Toward night the sky grew thick and heavy with clouds. The water ofthe lake was like molten jewels, ruby and amethyst. The boat seemedfloating in some strange, ethereal substance hitherto unknown toman--translucent and iridescent. The mountains loomed like dim purplepillars at the western gate of the world, and the rays of thehalf-hidden sun plunging athwart these sentinels sank deep into theshining flood. Later the sky cleared, and the inverted mountains inthe lake were scarcely less vivid than those which rose into the sky.
The next day I spent with gold pan and camera, working my way upSpruce Creek, a branch of Pine. I found men cheerily at work gettingout sluice boxes and digging ditches. I panned everywhere, but didnot get much in the way of colors, but the creek seemed to growbetter as I went up, and promised very rich returns. I came backrushing, making five miles just inside an hour, hungry and tired.
The crowded camp thinned out. The faint-hearted ones who had nocourage to sweat for gold sailed away. Others went out upon theirclaims to build cabins and lay sluices. I found them whip-sawinglumber, building cabins, and digging ditches. Each day the news grewmore encouraging, each day brought the discovery of a new creek or alake. Men came back in swarms and reporting finds on "Lake Surprise,"a newly discovered big body of water, and at last came the report ofsurprising discoveries in the benches high above the creek.
In the camp one night I heard a couple of men talking around acampfire near me. One of them said: "Why, you know old Sperry wasdigging on the ridge just above Discovery and I came along and seehim up there. And I said, 'Hullo, uncle, what you doin', diggin' yourgrave?' And the old feller said, 'You just wait a few minutes andI'll show ye.' Well, sir, he filled up a sack o' dirt and toted itdown to the creek, and I went along with him to see him wash it out,and say, he took $3.25 out of one pan of that dirt, and $1.85 out ofthe other pan. Well, that knocked me. I says, 'Uncle, you're allright.' And then I made tracks for a bench claim next him. Well,about that time everybody began to hustle for bench claims, and nowyou can't get one anywhere near him."
At another camp, a packer was telling of an immense nugget that hadbeen discovered somewhere on the upper waters of Birch Creek. "Andsay, fellers, you know there is another lake up there pretty near asbig as Atlin. They are calling it Lake Surprise. I heard a feller saya few days ago there was a big lake up there and I thought he meant alake six or eight miles long. On the very high ground next to Birch,you can look down over that lake and I bet it's sixty miles long. Itmust reach nearly to Teslin Lake." There was something pretty fine inthe thought of being in a country where lakes sixty miles long werebeing discovered and set forth on the maps of the world. Up to thistime Atlin Lake itself was unmapped. To an unpractical man likemyself it was reward enough to feel the thrill of excitement whichcomes with such discoveries.
However, I was not a goldseeker, and when I determined to give up anyfurther pursuit of mining and to delegate it entirely to my partner,I experienced a feeling of relief. I determined to "stick to mylast," notwithstanding the fascination which I felt in the sight ofplacer gold. Quartz mining has never had the slightest attraction forme, but to see the gold washed out of the sand, to see it appearbright and shining in the black sand in the bottom of the pan, isreally worth while. It is first-hand contact with Nature's stores ofwealth.
I went up to Discovery for the last time with my camera slung over myshoulder, and my note-book in hand to take a final survey of theminers and to hear for the last time their exultant talk. I foundthem exceedingly cheerful, even buoyant.
The men who had gone in with ten days' provisions, the tenderfootminers, the men "with a cigarette and a sandwich," had gone out.Those who remained were men who knew their business and were resoluteand self-sustaining.
There was a crowd of such men around the land-office tents and manyfilings were made. Nearly every man had his little phial of gold toshow. No one was loud, but every one seemed to be quietly confidentand replied to my questions in a low voice, "Well, you can safely saythe country is all right."
The day was fine like September in Wisconsin. The lake as I walkedback to it was very alluring. My mind returned again and again tothe things I had left behind for so long. My correspondence, mybooks, my friends, all the literary interests of my life, began toreassert their dominion over me. For some time I had realized thatthis was almost an ideal spot for camping or mining. Just over in thewild country toward Teslin Lake, herds of caribou were grazing. Mooseand bear were being killed daily, rich and unknown streams werewaiting for the gold pan, the pick and the shovel, but--it was notfor me! I was ready to return--eager to return.
