The Wild North Land / The Story of a Winter Journey with Dogs across Northern North America

by Sir William Francis Butler

We pushed through the dense underwood, loaded down with all the paraphernalia of our travel, and even Cerf-vola carried his load of boots and moose-meat. When we had finished carrying our loads, it was time for dinner; and that over, we set to work at once for the stiffer labour of hauling the canoe up the rapid of the cañon; for, remember, there was no hope of lifting her, she was too heavy, and the rocky walls were far too steep to allow of it. Up along shore, through rapid and eddy we dragged our craft, for here the north side had along its base ledges of rock and bits of shore, and taking advantage of these, sometimes in the canoe and sometimes out of it in the water, we reached at length the last edge or cliff round which it was possible to proceed at the north shore.

For a long time we examined the spot, and the surrounding cañon. Jacques and I climbed up to the top above, and then down on hands and knees to a ledge from which we could look over into the chasm, and scan its ugly features. Beyond a doubt it was ugly—the rock on which we lay hollowed down beneath us until it roofed the shore of the cañon with a half cavern, against which a wild whirlpool boiled up now and again, sinking suddenly into stillness. Even if we could stretch a line from above the rock to where our canoe lay below it, she must have been knocked to atoms in the whirlpool in her passage beneath the cavern; but the distance was too great to stretch a line across. The next and only course was to make a bold crossing from below the rock, and gain the other shore, up which it was possible to drag our canoe. Once over, the thing would be easy enough for at least a couple of hundred yards more.

We climbed back to the canoe and imparted the result of our investigation to the other two men. From the level of the boat the proposed crossing looked very nasty. It was across a wild rush of water, in the centre of the cañon, and if we failed to make a small eddy at the farther shore we must drive full upon the precipice of rock where, below us boiled and seethed the worst rapid in the cañon—a mass of wave, and foam, and maddened surge. Once out of the sheltering eddy in which we lay watching this wild scene, we would be in the midst of the rush close above the rapid. There was no time to get headway on the canoe. It would shoot from shelter into furious current, and then, if it missed yon little eddy, look out; and if you have any good angels away at home, pray that they may be praying for you—for down that white fall of water you must go broadside or stern on.

RUNNING STERN FOREMOST THE BLACK CAÑON.

The more we looked at it, the less we liked it; but it was the sole means of passing the cañon, and retreat came not yet into our heads. We took our places—Kalder at the bow, Jacques at the stern, A—— and I in the middle; then we hugged the rock for the last time, and shoved out into the swirl of waters. There was no time to think; we rose and fell; we dipped our paddles in the rushing waves with those wild quick strokes which men use when life is in the blow; and then the cañon swung and rocked for a second, and with a wild yell of Indian war-whoop from Kalder, which rose above the rush of the water, we were in the eddy at the farther shore.

It was well done. On again up the cañon with line from rock to rock, bit by bit, until, as the sun began to slope low upon the forest, we reach the foot of the last fall—the stiffest we had yet breasted. Above it lies our camp upon the north shore; above it will be easy work—we will have passed the worst of the Ominica River.

Made bold by former victory we passed our line round the rock, and bent our shoulders to haul the canoe up the slant of water. Kalder with a long pole held the frail craft out from the rock. A—— and I were on the line, and Jacques was running up to assist us, when suddenly there came upon the rope a fierce strain; all at once the canoe seemed to have the strength of half a dozen runaway horses. It spun us round, we threw all our strength against it, and snap went the rope midway over the water; the boat had suddenly sheered, and all was over. We had a second line fastened to the bow; this line was held by Kalder at the moment of the accident, but it was in loose coils about him, and of no service to stay the downward rush. Worse than all, the canoe, now going like an arrow down the rapid, tightened the tangled coils around Kalder’s legs, and I saw with horror that he ran every chance of being dragged feet foremost from the smooth rock on which he stood, into the boiling torrent beneath.

Quicker than thought he realized his peril; he sprang from the treacherous folds, and dragged with all his strength the quick-running rope clear of his body; and then, like the Indian he was, threw all his weight to stay the canoe.

It was useless; his line snapped like ours had done, and away went the canoe down the surge of water—down the lip of the fall—away, away—bearing with her our sole means of travel through the trackless wilderness! We crouched together on the high rock, which commanded a long view down the Black Cañon, and gazed wistfully after our vanishing boat.