Journey (15 page)

He did not stagger. He did not beg for food. Nor did he even accept the drink of water offered him: “I'm what you might say heading a small expedition. Five of us. Wintering in at the Gravel. All in super condition.” Munching on a seabiscuit they provided, but not ravenously, he answered their questions. Yes, he had come down the river alone. Yes, the other three were Englishmen too. Yes, I did say there were five of us, the last's an Irishman. Why had he come to Fort Norman? To seek counsel regarding the most practical way to slip over to the Yukon and the gold fields at Dawson, but only after the thaw came, of course.

One of the Canadians would report later: “It was like he had dropped by his corner tobacconist's to pick up some Cuban cigars and the local gossip. Unconcerned. Unemotional. Damned good chap, that one, and we were nonplussed when he revealed under questioning that he was Lord Luton, younger son of the Marquess of Deal.”

It was a remarkable six days that Luton spent at the post, interrogating the traders, comparing notes with the Métis guide by relating the trip he'd taken, and formulating the intricate plans that would determine the third portion of his expedition. He found the conversation with the Métis the most rewarding. The man's name was George Michael, and all pronounced his first name in the English fashion, his second as if it were the French equivalent, Michel, accenting the last syllable.

He told Luton that he had come north twelve years before from the District of Saskatchewan when some terrible battle with the English had driven his kind from their lands. Luton was stern in his questioning of Michael as to which Englishmen he had fought, and was greatly relieved when he understood that by “English” the man had merely meant Canadian troops. Michael said that Luton was the first nobleman he had ever met, and in awe of Evelyn's rank he called him “Duke.” Then he spoke proudly of the noble blood in his own veins, the Indian blood, calling it the important half of his twin heritage. When the three white Canadians suggested that George
Michael hurry back to the Gravel to assure the Englishmen that Lord Luton had arrived safely, he was delighted with the prospect of serving a duke and was disappointed when Luton said firmly: “No need. They're all solid chaps. They'll know in proper time I made it. I'm sure they expected me to.”

Then, with the aid of his hosts, he launched his advanced interrogations regarding the tangled rivers he would soon be attacking, and after listening to them only briefly he said: “I think I've found the four men in all Canada best qualified to advise me.”

“First of all, Lord Luton…”

“Please call me Evelyn, since we're to be working at this for some spell.”

“You're not in a bad position where your camp is now, at the confluence of the Gravel. You're aware, I'm sure, that when the thaw comes, you can head up the Gravel and portage to the Stewart. Then all's fair and a soft run home.”

“I had rather fancied the route just beyond the Arctic Circle.”

The men were not displeased by this rejection of their advice, for his preference brought him into the territory they knew best, but when they were alone one old-timer with the Company asked: “Do you think he knows what he's doing?” and another said: “No Englishman ever does,” but the third man cautioned: “This one may be different, he's a proper lord.” The second pointed out: “Lords are worst of all,” but when the third man reminded them: “This one did walk near fifty miles right down our river,” they all agreed that he merited consideration.

In preparation for their next meeting with Luton they drafted a set of maps for him, marking with a heavy line the route that two of them had used in getting from Fort Norman over the crest of the Rockies and down into the important American trading station at Fort Yukon, within easy striking distance of the gold fields. And the men combined to drill into him, thrice over, the important decision points.

“My lord, there'll be markers to help you leave the Mackenzie and find your way into the Peel. That's crucial. Everything depends on your getting out of this river and into the smaller system to the west.”

Another man broke in: “Crucial, yes, but the next turn is the one that counts. Many miss it, to their woe. You'll find the Rat River on your right, not big but the secret to success. Because it's there you saw
your boat in half, and the vital push begins. Up to the headwaters of the Rat, a short portage over the divide, and you're in the Bell. And then,” the speaker's voice relaxed, “you're in a straight run home.”

“To where?” Luton asked, and when the man said: “The Porcupine, which takes you straight into Fort Yukon, good water all the way.”

