Cruisings in the Cascades Part 2

I was not seriously disappointed, however, for I cared little for the duck shooting; I was in quest of larger game, and only wanted to practice a little, to renew acquaintance and familiarity with my weapon.

Early in the day we entered Burrard Inlet, a narrow, crooked, and peculiarly shaped arm of the salt water, that winds and threads its way many miles back into the mountains, so narrow in places, that a boy may cast a stone across it, and yet so deep as to be navigable for the largest ocean steamship. The inlet is so narrow and crooked that a stranger, sailing into it for the first time, would p.r.o.nounce it a great river coming down from the mountains. Through this picturesque body of water our good boat cleft the shadows of the overhanging mountains until nearly noon, when we landed at Vancouver, the terminus of the Canadian Pacific Railway. In consequence of this important selection, the place is a busy mart of trade. The clang of saw and hammer, the rattle of wheels, the general din of a building boom, are such as to tire one's nerves in a few hours. Later in the day we reached Port Moody. This town was originally designated as the tide-water terminus of the road, and had its brief era of prosperity and speculation in consequence; but now that the plan has been changed it has been reduced to a mere way station, and has relapsed into the dullest kind of dullness.

From here I staged across the divide to New Westminster, on the Frazer river, the home of Mr. J. C. Hughs, who had invited me there to hunt Rocky Mountain goats with him. I was grieved beyond measure, however, to learn on my arrival that he was dangerously ill, and went at once to his house, but he was unable to see me. He sank rapidly from the date of his first illness, died two days after my arrival, and I therefore found myself in a strange land, with no friend or acquaintance to whom I could go for information or advice.

My first object, therefore, was to find a guide to take me into the mountains, and although I found several pretended sportsmen, I could hear of no one who had ever killed a goat, except poor Hughs, and a Mr.

Fannin, who had formerly lived there, but had lately moved away, so of course no one knew where I could get a guide. Several business men, of whom I asked information, inquired at once where I was from, and on learning that I was an American, simply said "I don't know," and were, or at least pretended to be, too busy to talk with me. They seemed to have no use for people from this side of the boundary line, and this same ill-feeling toward my Nation (with a big N) was shown me in other places, and on various occasions, while in the province. I found, however, one gracious exception, in New Westminster, in the person of Mr. C. G. Major, a merchant, who, the moment I made known to him my wish, replied:

"Well, sir, the best guide and the best hunter in British Columbia left here not three minutes ago. He is an Indian who lives on Dougla.s.s Lake, and I think I can get him for you. If I can, you are fixed for a good and successful hunt."

This news, and the frank, manly, cordial greeting that came with it, were surprising to me, after the treatment I had been receiving. Mr.

Major invited me into his private office, gave me a chair by the fire, and sent out a messenger to look for "Dougla.s.s Bill," the Indian of whom he had spoken. This important personage soon came in. Mr. Major told him what I wanted, and it took but a few minutes to make a bargain. He was a solid, well-built Indian, had an intelligent face, spoke fair English, and had the reputation of being, as Mr. Major had said, an excellent hunter. Mr. Major further said he considered Bill one of the most honest, truthful Indians he had ever known, and that I could trust him as implicitly as I could any white man in the country.

This arrangement was made on Sat.u.r.day night, but Bill said he could not start on the hunt until Wednesday morning, as his mother-in-law had just died, and he must go and help to bury her on Tuesday. The funeral was to take place on the Chilukweyuk river, a tributary of the Frazer, about fifty miles above New Westminster, and it was arranged that I should go up on the steamer, and meet him at the mouth of Harrison river, another tributary stream, on Wednesday morning. We were then to go up the Harrison to the hunting grounds. I was delighted at the prospect of a successful hunt, with so good a guide, and cheerfully consented to wait the necessary three days for the red man to perform the last sad rites of his tribe over the remains of the departed _kloochman_, but I was doomed to disappointment.

[Ill.u.s.tration: A VIEW ON THE FRAZER.]

