John and his fellow prospector were working with hammer and drill on their quartz claims, three weeks after they had staked them, when Hugh Spencer and Corte paid them a first visit. Hugh scrutinized the quartz his friends had mined.
"Well, this is poverty rock, for sure; why don't you quit it?"
"That's what we've been thinking lately," George confessed; "but what shall we do—go to work for wages?"
"Better earn ten dollars a day than get nothing here after blowing in your money buying grub and powder; but why not take a chance in the new stampede to Australia Creek, that runs into Dominion Creek on the Indian River side of the Divide? That's what we hunted you up for."
John and George gazed at one another. Not a word was said. John walked to the tent and began taking it down. Four packs were madeof the camp and the equipment, and the party, well-loaded, returned to Dawson. So John passed from a place of many dreams.
Hugh had already made his plans.
"Australia Creek is already taken up," he said, "and, besides, it is too far away. It's two days' trip out there, about sixty miles. My idea is to hunt up a creek for ourselves. I hear the grafters in the Gold Commissioner's office already refuse applications on the grounds that the creek is all applied for. There was some sort of a row in the office when the discoverers came in to record. Things is getting pretty bad when even a discoverer is refused a record!"
"He, he! it's about time for Uncle Sam to come along," chaffed Frank, exploiting once more his set theory.
The party reached the home-camp, deposited their loads, and passed on into the town to make purchases for their projected trip. As they passed up the main street they saw a crowd collected, yelling itself hoarse. Revolvers were being fired in the air, and a frenzy of passion seemed to govern a number of individuals. A man, wild of eye, and with a disordered beard, came running down the street.
" ... man Dooey (Dewey) has knocked hell out of the Spaniards at Manilla!" he shouted.
Frank gave a cock-crow, and was off at a diveinto the crowd, where a man, standing on a pile of lumber, was reading a newspaper. He would read a line, then yell and wave the paper over his head. He would again and again return to the headlines and shout them out. "Biggest sea battle since Trafalgar!"—yells—cheers—revolver shots!—"Dooey ranks with Nelson!"—more uproar!—"Rebels cut the cables, but theEye-Openergets account by special dispatch boat!"
When exhaustion had overtaken the first reader another took his place, till the owner of the newspaper was inspired to claim it and cry,
"To the Pioneer Hall, boys, and hear the full account of the biggest sea fight that was ever pulled off!—admission only one dollar."
It is said that the celebration of Admiral Dewey's victory at Manilla caused the dogs in Dawson, numbering many thousands, to leave for the hills and stay there for the space of three days!
Having bought the supplies, the next problem before the companions was to find Frank. They entered the Borealis: he was not there. Hugh suggested that his two companions should wait in the saloon while he sought the truant in other places of revelry. They remained, glad to sit, watch, and smoke, in the shaded comfort of a curtained recess.
Presently a man of giant heavy figure, withface coarse and brutal in every line, stalked into the motley crowd. His massive forehead suggested a power of brain; while his lower face showed the lines of a masterful spirit. A part of his left ear was missing; and, from the size and shape of the cut, one could readily believe the popular legend that this disfigurement had been gained in a camp brawl, and was caused by another man's teeth! To complete this awesome personality, there was a cast in one eye.
A whisper went through the crowd—"Poo-Bah!"
This, then, was the prince of grafters, the all-powerful of that region. As Poo-Bah walked towards the dancers every eye was on him; and if any face denoted anything save disgust and loathing, it was fear. A girl slid up to him and said, in a tone of confident familiarity, "Hullo! Poo-Bah. How's my baby to-night?"
"I told you not to call me that!" he answered fiercely.
"What—baby?"
"No, Poo-Bah!"
"That's what they call you," she said with a strange affectation of simplicity.
"Well, they won't make friends with me by doing so," he boomed, "and I'm a pretty good friend to have."
"Ain't you going to buy the wine?"
"I suppose so; but ain't you got that thirst of yours wet up yet?"
"I've got to live."
Just then Poo-Bah and the girl, popularly known as "Round-Eyes," were joined by two men. One was a strong big fellow with a bronzed face, who had been a master-mariner. The other was Hardman, the record clerk of the Gold Commissioner's office, evil-looking and a weakling. His small black eyes were watery.
"Hullo, fellows! The lady has suggested wine. Will you help us clean up a bottle or two?"
"Sure thing!" replied the "Cap."
Hardman was glad to agree. His eyes were watching the face of his lord, with the same expression as shines in the eyes of a hungry cur watching his master feast. Both the Cap and he had tales of woe to tell: their troubles lay sore upon them.
The party entered the booth against which John and George were sitting. As they entered and seated themselves, the two friends could hear their voices through the hangings. At first there was nothing in the words they spoke that their brazen natures would not have willingly advanced to all the world—at least, to allDawson's world; but later the wine made them forget. They had not realized that the wall of their compartment was only a blanket.
"Two bottles of wine!" Poo-Bah demanded. The waiter brought the bottles and glasses, and Poo-Bah signed the "tab."
"Now you pay that tab, or I don't get no percentage," said the girl.
"Suppose I don't pay," answered he: "you know these damn fools from the creeks will buy all kinds of wine just to have the honour of drinking with my girl—ain't that right?"
"I guess it is," she answered, with a cold unpleasant laugh. "Because men are fools makes life easy for you and me—ain't that right?"
"Look here, I've got a kick coming," said the mariner, thumping his knee with a fist like mahogany.
"What's the matter, Cap?"
"I wrote the doctor to get me appointed as Collector of Royalty."
"You did, sure; and I backed you up: but I heard you got your appointment in the mail that got in to-day."
"Sure thing, I did."
"Well—what are you growling about? You don't want to be told how to make a dollar or two on a job like that!"
"It's going all wrong."
"What's the trouble?"
"I went down to see Smoothbore" (Smoothbore was the nickname of the head of the police), "and told him I had orders for him to put me on collecting. I guess I may have looked a little bit as if I thought I owned the earth; but I sure reckoned myself on easy street as soon as I got collecting! Well, Smoothbore, he sizes me up a bit. I guess he kind of felt I knew how to take a few ounces out of a poke and make up the weight in black sand—and then he says: 'I guess I'll send you to Thistle Creek'—Thistle Creek!—hell! They won't clean up a hundred dollars in that creek this summer; and if you'll show me how I can work a graft there, I'll be obliged."
