Part 24 (1/2)
I have found many, but I shall recall but one, a certain grove on the Alaskan border.
It was in one of the wildest of all wild regions of the northern world.
”G.o.d-forsaken” . . . indeed? In truth, it seemed to be the very home of G.o.d. There, between the bases of two towering perpendicular ranges of mountains, mantled by endless snows and capped by eternal ice, lay the wildest of all box-canons: one end of which was blocked by a barrier of snow hundreds of feet high and thousands of feet thick--the work of countless avalanches; while the other end was blocked by a barrier of eternal ice thousands of feet in width and millions of tons in weight--a living and growing glacier. And there, away down at the very bottom of that wild gorge, beside a roaring, leaping little river of seething foam, grew a beautiful grove of trees; and never a time did I enter there but what I thought of it as holy ground--far more holy than any cathedral I have ever known . . . for there, in that grove, one seemed to stand in the presence of G.o.d.
There, in that grove, the great reddish-brown boles of Sitka spruces--four and five feet in diameter--towered up like many huge architectural columns as they supported the ruggedly beamed and evergreen ceiling that domed far overhead. High above an altar-like ma.s.s of rock, completely mantled with gorgeously coloured mosses, an opening shone in the gray-green wall, and through it filtered long slanting beams of sunlight, as though coming through a leaded, sky-blue, stained-gla.s.s window of some wonderful cathedral. While upon the grove's mossy floor stood, row upon row, a ma.s.s of luxuriant ferns that almost covered the velvet carpet, and seemed to form endless seats in readiness for the coming of some congregation. But on only one occasion did I ever see a wors.h.i.+pper there.
Weary from the weight of a heavy pack--seventy-five pounds of dynamite--I had paused to rest a moment in that wonderful place which so few human beings had ever discovered; where, too, on pa.s.sing through, it was always my custom to remove my hat--just as any one would do on entering a church. There that day, as I stood gazing at the glorious sunbeams as they filtered through the great chancel window, I listened to the enchanting music of the feathered choir high overhead, that seemed to be singing to the accompaniment of one of Nature's most powerful organs--the roaring river--that thundered aloud, as, with all its force, it wildly rolled huge boulders down its rocky bed. Then, lowering my eyes, I discovered the one and only wors.h.i.+pper I ever saw there. He was standing near a side aisle in the shadow of an alcove, and he, too, was gazing up at those radiant sunbeams and listening to the choir; moreover, notwithstanding that he was a big brown bear, he appeared too devout even to notice me--perhaps because he, too, felt the holy presence of ”The Great Mystery” . . . our G.o.d.
Yes, my friend, it is my belief that if there is any place on earth that is ”G.o.d-forsaken,” it is not to be found in even the wildest part of the wildest wilderness, but in that cesspool called a city.
GOING TO THE POST
After half of May had pa.s.sed away, and when the spring hunt was over, Oo-koo-hoo and Amik, poling up the turbulent little streams, and following as closely as possible the routes of their fur trails, went the round of their trapping paths, removed their snares, sprung their deadfalls, and gathering their steel traps loaded them aboard their canoes. That work completed, packing began in readiness for the postward journey; there, as usual, they would spend their well-earned holidays with pleasure upon their tribal summer camping grounds.
[Ill.u.s.tration: After half of May had pa.s.sed away, and when the spring hunt was over, Oo-koo-hoo and Amik, poling up the turbulent little streams, and following as closely as possible the routes of their fur trails, went the round of their trapping paths, removed their snares, sprung their deadfalls, and gathering their steel traps loaded them aboard their canoes. That work completed, packing began in readiness for the . . . See Chapter VII.]
So, when all was in readiness, the deerskin lodge coverings were taken down, rolled up, and stored out of harm's way upon a stage. Then, with hearts light with happiness and canoes heavy with the wealth of the forest, we paddled away with pleasant memories of our forest home, and looked forward to our arrival at Fort Consolation.
Soon after entering Bear River the canoes were turned toward the western bank and halted at a point near one of their old camping grounds. Then Naudin--Amik's wife--left the others, and took her way among the trees to an opening in the wood. There stood two little wooden crosses that marked the graves of two of her children--one a still-born girl and the other a boy who had died at the age of three.
Upon the boy's grave she placed some food and a little bow and some arrows, and bowed low over it and wept aloud. But at the grave of her still-born child she forgot her grief and smiled with joy as she placed upon the mound a handful of fresh flowers, a few pretty feathers, and some handsome furs. Sitting there in the warm suns.h.i.+ne, she closed her eyes--as she told me afterward--and fancied she heard the little maid dancing among the rustling leaves and singing to her.
Like all Indian women of the Strong Woods, she believed that her still-born child would never grow larger or older; that it would never leave her; that it would always love her, though she lived to be a great-grandmother; that when sorrow and pain bowed her low this little maid would laugh and dance and talk and sing to her, and thus change her grief into joy. That is why an Indian mother puts pretty things upon the grave of her still-born child, and that is why she never mourns over it.
As our journey progressed those enemies of comfort and pleasure, the black flies, appeared, and at sunrise and sunset caused much annoyance, especially among the children. Then, too, at night if the breeze subsided, mosquitoes swarmed from the leeward side of bushes and drove slumber away.
