Chapter VII: Part 7

[After advancing some distance farther, the proper course to
pursue became doubtful, and Captains Lewis and Clarke set out in
different directions with exploring parties. Lewis's journey
proved an adventurous one.]

In passing along the side of a bluff at a narrow pass, thirty yards in length, Captain Lewis slipped, and, but for a fortunate recovery by means of his spontoon, would have been precipitated into the river over a precipice of about ninety feet. He had just reached a spot where, by the assistance of his spontoon, he could stand with tolerable safety, when he heard a voice behind him cry out, "Good God, captain, what shall I do?" He turned instantly, and found it was Windsor, who had lost his foothold about the middle of the narrow pass, and had slipped down to the very verge of the precipice, where he lay on his belly, with his right arm and leg over it, while with the other leg and arm he was with difficulty holding on, to keep himself from being dashed to pieces below.

His dreadful situation was instantly perceived by Captain Lewis, who, stifling his alarm, calmly told him that he was in no danger; that he should take his knife out of his belt with the right hand, and dig a hole in the side of the bluff to receive his right foot. With great presence of mind he did this, and then raised himself on his knees. Captain Lewis then told him to take off his moccasins, and come forward on his hands and knees, holding the knife in one hand and his rifle in the other. He immediately crawled in this way till he came to a secure spot. The men who had not attempted this passage were ordered to return, and wade the river at the foot of the bluff, where they found the water breast-high.

This adventure taught them the danger of crossing the slippery heights of the river; but, as the plains were intersected by deep ravines almost as difficult to pass, they continued down the stream, sometimes in the mud of the low grounds, sometimes up to their arms in water, and, when it became too deep to wade, they cut footholds with their knives in the sides of the banks. In this way they travelled through the rain, mud, and water, and, having made only eighteen miles during the whole day, encamped in an old Indian lodge of sticks, which afforded them a dry shelter. Here they cooked part of six deer they had killed in the course of the route, and, having eaten the only morsel they had tasted during the whole day, slept comfortably on some willow-boughs.

[A few days afterwards, Captain Lewis reached the Falls of the
Missouri, which he eloquently describes.]

To the southwest [says the journalist] there arose from this plain two mountains of a singular appearance, and more like ramparts of high fortifications than works of nature. They are square figures, with sides rising perpendicularly to the height of two hundred and fifty feet, formed of yellow clay, and the tops seemed to be level plains. Finding that the river here bore considerably to the south, and fearful of passing the falls before reaching the Rocky Mountains, they now changed their course to the south, and, leaving those insulated hills to the right, proceeded across the plain.

In this direction Captain Lewis had gone about two miles, when his ears were saluted with the agreeable sound of a fall of water; and, as he advanced, a spray, which seemed driven by the southwest wind, arose above the plain like a column of smoke, and vanished in an instant. Towards this point he directed his steps, and the noise, increasing as he approached, soon became too tremendous to be mistaken for anything but the Great Falls of the Missouri.

Having travelled seven miles after first hearing the sound, he reached the Falls about twelve o'clock. The hills, as he approached, were difficult of access, and two hundred feet high; down these he hurried with impatience, and, seating himself on some rocks under the centre of the Falls, enjoyed the sublime spectacle of this stupendous object, which since the creation had been lavishing its magnificence upon the desert, unknown to civilization.

The river, immediately at its cascade, is three hundred yards wide, and is pressed by a perpendicular cliff on the left, which rises to about one hundred feet, and extends up the stream for a mile; on the right the bluff is also perpendicular for three hundred yards above the fall. For ninety or a hundred feet from the left cliff the water falls in one smooth, even sheet over a precipice of at least eighty feet. The remaining part of the river precipitates itself with a more rapid current, and, being received as it falls by the irregular and somewhat projecting rocks below, forms a splendid spectacle of perfectly white foam, two hundred yards in length and eighty in perpendicular elevation. This spray is dissipated into a thousand shapes, sometimes flying up in columns of fifteen or twenty feet, which are then oppressed by larger masses of the white foam, on all which the sun impresses the brightest colors of the rainbow.

Below the fall the water beats with fury against a ledge of rocks, which extends across the river at one hundred and fifty yards from the precipice. From the perpendicular cliff on the north to the distance of one hundred and twenty yards the rocks are only a few feet above the water, and, when the river is high, the stream finds a channel across them forty yards wide, and near the higher parts of the ledge, which rise about twenty feet, and terminate abruptly within eighty or ninety yards of the southern side. Between them and the perpendicular cliff on the south the whole body of water runs with great swiftness.

A few small cedars grow near this ridge of rocks, which serves as a barrier to defend a small plain of about three acres, shaded with cottonwood; at the lower extremity of which is a grove of the same trees, where are several Indian cabins of sticks; below which the river is divided by a large rock, several feet above the surface of the water, and extending down the stream for twenty yards. At the distance of three hundred yards from the same ridge is a second abutment of solid perpendicular rock, about sixty feet high, projecting at right angles from the small plain on the north for one hundred and thirty-four yards into the river. After leaving this the Missouri again spreads itself to its previous breadth of three hundred yards, though with more than its ordinary rapidity....

