracy.
Down the great valley which opened to the northeast, among, over, and under enormous masses of rock, whose harsh and rugged outlines were softened by no appearance of verdure, a large river, the course of which could be traced far back toward the heights, poured, in a series of white falls. They could watch it until it became no more than a delicate white thread, and at last it could not be distinguished from the snowdrifts that lay in the ravine near its source.
Beyond this valley, to the north, the rocks again became steep with overhanging precipices rising from the water's edge. About them great snow fields stretched away toward Mount Albert, showing here and there, by their broken white or sky-blue color some ice river that ploughed its way down the slope.
It took the white men some time to take in all the Inlet's details, and to become accustomed to their tremendous surroundings. At last Hugh turned to Jack, and said: "Son, did you ever imagine a place like this?"
"No," said Jack, "I never had a notion that in all the world there was anything like this,—so grand and so beautiful. It makes one feel as if he dare not speak aloud. It comes pretty near like being in church."
"Right you are," said Hugh. "I don't believe I ever felt so solemn in my whole life. Did you ever see such rocks, or such snow, or such a river as that one over there? Did you ever see anything that seemed to you as big as this does? I thought I had been in sightly places, and seen high mountains, but this beats them all."
"It's a wonderful sight," said Fannin, from the bow. "I've lived twenty years in British Columbia, but this beats anything I've ever seen."
"Yes," said Hugh. "It's something that you can't talk about much, in fact. A man is poor for words here."
"And just think," said Jack, "how cold and dark it was when we started in, and then how suddenly the light and beauty of everything came to us."
"Yes," said Fannin, "but that's not so surprising. You see this inlet is so narrow and shut in on every side by high mountains, that the air here does not feel the sun until near midday. The temperature of this place must be a good deal lower than that of its surroundings; but just as soon as the air is warmed up it rises and carries the mist away with it."
"Oh, Hugh," said Jack, "look at these rocks here, where the sun strikes them. Don't they look as if they were painted? See that patch of yellow there—just about the color of a canary bird. Part of that is reflection from the water, I guess; and I suppose it must be some moss growing on the rock that gives that rich color. Then there is a red brown, that looks like iron rust, Sometimes it is red, and sometimes it is yellow, and sometimes it is brown, and again it is red. And then, see the flowers and plants up there! There's a fern growing from a crack in the rock, and there are some mosses, some of them brown, some goldcolor, and some bright green. There's a red flower! Look at that cluster of hare-bells! What a contrast all that brilliant light and color is to the white and the gray of those outstanding mountains!"
"Well," said Fannin, "I suppose we ought to be moving, for we should paddle up to the head and get back to the Inlet in time to go out with the ebb. The Indians say that at half tide the water runs so swiftly in that narrow channel that it is dangerous."
"Come on, then," said Hugh. "I hate to think of anything but this show that is before us; and I'd like mighty well to camp here for one night, but I suppose we haven't got the time."
"Yes," said Jack, "we've got to think of what is coming to-morrow, of course; but I do hate to leave this place."
They dipped their paddles into the water, and the canoe moved swiftly over its glassy surface. As they paddled on, Jack suddenly called: "There's a seal, the first living thing I've seen in here!" From time to time the seal showed his smooth round head above the water, not far from the canoe.
A few moments later Hugh called out: "There's a brood of ducks in there, near the shore!"
"Where are they?" asked Jack; "I don't see them."
"There," said Hugh, "close into the shore you can see them or their shadows, though they are a good deal blurred and made indistinct by the reflection of the trees above them."
"Yes," said Jack, "there seems to be mighty little life visible here. Down toward the mouth of the Inlet I have once or twice seen a gull, but beyond these things and the starfish, clinging to the rocks, there's mighty little that speaks of life."
Near the head of the Inlet Fannin got out the longest fishing lines that they had, and, tying a few rifle cartridges to it, let it down over the side of the canoe, trying to find the bottom, but he was unable to reach it.
On the way back toward the mouth of the inlet they paddled along close to the shore, in many places under the cliffs which overhung the water. Here it was possible to examine them closely and to study their details, and Jack was astonished to see how much vegetation they supported and how varied was the life that they exhibited. Everywhere near the water the granite was patched with lichens of different kinds and different colors, giving a brilliant effect to the rocks. Near the mouth of the inlet they landed on a low point of shore that ran out, and stood there for a little while, taking a farewell look at the narrow fiord. It was an impressive sight, and with full hearts the white men turned their backs on the wonders they had seen and took their way back out into the broad channel of Jervis Inlet.
As they turned north again and paddled on up the inlet the talk was naturally of the wonders that they had just left.
"Surely," said Jack, "this is the most wonderful place that I have ever seen."
"Yes, indeed," said Hugh, "it beats all the countries that my eyes have ever rested on, and I never expect to see anything so wonderful again."
"It was beautiful," said Fannin, "and how cold and gloomy it was one moment and how bright and beautiful the next."
"Yes," said Jack, "and yet when it was brightest and most beautiful it seemed cold all the time. It reminded me of what I've read about the Arctic regions. There was not a thing but snow and ice and just a few straggling stunted trees. I remember reading somewhere about a point down at the other end of South America where there is nothing to be seen but rocks and a little timber and snow and icebergs. That is the way Princess Louise seemed to me, but I do wish that we had had time to land and follow up that big river toward those heights."
"That would have been a nice trip," said Fannin; "but I guess it would have been an awful hard one. It looked to me as if those rocks were big and hard to climb among. We'd have had to carry our beds and our grub on our backs, and it might have taken us a long time to get up even to the foot of that big peak that stood up so high."
"Yet, I suppose there must be lots of life up there," said Jack; "birds and animals, and of course if there are birds and animals there must be vegetation to support them."
"Sure," said Fannin. "I don't doubt but that there are goats and deer and ptarmigan, probably bears, and possibly other animals. Of course the sheep don't get down so close to the salt water, at least I have never seen them there. I don't doubt, though, but there's plenty of life up there."
"Anyhow," said Jack, "it looks as if the country had not changed a bit since the glacier came pouring down through those valleys and was working its way toward the salt water."
"I don't believe it has," said Fannin, "except that trees have grown; perhaps some little soil has been made here and there; but except for that I suppose the country is unchanged."
For a while they paddled on in silence, and then, as they rounded a point, came a call from Fannin: "Hello! there's an Indian village."
Three or four houses stood on the bank but a short distance back from the water's edge, and near them were a few people busy at different tasks. When they saw the canoe they all stopped and began to stare at it. Down on the beach, just above the water's edge was an old man working over a canoe. Fannin said: "Let's push in there and see if we can buy some potatoes or other food." They pushed up to the beach, and when close to it saluted the old man with the usual phrase, "Kla-haw-ya tillicum?" (How are you, friend?) The man gave an answering shout, and Hamset turned to them and said: "I guess he can't talk with us"; which was Fannin's translation into English.