A Claim on Klondyke Part 28

Robberies of anything but food, and those very seldom, were never heard of. All seemed to have perfect confidence in the honesty of the crowd.

We Britishers and Canadians believed that it was in consequence of the presence of the splendid body of mounted police. No doubt they had much to do with it, but the Canadians are a law-abiding people, and the bulk of the foreigners had evidently great respect and confidence in the British flag and British law. The diggers, however, would have risen to a man to repel and punish any one found pilfering or gold-stealing. A species of lynch law had prevailed in that region for years, and the effect on the whole had made for good.

It was on the twelfth day of June that the steam whistle howled at daybreak, and our boat's bell clanged ceaselessly for an hour--how they do love noise over there!--and I brought May and her bundles on board.

The entire population of Dawson City came to the water's edge to see us off, and yell their good wishes to us.

Then as the red sun arose across the yellow river, the stern-wheel began to beat the turbid stream, the ropes were cast off, and we were away.

May and I were at last started for England and home!

CHAPTER XIV.

Our vessel was a curious affair. The hull was a long, square-ended barge. In this was the engine which worked the huge wheel astern. On the deck a large cargo could be carried; over that were cabins, ranged along both sides, with the dining-room between. A railed pa.s.sage--a balcony--surrounded the vessel on this deck outside the sleeping-rooms, and above all was the hurricane deck, where the pa.s.sengers mostly pa.s.sed their time.

The cabins were remarkably clean and comfortable: a Chinaman looked after them. Our food was excellent--considering.

The boat being "light," we were expected to make a record pa.s.sage down--twelve days, the captain said; but it all depended on the state of the ice in the lower river.

There were only a dozen pa.s.sengers besides ourselves--some of them were returning "sick," others because they were "sorry" they had come. Four or five were reputed to have made their piles. These were very silent men: they spent their time smoking, expectorating, and playing poker.

There was an American and his wife--Californians--who were very genial and superior: they were excellent company. There were also a young Englishman and an elderly Scotsman. The Americans were bound to San Francisco to buy goods: they had wintered in Dawson, and were returning later with their stock, and were going into storekeeping in Dawson in an extensive way. The Englishman and the Scot had done very well on Bonanza Creek: they owned they had made enough to live in Britain as they pleased.

We did not stop at Fort Reliance; it is all but abandoned, and has been so for years. That is where the first whites settled in that region, and it is from this point that most of the places have been named,--Forty, Sixty, Twelve Mile Posts were supposed to be these distances from Reliance. The Yukon is here five hundred yards in width; there are but few islands, and the current is regular.

At Forty Mile Post our boat was tied up for a few hours. This place is a small repet.i.tion of Dawson, although, I believe, a much older settlement: it is on the south side of Forty Mile river, which here joins the Yukon. It has several restaurants, billiard-halls, and bakeries, a blacksmith, and an opera-house!

On the north side of the river lies Cudahy, a smaller collection of stores and shanties. It has no opera-house, and would, in consequence, be unhappy but for Fort Constantine, which was established in 1895. It is a station of the mounted police, who have several fine log buildings, so well cared for that they lend an air of civilisation to the place.

From here to the boundary line between Canada and the United States--the 141st parallel of west longitude--there is nothing worth noticing. The Yukon there is about the same width as at Reliance, but soon after entering American territory--_i.e._, Alaska--it widens considerably. It continues thus for about one hundred miles, the banks on either hand being high and steep, with fine mountains inland. This portion is known as the Upper Ramparts.

Circle City we touched at. It had been a village of importance before Dawson existed. The Klond.y.k.e rush had taken away most of the inhabitants. We found it all but deserted. Here we took in wood for fuel, and heard with pleasure that the ice had left the river for a long distance down.

After this there are 150 miles of very much wider river, but it is a network of channels amongst small islands. Huge piles of ice were still to be seen on many shallows.

At Fort Yukon, which lies north of the Arctic Circle, we found hard winter reigned; but the river was free of ice. It is 380 miles below Dawson. The stream is said to be seven miles wide here. The navigation is most perplexing, as the channel shifts continually.

On the fifth day we came to floating ice, which extended from sh.o.r.e to sh.o.r.e. We moved slowly after it. It was drifting down at the rate of five miles an hour. During the short nights we tied up to the bank.

At daylight, no ice being visible, we went on full speed until we overtook it. This continued till we were ten days out; then we came to a solid ma.s.s of ice, which was not moving.

Our captain, a bit of a philosopher, reckoned he had foreseen this delay and made light of it, but it was annoying to us.

There were no dwellings, no signs of human or any other life here, nothing but the dismal pine-clad river banks, where, being so far north, it was still deep winter.

We were stuck here four days. We were not a very lively party. Cards kept a few employed, and there were a few books on board. There were also a number of newspapers of the previous September. These were full of interest to some of us.

On the fourth day, suddenly, with an awful roar and turmoil, the ice broke up and started. We soon had clear water and went ahead again.

No further stoppages occurred, we pushed on, and eighteen days from Dawson we reached the delta of the Yukon.

Here, the land being low and flat, and indeed then completely overflowed, we appeared to be on the open sea. We had to go eighty miles north through this to reach Fort St Michael, where our voyage in the stern-wheeler ended.