_June 14._--This morning one of the men was sent to Captain Clarke with an account of the discovery of the Falls; and, after employing the rest in preserving the meat which had been killed yesterday, Captain Lewis proceeded to examine the rapids above. From the Falls he directed his course southwest up the river. After passing one continued rapid and three cascades, each three or four feet high, he reached, at a distance of five miles, a second fall. The river is here about four hundred yards wide, and for the distance of three hundred rushes down to the depth of nineteen feet, and so irregularly that he gave it the name of the Crooked Falls. From the southern shore it extends obliquely upward about one hundred and fifty yards, and then forms an acute angle downward nearly to the commencement of four small islands close to the northern side. From the perpendicular pitch to these islands, a distance of more than one hundred yards, the water glides down a sloping rock with a velocity almost equal to that of its fall; above this fall the river bends suddenly to the northward.

While viewing this place, Captain Lewis heard a loud roar above him, and, crossing the point of a hill a few hundred yards, he saw one of the most beautiful objects in nature: the whole Missouri is suddenly stopped by one shelving rock, which, without a single niche, and with an edge as straight and regular as if formed by art, stretches itself from one side of the river to the other for at least a quarter of a mile. Over this it precipitates itself in an even, uninterrupted sheet, to the perpendicular depth of fifty feet, whence, dashing against the rocky bottom, it rushes rapidly down, leaving behind it a sheet of purest foam across the river. The scene which it presented was indeed singularly beautiful; since, without any of the wild, irregular sublimity of the lower falls, it combined all the regular elegancies which the fancy of a painter would select to form a beautiful waterfall.

The eye had scarcely been regaled with this charming prospect, when, at the distance of half a mile, Captain Lewis observed another of a similar kind. To this he immediately hastened, and found a cascade stretching across the whole river for a quarter of a mile, with a descent of fourteen feet, though the perpendicular pitch was only six feet. This, too, in any other neighborhood, would have been an object of great magnificence; but after what he had just seen, it became of secondary interest; his curiosity being, however, awakened, he determined to go on, even should night overtake him, to the head of the falls. He therefore pursued the southwest course of the river, which was one constant succession of rapids and small cascades, at every one of which the bluffs grew lower, or the bed of the river became more on a level with the plains. At the distance of two and a half miles he arrived at another cataract of twenty-six feet. The river is here six hundred yards wide, but the descent is not immediately perpendicular, though the river falls generally in a regular and smooth sheet; for about one-third of the descent a rock protrudes to a small distance, receives the water in its passage, and gives it a curve.

On the south side is a beautiful plain, a few feet above the level of the falls; on the north the country is more broken, and there is a hill not far from the river. Just below the falls is a little island in the middle of the river well covered with timber. Here, on a cottonwood-tree, an eagle had fixed her nest, and seemed the undisputed mistress of a spot to contest whose dominion neither man nor beast would venture across the gulfs that surround it, and which is further secured by the mist rising from the Falls. This solitary bird could not escape the observation of the Indians, who made the eagle's nest a part of their description of the Falls, and which now proves to be correct in almost every particular, except that they did not do justice to their height. Just above this is a cascade of about five feet, beyond which, as far as could be discerned, the velocity of the water seemed to abate.

Captain Lewis now ascended the hill which was behind him, and saw from its top a delightful plain, extending from the river to the base of the Snowy Mountains to the south and southwest. Along this wide, level country the Missouri pursued its winding course, filled with water to its smooth, grassy banks, while about four miles above it was joined by a large river flowing from the northwest, through a valley three miles in width, and distinguished by the timber which adorned its shores. The Missouri itself stretches to the south in one unruffled stream of water, as if unconscious of the roughness it must soon encounter, and bearing on its bosom vast flocks of geese, while numerous herds of buffaloes are feeding on the plains which surround it.

Captain Lewis then descended the hill, and directed his course towards the river, falling in from the west. He soon met a herd of at least a thousand buffaloes, and, being desirous of providing for supper, shot one of them. The animal immediately began to bleed, and Captain Lewis, who had forgotten to reload his rifle, was intently watching to see him fall, when he beheld a large brown bear which was stealing on him unperceived, and was already within twenty steps. In the first moment of surprise he lifted his rifle, but remembering instantly that it was not charged, and that he had no time to reload, he felt there was no safety but in flight. It was in the open, level plain; not a bush nor a tree within three hundred yards, the bank of the river sloping, and not more than three feet high, so that there was no possible mode of concealment.

Captain Lewis therefore thought of retreating with a quick walk, as fast as the bear advanced, towards the nearest tree; but as soon as he turned, the bear rushed open-mouthed and at full speed upon him. Captain Lewis ran about eighty yards, but finding that the animal gained on him fast, it flashed on his mind that by getting into the water to such a depth that the bear would be obliged to attack him swimming, there was still some chance for his life; he therefore turned short, plunged into the river about waist-deep, and, facing about, presented the point of his spontoon. The bear arrived at the water's edge within twenty feet of him; but as soon as he put himself in this posture of defence he seemed frightened, and, wheeling about, retreated with as much precipitation as he had advanced.