“Oh, no,” Luton said, drawing himself away from his ardent instructors. “I'd really not care to reach my goal through American territory.”

This caused some consternation, two of the men judging such a restriction to be childish, the other two agreeing that it was sensible for a patriotic Englishman to want to keep his money and loyalty within the Empire, but it was George Michael alone who saw the solution to this impasse: “Duke, the Porcupine she is no problem. Turn right, you go into America. Turn left you stay in Canada, all way to Dawson.”

Now the others became enthusiastic, applauding Michael's sensible statement: “And what's better, halfway to Dawson there's a kind of village, two, three cabins where trappers lay over in storms. Always food there.” The men agreed with unanimous encouragement that their noble guest should follow that intricate but relatively easy Canadian route to the gold fields.

They were surprised, therefore, when Luton pushed aside their hand-drawn maps and turned to one large one published by the government: “I had rather thought we'd stay with the Peel. You can see its headwaters will bring us very close to Dawson.”

This arrogant dismissal of their reasoned advice, and the proposal of a route completely contrary to what they had been advising, caused a hush, but then one of the Canadians inspected the map closely and said dryly: “What I see is that you'd be heading into one of the highest passes in this part of the Rockies,” and another seasoned traveler warned: “That would be foolhardy, sir.” Even George Michael agreed: “Duke, I travel on the Peel one time with the current helpin' me. Very swift. Hills each side river, they are close, close. To go your way, against current, those tight spots, they will cause you much trouble, you bet.”

It was obvious that their arguments against staying with the Peel had not dissuaded him, and it was also clear that as a member of the nobility and leader of his expedition, he did not care to prolong the argument. The Fort Norman men saw that he had made up his mind
and they knew that extreme hardship and perhaps tragedy would ensue, but that would be his problem, not theirs.

But when Luton was away working on his notes, one of the three French Canadians asked: “What makes Englishmen so stubborn…so blind to facts,” and the oldest man, who had tangled with them many times in various parts of Canada, said: “Maybe that's what makes 'em Englishmen. They're born to do things their way,” and the other one admitted grudgingly: “Maybe he's right. We know we can go Rat-Bell route. Maybe he'll find a better way startin' with the Peel,” and the experienced man warned: “In a game, never bet against an Englishman,” and the third one said: “But this isn't a game,” and the oldest said: “For them it is. Else why would he walk down the Mackenzie in coldest winter? To prove he could do it. He'll go up the Peel just to prove we were wrong,” and they burst into laughter.

Apart from those differences of opinion regarding routes, the six-day visit had been a respite, appreciated by everyone, and the Canadians were regretful when Luton said: “Tomorrow I must head back and get our team prepared for the thaw.”

They asked if he had any conception of what happened to a frozen river when the ice broke up, and he replied: “I've heard it can be somewhat daunting.”

“Unbelievable,” they said, “and on this river, the worst of all.” Taking him to their front porch atop the rise, they explained a peculiarity of the Mackenzie: “It runs from mountains in the south to very flat land in the north. When the sun starts back in March, it melts the headwater ice first and starts those waters flowing. Then it melts the high plateaus, setting free whole lakes of water, and every warming day it releases more and more water far to the south, while our part of the river up here in the north remains frozen tight. And what happens?” the men asked, looking to see if Luton had understood.

“Stands to reason, the waters flood in under the ice and dislodge it.”

“Dislodge is not the word. It explodes the ice from below. It throws it about like leaves in a storm. Chunks bigger than you could ever imagine are thrown up as if they weighed no more than sheaves of straw. Believe me, sir, stand well back when the Mackenzie breaks its bonds. But it is a sight no man should miss.”

Next morning when he proposed to start his fifty-mile journey back to the Gravel, he was surprised to find that the Hudson's Bay
men were united in insisting that George Michael accompany him: “Common sense dictates it. As head of your expedition you dare not risk an accident.”

