The steersman had
yelled for each to save himself; but Mackenzie shouted out a
countermand for every man to hold on to the gunwales. In this fashion
they were all dragged several hundred yards till a whirl sent the wreck
into a shallow eddy. The men got their feet on bottom, and the
wreckage was hauled ashore. During the entire crisis the Indians sat
on top of the canoe, howling with terror.
All the bullets had been lost. A few were recovered. Powder was
spread out to dry; and the men flatly refused to go one foot farther.
Mackenzie listened to the revolt without a word. He got their clothes
dry and their benumbed limbs warmed over a roaring fire. He fed them
till their spirits had risen. Then he quietly remarked that the
experience would teach them how to run rapids in the future. Men of
the North--to turn back? Such a thing had never been known in the
history of the Northwest Fur Company. It would disgrace them forever.
Think of the honor of conquering disaster. Then he vowed that he would
go ahead, whether the men accompanied him or not. Then he set them to
patching the canoe with oil-cloth and bits of bark; but large sheets of
birch bark are rare in the Rockies; and the patched canoe weighed so
heavily that the men could scarcely carry it. It took them fourteen
hours to make the three-mile _portage_ of these rapids. The Indian
from the mountain tribe had lost heart. Mackenzie and Mackay watched
him by turns at night; but the fellow got away under cover of darkness,
the crew conniving at the escape in order to compel Mackenzie to turn
back.
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