Very glad to be released from his danger, Captain Lewis returned to the shore, and observed him run with great speed, sometimes looking back, as if he expected to be pursued, till he reached the woods. He could not conceive the cause of the sudden alarm of the bear, but congratulated himself on his escape, when he saw his own track torn to pieces by the furious animal; and he learned from the whole adventure never to suffer his rifle to be for a moment unloaded.

HUNTING SCENES IN THE CANADIAN WOODS.

B. A. WATSON.

[As the literature of travel necessarily includes the deeds of
the hunter in the haunts of wild animals, we have included
among our selections a number of hunting scenes in different
countries. The following incidents from a hunter's experience
are from a popular work of sporting life, Watson's "The
Sportsman's Paradise, or the Lake Land of Canada." The following
is an exciting story of a deer-hunt on a Canadian lake.]

The forenoon of the next day, October 7, was spent in trout-fishing, grouse-shooting, and exploring the surrounding country. The captain conducted me about half a mile up the side of a steep hill, which had its base on Long Lake, to another lake situated at the top of this hill or mountain. While I recognize the fact that all mountain lakes occupy different planes or levels, some higher and some lower, still it seemed very unusual to climb the face of a steep hill, commencing at one lake, and find another just where you had expected to reach the hill-top. This lake was nearly round, and probably somewhat less than one-half mile in diameter. We saw during our morning peregrinations many old moose-tracks, and also many spots in the woods where these animals had browsed; while a few of these moose indications were certainly of recent origin.

The captain thought it wise to tarry in our present camp several days, to kill deer and dry the venison, in order that we might have a supply of meat while engaged in moose-hunting, independent of that which we might be able to kill during this period.

We had unanimously agreed that it was inexpedient to take dogs with us on the moose-chase. In this particular our experience fully confirmed the wisdom of our conclusion. The moose cannot be driven to water by deer-hounds, or any other species of dog with which I am familiar; and, therefore, had we taken these animals with us, they could only have served to announce our presence to the game which we sought, without being able to render any assistance. These facts will become more apparent to the reader when he has read other portions of this book, where the story of the moose-hunt has been told from beginning to end. We are now entering on Nature's grandest preserve,--we find here the "King of the Canadian Forest," alias moose, deer, beaver, black bear, black wolf, speckled and lake trout, duck, ruffled grouse, etc. Here is abundance of sport for the true sportsman. During the morning stroll we saw several beaver-houses which were occupied, and examined a large amount of their fresh work. These sights were highly interesting to me, but inasmuch as they have been so frequently described by others I shall omit them here.

It was already after twelve o'clock when we reached our camp. The guides prepared our dinner, which was speedily partaken of, and then we got off on a deer-hunt. The captain started into the woods with the dogs. George Ross and I entered a canoe, the former paddling across the lake to a point that commanded a view of a large portion of this water. We then stepped on dry land, and there patiently awaited the coming developments. We carefully scanned every visible portion of the lake. An hour passed and still we were watching; soon a grand splash was heard near the shore on the opposite side of the lake; the guide caught sight of the water which was thrown high into the air, but the head of the deer was scarcely visible to him while the animal was swimming towards us. The deer, which at first swam directly towards us, soon changed his course, and headed towards the foot of the lake. This change brought him plainly into view. A few minutes later the dog was seen running from the woods where the deer broke cover. The head and antlers of our game were visible above the waters of the lake, while he was swimming majestically without fear or even anxiety. We stood nearly half an hour watching the movements of this deer, since we could not safely move lest we should be discovered by the game and give him an opportunity to return to his forest home.

The reader should remember that this animal took to the water from the shore nearly opposite to the point on which we were standing, that the deer swam almost directly towards us until he reached the middle of the stream, then turned downward, which gave us, in due time, an opportunity to come in unperceived behind him. Patiently we awaited this opportune moment. When it arrived the canoe, which had been drawn up on the shore near us, was quietly shoved out upon the water. Ross gently stepped to the stern with his paddle in hand, steadied our little bark while I entered its bow, where I seated myself and placed my rifle by my right side. Ross carefully pushed the little craft from its moorings, placed himself on his knees in that part of the canoe which properly trimmed it, and silently plied his paddle.

The little canoe moved noiselessly but rapidly forward, every stroke of the paddle bringing us nearer to the game. There was another paddle lying near my hand; I seized it and gave a helping hand, greatly increasing the speed. Forward, forward we went! We were unperceived, although within ten rods of a beautiful buck, which was swimming in the middle of the lake directly before us. My paddle was changed for my rifle. Nearer, still nearer we approached. The rifle was raised; the bead was drawn, just below the base of the animal's skull. We were six rods distant from the deer. A little puff of white smoke covered the bow of our boat; the crack of the rifle was heard, and the lifeless body of the deer floated on the water, which was slightly tinged with blood.