The few miserable settlements, trading-posts, and Indian rancheries which we had pa.s.sed, or stopped at for firing, were all so perfectly uninteresting and monotonous that it is useless to even name them. The few inhabitants were generally busy in some way about the salmon. That fish was the all-absorbing topic here, as gold had been farther up.

We met but one vessel going in. She had been fast in the ice all winter, since the previous September! She was slowly pounding up against the strong current with so much of her cargo that was unconsumed during their long detention. What she had left was princ.i.p.ally household furniture and whisky!--which would not feed the hungry.

Near St Michael's the mosquitoes discovered us, for it had now become intensely hot. Those pests stuck to us persistently until we were well out to sea.

May and I during this tedious time had become very friendly with our American fellow-pa.s.sengers, Mr and Mrs Parker. May was so constantly with that lady that I had few opportunities of even a word with her, which made me quite unhappy. I fancied, foolishly, that May's past affectionately friendly way with me had ended, that she had changed, and that now that we were with others, and my help not so necessary, she was gradually forsaking me.

We were always in company, that is true, but she was never alone. It was rare now for her to call me Bertie, and I observed a look on her sweet face when I called her May which caused me to think she did not like it.

Yes, I was very miserable. I was jealous of her close a.s.sociation with Mrs Parker, I was jealous of the kindly way in which she spoke to that lady's husband. I was very absurd, I know. I was poor company then for myself, or for any one.

May had really changed very little in appearance, although she seemed to me to grow in beauty daily. With more civilised appliances, a few improvements in her dress, she became, in my eyes, the picture of all a girl should be. I longed to tell her this. I was annoyed, impatient, irritated at the obstacles which prevented me.

May always had a sad expression. Could one wonder at it? She was, I knew, still grieving over her lost father, and was anxious, filled with apprehension about her mother when she had heard the sad story she must tell her. I longed to help, to sympathise with her, indeed to be all in all to her, as I fancied I had been during that awful time up country.

It was very foolish, very preposterous of me, I am aware. I should have realised that such companionship could never be again, unless she became my wife. Really I knew it, and that is why I was so unhappy, and, as I see now, so stupid, for I then feared that she never could be that.

This state of matters continued until towards the end of this portion of our journey. It had grown so unbearable that I had become somewhat reckless. I really felt that I must put an end to it in some way. It actually came into my mind that I had better, on arriving at St Michael's, put her safely on board a ship bound for Victoria and return to Dawson and our claims up the Klond.y.k.e.

I said so to May one afternoon in the presence of Mr and Mrs Parker. I spoke as if I had all but determined to do so. She turned pale, then red. She did not speak, but she looked at me so eagerly, so imploringly, so frightened, that I was puzzled.

I was so abominably stupid that I attributed her expression of alarm to her fear of losing my help and guardianship. That she should be grieved at the mere prospect of parting with me, never entered my thick head that afternoon.

I said that I believed I should be better employed in looking after our interests up the Yukon than in going home in ease and luxury. "I'm sure you'll do very well and comfortably without me now, Miss Bell," I declared.

At this nasty speech the dear girl looked at me so surprised, so very sorrowfully, that I half regretted what I had said. She kept silence for a little. "Have you forgotten your promise to your friend Meade?

and to my poor father?" she asked me.

I replied, with difficulty, I admit, I was so dreadfully down-hearted and distressed, "Oh! you will do all there is to be done for Meade, I'm sure, as well, nay, better than I can, and so that I know all will be carried out as he wished, that promise will be kept; and your father's desire will be carried out too if I see you off safely from this country--and that I will do, most certainly."

"Are you in earnest, Bertie?" She seemed to be amazed.

I a.s.sured her that was how I felt then,--that I thought it would be much better so.

May was silent again. Shortly she arose and walked slowly to her cabin. I fancied I observed a tear trickling down her cheek as she left us. "She is thinking about the past," I said to myself.

That same evening, later,--indeed it was getting towards midnight--the sun had long set, but its brilliance was still in the sky--it did not leave it the whole night through at that season,--I was on deck, as I supposed alone, the steamer was pressing onward to the ocean down the rapidly flowing river, here quite broad. The distant mountains in the west and north towered up, violet, from a bank of rose-tinted mist, soft as carded wool. Here and there ice-clad peaks were still gilded by the sun, which was far down behind them, whilst the moon was riding full behind me. I was in deep distress, broken-hearted, yet I have a clear remembrance of the scene on which I gazed that night.

As I leant upon the rail and pondered upon what I and May had said earlier in the day, what our adventures together had been in the past, and what I had been foolish enough, as I at that moment considered, to imagine might be possible in the future, I was down-hearted and exceeding sad. My heart went out to May, I dwelt long and fondly on thoughts of her, but I could see no ray of hope, and could think of no reason why she should ever regard me as more than a friend; whilst I was longing, yearning, beside myself with love of her. "Yes, oh! yes,"

I muttered to myself, "it is far better that I part with her,--far better, indeed, that I return to my work away back in the north."

There was much vibration in the vessel. These craft are at best very fragile, very shaky. The beating paddle-wheel astern made so much noise that perfect quiet could not be attained anywhere on board.

I was somewhere amidships, the stillest spot that I could find, yet I heard no footsteps, and had no idea that any one was near me. Lifting up my eyes to heaven, I e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed something--I don't know what--some exclamation of despondency at the prospect of the life that I was contemplating in the Upper Yukon; but I do remember that I ended with the words, "And no May there!"