Along this part of the road we met a number of Chinamen at work levelling the road, and their strange faces, large-brimmed hats, and pig-tails caused intense amusement to our unsophisticated Assiniboines. Further down a party of engineers were engaged in blasting the rock where the road was to pass round the face of a bluff, and eight or ten miles more brought us to the point where the road crosses to the eastern bank of the Thompson. At this place, called Cook’s Ferry, we stayed a night, and before we started in the morning some Indians came in with the news that they had found a dead body stranded on the shallows close by. We went to look at it with Mr. McKay, and from certain marks tattooed upon the arm, and a complete correspondence with the published description, we were satisfied that it was the body of the murderer who had so long escaped pursuit. The man had probably attempted to swim across the river in the night-time, and been drowned in the rapids. Thus the only two men who had ever attempted highway robbery in this colony—as far as we could ascertain—failed to escape. The extraordinary rarity of crimes of violence in British Columbia is owing, we believe, in great measure, to the vigorous administration of the late Governor, Sir James Douglas, and the stern justice meted out by Mr. Justice Begbie; but also in part, no doubt, to the nature of the country. Shut in on every side by impassable mountain barriers, the few outlets which exist are easily watched, and the criminal has small chance of ultimate escape.
From Cook’s Ferry the road continues to follow the eastern bank of the Thompson to its junction with the Fraser at Lytton—twenty-three miles; it is then continued along the same side of the Fraser for thirty-eight miles, or within thirteen miles of Yale, where it crosses the river by a beautiful suspension bridge. The road from Cook’s Ferry to Yale, especially the part below Lytton, is probably the most wonderful in the world. Cut out of the mountain-side of the gorge, it follows the hills as they recede in “gulches,” or advance in bold, upright bluffs, in constant windings, like an eternal letter S. The curves of ascent and descent are as sinuous as the lateral; the road at one time running down, by a series of rapid turns, to the very bottom of the valley, and then rising as quickly to pass the face of some protruding bluff, apparently a complete barrier to all advance, but past which it creeps, looking from below like a mere line scratched on the round front, 500 or 600 feet above the river. At these points the road is partly blasted out of the solid granite rock, and the width increased by beams of rough pine, which project over the precipice; but it is yet too narrow for vehicles to pass each other, except at certain points. There is, of course, no protecting wall; the road overhangs the precipice, and nothing is to be seen supporting the platform on which you stand—a terrible place to drive along, as we afterwards found. The road has been made, in this skilful and laborious manner, from where it first strikes the Thompson to Yale, a distance of nearly 100 miles.
The trail formerly ran up many hundred feet higher, the barrier bluffs being passed by platforms slung by the Indians from the top of the cliff by cords of bark and deer-skin. These consisted of a single long pole, supported by a cross-pole at each end, the points of which rested against the face of the precipice. There was nothing to lay hold of, and a slip or hasty step, as the passenger walked along the rail embracing the face of the rock, would cause the pole to swing away, and hurl the incautious climber into the abyss below.
The Bishop of Columbia, in his Journal, gives a very graphic description of his journey along the old trail, in which he compares his position to a fly upon the face of a perpendicular wall, in this case between 2,000 and 3,000 feet high. Many a miner lost his life at Jackass Mountain and Nicaragua Slide—places of this kind. There was at this time no other way to the mines except a mule trail, little less difficult, passing high over the mountain tops, and only available for a short time in summer, on account of the snow. Supplies were carried to the mines on the backs of the miners themselves, or packed on Indians, who carried from 100 to 150 pounds over this perilous path.
On our way we met many Indians still competing with the mule-trains. Some of the men were loaded with 150 pounds, supporting them by a strap across the forehead; the women carried 50 or 100 pounds; and one squaw we met had on her back a fifty-pound sack of flour, on that a box of candles, and on the top of the box a child. They seemed very jolly and happy under their heavy labour, and never failed to salute us with a friendly smile and “Klahowya?” or “How do you do?” The melody of their voices and soft intonation was most pleasing, overcoming all the roughness and uncouthness of the vile Chinook jargon.[19]
Between Lytton and Yale lie most of the bars, or sandbanks, which yielded such an extraordinary amount of gold when first discovered. They are now deserted, except by a few Chinamen, who make from one to ten dollars a day. As we descended the Fraser, the vegetation began to change. The terraces disappeared, and the flat stretches, covered only with bunch-grass and scattered yellow pine, gave place to an irregular formation and a thicker growth of white pine, with here and there a small birch, and a plentiful undergrowth of deciduous shrubs.
On our way we passed many Indians engaged in salmon fishing, which they practise in a very peculiar manner. They select some point in the fierce rapids where a quiet eddy forms under the lee of a projecting rock. Over the rock they sling a little platform of poles, within a convenient distance of the surface of the water, and from this position grope untiringly in the eddy with a kind of oval landing net. The salmon, wearied by their exertions in overcoming the torrent, rest for a time in the little eddy before making the next attempt to mount the rapid, and are taken in hundreds by these clever fishermen. Here and there were Indian graves adorned with numerous flags; and in many instances carved images, nearly the size of life, and elaborately painted, were placed around. The dead man’s gun and blankets, with most of his other property, were generally suspended to poles about the grave. Occasionally we passed an Indian winter store for fish—a rough box, slung in a tree high out of reach. Some tribes bury their dead in the same manner.
About fifteen miles above Yale, the gorge through which the Fraser runs, as it bursts through the Cascade Range, becomes very narrow, and the river flows in a succession of terrific rapids, called the Cañons—or canyons, as the word is pronounced—for the remaining distance. The mountains on each side, 3,000 or 4,000 feet high, seem almost to meet overhead, peak after peak rising in close proximity. The Fraser, rarely anything but a rocky rapid in any part of its course, here goes utterly mad, and foams and rages down the narrow and falling channel at the rate of twenty miles an hour. The volume of water which passes through this outlet, here not more than forty yards in width, will be more readily conceived when it is stated that the Fraser has already collected the waters of over 800 miles, and amongst other rivers receives the Thompson, of almost equal size with itself. Several hundred miles above, each of these rivers expands into a broad and deep stream, more than a quarter of a mile in width; yet at the Cañons the vast accumulation is confined in a channel of less than fifty yards wide. Huge rocks stand up in the middle of the stream in several places, the waters escaping by a constricted passage on either side.
The mass of the Cascade Range is grey granite, and the sides of the chasm show beautiful sections of the rock, plaided with protruding seams of white quartz, the harder rock having been worn away by the action of the water, which the soft quartz seems to have resisted. In many cases the opposite walls of the chasm correspond in a most remarkable manner, so that they appear as if they would fit accurately if placed in apposition, suggesting forcibly that they had been portions of the same solid mass violently rent asunder. As we looked on this and wondered, an explanation of the formation of the terraces occurred to our minds. At one time the valleys of the Thompson and Fraser were occupied by a succession of lakes, the Cascade Range being the barrier which dammed in the enormous volume of water, and the highest tier of terraces marking the level to which it rose. The tops only of the lower mountains appeared at this time as rounded islands above the surface. By some means—perhaps some grand convulsion of Nature—the embankment of this huge reservoir broke down, the waters partially escaped, and the lakes were drained down to the level of the middle tier of benches. Twice more must a similar catastrophe have occurred before the waters were lowered into their present narrow and rocky channel. Each of these accidents must have been separated from the preceding one by an immense lapse of time, during which the enormous quantity of detritus accumulated to form the extensive plateaux which have been described.