Thus ended this chase. The carcass was towed to shore in front of our camp, and the captain met us there, having returned from the woods, where he had gone to start the dogs. The dog which followed the buck I had just shot was also now in our camp, but the other was still absent.

Nearly two hours had elapsed since the buck was shot. There were now on the shore, in front of our camp, the captain, George Ross, and myself, while Mildenberger had gone back into the forest in search of ruffled grouse. Suddenly the captain sprang from the rock on which he had been seated, placed his right hand on his forehead in such a position as to shade his eyes, while he leaned slightly forward and gazed steadily out over the surface of the lake a few seconds without uttering a single word. This position was one I had frequently seen him assume. I therefore recognized the fact that he had sighted game, or was at least swayed by this thought, and now endeavored to solve the question.

Thus he had stood for a few seconds, when he simply exclaimed, "_A deer in the lake!_" and instantly sprang forward to the canoe. I had followed him closely with rifle in hand, expecting to make the chase with him; he quickly pushed the frail bark into the water and hastily said, "Doctor, let George go with me in the canoe; it will be a hard chase; we will drive the deer to you."

A few seconds later the canoe was in the water, the captain in the bow, and George Ross in the stern, each on their knees with a paddle in their hands. The little birch bark was rushing rapidly forward, propelled by the power of four strong muscular arms. The sight was a grand one, and called to mind the impetuous charge of a squadron of cavalry in war times. The captain is most determined and energetic when in the pursuit of game; like the grandest charger in the squadron, he is bound to take the lead, while the others can only follow.

I had seated myself on a rock, soon after the departure of the guides, to watch the deer, whose head was visible to me in my position, although fully a mile away. I could not, however, at so great a distance determine whether the animal possessed antlers or not; but the leisurely manner in which it was swimming satisfied me its pursuers were undiscovered until they had made at least three-fourths of the whole distance. The animal, when first discovered, was nearly opposite to our camp and within a few rods of the farther shore. The guides, in order to succeed in the accomplishment of their purpose, were compelled to make a considerable detour to the rear of the animal, and finally come up between it and the shore. Fortunately for us, they had remained for a considerable time undiscovered, and the animal, in the mean time, was gradually leaving the shore while swimming down the lake.

The moment came, however, when the pursuers were discovered, and the deer then made the most frantic efforts. I could see it spring forward with all its power, raising its head high in the air with each grand effort, but the guides are pulling stronger than before on their paddles. They seem, when viewed from my position, to be only a few rods in the rear of the animal, but the deer is heading for the shore, and seems about ready to bound into the forest. It is now evident to me that the chase can only last a few seconds.

I sprang from my seat; I recalled the fact that the guides had no gun in the boat; I realized that if they had one they could now easily kill the animal; they were almost on it. _An instant later and the canoe is seen between the deer and the shore._ A loud shout is heard from the guides; they wave their hats; they are victorious, and the disappointed deer now turns and swims towards the middle of the lake. Its grandest effort has been made; fatigue and disappointment slow down its movements.

It was now an easy task for the guides to direct the animal to any point on the lake. The canoe was kept in the rear, and when it was brought forward towards the right of the deer it would cause the animal to oblique to the left, and _vice versa_. In this manner they proceeded to cross the lake, bringing the doe in front of the rock on which I was seated; but while she was still about six hundred yards away they called on me to take a shot. I demurred against their request, inasmuch as the portion of the animal now visible did not much exceed the dimensions of a pint cup. The first ball fired fell short about fifty yards, and then ricochetted nearly across the lake. Another shot was fired with no better result, and thus I continued for several minutes, but not without making some improvement. The shots were pronounced by the guides to be accurate, so far as the line of the target was concerned, but the balls still fell short of the mark.

The photographer, who was absent in the woods when I commenced firing, now made his appearance, and, seizing the Winchester rifle, began to compete with me. He was able to fire two shots with the repeater while I could fire one from the breech-loading Ballard. The contest between us was now very lively, and we succeeded in persuading the guides to bring the game nearer to us, so that the animal was not more than one hundred yards from the muzzles of our rifles. The bullets now fell in very close proximity to the doe's head; none were more than four or five inches from its centre. Six or eight shots have been fired with this degree of accuracy, when I send in one that breaks the skin over the base of the animal's skull. She dodges her head downward, but quickly brings it up again, when a shot from Mildenberger ends this trial of skill. The guides shout aloud and lustily cheer the photographer, who proudly puts down his rifle and wipes the perspiration from his brow.

[The author proceeds to give a series of interesting accounts
of moose-hunts, somewhat too extended for the space we can give
him. We shall therefore close with an amusing incident, in which
"Jim," one of the guides, and his dog were the acting
characters.]