"Anyhow, two hundred and fifty dollars a month will keep you going till something better turns up."
"Two hundred and fifty dollars a month ain't even a flea-bite, seeing what it costs to live like a gentleman in Dawson. You can't eat under ten dollars a day!" His voice faded in a growl. Poo-Bah took up the running.
"The thing is, we've got to get Smoothbore relieved from command here. He puts backbone even into Hi-u Bill" (Hi-u Bill was the District Commissioner). "We've got to get a putty man."
The others agreed cordially. John and his companion, who had before felt like going,looked at each other, and silently decided to stay.
"What kick have you got, Hardie?" they heard Poo-Bah ask.
"Kick!" whined the little man. "I've got lots of kick. We had a row in the office to-day."
"I heard something of that. What was the row?"
"Some Australians came in." John and George looked at each other and grimly smiled. "I sized it up that they had staked something rich. I tried to tell them that the creek they wanted to record on was all taken up—intending, of course, to put you in on discovery."
"Yes, yes."
"Well—the cockneys just pulled five guns and said, 'Record those claims.' I made a break as if to get the books, intending to get out the back door; but the old man comes out of his office and catches on. He turns white around the gills, and says, 'Record those claims.' Of course, I just had to give record!"
"But where does Smoothbore come in?"
"He comes in all right. I'm just from him now. I went down after supper to see him to find out if an example could not be made of the cockneys—thinking if we got them on the wood-pile[9]we would have a chance at their claimsafter all. He was alone, walking up and down the mess. 'Sit down,' he says, and I sits. 'What is it?' I had to tell him the story straight. You see, he is a hard man to lie to, and I knew he already had the story. After I got down to telling him of the old man ordering me to record the claims, he says, 'And you recorded them?' 'Yes,' says I. 'The men did not ask you for any money?' 'No.' 'In fact, they only desired to assist your memory to the point that you had never before recorded the claims they asked for?' 'I guess so,' says I. 'This is what you must say if you give evidence against them.' And then I thinks a bit, and I says, 'You couldn't give them twenty-four hours to get out of the country, could you?' 'No,' says he; 'if I do anything I arrest them and bring them to trial, which I will do as soon as you swear out information.' 'I guess I won't do that,' I says. Now, look here, Poo-B——, oh, all right, Smoothbore ain't with us, he's against us, and it's up to you to get him fired." Hardman had ended his long speech.
[9]In jail.
[9]In jail.
"It might not be easy," said the heavy man thoughtfully.
"Yes, it will; Laurier will do anything our boss says these days: you fix it!"
"That's right," the Cap put in. "Hardie's right again!"
"You'd be a long time in Nova Scotia before you'd earn two hundred and fifty dollars a month! Eh, Cap?" sneered the girl.
"Earn! How much do you earn here? You graft same as the rest of us."
"Quit fighting," Poo-Bah broke in, and their querulous voices ceased. "Cap, I think I see how you can make a dollar or two: and you'll be near our friend, Hardie, here; besides being in a position to pick up information for the benefit of yours truly. I'll see the Gold Commissioner, and get you put on as special door-keeper instead of a policeman. Guess your dignity will stand up under this! You will have the right to let fellows into the office on special appointment—see?—which will cost a ten or a twenty!"
"Not so bad!" slowly muttered the Cap, while the girl gurgled her appreciation. "The thing looks to have possibilities, and I guess my dignity will stand it."
Just then Hugh, with Frank at his heels, came in.
"Wait till I have just one dance," cried Frank, and was off to the room where music was to be heard. John motioned to Hugh to be still. They listened eagerly.
"Now, I've got some news—blamed noise those people make!—came in the mail to-day," went on Poo-Bah. "Orders have come from Ottawathrowing open the hillside claims of Dominion. I won't mind you fellows getting a claim or two; but I want to get a bunch."
"You'll get hold of yours before the news is made public," suggested the Cap.
"No, that won't hardly do," drawled Poo-Bah; "you see there'll be hell enough raised when it is found I get a bunch of claims; and while Ottawa is ready enough to take our explanation of things, there is such a thing as being too coarse, even here—besides, it ain't necessary. No, in a few days the news will be made public: till then keep your heads shut, see?"
"We'll trust you to work the graft," said the girl.
"You can certainly rely on me! Now, people, I've got to pull my freight."
Hugh gripped John's arm, but he released it as he saw the party were leaving the box. The friends shrank back further into the shadows. When they were gone he whispered,
"Did you hear that? Dominion hillsides to be thrown open! Some of the richest ground in the country."
"I heard them talking about grafts, and I heard complaints about Smoothbore—who ever that may be."
"The Colonel at the Barracks."
"They appear to find him in the way." Johnhurriedly gave some account of what they had overheard. Hugh's eyes glistened.
"Sure thing! Smoothbore is in the way. He's straight; but this last about Dominion is the news. We'll get in on the hillsides of Dominion, and do our best to hold them."
It was late enough for rest, especially for weary workers such as they: so they passed through the streets directly for the home-camp. Dawson was now the home of twenty thousand people, ninety-nine per cent. adult males. Its streets were a wide range of strange sights and wild scenes. Its outskirts were of tents, and yet more tents.
They went to bed with the waking dreams of wealth very close to them. John Berwick, who had some qualms at taking advantage of what he had overheard, felt it was an unsatisfactory condition of things in which such a malefactor as Poo-Bah could swagger and flourish.
On the second day after leaving Dawson, John Berwick and his partners camped on Dominion Creek, worn out and weary. Their commissariat was equal to a three weeks' stay, and their tools and their bedding were added to the load. Hugh remained their leader. While John and George had been prospecting their quartz find, he had visited Dominion Creek, and found many miners looking with avidity towards the claims on the left limit of the creek, several miles below the confluence of Caribou. It was to this locality that he directed the party.
The laws governing the taking up of placer-claims in the Yukon demanded that the applicant should swear to the finding of gold. No quantity was mentioned. John and George had met this difficulty when they applied for the placer-claims on the Bonanza hillsides; but this technicality had been smilingly dispensed with by the record clerk on the consideration that nobody wantedthe ground for placer. In the case of the Dominion Creek hillsides, however, they determined to make discoveries, if possible.
They pitched their tent upon the hillside, which rose in a gentle incline from the creek. If any former channel ran underneath the ground they had chosen it could not be very far to bed-rock.
