The Trail of the Goldseekers: A Record of Travel in Prose and Verse

by Hamlin Garland

  On the following noon we topped another rise, and came unmistakablyin sight of the Stikeen River lying deep in its rocky canyon. We hadridden all the morning in a pelting rain, slashed by wet trees,plunging through bogs and sliding down ravines, and when we saw thevalley just before us we raised a cheer. It seemed we could hear thehotel bells ringing far below.

  But when we had tumbled down into the big canyon near the water'sedge, we found ourselves in scarcely better condition than before. Wewere trapped with no feed for our horses, and no way to cross theriver, which was roaring mad by reason of the heavy rains, a swiftand terrible flood, impossible to swim. Men were camped all along thebank, out of food like ourselves, and ragged and worn and weary. Theyhad formed a little street of camps. Borland, the leader of the bigmule train, was there, calm and efficient as ever. "The WilsonOutfit," "The Man from Chihuahua," "Throw-me-feet," and theManchester boys were also included in the group. "The Dutchman" camesliding down just behind us.

  After a scanty dinner of bacon grease and bread we turned our horsesout on the flat by the river, and joined the little village. Borlandsaid: "We've been here for a day and a half, tryin' to induce thatdamn ferryman to come over, and now we're waitin' for reenforcements.Let's try it again, numbers will bring 'em."

  Thereupon we marched out solemnly upon the bank (some ten or fifteenof us) and howled like a pack of wolves.

  For two hours we clamored, alternating the Ute war-whoop with theSwiss yodel. It was truly cacophonous, but it produced results.Minute figures came to the brow of the hill opposite, and looked atus like cautious cockroaches and then went away. At last two shadowybeetles crawled down the zigzag trail to the ferry-boat, and beganbailing her out. Ultimately three men, sweating, scared, andtremulous, swung a clumsy scow upon the sand at our feet. It was nochild's play to cross that stream. Together with one of "The LittleDutchmen," and a representation from "The Mule Outfit," I steppedinto the boat and it was swung off into the savage swirl of graywater. We failed of landing the first time. I did not wonder at theferryman's nervousness, as I felt the heave and rush of the whirlingsavage flood.

  At the "ratty" little town of Telegraph Creek we purchased beans atfifteen cents a pound, bacon at thirty-five cents, and flour at tencents, and laden with these necessaries hurried back to the hungryhordes on the opposite side of the river. That night "The LittleDutchman" did nothing but cook and eat to make up for lost time.Every face wore a smile.

  The next morning Burton and one or two other men from the outfitstook the horses back up the trail to find feed, while the rest of usremained in camp to be ready for the boats. Late in the afternoon weheard far down the river a steamer whistling for Telegraph Creek,and everybody began packing truck down to the river where the boatwas expected to land. Word was sent back over the trail to the boysherding the horses, and every man was in a tremor of apprehensionlest the herders should not hear the boat and bring the horses downin time to get off on it.

  It was punishing work packing our stuff down the sloppy path to theriver bank, but we buckled to it hard, and in the course of a coupleof hours had all snug and ready for embarkation.

  There was great excitement among the outfits, and every man washurrying and worrying to get away. It was known that charges would behigh, and each of us felt in his pocket to see how many dollars hehad left. The steamboat company had us between fire and water andcould charge whatever it pleased. Some of the poor prospectors gaveup their last dollar to cross this river toward which they hadjourneyed so long.

  The boys came sliding down the trail wildly excited, driving thehorses before them, and by 5.30 we were all packed on the boat, onehundred and twenty horses and some two dozen men. We were a seedy andcareworn lot, in vivid contrast with the smartly uniformed purser ofthe boat. The rates were exorbitant, but there was nothing to do butto pay them. However, Borland and I, acting as committee, broughtsuch pressure to bear upon the purser that he "threw in" a dinner,and there was a joyous rush for the table when this good news wasannounced. For the first time in nearly three months we were able tosit down to a fairly good meal with clean nice tableware, with pieand pudding to end the meal. It seemed as though we had reachedcivilization. The boat was handsomely built, and quite new andcapacious, too, for it held our horses without serious crowding. Iwas especially anxious about Ladrone, but was able to get him into avery nice place away from the engines and in no danger of beingkicked by a vicious mule.

