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

by Hamlin Garland

  It rained all night and in the morning it seemed as if it had settledinto a week's downpour. However, we were quite comfortable withplenty of fresh salmon, and were not troubled except with the thoughtof the mud which would result from this rainstorm. We were fallingsteadily behind our schedule each day, but the horses were feedingand gaining strength--"And when we hit the trail, we will hit ithard," I said to Burton.

  It was Sunday. The day was perfectly quiet and peaceful, like a rainySunday in the States. The old Indian below kept to his house all day,not visiting us. It is probable that he was a Catholic. The dogs cameabout us occasionally; strange, solemn creatures that they are, theyhad the persistence of hunger and the silence of burglars.

  It was raining when we awoke Monday morning, but we were now restlessto get under way. We could not afford to spend another day waiting inthe rain. It was gloomy business in camp, and at the first sign oflightening sky we packed up and started promptly at twelve o'clock.

  That ride was the sternest we had yet experienced. It was likeswimming in a sea of green water. The branches sloshed us withblinding raindrops. The mud spurted under our horses' hoofs, the skywas gray and drizzled moisture, and as we rose we plunged into everdeepening forests. We left behind us all hazel bushes, alders, wildroses, and grasses. Moss was on every leaf and stump: the forestbecame savage, sinister and silent, not a living thing but ourselvesmoved or uttered voice.

  This world grew oppressive with its unbroken clear greens, itsdripping branches, its rotting trees; its snake-like roots halfburied in the earth convinced me that our warning was well-born. Atlast we came into upper heights where no blade of grass grew, and wepushed on desperately, on and on, hour after hour. We began to sufferwith the horses, being hungry and cold ourselves. We plunged intobottomless mudholes, slid down slippery slopes of slate, and leapedinnumerable fallen logs of fir. The sky had no more pity than themossy ground and the desolate forest. It was a mocking land, a landof green things, but not a blade of grass: only austere trees andnoxious weeds.

  During the day we met an old man so loaded down I could not tellwhether he was man, woman, or beast. A sort of cap or wide cloth bandwent across his head, concealing his forehead. His huge pack loomedover his shoulders, and as he walked, using two paddles as canes, heseemed some anomalous four-footed beast of burden.

  As he saw us he threw off his pack to rest and stood erect, a sturdyman of sixty, with short bristling hair framing a kindly resoluteface. He was very light-hearted. He shook hands with me, saying,"Kla-how-ya," in answer to my, "Kla-how-ya six," which is to say,"How are you, friend?" He smiled, pointed to his pack, and said,"Hy-u skin." His season had been successful and he was going now tosell his catch. A couple of dogs just behind carried each twentypounds on their backs. We were eating lunch, and I invited him to sitand eat. He took a seat and began to parcel out the food in twopiles.

  "He has a companion coming," I said to my partner. In a few moments aboy of fourteen or fifteen came up, carrying a pack that would testthe strength of a powerful white man. He, too, threw off his load andat a word from the old man took a seat at the table. They sharedexactly alike. It was evident that they were father and son.

  A few miles farther on we met another family, two men, a woman, aboy, and six dogs, all laden in proportion. They were all handsomerthan the Siwashes of the Fraser River. They came from the head-watersof the Nasse, they said. They could speak but little Chinook and noEnglish at all. When I asked in Chinook, "How far is it to feed forour horses?" the woman looked first at our thin animals, then at us,and shook her head sorrowfully; then lifting her hands in the mostdramatic gesture she half whispered, "Si-ah, si-ah!" That is to say,"Far, very far!"

  Both these old people seemed very kind to their dogs, which were fatand sleek and not related to those I had seen in Hazleton. When theold man spoke to them, his voice was gentle and encouraging. At theword they all took up the line of march and went off down the hilltoward the Hudson Bay store, there to remain during the summer. Wepushed on, convinced by the old woman's manner that our long trailwas to be a gloomy one.

  Night began to settle over us at last, adding the final touches ofuncertainty and horror to the gloom. We pushed on with necessarycruelty, forcing the tired horses to their utmost, searching everyravine and every slope for a feed; but only ferns and strange greenpoisonous plants could be seen. We were angling up the side of thegreat ridge which separated the west fork of the Skeena River fromthe middle fork. It was evident that we must cross this high divideand descend into the valley of the middle fork before we could hopeto feed our horses.

