As the time came when I must return to the south and to the tame, thesettled, the quiet, I experienced a profound feeling of regret, oflonging for the wild and lonely. I looked up at the shining green andwhite mountains and they allured me still, notwithstanding all thetoil and discomfort of the journey just completed. The wind from thesouth, damp and cool, the great river gliding with rushing roar tomeet the sea, had a distinct and wonderful charm from which I rentmyself with distinct effort.
THE TOIL OF THE TRAIL
What have I gained by the toil of the trail? I know and know well. I have found once again the lore I had lost In the loud city's hell.
I have broadened my hand to the cinch and the axe, I have laid my flesh to the rain; I was hunter and trailer and guide; I have touched the most primitive wildness again.
I have threaded the wild with the stealth of the deer, No eagle is freer than I; No mountain can thwart me, no torrent appall, I defy the stern sky. So long as I live these joys will remain, I have touched the most primitive wildness again.
CHAPTER XX
GREAT NEWS AT WRANGELL
Boat after boat had come up, stopped for a night, and dropped downthe river again, carrying from ten to twenty of the goldseekers whohad determined to quit or to try some other way in; and at last thetime had come for me to say good-by to Burton and all those who haddetermined to keep on to Teslin Lake. I had helped them buy and sackand weigh their supplies, and they were ready to line up once more.
As I led Ladrone down toward the boat, he called again for hisfellows, but only strangers made reply. After stowing him safely awayand giving him feed, I returned to the deck in order to wave my hatto Burton.
In accordance with his peculiar, undemonstrative temperament, hestood for a few moments in silence, with his hands folded behind hisback, then, with a final wave of the hand, turned on his heel andreturned to his work.
Farewells and advice more or less jocular rang across the rail of theboat between some ten or fifteen of us who had hit the new trail andthose on shore.
"Good-by, boys; see you at Dawson."
"We'll beat you in yet," called Bill. "Don't over-work."
"Let us know if you strike it!" shouted Frank.
"All right; you do the same," I replied.
As the boat swung out into the stream, and the little group on thebank faded swiftly away, I confess to a little dimness of the eyes. Ithought of the hardships toward which my uncomplaining partner washeaded, and it seemed to me Nature was conspiring to crush him.
The trip down the river was exceedingly interesting. The stream grewnarrower as we approached the coast range, and became at last verydangerous for a heavy boat such as the _Strathcona_ was. We wereforced to lay by at last, some fifty miles down, on account of theterrific wind which roared in through the gap, making the steering ofthe big boat through the canyon very difficult.
At the point where we lay for the night a small creek came in.Steel-headed salmon were running, and the creek was literally linedwith bear tracks of great size, as far up as we penetrated. Thesebears are said to be a sort of brown fishing bear of enormous bulk,as large as polar bears, and when the salmon are spawning in theupper waters of the coast rivers, they become so fat they can hardlymove. Certainly I have never been in a country where bear signs wereso plentiful. The wood was an almost impassable tangle of vines andundergrowth, and the thought of really finding a bear was appalling.
The Stikeen breaks directly through the coast range at right angles,like a battering-ram. Immense glaciers were on either side. Onetremendous river of ice came down on our right, presenting a facewall apparently hundreds of feet in height and some miles in width. Ishould have enjoyed exploring this glacier, which is said to be oneof the greatest on the coast.
The next day our captain, a bold and reckless man, carried us throughto Wrangell by _walking_ his boat over the sand bars on itspaddle-wheel. I was exceedingly nervous, because if for any reason wehad become stuck in mid river, it would have been impossible to feedLadrone or to take him ashore except by means of another steamer.However, all things worked together to bring us safely through, andin the afternoon of the second day we entered an utterly differentworld--the warm, wet coast country. The air was moist, the grassesand tall ferns were luxuriant, and the forest trees immense. Out intoa sun-bright bay we swept with a feeling of being in safe waters oncemore, and rounded-to about sunset at a point on the island just abovea frowzy little town. This was Wrangell Island and the town was FortWrangell, one of the oldest stations on the coast.
I had placed my horse under bond intending to send him through toVancouver to be taken care of by the Hudson Bay Company. He was stilla Canadian horse and so must remain upon the wharf over night. As hewas very restless and uneasy, I camped down beside him on theplanks.
I lay for a long time listening to the waters flowing under me andlooking at the gray-blue sky, across which stars shot like distantrockets dying out in the deeps of the heavens in silence. An odioussmell rose from the bay as the tide went out, a seal bawled in thedistance, fishes flopped about in the pools beneath me, and a manplaying a violin somewhere in the village added a melancholy note. Icould hear the boys crying, "All about the war," and Ladronecontinued restless and eager. Several times in the night, when hewoke me with his trampling, I called to him, and hearing my voice hebecame quiet.
I took breakfast at a twenty-five cent "joint," where I washed out ofa tin basin in an ill-smelling area. After breakfast I grappled withthe customs man and secured the papers which made Ladrone an Americanhorse, free to eat grass wherever it could be found under the starsand stripes. I started immediately to lead him to pasture, and thiswas an interesting and memorable experience.