  We drifted down the river past Telegraph Creek without stopping, andlate at night laid by at Glenora and unloaded in the crisp, cooldusk. As we came off the boat with our horses we were met by a crowdof cynical loafers who called to us out of the dark, "What in hellyou fellows think you're doing?" We were regarded as wildly insanefor having come over so long and tedious a route.

  We erected our tents, and went into camp beside our horses on thebank near the dock. It was too late to move farther that night. Wefed our beasts upon hay at five cents a pound,--poor hay atthat,--and they were forced to stand exposed to the searching riverwind.

  As for ourselves, we were filled with dismay by the hopeless dulnessof the town. Instead of being the hustling, rushing gold camp we hadexpected to find, it came to light as a little town of tents andshanties, filled with men who had practically given up the TeslinLake Route as a bad job. The government trail was incomplete, thewagon road only built halfway, and the railroad--of which we hadheard so much talk--had been abandoned altogether.

  As I slipped the saddle and bridle from Ladrone next day and turnedhim out upon the river bottom for a two weeks' rest, my heart wasvery light. The long trail was over. No more mud, rocks, stumps, androots for Ladrone. Away the other poor animals streamed down thetrail, many of them lame, all of them poor and weak, and some of themstill crazed by the poisonous plants of the cold green mountainsthrough which they had passed.

  This ended the worst of the toil, the torment of the trail. It had nodangers, but it abounded in worriments and disappointments. As I lookback upon it now I suffer, because I see my horses standingankle-deep in water on barren marshes or crowding round the firechilled and weak, in endless rain. If our faces looked haggard andworn, it was because of the never ending anxiety concerning thefaithful animals who trusted in us to find them food and shelter.Otherwise we suffered little, slept perfectly dry and warm everynight, and ate three meals each day: true, the meals grew scanty andmonotonous, but we did not go hungry.

  The trail was a disappointment to me, not because it was long andcrossed mountains, but because it ran through a barren, monotonous,silent, gloomy, and rainy country. It ceased to interest me. It hadalmost no wild animal life, which I love to hear and see. Its lakesand rivers were for the most part cold and sullen, and its forestssombre and depressing. The only pleasant places after leavingHazleton were the high valleys above timber line. They weremagnificent, although wet and marshy to traverse.

  As a route to reach the gold fields of Teslin Lake and the Yukon itis absurd and foolish. It will never be used again for that purpose.Should mines develop on the high divides between the Skeena, Iskoot,and Stikeen, it may possibly be used again from Hazleton; otherwiseit will be given back to the Indians and their dogs.

  THE FOOTSTEP IN THE DESERT

  A man put love forth from his heart, And rode across the desert far away. "Woman shall have no place nor part In my lone life," men heard him say. He rode right on. The level rim Of the barren plain grew low and wide; It seemed to taunt and beckon him, To ride right on and fiercely ride.

  One day he rode a well-worn path, And lo! even in that far land He saw (and cursed in gusty wrath) A woman's footprint in the sand. Sharply he drew the swinging rein, And hanging from his saddle bow Gazed long and silently--cursed again, Then turned as if to go.

  "For love will seize you at the end, Fear loneliness--fear sickness, too, For they will teach you wisdom, friend." Yet he rode on as madmen do. He built a cabin by a soun
ding stream, He digged in canyons dark and deep, And ever the waters caused a dream And the face of woman broke his sleep.

  It was a slender little mark, And the man had lived alone so long Within the canyon's noise and dark, The footprint moved him like a song. It spoke to him of women in the East, Of girls in silken robes, with shining hair, And talked of those who sat at feast, While sweet-eyed laughter filled the air.

  And more. A hundred visions rose, He saw his mother's knotted hands Ply round thick-knitted homely hose, Her thoughts with him in desert lands. A smiling wife, in bib and cap, Moved busily from chair to chair, Or sat with apples in her lap, Content with sweet domestic care.

