Читать книгу B.J. Bayle's Historical Fiction 4-Book Bundle - B.J. Bayle - Страница 22

Thompson wanted to leave immediately after he saw the Pacific, for one of the men at Fort Astoria had reported they had been plagued with ague and fevers since they had arrived there. The mapmaker didn’t want any of his own men to become afflicted. Still, he was curious about the three loaded dugouts tied at the fort and decided to wait another day or two to see what was to be done with them.

“I was told the dugouts were to meet Monsieur Astor’s overland traders who are to arrive very soon,” Boulard said.

Thompson’s smile was grim. “I was told the same, but I think it’s more likely they plan to build a post inland and wish to keep it secret from us. If we travel upriver together, we may discover where it will be.”

Boulard shrugged. “Perhaps that is not so much a concern. Even Monsieur McDougall agrees that much of his goods are of little use and are poorly made. They are not what the Indians wish to receive in trade for their furs.”

Glumly, Peter took his place in the canoe beside Dog for the return trip up the river. There was barely more than one week left in July and still the mountains to cross after they reached the headwaters of the river — if this was the Columbia. Thompson wasn’t absolutely certain he was right. To make matters worse, the explorer had given the Astor men the impression that many of the Indians along the river were hostile, and it would be best for all the boats to travel together.

Even Boulard grumbled about that. “When we must portage, it is enough to carry that which we must have for ourselves, but now we must add the strange dugouts of this place?”

Charles agreed. “Dugout — she is nothing for men of the river. It is useless to put sail to her when wind good.”

When the muttering reached Thompson’s ears, he called the men together. “In exchange for travelling with them, Astor’s men have promised us a few goods to trade for food as we proceed up the river. It will save us time we would otherwise need for hunting. As for carrying their goods, they have trade goods to pay those in the villages for carrying their dugouts.”

After three days of hard paddling and sometimes pulling the boats from the shore, a party of Indians was seen seining for salmon, and, as one, the steersmen directed their vessels to the bank. The brigade was out of meat and nightfall was fast closing in on them.

When Thompson and Stuart got out of their boats and called out greetings, they were surprised and discomfited to find themselves ignored. Stuart beckoned to one of his men who knew the language of the fishermen. Although the man tried for several minutes to interest the Indians in trading goods for salmon, he received only surly glances in return. Thompson reached into his canoe and brought out a double handful of blue beads that he knew were favourites among the Columbian Natives. When he offered them to the two men, they stared back at him for a moment, hatred in their eyes, then pulled in their nets and stalked away.

As he waited in the canoe, Peter saw Côté swiftly make the sign of the cross and heard him murmur, “I think I do not care for this.”

Anxiously wishing Thompson and Stuart would get back into their boats before the Indians returned with more men, Peter paid little attention to their discussion.

“Nevertheless I fail to understand this,” Thompson said. “These people were friendly enough when we passed by them a few days earlier.”

Stuart regarded the mapmaker with suspicion. “And I again ask if you’re certain you know nothing you or your men did to persuade them to be hostile?”

Thompson drew himself up, suddenly every inch the man in charge of the Columbia District for the North West Company, and scowled at the Fort Astoria trader. “Sir,” he said sternly, “I believe I, too, could ask that question. As for myself, I can truthfully state nothing untoward happened when we met with these people.”

Stuart’s face turned almost as red as his hair, and he shook his head. “Those two Indians haven’t been seen at our post, thus I know of no reason for their hostility.”

“There it is then,” the mapmaker said. “It may be best we take our leave.”

A half-mile up the river the water rushed around a series of huge rocks poking out of the riverbed, but the men insisted it would be easy to weave through them. As they laboured, a canoe carrying six Indians caught up with them. The one in the bow signalled for them to pull ashore. Peter was glad they did, for the Natives were offering four large salmon. Whatever they were given in return, they seemed very happy. A fire was built on the spot, and the salmon was cooked on the rocks in the centre of it.

When the meal was finished, one of the Indians stood and spoke while the Fort Astoria man translated. “When you came down this river, we found life good. But now we learn white men will bring sickness to us and giants to overturn our villages. We have given you food. Are we all to die?”