They picked their four claims, and numbered them 1, 2, 3, 4. They drew lots for them. John had 1, Hugh 2, Frank 3, and George the 4th.
As their tent was small they determined that two of them should work at night-time and two by day. This also meant that a continuous watch could be kept. Miners from the creek claims visited them, curious to learn their motive. When they were told that the party expected the claims to be some day thrown open, they smiled in superior wisdom.
Each of the four began to sink a shaft to the bed-rock of his claim. A single man can sink a hole ten, even twelve, feet: but after that a windlass is necessary to hoist the dirt.
It was arranged that the first day they all should work, George and Frank continuing the watch through the night. They began early in the morning of the first day, each on his claim. Each made a little clearing around the spot he had chosen as the locality of his first shaft. The growth was not heavy, and was quickly disposedof. By noon each had made a hole about three feet deep. No frost was met as yet.
It was George who first reached bed-rock at five-foot depth! He went to the other workers and announced the fact. Hugh had expected it to be thirty, or twenty-five, feet at least. Their first feeling was of disappointment.
The party gathered about the pit, and Hugh jumped into it. There was about a foot of gravel above the bed-rock. Hugh picked out a pebble lying directly on bed-rock, and smoothed over its muddy surface with his fingers. His eyes brightened. It gleamed with half-a-dozen specks of gold. He passed it up to the others, who gazed on it gladly. They gave him a pan. Hugh scooped it full of gravel and scrambled out of the hole. The others turned towards the creek.
"No, fellows, I've got a pool located up in the bushes here," and he looked away from the creek. "What those fellows on the creek don't know won't do them no harm." He led the way through the bushes. Arriving at the pool, he dipped the pan into the water and shook it. He then placed it on the ground, grabbed a handful of the pebbles, washed them in the water of the pan, and threw them away. He continued this process till he had removed the larger stones. Then again he whirled the pan in the water, this time more vigorously. He picked out the smaller pebbles, and replacedthe pan in the water, whirled and shook it again, frequently lifting it out on an incline, allowing the off-rushing water to carry away the small pebbles and sand.
This process he kept up till but a handful of stuff remained at the bottom. He kept the pan on an incline, which caused the stuff to remain at one side. He moved the pan gently to and fro, with occasional quick shakings; very gently he drew the pan in and out of the water, the ebb to draw off the lighter sand. The residue in the pan became but a spoonful or two, and now occasionally a golden speck shone and gleamed. The sand in the pan became less, and some of it was black—the black sand of the miners, magnetic from the iron which so largely composes it. As the process proceeded the sideward motion occasionally carried the body of black sand away, leaving a trail of gleaming yellow dust. The black sand had at last all been washed over the side of the pan. Hugh, with his fingers, massed the gold into a little pile, and muttered, "Seventy-five cents."
"Three bob," George repeated after him. The pan was passed from hand to hand for scrutiny and comment.
"Not bad!" said John.
"You bet it ain't!" agreed Hugh, "even if it don't rank with Eldorado. This ground ain'tdeep, and the surface can be ground-sluiced off. Let us try another pan off of bed-rock."
The pan was again filled and the process of washing resumed. "If we get two cents in this gravel a foot off of bed-rock I'll be satisfied," was Hugh's comment. He got this time what he estimated to be five cents. "Perhaps this is above average," he muttered. Your old-time miner is ever a sceptic.
So while he was washing this second pan Hugh's mind was at work.
"George, I guess you had better go and chuck back all the gravel and wash into the hole and get a fire built on it quick. The ashes will hide the wash, and any person looking down the hole will simply think that you have struck frost and are using fire. The rest of us will keep going till we strike wash."
Frank reached gravel at about seven feet, and reported the same to Hugh, who suggested that he should work a small hole to bed-rock to get a pan of gravel from that point. Hugh cautioned Frank against throwing any gravel out of the shaft to attract the notice of passers-by.
Frank secured a pan of dirt immediately on bed-rock, and Hugh panned it for him. Frank was the only one of the four not a miner.
The pan yielded a little better than that of George had done. Hugh suggested, significantly,that Frank had found frost at the bottom of his shaft, which induced the latter to mutter: "Ground heap frozen all same rock, no ketchum gold without fire, he! he!" This was supposed to be a humorous imitation of the Siwash.
"Never mind your Siwash sweethearts, but get the fire in quick. I suppose if you do strike it rich, or ever get this claim, which is sure worth something, it will be heap klootch, heap dance, all the time! Get a move on, or some rubber-neck will be mooching round here!"
Hugh went back to his pit, and both he and John had struck real frost before Frank roared, "Supper!"
During the meal, and afterwards, the conversation was about the claims and the prospect of their getting them. It was two weeks yet before they could be judiciously staked. In the meantime, Frank and George could put down other shafts prospecting the width and extent of the pay streak, while John and Hugh were getting their shaft down to bed-rock. It would be slow work for these two, now that they had struck frost, which necessitated thawing by wood-fires.
"I guess we need a cabin on these claims," said Hugh. "It's more a sign we're holding them down, and if we start building it we can kill time so as not to look conspicuous, as wewould if we was just to sit and do nothing. It would have the rubber-necks guessing."
So the work continued upon the four hillside claims on Dominion Creek, John and Hugh working at day, George and Frank at night. These two, holding the vigil of the second night, again found bed-rock and gold, twenty feet further up the hillside than their first shafts.
On the day following John and Hugh quickly cleared the bottom of their shafts of the earth which the fires, burning through the night, had thawed. They then set new fires, and sat in the shade of a tree while they burned. The bed-rock on each of their claims was deeper than that on the claims of their two associates, and both felt that their claims would prove the richer, though neither of them uttered this thought. The minds of all were planning how best to gain possession of their discoveries.
"I guess," said Hugh, as he lit his pipe, and slapped divers mosquitoes to death, "that it ain't altogether judicious for George and Frank to perforate this here landscape with any more shafts. There is sure to be some fellows rubber-necking here soon. I see some water has seeped into the two holes they sunk first, and the other two will probably fill soon. This will keep others from investigating. I guess they had better get to work on a cabin, which we will help them with assoon as we get bed-rock ourselves. These claims is mighty well worth holding on to, and we don't want to run no chances of not getting them—which we, sure, won't do if Poo-Bah's gang gets on to the fact that they are any good."
When the four were seated round the evening meal the matter was talked over, and Frank and George agreed to start building a cabin. The work was begun that very night.