THE FREEMAN OF THE HILLS
I have no master but the wind, My only liege the sun; All bonds and ties I leave behind, Free as the wolf I run. My master wind is passionless, He neither chides nor charms; He fans me or he freezes me, And helps are quick as harms.
He never turns to injure me, And when his voice is high I crouch behind a rock and see His storm of snows go by. He too is subject of the sun, As all things earthly are, Where'er he flies, where'er I run, We know our kingly star.
THE VOICE OF THE MAPLE TREE
I am worn with the dull-green spires of fir, I am tired of endless talk of gold, I long for the cricket's cheery whirr, And the song that the maples sang of old. O the beauty and learning and light That lie in the leaves of the level lands! They shake my heart in the deep of the night, They call me and bless me with calm, cool hands.
_Sing, O leaves of the maple tree,_ _I hear your voice by the savage sea,_ _Hear and hasten to home and thee!_
CHAPTER XXIII
THE END OF THE TRAIL
The day on which I crossed the lake to Taku City was most glorious. ASeptember haze lay on the mountains, whose high slopes, orange, ruby,and golden-green, allured with almost irresistible attraction.Although the clouds were gathering in the east, the sunset wassuperb. Taku arm seemed a river of gold sweeping between gates ofpurple. As the darkness came on, a long creeping line of fire creptup a near-by mountain's side, and from time to time, as it reachedsome great pine, it flamed to the clouds like a mighty geyser ofred-hot lava. It was splendid but terrible to witness.
The next day was a long, long wait for the steamer. I now had in mypocket just twelve dollars, but possessed a return ticket on one ofthe boats. This ticket was not good on any other boat, and naturallyI felt considerable anxiety for fear it would not turn up. My dinnerconsisted of moose steak, potatoes, and bread, and was mostthoroughly enjoyed.
At last the steamer came, but it was not the one on which I hadsecured passage, and as it took almost my last dollar to pay for deckpassage thereon, I lived on some small cakes of my own baking, whichI carried in a bag. I was now in a sad predicament unless I shouldconnect at Lake Bennett with some one who would carry my outfit backto Skagway on credit. I ate my stale cakes and drank lake water, andthus fooled the little Jap steward out of two dollars. It was a sadbusiness, but unavoidable.
The lake being smooth, the trip consumed but thirteen hours, and wearrived at Bennett Lake late at night. Hoisting my bed and luggage tomy shoulder, I went up on the side-hill like a stray dog, and made mybed down on the sand beside a cart, near a shack. The wind, cold anddamp, swept over the mountains with a roar. I was afraid the ownersof the cart might discover me there, and order me to seek a bedelsewhere. Dogs sniffed around me during the night, but on the wholeI slept very well. I could feel the sand blowing over me in the wildgusts of wind which relented not in all my stay at Bennett City.
I spent literally the last cent I had on a scanty breakfast, andthen, in company with Doctor G. (a fellow prospector), started on myreturn to the coast over the far-famed Chilcoot Pass.
At 9 A.M. we took the little ferry for the head of Lindernan Lake.The doctor paid my fare. The boat, a wabbly craft, was crowded withreturning Klondikers, many of whom were full of importance and talkof their wealth; while others, sick and w
orn, with a wistful gleam intheir eyes, seemed eager to get back to civilization and medicalcare. There were some women, also, who had made a fortune indance-houses and were now bound for New York and Paris, where dressescould be had in the latest styles and in any quantities.
My travelling mate, the doctor, was a tall and vigorous man fromWinnipeg, accustomed to a plainsman's life, hardy and resolute. Hesaid, "We ought to make Dyea to-day." I said in reply, "Very well, wecan try."
It was ten o'clock when we left the little boat and hit the trail,which was thirty miles long, and passed over the summit threethousand six hundred feet above the sea. The doctor's pace wastremendous, and we soon left every one else behind.