There are no streets, that is to say no roads, in Wrangell. There areno carriages and no horses, not even donkeys. Therefore it wasnecessary for Ladrone to walk the perilous wooden sidewalks after me.This he did with all the dignity of a county judge, and at last wecame upon grass, knee deep, rich and juicy.
Our passage through the street created a great sensation. Littlechildren ran to the gates to look upon us. "There goes a horsie,"they shouted. An old man stopped me on the street and asked me whereI was taking "T'old 'orse." I told him I had already ridden him overa thousand miles and now he was travelling with me back to God'scountry. He looked at me in amazement, and walked off tapping hisforehead as a sign that I must certainly "have wheels."
As I watched Ladrone at his feed an old Indian woman came along andsmiled with amiable interest. At last she said, pointing to the otherside of the village, "Over there muck-a-muck, hy-u muck-a-muck." Shewished to see the horse eating the best grass there was to be had onthe island.
A little later three or four native children came down the hill andwere so amazed and so alarmed at the sight of this great beastfeeding beside the walk that they burst into loud outcry and randesperately away. They were not accustomed to horses. To them he wasquite as savage in appearance as a polar bear.
In a short time everybody in the town knew of the old gray horse andhis owner. I furnished a splendid topic for humorous conversationduring the dull hours of the day.
Here again I came upon other gaunt and rusty-coated men from the LongTrail. They could be recognized at a glance by reason of their sombrefaces and their undecided action. They could scarcely bringthemselves to such ignominious return from a fruitless trip on whichthey had started with so much elation, and yet they hesitated aboutattempting any further adventure to the north, mainly because theirhorses had sold for so little and their expenses had been so great.Many of them were nearly broken. In the days that followed theydiscussed the matter in subdued voices, sitting in the sun on thegreat wharf, sombrely looking out upon the bay.
On the third day a steamer came in from the north, buzzing with thenews of another great strike not far from Skagway. Juneau, Dyea, aswell as Skagway itself, were said to be almost deserted. Men wereleaving the White Pass Railway in h
undreds, and a number of the handson the steamer herself had deserted under the excitement. Minglingwith the passengers we eagerly extracted every drop of informationpossible. No one knew much about it, but they said all they knew anda good part of what they had heard, and when the boat swung round anddisappeared in the moonlight, she left the goldseekers exultant andtremulous on the wharf.
They were now aflame with desire to take part in this new stampede,which seemed to be within their slender means, and I, being one ofthem and eager to see such a "stampede," took a final session withthe customs collector, and prepared to board the next boat.
I arranged with Duncan McKinnon to have my old horse taken care of inhis lot. I dug wells for him so that he should not lack for water,and treated him to a dish of salt, and just at sunset said good-by tohim with another twinge of sadness and turned toward the wharf. Helooked very lonely and sad standing there with drooping head in themidst of the stumps of his pasture lot. However, there was plenty offeed and half a dozen men volunteered to keep an eye on him.
"Don't worry, mon," said Donald McLane. "He'll be gettin' fat andstrong on the juicy grass, whilst you're a-heavin' out thegold-dust."
There were about ten of us who lined up to the purser's window of thelittle steamer which came along that night and purchased second-classpassage. The boat was very properly named the _Utopia_, and was socrowded with other goldseekers from down the coast, that we of theLong Trail were forced to put our beds on the floor of the littlesaloon in the stern of the boat which was called the "social room."We were all second-class, and we all lay down in rows on the carpet,covering every foot of space. Each man rolled up in his own blankets,and I was the object of considerable remark by reason of my mattress,which gave me as good a bed as the vessel afforded.
There was a great deal of noise on the boat, and its passengers, bothmen and women, were not of the highest type. There were severalstowaways, and some of the women were not very nice as to theiractions, and, rightly or wrongly, were treated with scant respect bythe men, who were loud and vulgar for the most part. Sleep wasdifficult in the turmoil.
Though second-class passengers, strange to say, we came first attable and were very well fed. The boat ran entirely inside a long rowof islands, and the water was smooth as a river. The mountains greweach moment more splendid as we neared Skagway, and the ride was mostenjoyable. Whales and sharks interested us on the way. The women cameto light next day, and on the whole were much better than I hadinferred from the two or three who were the source of disturbance thenight before. The men were not of much interest; they seemed pettyand without character for the most part.
At Juneau we came into a still more mountainous country, and for therest of the way the scenery was magnificent. Vast rivers of ice camecurving down absolutely out of the clouds which hid the summits ofthe mountains--came curving in splendid lines down to the verywater's edge. The sea was chill and gray, and as we entered the mouthof Lynn Canal a raw swift wind swept by, making us shiver with cold.The grim bronze-green mountains' sides formed a most impressive butforbidding scene.
It was nine o'clock the next morning as we swung to and unloadedourselves upon one of the long wharves which run out from the town ofSkagway toward the deep water. We found the town exceedingly quiet.Half the men had gone to the new strike. Stores were being tended bywomen, some small shops were closed entirely, and nearly everybusiness firm had sent representatives into the new gold fields,which we now found to be on Atlin Lake.