Days came and went; yet neither John nor Hugh found bed-rock, although each shaft was now fifteen feet deep. At twelve-foot depth a windlass had been constructed on each claim, and the earth hoisted from the shaft. At eighteen feet Hugh struck gravel. As John, who worked the windlass, dumped a bucket of gravel, he would hide it by shovelling over it earth from the dump. Finding gravel there at that depth suggested gold; in fact, the depth to which the shaft was sunk without striking bed-rock was sufficiently compromising.
At last bed-rock was reached, and a pan of dirt extracted. The pan was washed, and a nugget worth fully a dollar and a half, besides about two dollars in fine gold, was its product. Here was wealth and no mistake!
"Hi-u chickaman stuff, he! he!" laughed Frank. They all looked into each other's eyes. Hugh gritted his teeth as he thought of Poo-Bah.If there was any extent of this gravel it constituted a fortune—yes, very little of this ground meant wealth. How much of it would there be? Was this gold of Dominion Creek pay-streak? He did not know: the great thing about mining is, you never know.
John's shaft found bed-rock at twenty-two feet, where he got a good five dollars to the pan. Frank jabbered; the others said but little.
It was late in the afternoon when the pan of dirt from John's shaft was tried. After supper Hugh took a stroll. He walked far up the hillside, and gazed at the tributary valley that ran into Dominion Creek, just up-stream from John's claim. This "pup"—as the miners term these small tributaries—Hugh noticed had been staked and prospected, but had not yielded pay. He had already planned to use its water for the washing of the gravel should he gain possession of his claim.
He then walked down to the adjacent claim being worked on Dominion Creek, and began asking questions of the man at the windlass. He was always ready to receive information, though he seldom gave any. The ground on Dominion was rich—enormously rich—ten, twenty, and sometimes fifty dollar pans. Up-stream the second claim was not nearly so rich. The man at the windlass did not know the value of theintervening claim; it was held by the Government.
"How far are you to bed-rock?"
"About twenty-five feet."
"Much gravel?"
"About three feet—hardly three feet."
Hugh was tempted to ask how deep the miners, who had prospected the pup, had gone before they had struck pay; but did not, because he gave the man credit for intelligence.
"Black muck above gravel?" he asked.
"Yes, or we would not be working with wood-fires now. Black muck takes a lot to thaw; but, as it is, I guess we shall have to quit till winter—but we have proved our ground rich."
Until the advent of steam-thawing machines, the Klondike miners thawed their ground by wood-fires, which process can only be carried on extensively in winter.
Hugh left the miner and walked to the mouth of the pup. With a pole he sounded the depth of an abandoned shaft. It was fifteen feet. He walked to the camp and found John, the others being at work on the cabin.
"John, the bed-rock at the bottom of your shaft dips towards my claim, and the bed-rock in my shaft dips towards your claim."
"Yes."
"The fellow at the windlass on the creek claimtells me that he is in the biggest kind of pay outside of Eldorado, but that the second claim up-stream is not up to much. He has muck."
"Yes."
"We have earth and broken rock down to the gravel."
"Yes."
"His shaft is twenty-five feet to bed-rock, and if we sank a shaft half-way between yours and mine we would find it deeper than either."
"In all probability, yes."
"Don't you see what I am driving at?"
"No," John answered bluntly.
"You've caught on to that pup up-stream there."
"I have!"
"Well, it's only fifteen feet to bed-rock there. The old channel of that pup runs underneath your claim and mine and is mighty rich. The gold found on the creek claim looks exactly like ours: I saw some of it lying in a pan."
John was watching the face of his friend intently.
"These hillside claims are two hundred and fifty feet long, and stretch one thousand feet back, which means the chances are that the claims you and I are prospecting cover one thousand feet of mighty rich ground."
"We are wealthy men," said John.
And his thought passed in a flash to Alice Peel.
"Hold on!—we ain't got them yet," counselled Hugh.
His mind reverted to Poo-Bah.
Alice Peel and her father, the Surgeon-Major, arrived in Dawson by one of the first steamers from St. Michael's. It was late in the evening when they docked, so they arranged to stay on board all night. This made it possible for them to see some of the sights ere they retired. They landed and mingled with the crowds preparatory to finding lodgings. Alice suggested they should ascertain the whereabouts of the Rector. Her father did so; and when he thanked the man of whom he inquired, added, "I'll look him up to-morrow."
"Might as well do so right away, quick; he's always hangin' round there."
"But it's eleven o'clock."
"Don't make no difference in Dawson."
Alice and her father, thereupon, picked their way towards the Police Barracks, where, on the banks of the "slough," rested the little log church. It was shut off from the street by a rustic fence—a peaceful sight. Alice and her father were standing regarding it, and had almost made up their minds to enter, to see if any one was about, when their attention was attracted by a man in a boat mooring his craft beside the church grounds. He landed his bundle of blankets, and was spreading them under the church window, when a slight figure with bared head stepped out of the door and stood looking at the intruder.
The man folded up his coat that it might serve as a pillow, and was placing it in the prescribed position, when the Rector spoke.
"You'll have to get out of this."
The man looked up and stared.
"Say! Parson, are you any relation to the Good Samaritan?"
This was rather a poser; a suitable reply was evidently not ready on the moment.
"No, I'm not, I'm sorry to say—but what's the matter with you?"
"Just broke! Besides, if I wasn't, I don't see why I need pay a dollar for a bed when I have my own blanket. What are you—High Church or Low Church?"
"I'm anything you like; but you'll have to get out of this. If you sleep there you'll roll over and crush my flowers. But what are you?"
"Everything you don't like, I guess."
"No, that you're not. But the thing is, if Ilet one of you fellows camp here, I'll have a hundred in no time."
"All right! I don't mind sleeping inside the church, if you don't want the other fellows to see me!"
What could be done with such a man?
"But I'm going to have service at twelve o'clock for any of the boys coming in from the creeks."
"I don't mind the services: singing won't keep me awake; and as for sermons!..."
"It looks as if I can't get rid of you. I suppose I'll have to stand for it! Roll up your blankets; you can sleep inside after service."
As the clergyman turned to re-enter the building he noticed Alice and her father regarding him and his guest with some amusement. He advanced to them, and held out his hand.
"We arrived this evening, and thought we should like to look you up and gain some knowledge of Dawson, and the manners and customs of its people," said Alice.
