The James Expedition

Whitehorse Chronicles

Harvey Quamme, PhD Eye-Spy Press

Copyright 2012 by Harvey Quamme Eye-spy Press All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form or any electronic o mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems without the explicit written permission of the author, except by a reviewer who quotes short passages in a review. Cover and art design: Harvey Quamme, Heather Quamme ISBN: 978-0-9878355-1-2 eISBN: 978-0-9880874-7-7

Introduction

I, Arbor Zapec, the last of the Twelve and the most diminutive, have been given the task at their final assembly of uncovering and documenting mankind’s history. I am to focus on the last 1800 years since the end of the Golden Age (1820-2078 A.D.), especially the two periods often called the Time of Troubles, 2079-2289, and the Great Decline, 2290-3256. This history is to be made readily available to all in a form that can be easily understood, a sort of cautionary tale such that with hindsight some of it might not be repeated. I have some reservations about my mission but have diligently pursued its objectives and grown to love my work. Ten of the Twelve have left, leaving me with only one other, Belza Xerok, who acts as my treasurer. She generously funds my endeavors, but I rarely see her for I have no wish to be subjected to her amorous advances.

The archeological excavations, which are a large part of my research, have gone well. Especially enlightening has been the use of the multiple-wavelength, three-dimensional sonar and differential magnetic sensing probes to search sites along the former coastlines that remain underwater. But more important to reconstructing history has been the collection of media artifacts. With the abundant funds that Belza has provided, I have undertaken collection of all types of manuscripts, ancient communication devices, and their outputs, with the object of recovering any information they contain. As an incentive for people to bring in such artifacts, I offer a reward, and the response has been so great that an industry in their recovery has been created. Now I have a network of agents that organizes armies of workers to comb the middens of ancient cities and other archeological sites to bring me antiquities to examine.

The media artifacts mostly include the printed word, newspapers, magazines, books, manuscripts, papers, and the like, a few records from analogue and digital devices that survive from the twentieth century, such as sound recordings, video and movie films, and a great number of computers of all types with various storage components from the end of twentieth century to several centuries later. A large amount of information was stored on magnetic tapes, but most of these have been rendered useless by fungal growth. The digital disks and computer storage devices too are corrupted by age and contain little useful information. The best source of information comes from the printed word on paper. In wet environments paper readily decomposed, but in dry environments paper was preserved, provided it was not too acid, and many useful documents have been recovered. Unfortunately even the printed word became uncommon in the depths of the Great Decline.

It was during one of my searches in the northern regions of North America that an agent brought news of a most remarkable document that sheds light on the origins of the Later Renaissance Period. This document called “The James Expedition” was discovered in a remote village on the coast north of Cascadia near the St. Elias Mountain Range. It had been passed down through many generations of the Ironshank family, who live there. It’s an account by one of the members of a remarkable expedition undertaken by a society of people, the Valley people, who lived along the Alsek River, Tagish Lake, and upper Yukon River throughout the period of interest. The purpose of this expedition was to retrieve knowledge from the Golden Age that had been lost during all the chaos that followed.

During the Great Decline the earth had become warmer and a vast desert extended from the south to the north through the center of North America covering much of the continent. The

population of North America had declined and most of the survivors lived in impoverished conditions, but in the Valley region the inhabitants thrived. This population was made up of the aboriginal people, who first occupied the region, non-natives who had taken up residence during the Golden Age, and groups of refugees, who had fled the strife in other regions during the Age of Troubles. The main immigration occurred at the end of the Second American Civil War in 2289, when the nation states of Canada and United States of America dissolved and became the nation states of the North American Confederation in the east and Cascadia in the west.

With the dissolution of Canada, authority in the Valley region reverted to the original owners: the Southern Tutshone, Tagish, and Interior Tlingit. The First Nations people retained administration of their lands that they farmed themselves or leased to resident settlers and refugees.

Even at this northern latitude, all of the valleys that the Valley people inhabited had become warmer and those in the rain shadow of the mountains, more arid. The mountain glaciers had melted causing the river-flows to be intermittent. To provide sustenance, the Valley people devoted much time, treasure, and labor to the construction of dams that provided continuity of water for agricultural irrigation and electrical power. Windmills were also built to supplement waterpower. To feed their communities, they planted a wide range of crops, including potatoes, beans, corn, canola, sunflowers, fruit, and vegetables. Livestock also thrived on the abundance of grain, hay, and forage crops that were produced.