One afternoon, while resting, we observed signs of beaver and Oo-koo-hoo, being reminded of an incident he once witnessed, related it to me:
”Once, my son, while paddling alone, I rounded the bend of a river, and hearing a splash just beyond the turn, silently propelled my canoe beneath a screen of overhanging branches. After waiting and watching awhile, I saw an otter fis.h.i.+ng in the stream. A moment later I beheld a beaver--evidently a female--swimming just beyond the otter, and pursued by two other beavers--evidently males. The males, perceiving the otter swimming in the direction of the female, probably came to the conclusion that he was about to pay his court to her, for they suddenly swerved from their course and attacked the innocent otter. He dived to escape his a.s.sailants, and they dived after him. When he rose for breath, they came up, too, and made after him; so he dived again.
Evidently, they were trying to wind their quarry, for whenever he came up for breath they endeavoured to reach him before he got it. In a short time they had so exhausted him that he refused to dive again before he gained his breath. He made for the sh.o.r.e. The beavers rushed after him, overtook him, and just as he gained the bank, ripped his throat open. Then I shot one of the beavers and tossed it into my canoe along with the otter.”
The journey to the Post was a delight all the way--save when the flies were busy. One night those almost invisible little torments, the sand flies, caused us--or rather me--much misery until Granny built such a large fire that it attracted the attention of the little brutes, and into it they all dived, or apparently did--just as she said they would--for in less than half an hour not a single sand fly remained.
On our way to G.o.d's Lake we had considerable sport in the way of shooting white-water. One morning we landed at the head of a portage, and, as the rapid was not a dangerous one, Oo-koo-hoo and Amik determined to run it, but first went ash.o.r.e to examine the channel. On their return Oo-koo-hoo instructed the others to follow his lead about four canoe-lengths apart, so that in case of mishap they could help each other. Down the canoes plunged one after the other. The children wielded their little paddles, screaming with delight as they swiftly glided through the foaming spray past sh.o.r.es still lined here and there with walls of ice.
As the canoes rounded a sharp bend in the rapid Oo-koo-hoo descried a black bear walking on the ice that overhung the eastern bank. The animal seemed as much surprised as any of us, and, instead of making off, rose upon its haunches and gazed in amazement at the pa.s.sing canoes. But as we swept by there was no thought of firing guns. The sight of the bear reminded Oo-koo-hoo of an experience some friends of his once had with a black bear; and when we reached slack water he told it to me.
The friends in question were a mother and her daughter, and late one afternoon they were returning from berry picking. As they rounded a bend in the river the daughter in the bow suddenly stopped paddling, and--without turning her face toward her mother in the stern--excitedly whispered: ”_Muskwa_! _Muskwa_!”
Then as the older woman caught sight of a dark object fifty paces away, she uttered a few hurried commands. Both fell to paddling with all their might. With straining backs, stiffened arms, and bending blades, they fairly lifted the canoe at every stroke; and the waters gave a tearing sound as the slas.h.i.+ng blades sent little whirlpools far behind.
Their hearts were fired with the spirit of the chase, and--though their only weapons were their skinning knives--they felt no fear. On they raced to head the bear, who was swimming desperately to gain the sh.o.r.e.
They overhauled him. He turned at bay. The daughter soused a blanket in the water and threw it over his head. The mother in the stern reached over as the canoe glided by, seized him by an ear as he struggled blindly beneath the smothering mantle, and drove her knife into his throat. A broad circle of crimson coloured the water round the blanket. The canoe was quickly brought about; the mother slipped a noose over his head, and in triumph they towed the carca.s.s to their camp.
On the last morning of our trip there was a flutter of pleasant excitement among our little party; and by the time the sun appeared and breakfast was over, everybody was laughing and talking, for we had made such progress that we expected to reach Fort Consolation by ten o'clock that forenoon. Quickly we loaded the canoes again, and away we paddled. In a few hours the beautiful expanse of G.o.d's Lake appeared before us. When we sighted the old fort, a joyous shout rang out; paddles were waved overhead, and tears of joy rose to the eyes of the women--and of some of the men.
Going ash.o.r.e, we quickly made our toilets, donning our very finest in order to make a good appearance on our arrival at the Fort--as is the custom of the Northland. Bear's grease was employed with lavish profusion, even Oo-koo-hoo and Amik and the boys using it on their hair; while the women and girls greased and wove their tresses into a single elongated braid which hung down behind. The men put on their fancy silk-worked moccasins; tied silk handkerchiefs about their necks--the reverse of cow-boy fas.h.i.+on--and beaded garters around their legs; while the women placed many bra.s.s rings upon their fingers, bright plaid shawls about their shoulders, gay silk handkerchiefs over their heads, and beaded leggings upon their legs. How I regretted I had not brought along my top-hat--that idiotic symbol of civilization--for if I could have worn it on that occasion, the Indians at Fort Consolation would have been so filled with merriment that they would have in all probability remembered me for many a year as the one white man with a sense of humour.
For in truth, it is just as Ohiyesa (Charles A. Eastman) the full-blooded Sioux, says in his book on Indian Boyhood: ”There is scarcely anything so exasperating to me as the idea that the natives of this country have no sense of humour and no faculty for mirth. This phase of their character is well understood by those whose fortune or misfortune it has been to live among them day in and day out at their homes. I don't believe I ever heard a real hearty laugh away from the Indians' fireside. I have often spent an entire evening in laughing with them until I could laugh no more.”
CONTEST OF WITS