"You have evidently been enjoying an exhibition of them. Come in and see our church."
They entered the yard and walked towards the door, watching the intruder wrestle with his bedding. They passed into the church, and to Alice it seemed fitting that this should be the first log building she had ever entered, the first roof to cover her in the New World. Being a thoroughChurchwoman it was to her a matter of satisfaction and sentiment.
As they stood before the altar others entered, whereupon their host looked at his watch.
"It is almost time," he said.
"May we stay?" asked Alice.
"Assuredly."
The night was cloudy outside, and the church too dark for reading, so the clergyman brought out and placed two candles upon the altar. The father and daughter each noted the candlesticks were bottles. "How incongruous!" thought the Surgeon-Major. The one had evidently held gin, the other whisky.
The service was short, just a lesson and a hymn. Only half-a-dozen were present. When it came to the hymn the clergyman beckoned to Alice and her father. Each accepted from the clerk's hand a bottle and a candle, and he motioned them to stand on either side of him. This they did, he holding the hymn-book. They sang, "I need Thee every hour."
After the service the new-comers waited for the clergyman, and the three passed down towards the door. The intruder was already making his bed.
"Say! Parson, that wasn't bad," he said.
"What wasn't bad?"
"That there tune; but I never thought you'd confess it."
"Confess what?"
"That you needed it every hour. Isn't that what you meant by having the chechachoes hold the bottles?"
"No, it wasn't!" The Parson was annoyed. "You get out of here in the morning, or I'll throw you into the slough."
"All right, Pard."
"Your friend seems somewhat facetious," remarked Surgeon-Major Peel.
"Yes, they are all friends of mine. They all know me: if they don't, their friends do. This man is a type of what I have to deal with."
Then they settled down to the business on which the Peels had called.
"If you have the necessary supplies," said the Parson, "a private hospital is the thing. There is a great deal of sickness now. The typhoid is getting bad; too many living in the manner of our friend at the church. Food poor and badly-cooked, general uncleanness; hard trails and stampedes."
The Parson conducted the new-comers to their boat, and left them satisfied and almost contented. Alice asked him, as he was taking his leave, if he knew John Berwick; but had for answer, No. She wanted to inquire at the post-office; but could not get near enough on account of the long lines of men standing before the wickets, postalaffairs being in a state of chaos. It was evidently more than possible that John had not received her letters, or, at any rate, the communication which told of her coming.
On the morrow the Peels, giving fulfilment to their intentions, secured a building in Dawson; and so St. George's Private Hospital came into being.
It was a matter of much detail. Help and assistance of every kind was enormously dear. They had changed their money into gold dust, and each carried a "poke." Alice was astounded when she reckoned the equivalent of the charge made by the man who brought their heavy luggage. Half an ounce of dust meant thirty shillings. There were no idle hands in Dawson; it was the hum of industry, except with the loungers at the water front.
Alice worked hard, and her work brought distraction. Now she was near John Berwick—at least, she ought to be, but had heard of so many cases of drowning, deaths by fever and scurvy in that terrible country, that she could only fear possibilities, and eagerly scan every face she met. She stared into the faces of men of uncouth beards and matted greasy hair; and, as was the custom of the country, her gaze was returned. All seeing her, wondered what had brought this fragrant, gentle English girl to Dawson. Shewas so different from the women of the underworld, hitherto the only representatives with one or two exceptions of womanhood in that place. Her fresh complexion contrasted with their painted cheeks; her simple grace with their brazenness and vulgarity. "Oh, it was pitiful!"
In the shops—wherever she went—she asked about John Berwick. Only once was she in some measure successful.
"I think there was a fellow by that name bought a bill of goods and said he would be back for them later, one day, not long ago. He must be living near Dawson," said the man.
"Why do you say that?" eagerly asked Alice.
"Because the grub he bought weren't the kind of grub men takes with them on long trips; besides, he didn't buy enough to last him long."
She thanked him; and left her name and address in Dawson.
Alice was possessed of the faith that only death can kill, and that faith gave her patience. She buckled to her work, and was content. Had she been less industrious she might have found the trails up the Dome—and to John; but no sooner had the hospital opened than patients came pouring in. Nurses of experience were impossible to obtain. She and her father had to struggle with the help of only one woman and three men. All were untrained and inexperienced.
One night George ran into the tent, and shook life into John and Hugh.
"They're here!"
"Who?"
"Poo-Bah's gang."
At once the two were wide awake. Hugh stuck his head out of the tent, and saw a number of men walking down the creek carrying stakes over their shoulders. He darted back, and clambered into his clothes. John followed his example.
"Where's Frank?" asked Hugh.
George went to the tent door, and gave a low whistle. Frank made his appearance. Each man armed himself with his two stakes, and made towards the down-hill limit of his claim, and drove them in at their proper places. One stake bore the legend, "I claim 250 feet down-stream and 1,000 feet up-hill for placer-mining purposes. John Berwick, Miner's License No. T. 64859."The other was similar, except that it claimed up-stream. The claims were staked in the small hours of July 12 in the year 1898—the day of the great Dominion Creek stampede.
The party then ate a hasty meal, and took food for luncheon. At about four o'clock they set out for Dawson, a distance of forty miles. They hoped to reach the city by 6 p.m.
They passed the minions of the great grafter.
"Travelling early, gentlemen!" said one of them.
"Not so many flies," answered Hugh.
Occasionally wild-eyed men passed them, with a stride that seemed as if it could never tire. This was an hour or two after John and his friends had set out. These men had evidently been given "the tip" the night before, and had begun to travel at once.
News spreads in a mining-camp with amazing rapidity, and the crowd of hurrying men grew greater as the party progressed. It was also noted that the fever was most marked in those who felt themselves at the rear of the stampede. Those in the lead carried nothing save a little axe—their body's sustenance was in their pockets, often consisting only of a few pots of beef extract. When time for resting came the little axe would serve to make a spruce bed. Covering was not needed in the summer, as rest was taken in daytime—often in the full glare of the sun—a form of repose generally limited to negroes and savages.
The 12th of July, 1898, was one of the hottest days of the hottest season Dawson had ever known. The thermometer was nearly ninety in the shade. The land was parched for water, and the smoke of forest-fires filled the air, which seemed to burn the throats of those mad men. They coughed as they hurried by.
The party passed the Bonanza Dome and commenced the decline into the Bonanza Valley. The trail followed the hog's-back which ends in Carmacks Forks, the confluence of two branches of the Upper Bonanza.