The clouds have begun to disappear, the bright rays of sunshine are now lighting up our pathway, while the gentle zephyrs are moving the foliage of the forest-trees. The prospects of a fine day's sport are brightening at this moment. "Jim" exclaims, "We will have a good day of it yet!" while at the same time a partridge rises at the roadside, an event which is announced to us by the barking of the cocker-spaniel. This dog had taken his position at the foot of a small tree, the branches of which even overhung the roadway, and here continued to bark lustily, thus keeping the attention of the bird until the lad sent up his compliments, which she promptly acknowledged by tumbling to the ground.

The killing of this bird gave rise to a highly ludicrous scene, which I fully appreciated at the time, and which I can never readily forget. Jim had previously told me that the old cocker-spaniel had a very bad habit, and would "mouth" the birds whenever he could get hold of them, while he entirely disregarded the order to "bring dead bird." The owner of this dog had, likewise, informed me that the animal had never received any training, but naturally hunted very well, and was a good "treer." The instant the lad fired at this bird, Jim sprang into the woods with the alacrity of a hound, in order to grab the falling partridge before the old cocker could get hold of him.

The cocker, however, succeeded in getting the best of Jim, grabbed the bird in his mouth, and started off at full speed, while the guide followed him on the jump, as a fox-hound might follow a hare, shouting, with every bound, "Stop! stop! drop it! drop it!" until the woods became fairly resonant with these sounds. A few seconds later the dog emerged from the woods, still clinging to the bird, closely followed by the irate guide, who still yelled as though his life depended on this effort.

Here the old dog made the fatal mistake which finally cost him the prize he had attempted to steal. He started down the road as rapidly as he could run, but Jim steadily gained ground on him. Jim was wearing on this occasion a pair of heavy leather brogans, which contained in the soles about fifty steel spikes. These shoes, in fact, were procured by him while he was engaged in that occupation commonly designated as "river-driving," and these spikes were intended to nail him firmly to the floating logs, and thus prevent accident or injury from slipping. The road on which this race between the old cocker and our guide took place was nearly a mass of rocks, generally flat on the upper surface, which formed the road-bed, although they possessed many irregularities of surface, size, etc. The moment the guide and dog emerged from the woods and started off on this road, they were in full view of both my son and myself. The sparks eliminated by the contact of the spikes in Jim's brogans with the rocks in his pathway lighted up his trail, and added greatly to the ludicrousness of the scene. The race may be fairly said to have been nip and tuck, but the guide was slowly gaining on the cocker.

They had run about ten rods when Jim's brogans were in close proximity to the old dog's tail. It seemed highly probable at this moment that the guide's spiked shoes would be used as a petard for the destruction of the fugitive thief; but no, he has determined to capture him alive.

Behold them at this moment! Jim has dropped, with the intention of seizing the old rascal with his hands. The old dog--as if anticipating this movement--has suddenly jumped to one side, and instantly turned to retrace his steps. Jim struck the ground with a heavy thud, but was neither killed nor severely injured by this manoeuvre. The dog, however, in the mean time, had been rapidly gaining on the guide, and was well started on the homeward stretch. He occasionally turned his head, in order to catch a glimpse of his pursuer, but he did not halt, nor even slacken his pace.

Jim was soon on his feet again, but not until the dog had secured a good start. The guide was maddened by failure, and resumed the race with a fierce determination to win. Every second shortened the distance between the contestants when Jim had fairly succeeded in getting under way. The old dog seemed to fully comprehend the gravity of the situation, and occasionally turned his head for the purpose of discovering and estimating his danger. He had passed safely one-half of the home-stretch, but was at this moment compelled to drop the bird from his mouth. Jim was at this moment close upon the dog's heels, but he heeded not the dead bird, and was evidently determined to punish the thief. The old cocker showed at this time unmistakable signs of exhaustion and fear, and was unquestionably repentant. Jim's brogans were once more at the dog's caudal extremity, when he suddenly dodged aside and endeavored to reach the cover of the woods; but he was too completely exhausted to accomplish this object. He dropped to the ground and looked imploringly into Jim's eyes for mercy; but Jim heeded not the imploring looks and cringing attitude of the old rascal. He had him by the nape of the neck, and promptly administered the well-merited punishment. The old dog fairly yelled with pain, and Jim yelled back to him, "Steal the boy's bird, will you? I will teach you honesty! I will, you old rascal!"

The whole scene had been watched by the boy and myself. The comical part played by the actors can be more easily imagined than described. It caused peal after peal of laughter from the boy and myself. The boy finally dropped down upon the ground before the race ended, having been so convulsed with laughter as to be unable to stand erect, while I only remained standing until the race ended, and then followed my son's example. Jim having administered the necessary chastisement to the dog, likewise sought rest on the bosom of mother-earth, while the old cocker, after having sulked a few moments in the woods, came sneakingly out and cautiously approached the contestant in the race, licked affectionately his hand, and then looked imploringly up into his eyes. The dog having thus humbly acknowledged the justice of the punishment which had been inflicted on him, was then freely forgiven by Jim, who patted him affectionately on the head and back.