It was difficult to believe that this wharf a few months before hadbeen the scene of a bloody tragedy which involved the shooting of"Soapy Smith," the renowned robber and desperado. On the contrary, itseemed quite like any other town of its size in the States. The airwas warm and delightful in midday, but toward night the piercingwind swept down from the high mountains, making an overcoatnecessary.
A few men had returned from this new district, and were full ofenthusiasm concerning the prospects. Their reports increased thealmost universal desire to have a part in the stampede. The Iowa boysfrom the Long Trail wasted no time, but set about their own plans forgetting in. They expected to reach the creek by sheer force andawkwardness.
They had determined to try the "cut-off," which left the wagon roadand took off up the east fork of the Skagway River. Nearly threehundred people had already set out on this trail, and the boys feltsure of "making it all right--all right," though it led over a greatglacier and into an unmapped region of swift streams. "After theTelegraph Trail," said Doc, "we're not easily scared."
It seemed to me a desperate chance, and I was not ready to enter uponsuch a trip with only such grub and clothing as could be carried uponmy back; but it was the last throw of the dice for these youngfellows. They had very little money left, and could not afford tohire pack trains; but by making a swift dash into the country, eachhoped to get a claim. How they expected to hold it or use it afterthey got it, they were unable to say; but as they were out for gold,and here was a chance (even though it were but the slightest chancein the world) to secure a location, they accepted it with the sublimeaudacity of youth and ignorance. They saddled themselves with theirpacks, and with a cheery wave of the hand said "Good-by and goodluck" and marched away in single file.
Just a week later I went round to see if any news of them hadreturned to their bunk house. I found their names on the register.They had failed. One of them set forth their condition of purse andmind by writing: "Dave Walters, Boone, Iowa. Busted and going home."
THE GOLDSEEKERS
I saw these dreamers of dreams go by, I trod in their footsteps a space; Each marched with his eyes on the sky, Each passed with a light on his face.
They came from the hopeless and sad, They faced the future and gold; Some the tooth of want's wolf had made mad, And some at the forge had grown old.
Behind them these serfs of the tool The rags of their service had flung; No longer of fortune the fool, This word from each bearded lip rung:
"Once more I'm a man, I am free! No man is my master, I say; To-morrow I fail, it may be-- No matter, I'm freeman to-day."
They go to a toil that is sure, To despair and hunger and cold; Their sickness no warning can cure, They are mad with a longing for gold.
The light will fade from each eye, The smile from each face; They will curse the impassible sky, And the earth when the snow torrents race.
Some will sink by the way and be laid In the frost of the desolate earth; And some will return to a maid, Empty of hand as at birth.
_But this out of all will remain,_ _They have lived and have tossed;_ _So much in the game will be gain,_ _Though the gold of the dice has been lost._
CHAPTER XXI
THE RUSH TO ATLIN LAKE
It took me longer to get under way, for I had determined to take atleast thirty days' provisions for myself and a newspaper man whojoined me here. Our supplies, together with tent, tools, andclothing, made a considerable outfit. However, in a few days we wereready to move, and when I again took my place at the head of a littlepack train it seemed quite in the natural order of things.
We left late in the day with intent to camp at the little village ofWhite Pass, which was the end of the wagon road and some twelve milesaway. We moved out of town along a road lined with refuse,camp-bottoms, ruined cabins, tin cans, and broken bottles,--all theunsightly debris of the rush of May and June. A part of the way hadbeen corduroyed, for which I was exceedingly grateful, for theSkagway River roared savagely under our feet, while on either side ofthe roadway at other points I could see abysses of mud which, in thegrowing darkness, were sufficiently menacing.
Our course was a northerly one. We were ascending the ever narrowingcanyon of the river at a gentle grade, with snowy mountains in vista.We arrived at White Pass at about ten o'clock at night. A littletown is springing up there, confident of being an important stationon the railroad which was already built to that poi
nt.
Thus far the journey had been easy and simple, but immediately afterleaving White Pass we entered upon an exceedingly stony road, filledwith sharp rock which had been blasted from the railway above us.Upon reaching the end of the wagon road, and entering upon the trail,we came upon the Way of Death. The waters reeked with carrion. Thebreeze was the breath of carrion, and all nature was made indecentand disgusting by the presence of carcasses. Within the distance offifteen miles we passed more than two thousand dead horses. It was acruel land, a land filled with the record of men's merciless greed.Nature herself was cold, majestic, and grand. The trail rough, hard,and rocky. The horses labored hard under their heavy burdens, thoughthe floor they trod was always firm.
Just at the summit in the gray mist, where a bulbous granite ridgecut blackly and lonesomely against the sky, we overtook a flock ofturkeys being driven by a one-armed man with a singularly appropriateScotch cap on his head. The birds sat on the bleak gray rocks in thegathering dusk with the suggestion of being utterly at the end of theworld. Their feathers were blown awry by the merciless wind and theylooked weary, disconsolate, and bewildered. Their faint, sad gobblingwas like the talk of sick people lost in a desert. They were on theirway to Dawson City to their death and they seemed to know it.
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