CHAPTER VI.

For many years I had read, heard, and dreamed of the Frazer, that mysterious stream which flows out from among the icy fastnesses of the Cascades, in the far-off confines of British Columbia. For many years had I longed to see with my own eyes some of the grand scenery of the region it drains, and now, at last, that mighty stream flowed at my feet. How eagerly I drank in the beauty of the scene! How my heart thrilled at the thought that I stood face to face with this land of my dreams and was about to explore a portion, at least, of the country in which this great river rises. The beautiful lines penned by Maria Brooks, on the occasion of her first visit to the St. Lawrence, came vividly to my mind:

"The first time I beheld thee, beauteous stream, How pure, how smooth, how broad thy bosom heaved; What feelings rushed upon my heart! a gleam As of another life my kindling soul received."

I left New Westminster at seven o'clock Monday morning on the steamer Adelaide, for the mouth of Harrison river, sixty miles up the Frazer.

There were over twenty Indians on board, going up to the mouth of the Chilukweyuk, to attend the funeral of Dougla.s.s Bill's deceased relative.

As soon as I learned their destination I inquired if he were among them, but they said he was not. He had come aboard before we left, but for some reason had decided to go on another boat that left half an hour ahead of the Adelaide. The voyage proved intensely interesting. The Frazer is from a quarter to half a mile wide, and is navigable for large steamers for a hundred miles above its mouth. There are portions of the valley that are fertile, thickly settled, and well cultivated. The valleys of some of its tributaries are also good farming districts, and grain, fruits, and vegetables of various kinds grow in abundance. At the mouth of the Chilukweyuk I saw fine peaches that had grown in the valley, within ten miles of perpetual snow. The river became very crooked as we neared the mountains, and finally we entered the gorge, or canon, where the rocky-faced mountains rise, sheer from the water's edge, to heights of many hundreds of feet, and just back of them tower great peaks, clad in eternal snows. The little camera was again brought into requisition and, as we rounded some of these picturesque bends and traversed some of the beautiful reaches, I secured many good views, though the day was cloudy and lowery. The boat being in motion, I was, of course, compelled to make the shortest possible exposures, and was, therefore, unable to get fine details in the shadows; yet many of the prints turned out fairly well.

We saw several seals in the river on the way up, and the captain informed me that at certain seasons they were quite plentiful in the Frazer and all the larger streams in the neighborhood. They go up the Frazer to the head of navigation and he could not say how much farther.

He said that on one occasion a female seal and her young were seen sporting in the water ahead of the steamer, and that when the vessel came within about fifty yards they dove. Nothing more was seen of the puppy, and the captain thought it must have been caught in the wheel and killed, for the mother followed the vessel several miles, whining, looking longingly, pitifully, and beseechingly at the pa.s.sengers and crew. She would swim around and around the steamer, coming close up, showing no fear for her own safety, whatever, but seeming to beg them to give back her baby. She appeared to have lost sight of it entirely, whatever its fate, and to think it had been captured and taken on board.

Her moaning and begging, her intense grief, were pitiable in the extreme, and brought tears to the eyes of stout, brawny men. Finally she seemed completely exhausted with anguish and her exertions and gradually sank out of sight. My informant said he hoped never to witness another such sight.

We arrived at the mouth of Harrison river at six o'clock in the evening.

There is a little Indian village there called by the same name as the river, and Mr. J. Barker keeps a trading post on the reservation, he being the only white man living there. He made me welcome to the best accommodations his bachelor quarters afforded, but said the only sleeping-room he had was full, as two friends from down the river were stopping with him for the night, and that I would have to lodge with one of the Indian families. He said there was one _kloochman_ (the Chinook word for squaw) who was a remarkably neat, cleanly housekeeper, who had a spare room, and who usually kept any strangers that wished to stop over night in the village. While we were talking the squaw in question came in and Mr. Barker said to her:

"Mary, yah-kwa Boston man tik-eh moo-sum me-si-ka house po-lak-le."