Thus there was perfect harmony between the guide and the spaniel. The dog immediately reclined at Jim's side, placed his head affectionately on his master, having assumed a position which enabled him to look wistfully into the latter's face. Our little mongrel dog had not remained entirely inactive during these exciting events. In the race he participated, though falling far behind both actors; nevertheless he barked and wagged his tail continuously, thus showing the joy and interest which he felt in this part of the proceedings, although when the chastisement commenced he drew his tail between his legs, suddenly disappeared in the woods, and only reappeared after the lapse of an hour.

[Shortly after they started again the boy brought down another
bird, whose presence had been announced by the cocker-spaniel.]

The old dog made no attempt on this occasion to secure the bird when it fell to the ground, but, on the contrary, did not move from the spot where he was standing, and allowed the guide to approach quietly the dead bird and to pocket the same. In fact, it may be stated that we had no further trouble with this dog during the remainder of the hunt. He had previously shown much affection for Jim; but after the chase and the chastisement which he received he was certainly doubly affectionate towards his master. He had always hunted faithfully for us, but during the balance of the day he seemed to be more than usually active, and found many birds by the roadside.

THE GRAND FALLS OF LABRADOR.

HENRY G. BRYANT.

[The discovery of America has not yet been completed. Certainly
that of its Canadian section has not been. There are wide
districts of that great area on which human foot has never been
set, and as late as 1895 we were advised of the discovery of a
great river, with its head-waters near those of the Ottawa, but
previously unsuspected. Labrador has been but little traversed,
and the Grand Falls had only been seen by two white men
previously to Mr. Bryant's visit in the summer of 1891. What we
know of it, and of the course of the Grand, or Hamilton River,
we owe chiefly to him, since the only earlier account is the
imperfect one given by John McLean, describing his visit in
1839. The enterprise was not an easy one, as will appear from
the description of the hardships of the journey. The party
consisted of Mr. Bryant, of Philadelphia, Professor Kenaston, of
Washington, John Montague, a young Scotchman, and Geoffrey Ban,
an Eskimo, the last two hailing from Labrador. These four had to
drag a heavy boat against a swift current for many miles up the
stream, in the manner described below.]

The usual method employed was what is technically known as "tracking." That is, a strong rope, about the thickness of a clothes-line, was tied to the gunwale of the boat just aft of the bow. To the shore end of this broad leather straps were attached. With these across their shoulders, three of the party tugged away along the rocky bank, while number four of our crew, with an oar lashed in the stern, steered a devious course among the rocks and shallows of the river. The "tow-path" in this instance was of the roughest and most diversified character. Sandy terraces and extended reaches covered with glacial boulders characterized the lower portion of the river, while farther up-stream great numbers of smaller boulders, insecurely lodged on the precipitous sandy banks, would baffle us by the precarious footing they afforded. Where a combination of this "rubble" and a troublesome rapid occurred, it was only by the most violent exertion and no end of slipping and sliding that the tension of the tow-line could be maintained on the treacherous ground. Then, again, stretches of steep rocky bank, where no tracking was possible, would often compel us to scale the rugged cliffs and pass the line from one to another over various obstacles. Wading through the water was frequently the only resource. This was always the case when we reached a place in the river where the spring freshets had undermined the banks, and where numbers of trees, stumps, and underbrush littered the shore, forming _chevaux-de-frise_ of the most formidable character.

The long daylight of midsummer in this subarctic region was a point in our favor, enabling us to work to the limit of our strength. Here, indeed, we found that "Night and day hold each other's hands upon the hill-tops.... No sooner does the sun set north by west, than, like a giant refreshed, it rises again north by east."

[At times they had to drag the boat up rapids, at times to
unload and transport it and its contents around falls by
difficult portages. Through much of the course the stream ran at
about eight miles an hour, but many rapids added to this speed.]

Judged by ordinary standards of travel, our advance up the river was slow indeed; but to those who are familiar with canoe transportation on Canadian rivers, I am sure our progress will appear respectable, when the unwieldy character of our boat is taken into consideration. There seems to be something positively personal and vindictive in the resistance which rapids make to a traveller's advance into a wild and mountainous country. There was, accordingly, a cumulative feeling of satisfaction as one after another of these barriers of nature's making were surmounted. In the swollen condition of the river, the struggle with these wild rapids was often as savage and exhilarating as one could desire. John and myself usually took the lead on the tow-line, Geoffrey busying himself with keeping the line clear of snags, while to Professor Kenaston was assigned the steersman's part. Bending to their work, the linemen would clamber along the bank, dragging the slowly yielding mass up-stream. Ofttimes the force of the current would carry out the boat far into mid-stream, until the full length of line would be exhausted. We could do nothing then but hang on like grim death and watch our craft toss and roll amid the billows, until, like a spirited horse, gradually yielding to the strain, she would turn her head shoreward. Professor Kenaston, meanwhile, with tense muscles, bending to the steering-oar, skilfully guided his charge amid the encompassing rocks and eddies,--the only quiet figure on the surging flood of the river....