The descent to them was rapid, and the steep ascent of a thousand feet seemed terrible to the stampeders. Yet up it they stormed and struggled till they fell exhausted. Even in the glaring sun men lay dead beat, panting. They were twenty miles from Dawson; twenty hard miles yet rested between them and their goal!
It seemed as if this stampede were born of frenzy in a last final effort of the desperate gold-seekers of that year. They were close to the end of the rainbow, where lay prizes for a few. There was no more of the old affected humour of the road. Drawn faces and staring eyes were telling of soul-strain. It was the last scene of the last act of a real tragedy!
At the spring beneath a group of stunted spruce-trees—at which, more or less, every man who has sought the glittering dust of the Klondike has gained refreshment—the party of four halted for lunch. A dozen men were already about it in all postures of fatigue. As soon as one got up and staggered on his place was occupied by a new-comer, who would gulp his fill of the blessed water and lie for a time inert. They came and they went. Not a word was said.
"Where are you stampeding to?" John at last asked one, who seemed less exhausted than the others.
"I don't know; just following the crowd. Something doing on Dominion, they say, the hillsides. Some say the creek claims held by the Government are being thrown open, but I guess not."
Just following the crowd! It is ever the way in gold rushes. No wonder the man who had advised them to "keep on going till they struck St. Michael's" had said it was a disease!
They passed on down the Bonanza trail; soon the majority of the people met were other than the stampeders. The stampeders were in the crowd, but the bulk were those engaged in the ordinary economic development of Bonanza.
They passed from the Valley of Bonanza, after each had contributed the usual twenty-five centsto the coffers of Poo-Bah. Here they were but a mile or two from Dawson, and the flood of stampeders had passed. As they approached the ferry they noticed a group of men standing before a cabin, evidently examining something. They joined the crowd and saw a little woman with an infant in her arms.
"My! look at the baby," said an individual bearing the superior dignity of an old-timer; "it's the first white baby I've seen in six year; kind of makes me think of home. You say it was born inside here?"
"Yes, right here in this cabin, where my husband and I have wintered. He is off on the stampede."
"I've only been in the country two months, yet the sight of that baby makes me think of a land where there ain't no Bonanza Creek trail," sighed a chechacho. "Ain't you frightened to live here alone?"
"No. Nobody will harm a respectable woman in Dawson." The speaker's face shone with pride, which was not all that of motherhood.
The old-timer threw a nugget of gold on the baby's breast as he walked away, desiring that the mother should buy the child something. The contribution was becoming general, when the mother protested. She knew there were many in the crowd who could not afford such a gift, and that any miner would part with his last centrather than appear before his fellows as lacking in generosity or holding anything but a contempt for money.
To cross Poo-Bah's ferry cost each person an additional twenty-five cents. There was none other than Poo-Bah's ferry, for his franchise was exclusive. Many impoverished prospectors had attempted to retrieve their fortunes by plying at the river, but were stopped.
After eating their evening meal at the home-camp the party passed down into the city to take their places in the line before the Gold Commissioner's office. None of the Dominion Creek stampeders had yet arrived, and the line was its usual length. They knew that ere the morning arrived the line would be much increased and hundreds would have arrived within twenty-four hours. So, as nine o'clock came, they all lay down at full length on the earth and slept, indifferent to the current of life about them. This was the life of the goldfields—absolute lack of conventionality and indifference to social distinction.
Just before John fell asleep he noticed some men slipping into the Gold Commissioner's office by a side door, among whom were Hardman and the "Cap." Mentioning this on the day following, Hugh remarked that they had stayed in the office till late.
In the morning a policeman was consulted, and Frank was commissioned to leave his place in the line, visit a shop, and buy tinned meat and biscuit. The policeman would recognize Frank when he returned and see that he got his place. So the friends secured their morning meal.
As was expected, the morning saw the arrival of the first of the Dominion Creek stampeders; they had staked their claims and returned to add to the length of the waiting line. Their faces and appearance told something of the terrors of their experience.
Bodies limp and eyes glazed, faces wan and expressionless, these were the result of thirty-six hours of intense muscular and nervous strain. The gold frenzy is the hardest, harshest, of tax-masters, drawing its victims into such self-inflicted labour as, if imposed by an employer, would rouse the protests of civilized humanity. Such toil breeds the determination to have and to hold what is justly won, develops sympathy for the rights of others, and will push aside the laws of custom and society if they stand in the way of justice.
The office doors were opened and the slow procession began. It was an hour past noon when John and his three companions stood before the wicket where the whiskered Hardman was at work. Hugh came first, John next, then George, lastly Frank.
"We want to record hillsides on Dominion," said Hugh.
"What numbers?"
"I have lower half, fifty below centre discovery, left limit, and my friend here has upper half."
Hardman grabbed a book and turned over the leaves to the space allotted these claims.
"These claims are already recorded," which answer was not unexpected.
"When were they staked?" Fatigued though he was, Hugh's face was livid with anger.
"At one minute past midnight of the 11th of July, 1898."
"No, they wasn't."
"Well, that is what the affidavit says which I entered late yesterday afternoon."
John now interposed. "We have been camped on this ground for three weeks, and have been on continuous watch. We staked these claims at 4A.M.yesterday. No stakes were in the ground when we staked."
"I can't help that; Joseph Trudean swears he staked one, and Ole Anderson swears he staked the other."
"Say! have these claims been transferred?" asked Hugh.
"Yes, each has been sold to James C. Beecher, barrister, of Dawson."
"And the consideration?"
"One dollar."
"Which would not buy a meal in Dawson!"
Sick and beaten, John and Hugh stepped aside; George and Frank passed to the slaughter. Their friends waited for them. The time to wait was not long—the second two being even more quickly disposed of than the first.
They went home, and ate a meal. Even Frank was reduced to seriousness, his only possible return to cheerfulness being when he said, "He! he! I told you it was time Uncle Sam came and took Canada!" John Berwick felt himself prompted to say "Amen."
They early sought repose, but about nine in the evening John arose and dressed himself. He had slept but four hours when he suddenly awakened. Something called him to action. Hugh awakened too, and asked the time. He, then, also arose, as did the others. No one explained why he was dressing, or what he intended to do. Without words each knew they were going to the city—the call was on them to enter the haunts of men—to speak of their wrongs and to be heard!
