The Great Gold Rush Part 36

CHAPTER x.x.xIV

NO SURRENDER

Berwick's muster had been fifteen hundred strong on the Friday at noon.

Of discipline there was little or none, and Berwick knew better than to attempt to enforce any. They had chosen him as their leader, and up to the present had not disputed his authority.

His directions were that the men should hold the Dome, retire to their camps in the forest to cook their food, but be ever-ready promptly to regain their position.

At noon he stood upon a boulder, and read to his followers the summons to surrender he had dispatched to Smoothbore. To the present--nine o'clock in the evening--no answer had been received, the summons to surrender was being received with contempt. He felt the responsibility upon him greater than ever; its weight increased as the time for the use of force approached. The twenty-four hours' notice before striking had nearly expired. He loathed the prospect of taking life, and prayed that the police would submit! If only they would see the hopelessness of resistance and send a pacific answer! Would that answer never come?

As he sat in meditation Berwick observed a restlessness among some men who were grouped, talking, gazing down the river. He looked in the same direction, and noticed a column of smoke. Then the hulk of a river steamer hove in sight. This visibly affected the men, who began to leave their posts and scramble down the hill to the town.

The arrival of a steamer in Dawson in the summer of 1898 was a matter of moment. An idea came to Berwick at the sight of her and the procession of people hurrying to meet her. He would go to the town. Everybody there would be keen to attend the docking of the steamer, making it practically certain that his visit to the Barracks would not be noticed.

So to the Barracks he went.

"I wish to see the Officer commanding," he said to the sentry.

"Name?"

"John Berwick."

The man gulped, and stared at the visitor. He knocked at the door, and announced,

"A man to see you, sir, by name of John Berwick."

Hi-u Bill was again in the office, had just read the ultimatum, the discussion of which had been interrupted by the entrance of the man. He opened his eyes wide at the mention of the rebel's name.

"Show him in!"

Had the usual happy accident come to pa.s.s? flashed through Smoothbore's mind as he gazed with eyes of curiosity at the pseudo-President of the Klondike Free State that was to be.

Berwick entered, and stood facing the two chief executive officers of the Government. He at once picked out the Police Commandant, and returned his gaze without flinching.

"What can I do for you?" he was asked.

"I've come in the hopes of saving life. I have come to plead with you to comply with our request and surrender to our forces."

Smoothbore was struck by the transparent candour of the man and his quixotism. "British garrisons are not in the habit of surrendering at the call of rebels," he answered stiffly.

The word "rebel" roused Berwick. It stung. "I do not come to you from any cowardice, or through fear of death, or defeat. I come in the spirit of humanity."

"A very worthy mission! Then why not disband your forces?"

Berwick brushed the suggestion aside. "I have ten men for every one of yours, and my position commands these buildings. My men are in earnest, and there is justice in our cause, even to warrant the shedding of blood. This you must recognize."

"I recognize nothing but that I am here to uphold the law of the land."

"You must know--you must recognize--that great dishonesty exists within the Civil Service, and that we have met to protest and put an end to it!"

"Officially, I know nothing of that. It is my duty to maintain the Union Jack flying in the land."

"We can fire your buildings----"

"You may be able to fire our buildings; you may be able to kill us all; and then you may lower the flag. I tell you I intend to sink with my ship. When you have burned us out, those men of mine--who wish to--may take to the river. That is all. You have my answer."

Berwick's eyes filled; a lump was in his throat. He gulped, and with a husky "Good-evening!" staggered into the open. He bent his head that the sentry might not see his emotion, and so gained the street by the Yukon's bank.

"He does not look much like a traitor," remarked Hi-u Bill.

"He is a man of evident ability. I fancy in England, in other days, he would have been a Whig. He has too little philosophy, or too much. Well, Commissioner," he said to Hi-u Bill, "are you going to stay with me, or run your chances in the town?"

"Me! I really think I'd better stay in my cabin. You see I am really not in this, and there are a lot of papers and records I had better bury somewhere."

On leaving the Barracks Berwick had been in somewhat of a daze. He was still in that condition when he found himself at the dock. The steamer _Susan_ was tying to the wharf; the swift current had made docking difficult, so that he was in time to witness the landing of the pa.s.sengers.

The crowd on the steamer was much as he had expected; but there was one man coming down the gang-plank who attracted his attention, and that of the onlookers generally; his hair fell to his shoulders; he had a great beard; his clothes were covered with grease, and he was very dirty.

He had a small pack strapped to his back; it was a very small pack--not much larger than a turnip; yet the figure that carried it bent under the load.

CHAPTER x.x.xV

THE MAN WITH THE POUCH

There were no signs of hesitancy in the movements of the man with the small round burden. He entered the Borealis, advanced to the bar, upon which he threw down the sack.

"Pa.s.s along your poison," said he to the bartender.

"What will it be?"

"What will it be! Why wine, what else would it be? Pa.s.s along a bottle."

"Large or small?"

"Large or small! Why large, of course! Say, son, what do you take me for?"

The bottle of wine was opened, and the new-comer quenched a willing thirst. He then turned to the crowd that had by this time cl.u.s.tered round him.

"Come on and have a drink, boys," he said, waving the bottle. "Belly-up to this good American timber." He jumped upon the bar and drank again.

"Wine, wine! Give them wine, feed the nectar of the G.o.ds to the swine!

Make 'em happy for once."

Notwithstanding the manner of the invitation, the crowd responded, and soon the two bartenders were busy.

"Stack the empties there so I can see and count 'em; thirty dollars per," and the host pointed to a shelf against the wall.