  _All these his curse had put away,_ _All these were his no more to hold;_ _He had his canyon cold and gray,_ _He had his little heaps of gold._

  CHAPTER XIX

  THE GOLDSEEKERS' CAMP AT GLENORA

  Glenora, like Telegraph Creek, was a village of tents and shacks.Previous to the opening of the year it had been an old Hudson Baytrading-post at the head of navigation on the Stikeen River, butduring April and May it had been turned into a swarming camp ofgoldseekers on their way to Teslin Lake by way of the much-advertised"Stikeen Route" to the Yukon.

  A couple of months before our arrival nearly five thousand people hadbeen encamped on the river flat; but one disappointment had followedanother, the government road had been abandoned, the pack trail hadproved a menace, and as a result the camp had thinned away, and whenwe of the Long Trail began to drop into town Glenora contained lessthan five hundred people, including tradesmen and mechanics.

  The journey of those who accompanied me on the Long Trail was by nomeans ended. It was indeed only half done. There remained more thanone hundred and seventy miles of pack trail before the head ofnavigation on the Yukon could be reached. I turned aside. My partnerwent on.

  In order to enter the head-waters of the Pelly it was necessary totraverse four hundred miles of trail, over which a year's provisionfor each man must be carried. Food was reported to be "a dollar apound" at Teslin Lake and winter was coming on. To set face towardany of these regions meant the most careful preparation or certaindeath.

  The weather was cold and bleak, and each night the boys assembledaround the big campfire to discuss the situation. They reported thecountry full of people eager to get away. Everybody seemed studyingthe problem of what to do and how to do it. Some were for going tothe head-waters of the Pelly, others advocated the Nisutlin, andothers still thought it a good plan to prospect on the head-waters ofthe Tooya, from which excellent reports were coming in.

  Hour after hour they debated, argued, and agreed. In the midst of itall Burton remained cool and unhurried. Sitting in our tent, whichflapped and quivered in the sounding southern wind, we discussed thequestion of future action. I determined to leave him here with fourof the horses and a thousand pounds of grub with which to enter thegold country; for my partner was a miner, not a literary man.

  It had been my intention to go with him to Teslin Lake, there tobuild a boat and float down the river to Dawson; but I was six weeksbehind my schedule, the trail was reported to be bad, and the waterin the Hotalinqua very low, making boating slow and hazardous.Therefore I concluded to join the stream of goldseekers who werepushing down toward the coast to go in by way of Skagway.

  There was a feeling in the air on the third day after going into campwhich suggested the coming of autumn. Some of the boys began to dreadthe desolate north, out of which the snows would soon begin to sweep.It took courage to set face into that wild land with winter comingon, and yet many of them were ready to do it. The Manchester boys andBurton formed a "side-partnership," and faced a year of bacon andbeans without visible sign of dismay.

  The ominous cold deepened a little every night. It seemed likeOctober as the sun went down. Around us on every side the mountainpeaks cut the sky keen as the edge of a sword, and the wind howled upthe river gusty and wild.

  A little group of tents sprang up around our own and every day wasfull of quiet enjoyment. We were all living very high, with plenty ofberries and an occasional piece of fresh beef. Steel-head salmon wererunning and were a drug in the market.

  The talk of the Pelly River grew excited as a report came indetailing a strike, and all sorts of outfits began to sift out alongthe trail toward Teslin Lake. The rain ceased at last and the daysgrew very pleasant with the wind again in the south, roaring up theriver all day long with great power, reminding me of the equatorialcurrents which sweep over Illinois and Wisconsin in September. We hadnothing now to trouble us but the question of moving out into thegold country.

  One by one the other misguided ones of the Long Trail came droppinginto camp to meet the general depression and stagnation. They werebrown, ragged, long-haired, and for the most part silent with dismay.Some of them celebrated their escape by getting drunk, but mainlythey were too serious-minded to waste time or substance. Some of themhad expended their last dollar on the trail and were forced to selltheir horses for money to take them out of the country. Some of thepartnerships went to pieces for other causes. Long-smoulderingdissensions burst into flame. "The Swedes" divided and so did "TheDutchman," the more resolute of them keeping on the main trail whileothers took the trail to the coast or returned to the States.

