Kabanata Kabanata 22 · BOOK II CHAPTER XII

Spring in the Yukon! Majestic mountains crowned with immemorial snow!

The mad midnight melodies of birds! From the kindly stars to the leaves

of grass that glimmer in the wind, a world pregnant with joy, a land

jewel-bright and virgin-sweet!

After the obsession of the long, long night, Spring leaps into being

with a sudden sun-thrilled joy, a radiant uplift. The shy emerald

mantles the valleys and fledges the heights; the pussy-willows tremble

by lake and stream; the wild crocus brims the hollows with a haze of

violet; trailing his last ragged pennants of snow on the hills, winter

makes his sullen retreat.

Perhaps I am over-sensitive, but I have ecstasied moments when to me it

seems the grass is greener, the sky bluer than they are to most; I

surrender my heart to wonder and joy; I am in tune with the triumphant

cadence of Things; I am an atom of praise; I live, therefore I exult.

Only in hyperbole could I express that golden Spring, as we set sail on

the sunlit waters of Lake Bennett. Never had I felt so glad. And indeed

it was a vastly merry mob that sailed with us, straining their eyes once

more to the Eldorado of their dreams. Bottled-up spirits effervesced

wildly; hearts beat bravely; hopes were high. The bitter landtrail was

forgotten. The clear, bright water leaped laughingly at the bow; the

gallant breeze was blowing behind. The strong men bared their breasts

and drank of it deeply.

Yes, they were the strong, the fit, suffered by the North to survive,

stiffened and braced and seasoned, the Chosen of the Test, the Proven of

the Trail. Songs of jubilation rang in the night air; men, eager-eyed

and watchful, roared snatches of melody as they toiled at sweep and oar;

banjos, mandolins, fiddles, flutes, mingled in maddest confusion. Once

more the great invading army of the Cheechakos moved forward

tumultuously, but now with mirth and rejoicing.

The great calm night was never dark, the great deep lakes infinitely

serene, the great mountains majestically solemn. In the lighted sky the

pale ghost-moon seemed ever apologising for itself. The world was a

grand harmonious symphony that even the advancing tide of the Argonauts

could not mar.

Yet, under all the mirth and gaiety, you could feel, tense, ruthless and

dominant, the spirit of the trail. In that invincible onrush of human

effort, as the oars bent with their strokes of might, as the sail

bellied before the breeze, as the eager wave leapt at the bow, you could

feel the passion that quickened their hearts and steeled their arms.

Klondike or bust! Once more the slogan rang on bearded lips; once more

the gold-lust smouldered in their eyes. The old primal lust resurged: to

win at any cost, to thrust down those in the way, to fight fiercely,

brutally, even as wolf-dogs fight, this was the code, the terrible code

of the Gold-trail. The basic passions up-leapt, envy and hate and fear

triumphed, and with ever increasing excitement the great fleet of the

gold-hunters strained onward to the valley of the treasure.

Of all who had started out with us but a few had got this far. Of these

Mervin and Hewson were far in front, victors of the trail, qualified to

rank with the Men of the High North, the Sourdoughs of the Yukon Valley.

Somewhere in the fleet were the Bank clerk, the Halfbreed and

Bullhammer, while three days' start ahead were the Winklesteins.

"These Jews have the only system," commented the Prodigal; "they ran the

'Elight' Restaurant in Bennett and got action on their beans and flour

and bacon. The Madam cooked, the old man did the chores and the girl

waited on table. They've roped in a bunch of money, and now they've lit

out for Dawson in a nice, tight little scow with their outfits turned

into wads of the long green."

I kept a keen lookout for them and every day I hoped we would overtake

their scow, for constantly I thought of Berna. Her little face, so

wistfully tender, haunted me, and over and over in my mind I kept

recalling our last meeting.

At times I blamed myself for letting her go so easily, and then again I

was thankful that I had not allowed my heart to run away with my head.

For I was beginning to wonder if I had not given her my heart, given it

easily, willingly and without reserve. And in truth at the idea I felt

a strange thrill of joy. The girl seemed to me all that was fair,

lovable and sweet.

We were now skimming over Tagish Lake. With grey head bared to the

breeze and a hymn stave on his lips, Salvation Jim steered in the strong

sunlight. His face was full of cheer, his eyes alight with kindly hope.

Leaning over the side, the Prodigal was dragging a spoon-bait to catch

the monster trout that lived in those depths. The Jam-wagon, as if

disgusted at our enforced idleness, slumbered at the bow. As he slept I

noticed his fine nostrils, his thin, bitter lips, his bare brawny arms,

tattooed with strange devices. How clean he kept his teeth and nails!

There was the stamp of the thoroughbred all over him. In what strange

parts of the world had he run amuck? What fair, gracious women mourned

for him in far-away England?

Ah, those enchanted days, the sky spaces abrim with light, the

gargantuan mountains, the eager army of adventurers, undismayed at the

gloomy vastness!

We came to Windy Arm, rugged, desolate and despairful. Down it, with

menace and terror on its wings, rushes the furious wind, driving boats

and scows crashing on an iron shore. In the night we heard shouts; we

saw wreckage piled up on the beach, but we pulled away. For twelve weary

hours we pulled at the oars, and in the end our danger was past.

We came to Lake Tagish; a dead calm, a blazing sun, a seething mist of

mosquitoes. We sweltered in the heat; we strained, with blistered

hands, at the oars; we cursed and toiled like a thousand others of that

grotesque fleet. There were boats of every shape, square, oblong,

circular, three-cornered, flat, round--anything that would float. They

were made mostly of boards, laboriously hand-sawn in the woods, and from

a half-inch to four inches thick. Black pitch smeared the seams of the

raw lumber. They travelled sideways as well as in any other fashion. And

in such crazy craft were thousands of amateur boatmen, sailing serenely

along, taking danger with sang-froid, and at night, over their

camp-fires, hilariously telling of their hairbreadth escapes.

We entered the Fifty-mile River; we were in a giant valley; tier after

tier of benchland rose to sentinel mountains of austerest grandeur.

There at the bottom the little river twisted like a silver wire, and

down it rowed the eager army. They shattered the silence into wildest

echo, they roused the bears out of their frozen sleep; the forest flamed

from their careless fires.

The river was our beast of burden now, a tireless, gentle beast.

Serenely and smoothly it bore us onward, yet there was a note of menace

in its song. They had told us of the canyon and of the rapids, and as we

pulled at the oars and battled with the mosquitoes, we wondered when the

danger was coming, how we would fare through it when it came.

Then one evening as we were sweeping down the placid river, the current

suddenly quickened. The banks were sliding past at a strange speed.

Swiftly we whirled around a bend, and there we were right on top of the

dreadful canyon. Straight ahead was what seemed to be a solid wall of

rock. The river looked to have no outlet; but as we drew nearer we saw

that there was a narrow chasm in the stony face, and at this the water

was rearing and charging with an angry roar.

The current was gripping us angrily now; there was no chance to draw

back. At his post stood the Jam-wagon with the keen, alert look of the

man who loves danger. A thrill of excitement ran through us all. With

set faces we prepared for the fight.

I was in the bow. All at once I saw directly in front a scow struggling

to make the shore. In her there were three people, two women and a man.

I saw the man jump out with a rope and try to snub the scow to a tree.

Three times he failed, running along the bank and shouting frantically.

I saw one of the women jump for the shore. Then at the same instant the

rope parted, and the scow, with the remaining woman, went swirling on

into the canyon.