(Here is an American who would like to sleep in your house to-night.) To which she replied:

"Yak-ka hy-ak" (he can come), and the bargain was closed.

I remained at the store and talked with Mr. Barker and his friends until ten o'clock, when he took a lantern and piloted me over to the Indian rancherie, where I was to lodge. I took my sleeping-bag with me and thanked my stars that I did, for notwithstanding the a.s.surances given me by good Mr. Barker that the Indian woman was as good a housekeeper as the average white woman, I was afraid of vermin. I have never known an Indian to be without the hemipterous little insect, _Pediculus_ (_huma.n.u.s_) _capitis_. Possibly there may be some Indians who do not wear them; I simply say I have never had the pleasure of knowing one, and I have known a great many, too. I seriously doubt if one has ever yet lived many days at a time devoid of the companionship of these pestiferous little creatures. In fact, an Indian and a louse are natural allies--boon companions--and are as inseparable as the boarding-house bed and the bedbug. The red man is so inured to the ravages of his parasitic companion, so accustomed to have him rustling around on his person and foraging for grub, that he pays little or no attention to the insect, and seems hardly to feel its bite.

You will rarely see an Indian scratch his head or, in fact, any portion of his person, as a white man does when he gets a bite. Lo gives forth no outward sign that he is thickly settled, and it is only when he sits or lies down in the hot sun that the inhabitants of his hair and clothing come to the front; then you may see them crawling about like roaches in a hotel kitchen. Or, when he has lain down on a board, or your tent canvas, or any light-colored substance and got up and gone away, leaving some of his neighbors behind, then you know he is--like others of his race--the home of a large colony of insects.

When Mary and her husband, George, saw my roll of bedding, which they supposed to be simply blankets, they protested to Mr. Barker that I would not need them, that there was "hy-iu mit-lite pa-se-se" (plenty of covering on the bed). I told them, however, that I could sleep better in my own blankets and preferred to use them. I took the bundle into my room, spread the sleeping-bag on the bed and crawled into it. The outer covering of the bag being of thick, hard canvas, I hoped it would prove an effectual barrier against the a.s.saults of the vermin, and that they might not find the portal by which I entered, and so it proved.

George and Mary live in a very well-built, comfortable, one-story frame cottage, divided into two rooms; the kitchen, dining-room, parlor and family sleeping-room all in one, and the spare room being the other.

The house has four windows and one door, a shingle roof and a board floor. They have a cooking-stove, several chairs, a table, cupboard, etc. The bedstead on which I slept was homemade, but neat and substantial. It was furnished with a white cotton tick, filled with straw, feather pillows, several clean-looking blankets, and a pair of moderately clean cotton sheets. I have slept in much worse-looking beds in hotels kept by white people.

[Ill.u.s.tration: GEORGE AND MARY.]

This Indian village, Harrison river, or Skowlitz, as the Indians call both the river and the village, is composed of about twenty families, living in houses of about the same cla.s.s and of the same general design as the one described, although some are slightly larger and better, while others are not quite so good. All have been built by white carpenters, or the greater part of the work was done by them, and the lumber and other materials were manufactured by white men. None of the dwellings have ever been painted inside or out, but there is a neat mission church in the village that has been honored with a coat of white paint. There are a few log shacks standing near, that look very much as if they had been built by native industry. The frame houses, I am informed, were erected by the Government and the church by the Catholic Missionary Society.

CHAPTER VII.