During a second migration wave early in the Great Decline, a prominent group of refugees, called the Nubeecees by the indigenous people, came to the Valleys from the University of Northern British Columbia, in the former province of Canada called British Columbia. They had fled from Suncoran raiders, descendents of bitumen miners, who lived near the depleted bitumen fields and coalfields in the desert and on the eastern slopes of the Rocky Mountains to the southwest. The Nubeecees settled at Mile 1019, a satellite research station of the university and during the time of Canadian rule, an agriculture research station that was located in Tutshone territory.

These refugees brought with them specialized knowledge in medicine, electronics, and structural materials. The newcomers sought to continue their occupation of teaching and research and petitioned the Tutshone tribal council to allow them to build a college at Mile 1019. At first, the council thought that the college would be a drain on scarce resources and were reluctant to grant them their request, but after much discussion, allowed it to be built. It wasn’t long before they discovered that they could take advantage of the knowledge and skills of these immigrants. Trade goods from the south were scarce, and the newcomers were able to improvise and develop new technologies to produce products that were no longer available. The workshops that grew up around the college soon became famous for the production of drugs, vaccines, plastics, synthetic fibers, and electronic goods of all kinds. Having a long history of trading, the Tutshone and other indigenous people became heavily involved in exchanging goods manufactured at Mile 1019 with people living further north and east for precious metals and diamonds, along the western coast for recyclable metals, plastics, cotton, tea, and spices and to the south and east for livestock, wool, rugs, dairy products and leather. The arrival of these refugees was to have profound effects on Valley society, not least of which was the initiation of the James Expedition and all that transpired thereafter.

When I first acquired the book, it was stored in a cedar box. The book was bound in leather and printed on sheets of water-and mold-resistant spider web protein. Although I have seen many references to this expedition, this is the only eyewitness account of the event that I

have discovered. I have translated the memoir from its archaic form of language and published it in its entirety with only the odd footnote explaining what is now known about some of the events and observations the author describes.

Arbor Zapec

Chapter One

Cap is my short name. My long name is Capability Ironshank. I belong to the Nubeecee tribe that lives near the science city of Mile 1019 in the Yukon Territory. Nubeecee tribal elders gave me my name when I lost part of my leg accidently in a grain auger during a work training session on a local farm. The name was a reward for the dexterity I showed with my artificial leg, and what the elders thought was fortitude under trying circumstances.

I was a member of the James Expedition, and have decided at long last to write my account of the journey.1 I also wish to dispel some of the exaggerations that have crept into the records from lurid stories in the newspapers and popular media and hope to shed some light on some of the little known events leading up to the formation of the expedition.

My connection with the James Expedition commenced much earlier than its departure. It began one evening six years before, while I attended high school at Mile 1019. I was walking home from a school dance celebrating the end of session. It hadn’t been a good night, and I was feeling rejected and sorry for myself. The girl, who I had taken to the dance, had just called me a one-legged geek and had ditched me. She wanted to party and had taken off with a group of students who had managed to obtain a jug of home brew.

As I approached my home, I saw the headlights of a motor vehicle coming up the road. When it got closer, I realized that it was Henry McPhee’s old delivery truck loaded with the McPhee kids and their friends. The McPhees were a large family who lived in the bush near our house. As a child, I often played with the children of this family and, over the years, had become well acquainted with them. Their father was a large, abusive man who ran a delivery business, did odd jobs, and sold home brew on the side. Their mother was a depressed woman, seemingly in despair that her family might yet become larger at anytime. The children had grown up to be unruly, rough and, at times, as mean-spirited as their father. They seemed to get into mischief without any intention of doing so. As I grew older, I began to avoid the McPhees for to consort with them was to beg trouble.

The truck slowed when the driver saw me in the headlights and then stopped in front of me. The McPhee children—five McPhee boys Dwayne, Dexter, Billy, Dugger, and Bernie, the girl, Dorothy, and several of their friends, with whom I was unacquainted, were piled in the cab and on the back of truck.

When I approached the truck, the driver, the eldest McPhee boy, Dwayne, leaned out the open window and called out to me, “Cap, where are you headed?”

“I’ve been to the Last Session Dance and I’m going home.” “Why so early?” “I don’t like dancing,” I lied. “The night is still young. Why don’t you come along with us?” Dugger called from the

back. “Yah, come aboard,” someone responded from the back.