Thompson told the interpreter to say, “I speak the truth. No one has brought a sickness, and there are no giants to overturn your villages. And I remind you that only the Great Spirit has that power.” When he finished, the Indians appeared satisfied.

The portage around the huge slabs of basalt that had narrowed the river on the way down wasn’t so difficult this time. The bluff on this side of the river was only half as high, and the path was much wider. The canoe could be carried, but the dugouts could only be dragged with the help of the men of the North West Company.

As they proceeded in the following days, the rapids they had shot so gleefully on the journey down to the ocean were more and more difficult as they paddled and poled against the current, frequently making it necessary to carry the canoe. The Fort Astoria dugouts, however, sometimes proved to be impossible to hoist up the banks and over the rocks, forcing Stuart to hire Indians who seemed to appear from nowhere. For the most part they were tribe members Thompson hadn’t spoken with before. At one series of rapids the Natives were inclined to be troublesome.

It took some time, but when Stuart finally came to a trade agreement with the young Indians he hired to help his men carry the boats, Boulard was scandalized with the price that was paid and with the behaviour of the Natives. Halfway through their job, they demanded payment, and Stuart was forced to agree, even though he wasn’t sure which of the crowd of men had helped. As he tried to puzzle that out, the Indians pulled out their double daggers and began to sharpen them with a stone dipped in the water. Understanding their message, Stuart opened a box of trade goods and doled out at least five times the agreed price to every man there.

Thompson, who had calmly watched this transaction take place, beckoned to Stuart after the last of his tobacco had been given out. “Stand here beside me,” he told the Fort Astoria man softly. Peter noted that the long-barrelled pistols Thompson usually left in the boat were hanging by his side. “They’re spoiling for a fight. It would be an excuse to take all we have.”

Peter gulped and began to back slowly up the slope toward Boulard and the rest of the men beside the canoe. As he drew closer, he could see the muskets they hid behind them, and he reached into the canoe for his own.

The Indians began to dance. Closer and closer, a dozen or more pranced about waving their daggers until one, bolder than the rest, swept his close to Thompson’s chest. Almost casually, the mapmaker swung up his pistol and drew an arc on the other man’s buckskin shirt, causing him to back away so quickly he fell over a rock. At almost that same instant a voice rang out from the trees on the hill above the boatmen, and four older Indian men emerged.

Through the interpreter, Thompson called to the elderly men and spoke to them firmly. “I am surprised these men are behaving in this manner, and I remind you that we promised we would bring supplies, but we will not if we are threatened.”

The elderly men spoke, and whatever they said, the confrontation was over. The knives were put away, and under the watchful eyes of the elders the dugouts were soon beyond the first set of cascades, though a number of the Indians stood by and refused to help.

“We may be in for a spot of trouble,” Thompson announced to his men. “The worst of the cascades are just ahead.” He nodded to Pareil. “Take four armed men and follow with Mr. Stuart as best you can whilst the rest of us hasten to get our canoe beyond those rapids. We’ll return to help you.”

Quickly fastening a line to their canoe, the men on the riverbank guided it through the water until the rocks were too numerous and they were forced to drag it ashore and uphill beyond the rapids, then down once more to the water. There they found a tremendous flat rock thrusting out into the river. Protected from attack on three sides, they felt much safer. Thompson ordered Peter and Boulard to stay behind and guard the canoe while he and the rest of the men returned to Stuart. Before they could leave, however, across the river, on a steep slope, three rows of warriors appeared. They were armed with bows and arrows.

“Monsieur,” Charles hissed, “I am thinking these use arrows that have poison.”

Thompson scarcely turned his head. “Take your places about three feet apart and choose your man. Their arrows are notched, but don’t fire unless they raise them and pull.”

The minutes slid by with agonizing slowness, and Peter’s arms ached with holding the heavy musket straight out in front of him. Mosquitoes buzzed in front of his eyes and landed in the sweat on his face, but he forced himself to ignore them as all the men did. Everyone remained absolutely still.