I was not compelled to eat with George and Mary, for Mr. Barker had kindly invited me to breakfast with him, and when I reached his store, at the breakfast hour in the morning, I found a neat inviting-looking table in the room back of the store, loaded with broiled ham, baked potatoes, good bread and b.u.t.ter, a pot of steaming coffee, etc.; all of which we enjoyed intensely. Mr. Barker informed me there was a cl.u.s.ter of hot springs ten miles up the river, at the foot of Harrison Lake, the source of Harrison river, near which a large hotel had lately been built. Upon inquiry as to a means of getting up there, I learned that he had employed a couple of Indians to take some freight up that morning in a canoe, and that I could probably secure a pa.s.sage with them. As Harrison Lake, or rather the mountains surrounding it, were the hunting-grounds which Dougla.s.s Bill had selected, and as we would have to pa.s.s these hot springs en route, I decided to go there and wait for him. I therefore arranged with Barker to send him up to the springs, when he should call for me at the store, and took pa.s.sage in the freight canoe.

The Harrison river is a large stream that cuts its way through high, rugged mountains, and the water has a p.r.o.nounced milky tinge imparted by the glaciers from which its feeders come, away back in the Cascades.

It is a famous salmon stream, and thousands of these n.o.ble fishes, of mammoth size, that had lately gone up the river and into the small creeks to sp.a.w.n, having died from disease, or having been killed in the terrible rapids they had to encounter, were lying dead on every sand bar, lodged against every stick of driftwood, or were slowly floating in the current. Their carca.s.ses lined the sh.o.r.e all along the lower portion of the river, and the hogs, of which the Indians have large numbers, were feasting on the putrid ma.s.ses as voraciously as if they had been ears of new, sweet corn. The stench emitted by these festering bodies was nauseating in the extreme; and the water, ordinarily so pure and palatable, was now totally unfit for use. I counted over one hundred of these dead fishes on a single sand bar of less than half an acre in extent. Cruising amid such surroundings was anything but pleasant, and I was glad the current was slow here so that, though going up stream, we were able to make good progress, and soon got away from this nauseating sight.

About a mile above the village we rounded a bend in the river, where it spread out to nearly a quarter of a mile in width, and on a sand bar in the middle of the stream, sat a flock of geese. I picked up my rifle and took a shot at them, but the ball cut a ditch in the water nearly fifty yards this side, and went singing over their heads into the woods beyond. They did not seem lo enjoy such music, and taking wing started for some safer feeding-ground, carrying on a lively conversation in goose Latin, probably about any fool who would try to kill geese at that distance. I turned loose on them again, and in about a second after pulling the trigger one of them seemed to explode, as if hit by a dynamite bomb. For a few seconds the air was full of fragments of goose, which rained down into the water like a shower of autumn leaves. My red companions enjoyed the result of this shot hugely, and a canoe load of Indians from up river, who were pa.s.sing at the time, set up a regular war whoop. We pulled over and got what was left of the goose, and found that my express bullet had carried away all his stern rigging, his rudder, one of his paddles, and a considerable portion of his hull. The water was covered with fragments of sail, provisions of various kinds, and sundry bits of cargo and hull. Charlie picked up so much of the wreck as hung together, and said in his broken, laconic English:

[Ill.u.s.tration: DEAD SALMON ON HARRISON RIVER.]

"Dat no good goose gun. Shoot him too much away."

There were plenty of ducks, coots, grebes, and gulls on the river, and I had fine sport with them whenever I cared to shoot.

A mile above where I killed the goose we entered a long reach of shoal rapids, where all the brawn and skill of the Indians were required to stem the powerful current and the immense volume of water. The rapids are over a mile long, and it took us nearly two hours to reach their head. As soon as we were well into them we came among large numbers of live, healthy salmon. Many of them were running down the stream, some up, while others seemed not to be going anywhere in particular, but just loafing around, enjoying themselves. They were wild, but, owing to the water being so rough and rapid, we frequently got within two or three feet of them before they saw us, and the Indians killed two large ones with their canoe poles. Occasionally we would corner a whole school of them in some little pocket, where the water was so shallow that their dorsal fins would stick out, and where there was no exit but by pa.s.sing close to the canoe. When alarmed they would cavort around like a herd of wild mustangs in a corral, until they would churn the water into a foam; then, emboldened by their peril, they would flash out past us with the velocity of an arrow. They were doing a great deal of jumping; frequently a large fish, two or three feet long, would start across the stream, and make four or five long, high leaps out of the water, in rapid succession, only remaining in the water long enough after each jump to gain momentum for the next. I asked Charlie why they were doing this, if they were sick, or if something was biting them.