1 I am unsure of when Capability wrote his account. But it is obvious that some time had

passed after the return of the expedition before he began his story. Possibly, he began his account after his journey to Cascadia, six years later. A.Z.

“Where are you going?” I asked. “We are going to old hermit’s cave,” Dugger replied, “We’re going to see if we can raise

the phantom of the cave.” “You’re going to do what?” I asked. “To see if we can see the hermit’s ghost,” Dwayne replied, “That’s why the Tutshone

won’t go there. They believe the cave is haunted. Come on, we’re making it a party. We’ve potatoes and some sausages. We’re going to build a bonfire, and after we look through the cave, we’ll barbecue the sausages and have a potato bake.”

“We’ve a little fruit juice to go along the sausages,” Dexter laughed. The old cave was near the river, but wasn’t entirely a natural cave for whatever

geological feature had been there before had been enlarged long ago to make a residence. It was strictly off limits to the Tutshone, for they regarded it as an evil place. The Nubeecees also avoided the cave in deference to the Tutshone. The other Valley people were unaware of its existence.

Its reputation was not without foundation, for a hermit, who once lived there over a century ago, had possibly excavated it. He had arrived as a refugee before the Nubeecees, and had lived alone, aloof, and wary of human contact. He was never seen in the village; he ordered supplies and paid for them in silver coins through a villager. One day, the villager was found tortured and strangled to death. The tribal constable, called in to investigate the crime, went to the cave to interview the hermit but found that he too had been murdered. The tracks indicated several assailants had attacked him as he went to a spring for water, and then dragged him to the cave where they tortured and strangled him in the same manner as the villager. The corpse of one of the attackers was also found with a strange amulet wound around his throat. The villagers mounted a search to find the killers, but the trail went cold, and they were never caught. The motive was thought to be the money because the cave had been thoroughly ransacked. The amulet that was removed from the attacker’s throat was now displayed in the museum at the library along with the gruesome story of its discovery.

“Nobody goes to the cave. Isn’t it forbidden to go there?” I asked. “It isn’t forbidden—it’s only that many people around here are superstitious,” Dugger

said, “It’ll be a good place to party. No one, especially the tribal police, will bother us there. Come around to the back. I’ll give you a hand up.”

“Yes, Cap, come with us,” Dorothy said. Having been just abandoned by my erstwhile friends, I drew comfort from the warm

welcome extended to me by the McPhees. I was also interested in viewing the cave, even if I had some trepidation about going there. Dorothy, who watched me intently with her soft doe-like eyes, was also an inducement to throw caution to the wind and go with them. It was a decision that I made in the spur of the moment, but it was one that was to set the course of my life; a fork in the road that led to a path from which there was no turning back.

“OK, I’m coming with you,” I said, and went to the back of the truck where Dugger was waiting to pull me up. When I was aboard, Dugger and I went and stood near Dorothy at the front of the truck box. Dwayne started up the truck, and we bounced down the rough road toward the cave. After a few minutes, Dexter, who sat on a wooden box in a corner of the truck box, poured liquid from a large jug into a tin cup that he then passed around. He retained control of the jug to prevent anyone in the crowd from taking too much. When it became my turn, I took a sip. The liquid had bitter, burnt apple flavor and contained alcohol and other distillates that scalded my mouth and throat. I spat it out. “What is this stuff?” I asked Dorothy.

“It’s hard apple cider spiked with some of Dad’s home brew. Tastes awful, doesn’t it? I won’t drink it. The boys raided Dad’s liquor cellar,” Dorothy whispered, “Dexter, Bernie, and the Roth boys are heavy into it. I just hope they don’t get too crazy tonight.” I could see that not all the crowd was imbibing equally, but when it was passed to them, most didn’t spurn the liquor as I had.

“Come on, drink up,” Dexter urged me, “Not all Nubeecees are teetotalers—loosen up.” “Even if I was a drinker, I couldn’t stomach that stuff—it tastes like fuel oil.” “Wimpy gimp,” he said scowling at me. Then he took the cup someone handed him,

drank it dry, and poured more liquor into it from the jug. Dorothy whispered to me, “Don’t upset him and above all don’t make fun of him. He gets

mean when he drinks.” I was well aware of that; he was mean even when he didn’t drink. I had spent enough

time being pinned down by him while he twisted my arm or sometimes spat in my eye to know that he was mean—and strong too. I was afraid of him and usually gave him a wide berth.