  However, just as darkness was beginning to come on, we came to analmost impassable slough in the trail, where a small stream descendedinto a little flat marsh and morass. This had been used as acamping-place by others, and we decided to camp, because to travel,even in the twilight, was dangerous to life and limb.

  It was a gloomy and depressing place to spend the night. There wasscarcely level ground enough to receive our camp. The wood was soggyand green. In order to reach the marsh we were forced to lead ourhorses one by one through a dangerous mudhole, and once through thisthey entered upon a quaking bog, out of which grew tufts of grasswhich had been gnawed to the roots by the animals which had precededthem; only a rank bottom of dead leaves of last year's growth wasleft for our tired horses. I was deeply anxious for fear they wouldcrowd into the central bog in their efforts to reach the uncroppedgreen blades which grew out of reach in the edge of the water. Theywere ravenous with hunger after eight hours of hard labor.

  Our clothing was wet to the inner threads, and we were tired andmuddy also, but our thoughts were on the horses rather than uponourselves. We soon had a fire going and some hot supper, and by teno'clock were stretched out in our beds for the night.

  I have never in my life experienced a gloomier or more distressingcamp on the trail. My bed was dry and warm, but I could not forgetour tired horses grubbing about in the chilly night on that desolatemarsh.

  A CHILD OF THE SUN

  Give me the sun and the sky, The wide sky. Let it blaze with light, Let it burn with heat--I care not. The sun is the blood of my heart, The wind of the plain my breath. No woodsman am I. My eyes are set For the wide low lines. The level rim Of the prairie land is mine. The semi-gloom of the pointed firs, The sleeping darks of the mountain spruce, Are prison and poison to such as I. In the forest I long for the rose of the plain, In the dark of the firs I die.

  IN THE GRASS

  O to lie in long grasses! O to dream of the plain! Where the west wind sings as it passes A weird and unceasing refrain; Where the rank grass wallows and tosses, And the plains' ring dazzles the eye; Where hardly a silver cloud bosses The flashing steel arch of the sky.

  To watch the gay gulls as they flutter Like snowflakes and fall down the sky, To swoop in the deeps of the hollows, Where the crow's-foot tosses awry; And gnats in the lee of the thickets Are swirling like waltzers in glee To the harsh, shrill creak of the crickets And the song of the lark and the bee.

  O far-off plains of my west land! O lands of winds and the free, Swift deer--my mist-clad plain! From my bed in the heart of the forest, From the clasp and the girdle of pain Your light through my darkness passes; To your meadows in dreaming I fly To plunge in the deeps of your grasses, To bask in the light of your sky!

  CHAPTER XIII

  THE SILENT FORESTS OF THE DREAD SKEENA

  We were awake early and our first thought was of our horses. Theywere quite safe and cropping away on the dry stalks with patientdiligence. We saddled up and pushed on, for food was to be had onlyin the valley, whose blue and white walls we could see far ahead ofus. After nearly six hours' travel we came out of the forest, outinto the valley of the middle fork of the Skeena, into sunlight andgrass in abundance, where we camped till the following morning,giving the horses time to recuperate.

  We were done w
ith smiling valleys--that I now perceived. We werecoming nearer to the sub-arctic country, grim and desolate. The viewwas magnificent, but the land seemed empty and silent except ofmosquitoes, of which there were uncounted millions. On our right justacross the river rose the white peaks of the Kisgagash Mountains.Snow was still lying in the gullies only a few rods above us.

  The horses fed right royally and soon forgot the dearth of the bigdivide. As we were saddling up to move the following morning, severaloutfits came trailing down into the valley, glad as we had been ofthe splendid field of grass. They were led by a grizzled oldAmerican, who cursed the country with fine fervor.

  "I can stand any kind of a country," said he, "except one wherethere's no feed. And as near's I can find out we're in fer hell's owntime fer feed till we reach them prairies they tell about."