Looking back on these days spent along the river, I recall how each one was filled with incident and how all were stimulated by the uncertainty of what lay before us. It is the experience of many that, in recalling travels of this kind, the pleasant features of the time are remembered with more distinctness than the trying ones. So in the retrospect of this journey, many of the incidents, unpleasant at the time, are softened by time's perspective, while the bright ones stand out in bolder relief and recur to the memory with pleasure. One awkward adventure, however, which occurred on the first day on the Mouni Rapids, I have not yet succeeded in relegating to the realm of forgetfulness. We were approaching a rocky point, similar to many others we had encountered, past which the water dashed with angry violence. It was our custom, on reaching such a place, to first detach the canoe, and then to shove out the boat obliquely from the still water, to allow her bow to fairly meet the swifter current. On this occasion, while Montague and I, facing up-stream, were waiting on the bank above for the signal to advance, the boat, through some carelessness, was pushed out from the quiet eddy squarely into the swift water. The full force of the torrent struck her abeam, and away she swept down-stream like a thing possessed. Taken unawares, no time was given to throw off the leather straps from our shoulders, and instantly we were thrown from our feet and dragged over the rocks into the river by the merciless strength of the flood. Most fortunately for me, the circular strap slipped over my head as I was being dragged through the water. Montague's also released itself, and the runaway sped down-stream a quarter of a mile before stopping. On clambering up the bank I found Montague stunned and bleeding from a scalp wound. Aside from some abrasions of the skin, I was none the worse for the shaking up, and after a brief delay Montague revived, and we resumed our "tow-path" exercise.

[The climate did not prove as severe as was expected, the
temperature being just low enough to be exhilarating and
bracing. Game and fish were abundant, and two black bears were
killed by the party.]

The declining sun of August 20 beheld our small craft glide into the smooth waters of Lake Wanakopow. The first view of the lake was beautiful, and most grateful to our eyes after the long struggle with the rapids. Even Geoffrey and John, usually indifferent to scenic effects, could not conceal their admiration as we glided by towering cliffs and wooded headlands, and beheld at intervals cascades leaping from the rocks into the lake, their silvery outlines glistening in the sun and contrasting distinctly with the environment of dark evergreen foliage. This romantic sheet of water stretches in a northeasterly and southwesterly direction a distance of about thirty-five miles, and has an elevation above sea-level, according to my aneroid observations, of four hundred and sixty-two feet. Low mountains of granite and gneiss rise on both sides, and the average width of the lake is less than one mile. A sounding taken near the middle showed a depth of four hundred and six feet. This narrow elevated basin is probably of glacial origin, the presence of great numbers of boulders and the rounded appearance of the hill summits pointing to a period of ice movement.

[They finally reached a point beyond the previously stated
location of the falls, and on August 27 attained the head of
boat navigation in a wide, shallow rapid.]

While at the Northwest River Post we had learned from a reliable Indian that the old trail, long disused, led from this point on the river to a chain of lakes on the table-land. By following these lakes and crossing the intervening "carries," the rapid water which extends for fifteen miles below the Falls could be circumvented, and the traveller brought finally to the waters of the Grand River, many miles above the Grand Falls. Our plan was to follow this old trail for several days, and then to leave the canoe and strike across country in a direction which we hoped would bring us again to the river in the vicinity of the Falls. It was deemed best to follow this circuitous canoe route rather than to attempt to follow the banks of the river on foot, in which case everything would have to be carried on our backs through dense forests for many miles.

After a long search the old trail was found, and, leaving Geoffrey in charge of the main camp on the river, the other members of the party took the canoe and a week's provisions, and began the ascent of the steep path which led up to the edge of the elevated plateau, which here approaches the river. Making a "carry" of three miles to the north along the old trail, we reached the first of the chain of lakes, where we erected a rude shelter and camped for the night. A violent storm arose during the night, and next day we lost much time in seeking for the continuation of the trail on the opposite side of the lake. Having been disused for twenty-seven years, the path, where it came out on the lake-shore, was distinguished by no "blazes" on the trees, or recent choppings. This necessitated a careful examination of the shores on all the lakes, and caused considerable delay.

We were now on the great table-land of the Labrador interior, and, wishing to get a good outlook, climbed a conspicuous hill near by to scan the adjacent country. A view truly strange and impressive was before us. As far as the eye could reach extended an undulating country, sparsely covered with stunted spruce-trees, among which great weather-worn rocks gleamed, while on all sides white patches of caribou moss gave a snowy effect to the scene. A hundred shallow lakes reflected the fleeting clouds above, their banks lined with boulders, and presenting a labyrinth of channels and island passages. Low hills arose at intervals among the bogs and lakes, but the general effect of the landscape was that of flatness and bleak monotony.

The continuation of the old Nascopie trail remaining invisible, to escape the discomfort of another rainy night on the plateau we returned to the shelter of the camp on the river. On August 30 we returned to Geoffrey Lake, where our patient search for the trail was at last successful.