[Ill.u.s.tration: WRECKED BY AN EXPRESS BULLET.]

"No," he said. "Play. All same drunk--raise h.e.l.l!"

These salmon run up the rivers and creeks to deposit their sp.a.w.n, and seem possessed of an insane desire to get as far up into the small brooks as they possibly can. They frequently pursue their mad course up over boiling, foaming, roaring rapids, and abrupt, perpendicular falls, where it would seem impossible for any living creature to go--regardless of their own safety or comfort. They are often found in dense schools in little creeks away up near their sources, where there is not water enough to cover their bodies, and where they become an easy prey to man, or to wild beasts. In such cases, Indians kill them with spears and sharp sticks, or even catch and throw them out with their hands.

Or if their journeyings take them among farms or ranches, as is often the case, the people throw them out on the banks with pitch-forks, and after supplying their household necessities, they cart the n.o.ble fish away and feed them to their hogs, or even use them to fertilize their fields. I have seen salmon wedged into some of the small streams until you could almost walk on them. The banks of many creeks, far up in the foot-hills, are almost wholly composed of the bones of salmon. In traveling through dense woods I have often heard, at some distance ahead, a loud splashing and general commotion in water, as if of a dozen small boys in bathing. This would, perhaps, be the first intimation I had that I was near water, and, on approaching the source of the noise, I have found it to have been made by a school of these lordly salmon, wedged into one of the little streams, thrashing the creek into suds in their efforts to get to its head.

After depositing their sp.a.w.n the poor creatures, already half dead from bruises and exhaustion incurred in their perilous voyage up stream, begin to drift down. But how different, now, from the bright, silvery creatures that once darted like rays of living light through the sea.

Unable to control their movements in the descent, even as well as in the ascent, they drift at the cruel mercy of the stream. They are driven against rough bowlders, submerged logs and snags, or through raging rapids by the fury of the torrent, until hundreds, yes thousands, of them are killed outright, and thousands more die from sheer exhaustion.

I have seen salmon with their noses broken and torn off; others with a lower jaw torn away; some with sides, backs, or bellies bruised and bleeding; others with their tails whipped and split into shreds, and still others with their entrails torn out by snags. In this sad plight they are beset at every turn in the river by their natural enemies.

Bears, cougars, minks, wild cats, fishers, eagles, hawks, and worst and most destructive of all, men, await them everywhere, and it would be strange, indeed, if one in each thousand that left the salt water should live to return. The few that do so, are, of course, so weak that they fall an easy prey to the seals, sharks, and other enemies, that wait with open mouths to engulf them. So, all the leaping, rushing mult.i.tude that entered the river a few months ago, have, ere this, gone to their doom, but their seed is planted in the icy brook, far away in the mountains, and their young will soon come forth to take the place of the parents that have pa.s.sed away. The instinct of reproduction must, indeed, be an absorbing pa.s.sion in poor dumb creatures, when they will thus sacrifice life in the effort to deposit their ova where the offspring may best be brought into being.

[Ill.u.s.tration: INDIAN SPEARING SALMON.]

CHAPTER VIII.

Above the rapids we had a lovely reach of river, from a quarter to half a mile wide, with no perceptible current. Impelled by our united efforts, our light cedar canoe shot over the water as lightly and almost as swiftly as the gulls above us sped through the air. I took one of the poles and used it while the Indians plied their paddles, and for a distance of nearly two miles the depth of water did not vary two inches from four and a half feet. The bottom was composed of a hard, white sand, into which the pole, with my weight on it, sunk less than an inch; in fact, the current is so slight, the width of the river so great, and the general character of the water such, that it might all be termed a lake above the falls; though the foot of the lake, as designated on the map, has a still greater widening five miles above the head of the falls.