  After leaving this flat, we had the Kuldo (a swift and powerfulriver) to cross, but we found an old Indian and a girl camped on theopposite side waiting for us. The daughter, a comely child aboutsixteen years of age, wore a calico dress and "store" shoes. She wasa self-contained little creature, and clearly in command of the boat,and very efficient. It was no child's play to put the light canoeacross such a stream, but the old man, with much shouting and undercommand of the girl, succeeded in crossing six times, carrying us andour baggage. As we were being put across for the last time it becamenecessary for some one to pull the canoe through the shallow water,and the little girl, without hesitation, leaped out regardless of newshoes, and tugged at the rope while the old man poled at the stern,and so we were landed.

  As a recognition of her resolution I presented her with a dollar,which I tried to make her understand was her own, and not to be givento her father. Up to that moment she had been very shy and rathersullen, but my present seemed to change her opinion of us, and shebecame more genial at once. She was short and sturdy, and her littlefootsteps in the trail were strangely suggestive of civilization.

  After leaving the river we rose sharply for about three miles. Thisbrought us to the first notice on the trail which was signed by theroad-gang, an ambiguous scrawl to the effect that feed was to be veryscarce for a long, long way, and that we should feed our horsesbefore going forward. The mystery of the sign lay in the fact that nofeed was in sight, and if it referred back to the flat, then it wasin the nature of an Irish bull.

  There was a fork in the trail here, and another notice informed usthat the trail to the right ran to the Indian village of Kuldo. Rainthreatened, and as it was late and no feed promised, I determined tocamp. Turning to the right down a tremendously steep path (the horsessliding on their haunches), we came to an old Indian fishing villagebuilt on a green shelf high above the roaring water of the Skeena.

  The people all came rushing out to see us, curious but veryhospitable. Some of the children began plucking grasses for thehorses, but being unaccustomed to animals of any kind, not one wouldapproach within reach of them. I tried, by patting Ladrone andputting his head over my shoulder, to show them how gentle he was,but they only smiled and laughed as much as to say, "Yes, that is allright for _you_, but we are afraid." They were all very good-looking,smiling folk, but poorly dressed. They seemed eager to show us wherethe best grass grew, demanded nothing of us, begged nothing, and didnot attempt to overcharge us. There were some eight or ten familiesin the canyon, and their houses were wretched shacks, mere lodges ofslabs with vents in the peak. So far as they could, they conformed tothe ways of white men.

  Here they dwell by this rushing river in the midst of a gloomy andtrackless forest, far removed from any other people of any sort. Theywere but a handful of human souls. As they spoke little Chinook andalmost no English, it was difficult to converse with them. They hadlost the sign language or seemed not to use it. Their village wasbuilt here because the canyon below offered a capital place forfishing and trapping, and the principal duty of the men was to watchthe salmon trap dancing far below. For the rest they hunt wildanimals and sell furs to the Hudson Bay Company at Hazleton, which istheir metropolis.

  They led us to the edge of the village and showed us where theroad-gang had set their tent, and we soon had a fire going in ourlittle stove, which was the amazement and delight of a circle of men,women, and children, but they were not intrusive and asked fornothing.

  Later in the evening the old man and the girl who had helped to ferryus across the Kuldo came down the hill and joined the circle of ourvisitors.

  She smiled as we greeted her and so did the father, who assured me hewas the ty-ee (boss) of the village, which he seemed to be.

  After our supper we distributed some fruit among the children, andamong the old women some hot coffee with sugar, which was a keendelight to them. Our desire to be friendly was deeply appreciated bythese poor people, and our wish to do them good was greater than ourmeans. The way was long before us and we could not afford to giveaway our supplies. How they live in winter I cannot understand;probably they go down the river to Hazleton.

  I began to dread the dark green dripping firs which seemed toencompass us like some vast army. They chilled me, oppressed me.Moreover, I was lame in every joint from the toil of crossing rivers,climbing steep hills, and dragging at cinches. I had walked downevery hill and in most cases on the sharp upward slopes in order torelieve Ladrone of my weight.