Next day we advanced along the trail, which led us over four "carries" and across five lakes. For convenience of reference, we applied names to some of these small sheets of water. Thus, the third one of the chain was designated "Gentian Lake," from finding the closed variety of the blue gentian growing on its borders. The next day we turned aside from the dim trail and paddled to the northwestern extremity of the sixth lake, where we drew the canoe ashore and prepared for the tramp across country. Arrayed in heavy marching order, and carrying nearly all that remained of our provisions, we were soon advancing westward on a course which we hoped would soon bring us to the river in the vicinity of the Falls. The country we were now passing through was of the most desolate character, denuded of trees and the surface covered with caribou moss, Labrador tea plants, blueberry-bushes, and thousands of boulders. By keeping to the ridges fair progress was made; but when compelled to leave the higher ground and skirt the borders of the lakes, dense thickets of alders and willows were encountered, and these greatly impeded our advance. Language seems inadequate to describe the desolation of this upland landscape. No living thing was encountered, and the silence of primordial time reigned supreme.

Just before sunset we went into camp on a hill-side near a large lake, and soon after, from the top of a high rock, beheld a great column of mist rising like smoke against the western sky. This we knew marked the position of the Falls, and, needless to say, our spirits rose--oblivious of our bleak surroundings--as we contemplated the near attainment of our journey's end. During the night the thermometer registered a minimum temperature of forty-one degrees, and we were treated to a superb display of Northern Lights.

September 2 was a day memorable as marking the date of our arrival at the Grand Falls. A rough march over the rocks and bogs intervened, however, before we reached this goal. As we approached the river, spruce-forests of a heavier growth appeared, and, pressing on through these, although we could no longer see the overhanging mist, the deep roar of falling waters was borne to our ears with growing distinctness. After what seemed an intolerable length of time--so great was our eagerness--a space of light in the trees ahead made known the presence of the river. Quickening our steps, we pushed on, and with beating hearts emerged from the forest near the spot where the river plunged into the chasm with a deafening roar.

A single glance showed us that we had before us one of the greatest waterfalls in the world. Standing at the rocky brink of the chasm, a wild and tumultuous scene lay before us, a scene possessing elements of sublimity and with details not to be apprehended in the first moments of wondering contemplation. Far up-stream one beheld the surging, fleecy waters and tempestuous billows, dashing high their crests of foam, all forced onward with resistless power towards the steep rock whence they took their wild leap into the deep pool below. Turning to the very brink and looking over, we gazed into a world of mists and mighty reverberations. Here the exquisite colors of the rainbow fascinated the eye, and majestic sounds of falling waters continued the paean of the ages. Below and beyond the seething caldron the river appeared, pursuing its turbulent career, past frowning cliffs and over miles of rapids, where it heard "no sound save its own dashings." The babel of waters made conversation a matter of difficulty, and after a mute exchange of congratulations, we turned our attention to examining the river in detail above and below the Falls.

A mile above the main leap the river is a noble stream four hundred yards wide, already flowing at an accelerated speed. Four rapids, marking successive depressions in the river-bed, intervene between this point and the Falls. At the first rapid the width of the stream is not more than one hundred and seventy-five yards, and from thence rapidly contracts until reaching a point above the escarpment proper, where the entire column of fleecy water is compressed within rocky banks not more than fifty yards apart.

Here the effect of resistless power is extremely fine. The maddened waters, sweeping downward with terrific force, rise in great surging billows high above the encompassing banks ere they finally hurl themselves into the gulf below. A great pillar of mist rises from the spot, and numerous rainbows span the watery abyss, constantly forming and disappearing amid the clouds of spray. An immense volume of water precipitates itself over the rocky ledge, and under favorable conditions the roar of the cataract can be heard for twenty miles. Below the Falls, the river, turning to the southeast, pursues its maddened career for twenty-five miles shut in by vertical cliffs of gneissic rock, which rises in places to a height of four hundred feet. The rocky banks above and below the Falls are thickly wooded with firs and spruces, among which the graceful form of the white birch appears in places.

[The Falls were photographed from several points of view, and
carefully measured, the vertical descent proving to be over
three hundred feet, while the chute or rapid at their head
made a farther descent of thirty-two feet.]

The deep, incessant roar of the cataract that night was our lullaby as, stretched out under a rough "barricade," we glided into that realm of forgetfulness where even surroundings strange as ours counted as naught.

By the morning light we again viewed the wonders of the place, and sought for some sign of the presence of bird or animal in the vicinity; but not a track or the glint of a bird's wing rewarded our quest, and this avoidance of the place by the wild creatures of the forest seemed to add a new element of severity to the eternal loneliness of the spot.

The Grand Falls of Labrador, with their grim environment of time-worn, archaic rocks, are one of the scenic wonders of this Western world, and if nearer civilization, would be visited by thousands of travellers every year. They are nearly twice as high as Niagara, and are only inferior to that marvellous cataract in breadth and volume of water. One of their most striking characteristics is the astonishing leap into space which the torrent makes in discharging itself over its rocky barrier. From the description given of the rapid drop in the river-bed and concident narrowing of the channel, one can easily understand that the cumulative energy expended in this final leap of the pent-up waters is truly titanic.