Chapter VIThe Kicking Horse Pass
I have said there were about a hundred of us, and soon we were all strung out in a long line, each man carrying blankets and a valise, and some of us both. I had had in earlier days much experience in travelling, and took care not to overburden myself, as so many of the others did, who were on their first tramp; for the ease with which it was made possible to leave the crowded cities of the East, combined with the hard times, had brought a miscellaneous throng of men to British Columbia, many of whom had never worked in the open air, but only in stores and shops, whilst there were many who had never worked at all. It was quite pitiful to see some little fellow, hardly more than a boy, who had hitherto had his lines cast in pleasant places, bearing the burden of two valises or portmanteaus, doubtless filled with good store of clothes made by his mother and sisters, while the sweat rolled off him as he tramped along bent nearly double. Perhaps next to him there would be some huge, raw-boned labourer whose belongings were tied up in a red handkerchief and suspended to a stick. I had a light pair of blankets and a small vase, which Mac carried for me, as he had nothing of his own. My blankets I made up into a loop through which I put my head, letting the upper part rest on my left shoulder, the lower part fitting just above my hips on the right side. This is by far the most comfortable and easy way of carrying them, save in very hot weather.
We tramped along, Mac and I, cheerfully enough, very nearly at the tail of the whole gang, as we were in no hurry, and were yet somewhat weak. Presently Mac picked up with another companion, leaving me free to look about me without answering as irresponsible chatter or applauding his adventures in Wisconsin, where it appears he had very nearly killed some one for nothing at all while he was drunk, as usual when not working.
I am fain to confess that my memories of the next two days are so confused that, whether Tunnel Mountain came before the Kicking Horse Lake, or whether it didn't, whether we crossed one, two, or three rivers before we got to Porcupine Creek, whether it was one mountain fire we saw, or two or more, I can hardly say with any certainty. All was so new and wonderful to me that one thing drove the other out of my head, and when I think it was so while I was walking slowly, I am lost in astonishment to see so many fluently describe mountain passes they have traversed in the train. I am afraid the guide-books must be a great aid to them.
Tunnel Mountain was more like a gigantic cliff than a mountain. One could see the vast rock run up perpendicularly till it passed above the lower clouds. High from where I stood, perhaps 3000 feet above me, was a thin white line, which I was told was a glacier 300 feet thick. A thousand feet above us, small and hard to be distinguished against the grey-brown rock, were men working with ropes round them at a vein of silver ore. How they had gained such a position I cannot think, and how they maintained it, working with chisel and mallet in the keen air and frost of that elevation, is a greater puzzle. They must have looked down and seen us crawling on the ground like ants. The roar of the river, though at places it almost deafened us, must have been like a bee's murmur, and when the crash of a big blast hurled the rocks into the stream the report would come to them as a distant smothered roar.
The short tunnel ran through the outside of this cliff, and, just beyond, a roaring tributary of the Kicking Horse River made a bridge necessary. This was not finished then, but it had to be crossed, for there was no other way. It was sufficiently perilous. Along the cross-pieces of the bridge lay the stringers, pieces of timber 8 inches by 12 inches by 16 feet; these were set on their 8-inch side, two together on each side of the bridge, each couple at varying distances, sometimes close together and sometimes running so far apart one could scarcely straddle them. And these were not bolted down, but were loose and trembling. This was the path across! Had one fallen, nothing could save him, especially if heavily burdened, for there were but the large lower timbers to catch hold of, and underneath, fifty feet below, sharp rocks and a roaring stream of water.