Dwayne followed an old trail that led to the river. When he was close to a dry tributary, he stopped the truck and got out of the cab. “We are here. It’s a short walk through the bush and across the streambed,” he said, and then began to organize the supplies to take with us.

Dwayne had Dexter open the box that he had been sitting on and take out several torches that were stored there. Dwayne lit the torches with a match and handed them out. I took one to light the way for Dugger and Dorothy, who had picked up some of the groceries. Then we joined the crowd of people that was making its way to the cave.

The dry streambed was strewn with boulders. In the spring and autumn it ran with water, but in the summer it was dry. Clumps of tamarisk and Russian olive grew on the banks and on the islands of sediment. After hiking across the dry watercourse, we came to a break in the trees that led up the bank through the mesquite and rabbit bush to the cave. We climbed up the break to a low, open area that lay before the cave. There we stopped and cleared an area for a bonfire. Several of our party had stopped on the way through the riverbed and picked up driftwood that they now piled in the center of the clearing. Dwayne and Billy gathered some dry twigs and grass to use as kindling, placed the kindling under the wood, and lit it to start the fire.

Once the bonfire was blazing, most of us left for the cave. Dexter, Bernie, and the Roth boys remained behind by the fire still passing the cup around, although the rate of exchange had begun to slow because the jug was getting low, and one of the Roth boys had become sick and was vomiting behind a nearby bush.

The heavy door that blocked entrance to the cave was closed, but the lock on it had been broken allowing access to the interior. When Dwayne and Dugger pushed against the door, it slowly swung inward. “Dexter and Billy were here not long ago and broke the lock. They said they didn’t want to come with us because they had seen it all. We haven’t been inside before,” Dugger said.

We entered the cave to find ourselves in a large room that easily accommodated the crowd of onlookers. The flickering light from the torches revealed chisel marks on the walls and roof from the time when the cave had been hollowed out. The floor was smooth as if it had been shaped by tremendous effort. A thick layer of dust blanketed everything. Except for the brothers’ recent footprints, the room looked as if it had been untouched since the time of the murder. The dry environment had preserved everything as if it had happened yesterday. The table remained upright, but the bed was overturned and chairs lay all about. Pots, pans, dishes, canisters, and cutlery were still strewn over the floor. A wooden wall that covered the back of the living area

had a doorway that appeared to allow access to deeper reaches of the cave. The door at the entrance had been torn off of its hinges and lay splintered against the wall. Several people entered the doorway to explore the back, but most of us poked around what appeared to be the main living area. Some picked up and examined the utensils that were scattered on the living room floor, while others stood admiring the large fireplace. I was drawn by a glint of torchlight reflected by a shiny object in one corner of the room that seemed to repeatedly hit my eye. Eventually I went over to investigate the source of the reflection and found an object lying in the dust. The object puzzled me for when I looked closely, it didn’t seem to shine at all, but was entirely covered with dirt and grime. When I brushed the dirt away and held it up to the light, I saw an ovoid, grey piece of metal sitting on a complex ring-like structure—a sort of flat egg, sitting on a coiled nest. It had a cord attached that allowed it to be hung around the neck. The find filled me with excitement; it was an amulet exactly like the one in the library museum.

Those, who had entered the area through the open doorway at the back to explore the cave, returned saying that the cave ended just behind the wall in what looked like a storage room. When everyone was again collected together in the main room, I had them gather around to show them my find.

“Look at what I found, “ I said. “It looks like a super-large belt buckle. What is it?” one of the Roths asked. “Haven’t you ever been to the library museum?” I asked. “Nope, don’t go to the library.” “Well, if you did, you would know it is like the amulet found on the murdered hermit,

who once lived in this cave.” “I think Dexter found something like that,” Dorothy said. “I can’t see how it could have been used to kill someone. Come on, let’s go. This place is

creepy,” someone else said. No one seemed to be as excited by my find as I was. I resolved to keep it and hung it on my neck.

With everyone having satisfied his or her curiosity about the cave, we made our way back to the fire. It was obvious from their remarks that many in the crowd were unimpressed by the cave and some even scorned its reputation. When we arrived back, the jug was empty and Dean and the Roth boy, who had been sick, were so drunk that they could hardly stand. Dexter greeted us, “What did you see?”

