Stories Strange and True.
V.—The Monster of ‘“Partridge Creek.”
By Georges Dupuy.
[M. Georges Dupuy, the well-known French writer and traveller, who has made many explorations in the Polar regions, here relates a most experience him in the frozen steppes of Alaska. M. Dupuy, whose good faith is beyond question, takes full responsibility for his narrative, which is, it may be noted, however remarkable, in no way contradicted by known scientific facts. The drawings which accompany this article have been made from sketches and descriptions supplied by M. Dupuy.]
The story which follows is in no sense a romance. I wish, in the first place, to ask the readers of the following narrative to believe that I am in no way attempting to impose upon their credulity. Concerning the amazing spectacle I am about to describe, I report nothing but plain facts, however astounding and apparently incredible they may seem at first glance, precisely as they appeared to my own eyes—and I am possessed of excellent sight—and to those of my three companions —all three white men—without counting five Indians of the Klayakuk tribe, who have their camps on the shores of the River Stewart.
The following are the names of the three ocular witnesses who are ready to testify to the truth of my assertions: the first is my hunting companion for many years, Mr. James Lewis Buttler, banker, of San Francisco; the second is Mr. Tom Leemore, miner, from McQuesten River, in the Yukon Territory; and lastly, the Reverend Father Pierre Lavagneux, a Canadian Frenchman and missionary at the Indian village of Armstrong Creek, not far from McQuesten.
In the course of ten years’ rambling in the four quarters of the world it has been my lot to witness a great number of amazing spectacles, and the strange experience of which I speak had become no more than a vivid recollection when, a few days ago—on January 24th, 1908—the following letter reached me at Paris. It came from Father Lavagneux, who passes his life with his savage flock six hundred miles north-west of the Klondike. I give it here word for word:—
“Armstrong Creek,
“January 1st, 1908.
“My Dear Son, — The ‘trader’ of McQuesten has just stopped here with his train of dogs and sledges. He has had a hard journey from Dawson, by Barlow, Flat Creek, and Dominion. I expect to receive by him in another fortnight fresh provisions and news of the outside world. To-day is the first day of the New Year, and I want this letter to express my affectionate wishes for your health and happiness. I hope it will give me the pleasure of receiving you under my humble roof, here, at the other end of the earth. I will not believe that you will let your old friend in the Great North leave his old carcass to the Indians (who will some day or other make his coffin out of branches) without seeing him once more.
"I have received your book, the reading of which has given me the greatest pleasure. By the way, you are wrong in regard to that poor fellow, John Spitz. Alas! he is no longer mail-carrier of the Duncan district. He died, poor fellow, at Eagle Camp, soon after you departed, not having survived the wound he received from the ‘bald-face,’[1] which you will remember.
“Talking of ferocious animals, will you believe me when I tell you that ten of my Indians and myself saw again, on Christmas Eve, that horrible beast of Partridge Creek passing like a whirlwind over the frozen surface of the river, breaking off with his hind feet enormous blocks of ice from the rough surface? His fur was covered with hoar-frost, and his little eves gleamed like fire in the twilight. The beast held in his jaws something which seemed to me to be a caribou. It was moving at the rate of more than ten miles an hour. The temperature that day was forty-five degrees below zero. At the comer of the ‘cut-off’ it disappeared. It is undoubtedly the same animal that we saw before. Accompanied by Chief Stineshane and two of his sons I followed the traces, which were exactly like Vol. xxxvi.—10.
- ↑ The bald or cinnamon bear—the brown bear of the Arctic regions.
