One By One We Met The Hard
Rapids In Various Ways, Mostly By Portaging, But On The Morning
Of The 19th We Came To One So Small And Short That All Agreed The
Canoe Could Be Forced By With Poles And Track-Line.
It looked an
insignificant ripple, no more than a fish might make with its tail,
and what happened in going up, is recorded as follows:
CHAPTER XLV
THE RIVER SHOWS ITS TEETH
"Oct. 20, 1907. - Athabaska River. In the Canyon. This has been
a day of horrors and mercies. We left the camp early, 6.55 - long
before sunrise, and portaged the first rapid. About 9 we came to
the middle rapid; this Billy thought we could track up, so with
two ropes he and Rob were hauling us, I in bow, Preble in stem;
but the strong waters of the middle part whirled the canoe around
suddenly, and dashed her on a rock. There was a crash of breaking
timber, a roar of the flood, and in a moment Preble and I and, all
the stuff were in the water.
"'My journals,' I shouted as I went down, and all the time the
flood was boiling in my ears my thought was, 'My journals,' - 'my
journals.'
"The moment my mouth was up again above the water, I bubbled out,
'My journals, - save my journals,' then struck out for the shore.
Now I saw Preble hanging on to the canoe and trying to right it.
His face was calm and unchanged as when setting a mousetrap. 'Never
mind that, save yourself,' I called out; he made no response, and,
after all, it was safest to hang on to the canoe. I was swept into
a shallow place at once, and got on my feet, then gained the shore.
"'My journals - save them first!' I shouted to the two boys, and
now remembered with horror, how, this very morning, on account of
portaging, I had for the first time put all three journals in the
handbag, that had disappeared, whereas the telescope that used to
hold two of them, was floating high. It is the emergency that proves
your man, and I learned that day I had three of the best men that
ever boarded a boat. A glance showed Preble in shallow water coolly
hauling in the canoe.
"Rob and Billy bounded along the rugged shores, from one ice-covered
rock to another, over piles of drift logs and along steep ledges
they went; like two mountain goats; the flood was spotted with
floating things, but no sign of the precious journal-bag. Away out
was the grub-box; square and high afloat, it struck a reef. 'You
save the grub,' yelled Billy above the roaring, pitiless flood,
and dashed on. I knew Billy's head was cool and clear, so I plunged
into the water, ice-cold and waist deep - and before the merciless
one could snatch it along, I had the grub-box safe. Meanwhile Rob
and Billy had danced away out of sight along that wild canyon bank.
I set out after them. In some eddies various articles were afloat,
a cocoa tin, a milk pot, a bag of rare orchids intended for a friend,
a half sack of flour, and many little things I saved at cost of a
fresh wetting each time, and on the bank, thrown hastily up by the
boys, were such bundles as they had been able to rescue.
"I struggled on, but the pace was killing. They were young men
and dog-runners; I was left behind and was getting so tired now I
could not keep warm; there was a keen frost and I was wet to the
skin. The chance to rescue other things came again and again. Twelve
times did I plunge, into that deadly cold river, and so gathered
a lot of small truck. Then knowing I could do little more, and
realising that everything man could do would be done without me,
turned back reluctantly. Preble passed me at a run, he had left
the canoe in a good place and had saved some bedding.
"'Have you seen my journal-bag?' He made a quick gesture down the
river, then dashed away. Alas! I knew now, the one irreplaceable
part of our cargo was deep in the treacherous flood, never to be
seen again.
"At the canoe I set about making a fire; there was no axe to cut
kindling-wood, but a birch tree was near, and a pile of shredded
birch-bark with a lot of dry willow on it made a perfect fire-lay;
then I opened my waterproof matchbox. Oh, horrors! the fifteen
matches in it were damp and soggy. I tried to dry them by blowing
on them; my frozen fingers could scarcely hold them. After a time
I struck one. It was soft and useless; another and another at
intervals, till thirteen; then, despairing, I laid the last two on
a stone in the weak sunlight, and tried to warm myself by gathering
firewood and moving quickly, but it seemed useless a very death
chill was on me. I have often lighted a fire with rubbing-sticks,
but I needed an axe, as well as a buckskin thong for this, and I had
neither. I looked through the baggage that was saved, no matches
and all things dripping wet. I might go three miles down that
frightful canyon to our last camp and maybe get some living coals.
But no! mindful of the forestry laws, we had as usual most carefully
extinguished the fire with buckets of water, and the clothes were
freezing on my back. 1 was tired out, teeth chattering. Then came
the thought, Why despair while two matches remain? I struck the
first now, the fourteenth, and, in spite of dead fingers and the
sizzly, doubtful match, it cracked, blazed, and then, oh blessed,
blessed birch bark!
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