“It seems just an ordinary hillside dugout—large though,” Dugger replied. “I told you so. Find anything of interest?” “Cap found something—a sort of large brooch,” Dwayne said. “Let’s see.” I took off the amulet and held it up. “Hand it over. Let me look at it,” Dexter demanded. I held it out to him. He took it, held it up to the light of the fire and stared at it. “That’s

mine, ” he said finally. “No, I just found it in the cave,” I said. “It’s mine. See the three marked here. I found it the first time I came here. I took it home

and then it went missing. How did you get it? You must have come and stole it,” Dexter said. “How could I have stolen it? I haven’t been anywhere near your place. You’re crazy.” “He just found it. We saw him it pick up,” Dorothy spoke up in my defense. “It’s mine,” Dexter said, and before I could move or respond, he hit me on the side of the

head with a roundhouse swing that knocked me flat. He then fell on me, throttling me with both hands. “You took it, didn’t you, you gimpy sonabitch?”

I struggled but couldn’t break his chokehold, which was so tight that I couldn’t breathe. Just as Dwayne and Dugger came to pull him off, a rumbling sound came from the cave. Everyone looked toward the cave entrance as the rumbling continued. Then suddenly the cave door burst open and a blinding burst of light filled the space around us. Dexter, who hadn’t released his grip on my throat, also looked at the cave entrance. I could see his face fill with surprise, amazement, and then fear. Suddenly he let out a howl of pain, let go of me, and grabbed his neck as if stung or bitten by something unseen.

After he released his grip on my throat, I remained on the ground gasping for air. Finally, I lifted my head to see what was happening. Everyone remained staring at the cave entrance where a large lion with a huge mane stood flicking its tail and glaring at us. After looking at us, it bared its teeth, opened its huge mouth, and let out a loud roar. Dexter let out another yelp, this time grabbing at his leg. Some of the others hollered in pain too. The lion roared once more and then charged out of the entrance and stopped. Everyone ran for his or her lives. Even the severely inebriated members of the party stumbled off into the darkness helped along by the unseen jabs. I was left on the ground still dazed. The lion charged again and ran toward me, but Dexter’s assault had left me incapable of fleeing. I watched in terror as the beast came straight for me, then at the last moment sprang over me, and went on to chase the others. Soon I could hear it roaring in the bush, first in one place and then in another. It wasn’t long before I heard members of the group calling to each other as they made their way to the truck. Eventually they must have all gathered at the truck because I heard the motor start and the truck drive off.

They had left without me. After this, the roaring stopped and everything became quiet. All I could hear was the crackling of the fire. It took me awhile to recover, and when I did, I looked at the cave entrance. It was dark, the door was closed, and I seemed alone. Whatever it was that I had seen had disappeared. It was as if a summer storm had passed and I was left in the calm that followed. I got up and looked around. At my feet I saw the amulet lying on the ground. I bent down, picked it up, put it on, and started to leave for home.

Before I left, as a matter of habit, I began pulling burning pieces of wood apart and kicking dirt on the embers to put out the fire. But when a soft, deep voice called out from the direction of the cave, “Leave it,” fear again overwhelmed me. I ran toward the streambed in a panic, often stumbling and falling, for in those days my prosthetic was a simple metal extension with a foot that was attached to the stump of my leg. When I fell, terror engulfed me, and I scrambled to my feet as quickly as I could to run again. When I reached the trail on the other side of the streambed, I collapsed to the ground out of breath, my heart pounding so hard that it seemed it would burst from my chest. After I caught my breath and calmed down, I set out for home at a trot and constantly looked back to see if I was being followed. But I saw nothing in the darkness.

By the time I reached home, the sky had begun to lighten in the east. I quietly entered the house, went to my room, and slumped exhausted onto my bed. My stump was rubbed raw and pained me, but I soon fell asleep. It was almost noon when my mother, Sociability, called Soshie by her family and friends, came to wake me. I got up, got dressed, and went downstairs. Mother seemed concerned. “Your father and I didn’t hear you come in last night. Was it late?” she asked.

“A little,” I said. “I hope you weren’t at that bush party last night. The tribal police had to break it up, and

several students were arrested, including that girl you were supposed to take to the dance. One of them somehow got hold of a jug of McPhee’s homebrew. I hope you weren’t there.”

“No, mother, I wasn’t there. We split and I hung out with some friends.”