They had tea, and set out over the trail called after the great Alaska Commercial Company, who built it to the city. The flowers that bloomed by the wayside drew the eyes of John, who, even in this hour of disappointment andanger, was alive to the beauties of nature. The dog-roses, great in size and delicate in colour, greeted him as old friends, and carried his mind to England and to Alice.
The atmosphere of Dawson was latent with strong emotion. There was no noise. A malamoot howled, and those hearing him shuddered. Men stood in groups and talked; their tones were low, their eyes alert. But in the Borealis Saloon Joseph Andrews jumped upon the bar and addressed the house. That he suspended the dance, which brought the proprietor many hundreds of dollars daily, was overlooked in the face of national disaster; for these men of Dawson had become as a nation—united and distinctive.
John Berwick and his friends were drawn by the voice that came through the door of Dawson's most popular rendezvous. Straining to look over the heads and shoulders in front of them, they saw a man, red in face, through the strain of his oratory, standing on the bar and gesticulating. A crowd of eager men listened to him intently.
"I tell you fellows from South Africa that the Government of this here country has got that of Paul Kruger done to a finish. Oom Paul is a genius at grafting; but where does he figure, with his coarse schemes of dynamite monopolies,in comparison with the liquor-law handed out by the gang of thugs and highway robbers who run this country? I tell you the Octopus and his liquor-permit system has got Paul Kruger beaten to death. Permit system! permit system! permit system! nothing! Graft, graft, graft! that's what it is, graft! The Octopus tells the good ladies down East that he doesn't approve of the liquor traffic; that he won't allow any liquor to go into this country unless by special permit from him! But what are these permits? They're handed out in ten thousand gallon blocks, and there's enough whisky in Dawson City, and on the way here, to float a battleship. And who gets the permits? His own pals and the Jews. Jews, gentlemen, Jews! and thequid pro quois a contribution to this same Octopus's electioneering fund. Here, gentlemen, under a surface-showing of morality and pink-tea temperance, are true fissure veins of graft, assaying high in craft and subtlety. Men of the Yukon, are we going to stand for it? Have we got to stand for it? There are fifty thousand of us, gentlemen! Are we yelping coyotes or are we men?" The speaker paused, that his words might sink in. His audience answered with a yell; and then were hushed again.
"But after all, this liquor business is only a marker on the rest, only a token. DominionCreek hillsides—Dominion Creek hillsides—is where Poo-Bah, our own Octopus's own 'Man-Friday,' has got in his fine work! Orders came from Ottawa that these claims were to be thrown open, and posters were printed and stuck up saying the time was July 14th. Then, when the twelfth came round, somebody finds a mistake was made, and the proper date is the twelfth. We rush the creek, gentlemen, and stake—what? Nothing!—we get nothing! There are fifty thousand of us, gentlemen, and every man has two rifles and a shot-gun. Are we going to stand for it?"
"No," was the general shout.
"We've all been over the Passes and we've run chances—big chances; most of us have had a handshake with death, cold grimy death! Can't we shake hands once again? Are we men, or only mangy malamoots?" He paused; but there was no cheer at this moment. They were all too eager for him to continue.
"What is our situation, gentlemen? Look at our situation! We're two thousand miles from nowhere, and those two thousand miles are mountains—snow and glaciers! Talk about Napoleon's retreat from Moscow! That was just a game of ping-pong compared to marching an army across country from back East to the Yukon! just a little lally-gag. The WhitePass, and the Chilkoot Pass, and the mouth of the Yukon, belong to Uncle Sam...."
At the mention of "Uncle Sam" a great cheer went up—a mighty shout. "Uncle Sam! Hurrah for Uncle Sam! he won't tax our gold!"
"No, no, gentlemen—the Republic of the North!—a Republic of the North!—we can work out the mines before trouble can come to us," said the speaker.
"The Klondike Free State! The Klondike Free State!" shouted a man. The crowd took up the cry. Chaos reigned.
John Berwick, who had pushed his way through the crowd, sprang upon the bar beside Joseph Andrews the orator. He raised his hand for silence.
"Is a man's life to be mere existence—breathing, and the eating of food with hours of repose; or is it to be striving after some ideal, whether of ambition or duty? Strife, surely! Man spends his life in toil; the results of his labour represent his life. Imagine for one moment that we are standing upon Dawson's Dome." The audience began to cough and shuffle. This exordium was unusual. The men seemed restless, and then, as if with an unanimous impulse, they appeared to settle to attention. John went on, "We turn our faces to the north and view a mass of gorgeous colouring—the shield of the day that is past and the herald of the day that is to come. To the south and east and west this beauty is reflected in blended tints, sinking into valleys purple and silent. Whence came these valleys? They mark the erosion of ages: as a day is to a thousand years, so is the life of man on earth to the time the hand of God has been atwork carving the original plain. And what are the fruits of His labour? One of them is gold: gold that you and I may win. During the ages when the land where most of us were born was under ice the work went on: the rains fell and flowed to the sea; and out of all those ages of preparation and waiting one result appears to us, and that is gold."
There was an interruption or two; but the bulk of the audience clamoured for silence, and got it.
"God is just. He who robs a man of the results of his labour is a murderer to this extent that he takes a portion of his realized life. I need not remind you, my friends, of our labours in reaching this land, and the sacrifices we have made. Some of us have mortgaged our homes, even sold our all, to make this effort. Many of us have spent the best years of our adult life in this quest of nature's treasure, and in the hour of consummation have been robbed—robbed of our efforts. The result of those years has been torn from us, callously, brutally. Such corruption can only be remedied in one way. 'Thou shalt not kill,' is the Divine decree."
"But we have to get justice."
There came from the audience words of earnest agreement. The harangue of Joseph Andrews had awakened the frenzy of the crowd. Thetones and the serious presence of John Berwick appealed to their minds, while his argument wakened the thought of moral right, and, far better than rhetoric could do, steeled their resolves.
John told simply, briefly, the history of gold-mining in Australia, and of the many times corruption had wrecked individual fortunes. Justice, primarily, had to do with the rights of the individual. Countless lives had been lost in the past ages to establish that principle. The conditions in the Klondike were now worse than any that had troubled Australia; but there—as in the Klondike—the distance between the mining-fields and the seat of Government had been too great, and modes of communication too slow, to bring effective remedies. The agents of betterment found the diggings depleted, and the wrongs complained of now irreparable. But there need not be any shedding of blood, that fact he emphasized. What they must do was organize, and so win thousands to their cause against the hundreds under the orders of the established—and ineffective—authorities.