“I made my way here. I can certainly…” When they refused to alter their plan, he asked: “But how's he to get back?” and the Métis said with a big smile: “No trouble. I will walk,” and Luton thought: To give me comfort he'll walk near a hundred miles. With great reluctance he allowed George Michael to accompany him.

As the two men climbed down the wooden stairway to where the frozen river waited, the Canadians gave them three cheers and fired volleys in the air. Lord Luton turned and raised his hand in salute to them and their flag, a heroic outpost in this frozen wilderness.

—

It was providential that George Michael accompanied Luton back to the Gravel, for as soon as they arrived at the tent-cabin he cried: “Oh, Duke! You 'ave made terrible mistake!” In the dim light of day he ran about identifying scars on rocks and trees, and pointing in dismay toward the Gravel, the Mackenzie and the cabin.

Seeing his agitation and having had proof of George Michael's good sense, Luton stopped the man's running about and asked: “What is it, Michael?” and the Métis replied, with fear clouding his face: “You are in great danger, Duke. When thaw comes, ice here in Gravel and ice out there in Mackenzie, she will crash, sweep everything away.” Then he kicked at the upturned
Sweet Afton
and with wild gestures indicated huge blocks of ice coming down the Gravel and battering the
Sweet Afton
and the cabin into small kindling: “Then what you do? No boat? No cabin? What in hell you goin' do?”

He would not delay even half a day, for the safety of this expedition led by a man he had grown to like and respect was of vital importance to him, and from long experience he knew that in these parts the preservation of the boat was paramount. Showing the men how to construct rollers from driftwood tree trunks, he marshaled all the ropes they could provide, used their shovel to smooth a pathway to higher ground, and with all hands pushing and hauling he tore the
Sweet Afton
away from her snug position as part of the cabin and dragged her to a spot well above where the crashing ice might be expected to reach.

Tireless, he then began the removal of the entire living area, even the latrine, to higher ground, and as he and Carpenter started to
move the beds he stopped and said dramatically: “You stay down here, some night soon when you asleep, the ice she come and we don't see you never no more.” Two nightfalls later the expedition was finally housed in a barely adequate substitute for the original cabin but one at a safer elevation. His task done, Michael sat heavily upon a rock, leaned back to allow the weak sun to reach his face, and said: “I very hungry. We eat?”

At the first resting period Lord Luton made a proposal that surprised the others: “Harry, take the shovel and scar out an exercise track for us up here next to our new cabin,” and Philip protested: “The one down there's perfectly good. No trouble to run down for our daily spin.”

“Ah!” Luton said with some force. “A great deal of trouble. Minus-forty and stiff breeze, which of us will want not only to run our circuits but also to run down that hill and back to do so? You, Philip, would be the first to demur. I can hear you arguing with me: ‘But, Uncle Evelyn! It's bitter cold out there!' And the exercise you miss could well be the one that would doom you. Harry, mark it close to the shack.” When it had been delineated, Evelyn was the first to utilize it, but George Michael, watching him run in the bitter cold, told the others: “He must be crazy. Nobody in Fort Norman run in the cold…summer neither,” and Harry said quietly: “I'm sure they don't.”

The Métis remained with the Englishmen a full week, during which he helped them complete the reconstruction of their living quarters and went hunting with Fogarty, whom he recognized as a kindred spirit. They were a pair of highly skilled hunters and brought a large moose to the far shore of the Mackenzie—Fogarty told the others: “He did it, not me”—and next morning after profuse thanks from Luton plus a gold sovereign he was gone, a lone figure striking out for the north, rifle slung across his back, right down the middle of the great river.

—

With George Michael gone and the camp, thanks to his assistance, at a safe elevation, life returned to its routine, with Lord Luton giving only the most fragmentary report on his extraordinary visit to Fort Norman: “We studied the maps and they copied several for us, so we're in firm shape,” and he displayed them briefly. Carpenter quickly saw that Luton had apparently decided to follow the Peel into some
rather high terrain, and he asked quietly: “Wouldn't picking our way through those smaller rivers and that lower pass be preferable? I was told in Edmonton…”