At one place we came to a river or large creek running over a flat with a very swift current, but still not boisterously or with any huge rocks in it. As the road ran into it on one side and emerged on the other, we could see it was fordable. But still no one seemed to like the prospect of wading through a stream whose current might be strong enough to carry a man off his legs and the water of which was icy cold. One by one the stragglers came up, until nearly our full crowd was congregated on the river bank. We looked for some waggons to come by, but could see none. At last, after tying in vain to persuade some of the others to venture in, I took off my trousers, boots, and socks, and with these hung round my neck I waded into the water. It was bitterly cold, especially as it was now a warm day with pleasant air and sun, and the stream washed against me so that I had to lean up against the current. The others stood watching me, giving me an occasional word of encouragement or a yell of delight at my strange appearance. After a considerable struggle I emerged on the farther bank in a red glow. But my luck in another way was bad. Just as I got out a waggon came round the corner to meet me, and in it was a woman—about the only one we had seen since we had left the summit or the end of the track. She burst into laughter at the ridiculous cranelike figure I cut, standing with my garments and long boots hung about me. I turned and sat down in the grass and made myself decent as soon as possible. In the meantime, much to my disgust, some waggons came up and carried the other men across. I had all my trouble for nothing, and my glorious example was lost on the crowd. After going another couple of hundred yards we came again to a wide stream, and this time I was myself carried over. And then we had a long tramp along the verge of a big mountain fire, which was crackling and smouldering from the banks of the river to the mountain tops.
At nightfall, or rather just before it, we came to the Porcupine Creek, another furious tributary of the main river, and here we had supper at one of the railroad camps. Afterwards we set about lighting fires for our camping-ground, for we had but the shelter of the pines that night. We dragged brush and sticks together, and borrowing some axes from the camp we cut up some of the trees that had been thrown down by the wind in the winter or felled by the men who made ties. Four fires soon lighted up our forest, and blue and purple flames shot up, singeing the pines and sending up sparks into the blackness overhead, where their branches touched each other a hundred feet above. I think those fires or mountain wood upon the mountain always burn with far more beautiful colours than those on plains and lowlands, for here only, in the heart of the fire, can one see the fiery red, and over are blue and purple interlacings and shootings of purest colour standing out against the dark background of balsam and hemlock, while the curling smoke runs from violet to grey and shadow.
For an hour some of us flitted about in the darkness gathering in the firewood, and the rest lay down and smoked, or propped themselves quietly against the tree trunks, dreaming over the fire. It promised to be a chilly night. The crescent moon hung over a peak of snow, faint and new; but the stars were jubilant and strong, like glittering sword-points in the deep transparent sky. Already behind the trees, where the shadows from the fires threw umbra and penumbra on the grass, were varying degrees of silvery frost, glittering brightly on the darkest umbral cone in the moonglow, and in the lighter shadow only chilling and stiffening the slender, infrequent grasses and the matted bundles or sharp pine needles. Close at hand, on the border of the pines, the creek ran over a bed of rounded boulders, here and there broken by a higher rock that threw a jet of foam in air. It ran rapidly and hurriedly by, with its shriller song all but overpowered in the deep strong bass of the distant river or roaring cataract. Beyond the creek, in its own shadow, for the moon's peak of silver snow showed above the barrier, was the sombre forest, at first a wall of solid blackness but breaking gradually with prolonged sight into lighter brush and black trunks below, with grey shadows and hollows over them, and above again lighter and lighter shades which ran to slender twigs against the blue, with here and there one star glittering through an oriel window of branches.
I woke at midnight and found it sharp frost. The fires had burnt to embers. Round about me in every direction lay my companions sleeping, save one or two unfortunates without blankets, who kept their backs against the trunks of the pines and their heads and arms upon their knees, crouching in a heap to retain what heat they could in them, as they looked into the fires and wished for day. I walked out of the shadows of the forest to the banks of the creek. The moon was sunk deep below the sloping shoulders of her peak, and her pale fires had died from the snow and ice. The stars glittered more radiantly in a darker blue, and pine-wood and mountain shadow melted into one upon the distant slopes. Looking down the valley was vague darkness, and when I walked a few yards from the rushing creek I could hear plainly the wavering roar of the river palpitating musically through the calm cold air. Save that, there was no sound; everything was sleeping; and when I turned away from the look of the red eyes of fire that gleamed through the brush from our camping-ground, I might fancy myself alone, with the voiceless spirit of the mountains brooding over me, one with the night.