"But we need a head, a strong heart, to rule," John was saying.
"You're the man!" a voice shouted. "You're the man!" a hundred echoed.
"Parson Jack, Parson Jack! I knew he hadsomething in him." Through the uncertain light John could distinguish Long Shorty.
So it happened that Berwick became the head of the revolutionists. As he sprang down from the bar the excited men crushed round him. He whispered a rendezvous to a dozen of the most eager, "Dawson's Dome, to-morrow, noon."
That night Smoothbore paced his room. The scandal of the Dominion Creek hillsides was known to him, and he speculated on its being the last straw on the back of that patient camel, the honest prospector. There was a knock on the door. He told the new-comer to enter. It was Sergeant Galbraith in civilian clothes.
"There was a meeting in the Borealis, to-night, sir. Joseph Andrews was talking."
"Did he say much?"
"A little more than usual, sir."
"Did he stir them up?"
"They did a lot of yelling."
"They always do when he talks. Anything else?"
"There was another speaker, sir."
"Who?"
"Don't know, sir."
"But you have charge of the Secret Service. You placed a man on his trail?"
"Yes, sir; Constable Hope."
"What did the stranger say?"
"He talked philosophy."
"Philosophy!"
"Yes; he's an Australian."
"Did he rouse them?"
"They did not say much; he held them quiet."
"Any sedition?"
"Yes, sir. He says the man who steals another man's work is a murderer, in that he takes a portion of his life; and he quoted the Bible."
The Sergeant saluted and retired. Smoothbore paced his room. A man who could silence a Dawson crowd—one who quoted the Bible—was a man to be watched! Smoothbore knew his duty; it was to his sovereign, and his sovereign's authority; it was in his province to maintain the integrity of his sovereign's empire. He knew that many of his men sympathized with the miners, and that the miners were conscious of this sympathy. He knew, also, that many of the miners believed, in the case of an uprising of the people, that the opposition of the police would be merely nominal. The question, what action he should take, had been facetiously asked him many times; but he had allowed no man to read his mind. The iniquities of the liquor-permit system were known to him, for in his official capacity he had to enforce the law. The rascality in the Gold Commissioner's office, andthe graft of the toll-bridge and the Bonanza Creek trail, all—all were known to him, and were bad, bad—thoroughly bad. Villainy, barefaced or subtle, permeated officialdom, but officialdom he must protect.
There was no real hesitancy, although he recognized both sides of the question. He was going to do his duty, and he knew that his men would follow him.
Twenty men were present on the Dome at the time appointed. No one had marked their coming, and it would not have mattered if they had. Men often climbed the Dome to spy out the land or to locate the timber that grew upon its sides, for it would soon be winter, and logs were already being cut and hauled. From the Dome all who were approaching could be seen; there were no walls with ears at that place.
John moved a resolution that a council be formed, representative of the four nationalities—Australian, English, Canadian, and the United States. He and George would canvass the Australians and English. Hugh said he and Joseph Andrews would work among the Canadians. Long Shorty thought he could round up a host of Americans, and Frank Corte said he would back him up. These were men who would form the council. The first thing to do was to canvass the town and find out how many could be wonto the cause, after which another meeting would be held and progress reported. Following this, the creeks were to be gone over. To prevent bloodshed the force must be overwhelming. Bonanza, Hunker, and Eldorado would probably not yield many helpers. These creeks had been staked before the advent of Poo-Bah, and the police had given records. The owners had no complaint. Nothing more than moral support could be counted from these. But on the new creeks—Dominion, Sulphur, Indian River, Australia Eureka, Too-Much-Gold, All-Gold, and the rest—there was little doubt that the support of thousands could be obtained.
On the hillsides of Bonanza and Hunker startling discoveries had recently been made. Gold Hill was proved enormously rich, Adams Hill, Magnet Hill, and Monte Cristo Hill were all of great potential wealth. The White Channel was being discovered, and the rights of location were hard to establish, if not impossible. In the gambling and dance-halls clerks of the Gold Commissioner's office were nightly to be seen squandering money on gambling and women. Their wage was two dollars per day and food, yet many of them rather lived in the hotels at a cost of fifteen dollars per diem! All this explained the difficulty of obtaining record. The rightful owners of the newly-discovered property were mostlyresidents of Dawson, employing lawyers in their attempt to obtain just rights. These men were the most desperate. Then there were the Forty Mile, Glacier, and Twelve Mile Creeks. There was a large number on Glacier and Forty Mile Creeks.
The nature of the discussion was necessarily wide. John insisted that they all should devote attention to the town for the first few days. Each man gained as an adherent should be questioned as to his arms and ammunition, the capacity of his rifle, and the quantity of his ammunition. Notes were to be taken of these details. Only by such means could they estimate what might be expected from the men on the creeks. The need of caution was expressed by all on all. No word of what was doing should be allowed to reach the police, and every possible adherent must be carefully sounded ere he was taken into confidence.
John tarried on the Dome after the meeting. He requested George, Frank, and Hugh to post to the home-camp and prepare a meal. A tremendous responsibility had come to him in the last few hours; and now that action had been taken he wished to meditate upon it. He had taken a great step, and could only contemplate a result far-reaching.
When the last man had disappeared among the timber below, he arose from his seat and wandered towards the wooded gulch to the north of theDome, which he had partly explored in the days of his convalescence. He thought he remembered something. He found it again—a cleft in the rock. By the aid of a few poles and brush and a little moss it would become a fair habitation, his den!—"David therefore departed thence and escaped to the Cave Adullam ... and every one that was in distress, and every one that was in debt, and every one that was discontented, gathered themselves unto him."
Was he to be another David?
He sought the home-trail; and as he ate his meal told his companions that he would camp alone; no one else had better be with him in the Cave of Adullam.
That afternoon he placed an outfit on his back and walked to his new lonely abode. Time was precious, so he would not allow any of his companions to assist him, but rather requested that they should turn immediately to their work of organization. Besides, it was his humour to be alone.
As he chopped the trees necessary to complete his den, his mind conceived many things. Fond recollections came, and they led to a contemplation of the purposes of his life. Was he ever to be useful, creative? Instinctively his mind avoided the immediate issue of events. After all, the time for thought had given place to the time for action.