  Meanwhile, Ladrone and his fellows were rejoicing like ourselves infairly abundant food and in continuous rest. The old gray began tolook a little more like his own proud self. As I went out to see himhe came up to me to be curried and nosed about me, begging for salt.His trust in me made him doubly dear, and I took great joy inthinking that he, at least, was not doomed to freeze or starve inthis savage country which has no mercy and no hope for horses.

  There was great excitement on the first Sunday following our goinginto camp, when the whistle of a steamer announced the coming of themail. It produced as much movement as an election or a bear fight. Weall ran to the bank to see her struggle with the current, gainingheadway only inch by inch. She was a small stern-wheeler, not unlikethe boats which run on the upper Missouri. We all followed her downto the Hudson Bay post, like a lot of small boys at a circus, to seeher unload. This was excitement enough for one day, and we returnedto camp feeling that we were once more in touch with civilization.

  Among the first of those who met us on our arrival was a German, whowas watching some horses and some supplies in a big tent close by theriver bank. While pitching my tent on that first day he came over tosee me, and after a few words of greeting said quietly, but withfeeling, "I am glad you've come, it was so lonesome here." We werevery busy, but I think we were reasonably kind to him in the daysthat followed. He often came over of an evening and stood about thefire, and although I did not seek to entertain him, I am glad to sayI answered him civilly; Burton was even social.

  I recall these things with a certain degree of feeling, because notless than a week later this poor fellow was discovered by one of ourcompany swinging from the crosstree of the tent, a ghastly corpse.There was something inexplicable in the deed. No one could accountfor it. He seemed not to be a man of deep feeling. And one of thelast things he uttered in my hearing was a coarse jest which I didnot like and to which I made no reply.

  In his pocket the coroner found a letter wherein he had written,"Bury me right here where I failed, here on the bank of the river."It contained also a message to his wife and children in the States.There were tragic splashes of red on the trail, murder, and violentdeath by animals and by swift waters. Now here at the end of thetrail was a suicide.

  So this is the end of the trail to him-- To swing at the tail of a rope and die; Making a chapter gray and grim, Adding a ghost to the midnight sky? He toiled for days on the icy way, He slept at night on the wind-swept snow; Now here he hangs in the morning's gray, A grisly shape by the river's flow.

  It was just two weeks later when I put the bridle and saddle onLadrone and rode hi
m down the trail. His heart was light as mine, andhe had gained some part of his firm, proud, leaping walk. He hadconfidence in the earth once more. This was the first firm stretch ofroad he had trod for many weeks. He was now to take the boat for theoutside world.

  There was an element of sadness in the parting between Ladrone andthe train he had led for so many miles. As we saddled up for the lasttime he stood waiting. The horses had fared together for ninety days.They had "lined up" nearly two hundred times, and now for the lasttime I called out: "Line up, boys! Line up! Heke! Heke!"

  Ladrone swung into the trail. Behind him came "Barney," next "Major,"then sturdy "Bay Bill," and lastly "Nibbles," the pony. For the lasttime they were to follow their swift gray leader, who was goingsouth to live at ease, while they must begin again the ascent of thetrail.

  Ladrone whinnied piteously for his mates as I led him aboard thesteamer, but they did not answer. They were patiently waiting theirmaster's signal. Never again would they set eyes on the stately grayleader who was bound to most adventurous things. Never again wouldthey see the green grass come on the hills.

  I had a feeling that I could go on living this way, leading a packtrain across the country indefinitely. It seemed somehow as thoughthis way of life, this routine, must continue. I had a deep interestin the four horses, and it was not without a feeling of guilt that Isaw them move away on their last trail. At bottom the end of everyhorse is tragic. Death comes sooner or later, but death here in thiscountry, so cold and bleak and pitiless to all animals, seems somehowcloser, more inevitable, more cruel, and flings over every animal theshadow of immediate tragedy. There was something approaching crime inbringing a horse over that trail for a thousand miles only to turnhim loose at the end, or to sell him to some man who would work himto the point of death, and then shoot him or turn him out to freeze.