But the romance of the time fell from me as I felt the air more and more chilly, and I went to sleep again with my commonplace partner Mac, whose ideal was, I doubt not, a whisky bottle and nothing to do.
Next day another twenty miles through the great gap torn in the forests for the right of way of the railroad. The trees were hewed down, sawed and hacked in pieces, and piled on either side, dragged by horses or cattle. Cedar, white and red, fragrant balsam, dark hemlock, the sheltering spruce—all the pride of the forest—went down before axe and saw for man's triumph. Grey and red squirrels came peeping to see what was being done to their troubled homes, and the striped chipmunks ran and darted here and there quicker than birds. We left the broad track and took the road, narrow and dark. Here one waggon could travel, but another could not pass it. It was a way hewn out of the primeval forest; it was full of stumps and holes, with pools of water here and there, and sloughs of mud enough to engulf a horse. Ruts were a foot or two deep. When a waggon met me I would climb on a log or squeeze into the brush while it went plunging by, threatening to drop to pieces with every shock, creaking and complaining as for want of oil. Yet the loads were not heavy, and the horses, for the most part, good and well cared for. On this "toat" or freight-road the waggons went east during one part of the day and west during the other.
At noon on this second day we came to the "Island," a kind of flat just above the river, and far below where the track ran. The work here was of a severe character, as they made a "fill" or embankment eighty feet high, I should think, or possibly much more. We scrambled down the end of this and went to get dinner at the camp on the Island. Up to this time they had always given us our meals in the tents with knives and forks and plates, but here the cooks brought out a huge can of soup, some potatoes, great lumps of boiled beef, and a pile of plates and a bucket of knives and forks. A chorus of growls rose up on all sides. A cry was raised for our friend the agent, who came out to view the scene. Some of us pointed out that, if we were to pay for our meals, we expected to be treated in a reasonable manner, and not like hogs. Some of the "boys" said it was a regular "hand-out" and that we looked like a crowd of old "bummers."
"Bummers" is American for beggars, and a "hand-out" is a portion of food handed out to a bummer or a tramp at the door when he is not asked inside. The agent looked as if he would like to say it was good enough for us, but the crowd was too big, and too ugly in temper, to play tricks with, and he temporised, calming us down; and finally, finding that we were not to be appeased, said we need not pay for it, if we ate it or not. We were hungry, however, and, finding it impossible to get a spread, we had to make the best of it; and soon all of us were fighting for knives and plates and spoons and soup. We sat round in groups, growling and eating like a lot of bears.
After dinner we started out again, passing a railroad camp every half-mile or so; and now we began to leave at each place some of our number, whenever any of the contractors were in need of more men. Mac and I were told with some others to stay at Ross and M'Dermott's camps; but when we got there, for some reason or another we did not like the look of the place, and concluded that we would take things into our own hands and go farther on. After leaving this camp we came to Robinson and Early's, and next to the large camp at Corey's, where they were making a tunnel through blue clay. This was called the Mud Tunnel. We passed on a little farther, and came to a sub-contractor's. At this point we met the agent, who had gone ahead of us on horseback. He reined up and said:
"Didn't I tell you fellows to stay at Ross and M'Dermott's?"
"Yes" answered Mac.
"Well, why didn't you?"
"Oh, we didn't care about that place."
"What do you want then? If you go on any farther I can't give you any more meals."
I myself did not care about going any farther, and said so.
"Then you can work at Corey's if you like."
I turned to Mac and said, "Come, Mac, what's the good of fooling? Come with me."
"No back tracks, Texas. I'll stay here."
It was settled finally that he should stay and work with the sub-contractor, and I went back to Corey's with the agent. When I got there it was dark, and supper was over. I had a little to eat, and slept that night in one of the dining-tents, under the table, while above me slept a New Brunswicker named Scott, who was to be my greatest friend hereafter both in British Columbia and California. He has often told me since, that my last words that night were: "I go to sleep to-night lulled to slumber by the music of the Kicking Horse."