I carried my big coat and camera, which hindered me not a little. Forthe first part of the journey the doctor preceded me, his broadshoulders keeping off the powerful wind and driving mist, which grewthicker as we rose among the ragged cliffs beside a roaring stream.
That walk was a grim experience. Until two o'clock we climbedresolutely along a rough, rocky, and wooded trail, with the heavymist driving into our faces. The road led up a rugged canyon and overa fairly good wagon road until somewhere about twelve o'clock. Thenthe foot trail deflected to the left, and climbed sharply overslippery ledges, along banks of ancient snows in which carcasses ofhorses lay embedded, and across many rushing little streams. The waygrew grimmer each step. At last we came to Crater Lake, and from thatpoint on it was a singular and sinister land of grassless cragsswathed in mist. Nothing could be seen at this point but a desolate,flat expanse of barren sands over which gray-green streams wanderedin confusion, coming from darkness and vanishing in obscurity.Strange shapes showed in the gray dusk of the Crater. It was like alandscape in hell. It seemed to be the end of the earth, where nolife had ever been or could long exist.
Across this flat to its farther wall we took our way, facing theroaring wind now heavy with clouds of rain. At last we stood in themighty notch of the summit, through which the wind rushed as thoughhurrying to some far-off, deep-hidden vacuum in the world. The peaksof the mountains were lost in clouds out of which water fell invicious slashes.
The mist set the imagination free. The pinnacles around us were likethose which top the Valley of Desolation. We seemed each moment aboutto plunge into ladderless abysses. Nothing ever imagined by Poe orDore could be more singular, more sinister, than these summits insuch a light, in such a storm. It might serve as the scene for anexiled devil. The picture of Beelzebub perched on one of those gray,dimly seen crags, his form outlined in the mist, would shake theheart. I thought of "Peer Gynt" wandering in the high home of theTrolls. Crags beetled beyond crags, and nothing could be heard butthe wild waters roaring in the obscure depths beneath our feet. Therewas no sky, no level place, no growing thing, no bird or beast,--onlycrates of bones to show where some heartless master had pushed afaithful horse up these terrible heights to his death.
And here--just here in a world of crags and mist--I heard a shout oflaughter, and then bursting upon my sight, strong-limbed, erect, andfull-bosomed, appeared a girl. Her face was like a rain-wet rose--asplendid, unexpected flower set in this dim and gray and desolateplace. Fearlessly she fronted me to ask the way, a laugh upon herlips, her big gray eyes confident of man's chivalry, modest andsincere. I had been so long among rude men and their coarse consortsthat this fair woman lit the mist as if with sudden sunshine--just amoment and was gone. There were others with her, but they passedunnoticed. There in the gloom, like a stately pink rose, I set theGirl of the Mist.
Sheep Camp was the end of the worst portion of the trail. I had nowcrossed both the famed passes, much improved of course. They are nolonger dangerous (a woman in good health can cross them easily), butthey are grim and grievous ways. They reek of cruelty and everyassociation that is coarse and hard. They possess a peculiar value tome in that they throw into fadeless splendor the wealth, the calm,the golden sunlight which lay upon the proud beauty of Atlin Lake.
The last hours of the trip formed a supreme test of endurance. AtSheep Camp, a wet and desolate shanty town, eight miles from Dyea, wecame upon stages just starting over our road. But as they were allopen carriages, and we were both wet with perspiration and rain, andhungry and tired, we refused to book passage.
"To ride eight miles in an open wagon would mean a case of pneumoniato me," I said.
"Quite right," said the doctor, and we pulled out down the road at asmart clip.
The rain had ceased, but the air was raw and the sky gray, and I wasvery tired, and those eight miles stretched out like a rubber string.Night fell before we had passed over half the road, which lay for themost part down the flat along the Chilcoot River. In fact, we crossedthis stream again and again. In places there were bridges, but mostof the crossings were fords where it was necessary to wade throughthe icy water above our shoe tops. Our legs, numb and weary, threwoff this chill with greater pain each time. As the night fell wecould only see the footpath by the dim shine of its surface pattedsmooth by the moccasined feet of the Indian packers. At last I walkedwith a sort of mechanical action which was dependent on mysubconscious will. There was nothing else to do but to go through.The doctor was a better walker than I. His long legs had more reachas well as greater endurance. Nevertheless he admitted being about astired as ever in his life.