  As we climbed back to our muddy path next day, we were filled withdark forebodings of the days to come. We climbed all day, keeping thebench high above the river. The land continued silent. It was awilderness of firs and spruce pines. It was like a forest of bronze.Nothing but a few rose bushes and some leek-like plants rose from themossy floor, on which the sun fell, weak and pale, in rare places. Nobeast or bird uttered sound save a fishing eagle swinging through thecanyon above the roaring water.

  In the gloom the voice of the stream became a raucous roar. On everyside cold and white and pitiless the snowy peaks lifted above theserrate rim of the forest.

  Life was scant here. In all the mighty spread of forest between thecontinental divide on the east and the coast range at the west thereare few living things, and these few necessarily centre in the warmopenings on the banks of the streams where the sunlight falls or inthe high valleys above the firs. There are no serpents and noinsects.

  As we mounted day by day we crossed dozens of swift little streamscold and gray with silt. Our rate of speed was very low. One of ourhorses became very weak and ill, evidently poisoned, and we wereforced to stop often to rest him. All the horses were weakening dayby day.

  Toward the middle of the third day, after crossing a stream whichcame from the left, the trail turned as if to leave the Skeenabehind. We were mighty well pleased and climbed sharply and withgreat care of our horses till we reached a little meadow at thesummit, very tired and disheartened, for the view showed only otherpeaks and endless waves of spruce and fir. We rode on under drizzlingskies and dripping trees. There was little sunshine and long lines ofheavily weighted gray clouds came crawling up the valley from the seato break in cold rain over the summits.

  The horses again grew hungry and weak, and it was necessary to usegreat care in crossing the streams. We were lame and sore with thetoil of the day, and what was more depressing found ourselves oncemore upon the banks of the Skeena, where only an occasional bunch ofbluejoint could be found. The constant strain of watching the horsesand guiding them through the mud began to tell on us both. There wasnow no moment of ease, no hour of enjoyment. We had set ourselvesgrimly to the task of bringing our horses through alive. We no longerrode, we toiled in silence, leading our saddle-horses on which wehad packed a part of our outfit to relieve the sick and starvingpackhorses.

  On the fourth day we took a westward shoot from the river, andfollowing the course of a small stream again climbed heavily up theslope. Our horses were now so weak we could only climb a few rods ata time without rest. But at last, just as night began to fall, wecame upon a splendid patch of bluejoint, knee-deep and rich. It washigh on the mountain side, on a slope so steep that th
e horses couldnot lie down, so steep that it was almost impossible to set our tent.We could not persuade ourselves to pass it, however, and so made thebest of it. Everywhere we could see white mountains, to the south, tothe west, to the east.

  "Now we have left the Skeena Valley," said Burton.

  "Yes, we have seen the last of the Skeena," I replied, "and I'm gladof it. I never want to see that gray-green flood again."

  A part of the time that evening we spent in picking the thorns ofdevil's-club out of our hands. This strange plant I had not seenbefore, and do not care to see it again. In plunging through themudholes we spasmodically clutched these spiny things. Ladrone nippedsteadily at the bunch of leaves which grew at the top of the twistedstalk. Again we plunged down into the cold green forest, following astream whose current ran to the northeast. This brought us once againto the bank of the dreaded Skeena. The trail was "punishing," and thehorses plunged and lunged all day through the mud, over logs, stones,and roots. Our nerves quivered with the torture of piloting ourmistrusted desperate horses through these awful pitfalls. We werestill in the region of ferns and devil's-club.

  We allowed no feed to escape us. At any hour of the day, whenever wefound a bunch of grass, no matter if it were not bigger than a broom,we stopped for the horses to graze it and so we kept them on theirfeet.

  At five o'clock in the afternoon we climbed to a low, marshy lakewhere an Indian hunter was camped. He said we would find feed onanother lake some miles up, and we pushed on, wallowing through mudand water of innumerable streams, each moment in danger of leaving ahorse behind. I walked nearly all day, for it was torture to me aswell as to Ladrone to ride him over such a trail. Three of our horsesnow showed signs of poisoning, two of them walked with a sprawlingaction of the fore legs, their eyes big and glassy. One was too weakto carry anything more than his pack-saddle, and our going had a sortof sullen desperation in it. Our camps were on the muddy ground,without comfort or convenience.