At last, when it seemed as though I could not wade any more of thoseicy streams and continue to walk, we came in sight of the electriclights on the wharfs of Dyea, sparkling like jewels against the graynight. Their radiant promise helped over the last mile miraculously.We were wet to the knees and covered with mud as we entered upon thestraggling street of the decaying town. We stopped in at the firstrestaurant to get something hot to eat, but found ourselves almosttoo tired to enjoy even pea soup. But it warmed us up a little, andkeeping on down the street we came at last to a hotel of verycomfortable accommodations. We ordered a fire built to dry ourclothing, and staggered up the stairs.
That ended the goldseekers' trail for me. Henceforward I intended toride--nevertheless I was pleased to think I could still walk thirtymiles in eleven hours through a rain storm, and over a summit threethousand six hundred feet in height. The city had not entirely eatenthe heart out of my body.
We arose from a dreamless sleep, somewhat sore, but in amazingly goodtrim considering our condition the night before, and made our wayinto our muddy clothing with grim resolution. After breakfast we tooka small steamer which ran to Skagway, where we spent the dayarranging to take the steamer to the south. We felt quite at home inSkagway now, and Chicago seemed not very far away. Having madeconnection with my bankers I stretched out in my twenty-five centbunk with the assurance of a gold king.
Here the long trail took a turn. I had been among the miners andhunters for four months. I had been one of them. I had lived theessentials of their lives, and had been able to catch from them somehint of their outlook on life. They were a disappointment to me insome ways. They seemed like mechanisms. They moved as if drawn bysome great magnet whose centre was Dawson City. They appeared todrift on and in toward that human maelstrom going irresolutely totheir ruin. They did not seem to me strong men--on the contrary, theyseemed weak men--or men strong with one insane purpose. They settheir faces toward the golden north, and went on and on through everyobstacle like men dreaming, like somnambulists--bending their backsto the most crushing burdens, their faces distorted with effort. "Onto Dawson!" "To the Klondike!" That was all they knew.
I overtook them in the Fraser River Valley, I found them in Hazleton.They were setting sail at Bennett, tugging oars on the Hotalinqua,and hundreds of them were landing every day at Dawson, there to standwith lax jaws waiting for something to turn up--lost among thousandsof their kind swarming in with the same insane purpose.
Skagway was to me a sad place. On either side rose green mountainscovered with crawling glaciers. Between these stern walls, a cold andviolent wind roared ceaselessly from the sea gates through which theships drive hurriedly. All these grim presence
s depressed me. Ilonged for release from them. I waited with impatience the coming ofthe steamer which was to rescue me from the merciless beach.
At last it came, and its hoarse boom thrilled the heart of many ahomesick man like myself. We had not much to put aboard, and when Iclimbed the gang-plank it was with a feeling of fortunate escape.
A GIRL ON THE TRAIL
A flutter of skirts in the dapple of leaves on the trees, The sound of a small, happy voice on the breeze, The print of a slim little foot on the trail, And the miners rejoice as they hammer with picks in the vale.
For fairer than gold is the face of a maid, And sovereign as stars the light of her eyes; For women alone were the long trenches laid; For women alone they defy the stern skies.
These toilers are grimy, and hairy, and dun With the wear of the wind, the scorch of the sun; But their picks fall slack, their foul tongues are mute-- As the maiden goes by these earthworms salute!
CHAPTER XXIV
HOMEWARD BOUND
The steamer was crowded with men who had also made the turn at theend of the trail. There were groups of prospectors (disappointed andsour) from Copper River, where neither copper nor gold had beenfound. There were miners sick and broken who had failed on theTanana, and others, emaciated and eager-eyed, from Dawson City goingout with a part of the proceeds of the year's work to see their wivesand children. There were a few who considered themselves greatcapitalists, and were on their way to spend the winter in luxury inthe Eastern cities, and there were grub stakers who had squanderedtheir employers' money in drink and gaming.
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