CHAPTER VIII.
Through the keen air I hurried. It was light enough. The aurora was brilliant. Whether day or night I did not know, or care.
I was enraptured. I seemed to be walking on air. The rough hill-sides, the ice-clad rocks, I passed over with the agility of a fawn. I had companions, my loneliness was ended!
And what company had I found? A girl who had instantly affected me in a manner I had never before experienced.
Naturally, after long absence from female society, a man is easily attracted by almost any member of the fair sex. I quite understood this. But I had never been enthusiastic in my admiration of women. Indeed I had been, whether from diffidence or constitution I cannot say, rather averse to their society, and regarded those of my friends who devoted themselves to them as a bit weak.
I knew this, and yet I felt so elated at meeting this girl so unexpectedly that I forgot all my former notions, and was so joyful, in spite of recent occurrences and our terrible surroundings, that I went on my way gleefully. The awful cold and my loneliness were clean forgotten, the long tramp on snowshoes was as nothing, so, almost before I knew it, I was back at the hut.
Everything that could freeze was frozen, indoors and out. I built a huge fire, I cooked a meal for myself and my dog, and I felt so bright and so exhilarated that I ate as I had not eaten for a long time. I rejoiced in my appetite, my vigour, and health, and thanked Almighty God for His goodness, and not the least for His mercifully causing us—Meade and me—to economise our food as we had, for now I could appreciate the value of it, as, of course, I had not hesitated, nay, I was eager, to share it with the Bells.
To think of that sweet girl in want of food was so distressing, that I would fain have given her all that I possessed and starved myself, rather than that she should suffer.
Sitting by my fire resting, I smoked and dreamed—waking dreams—about my new friends. I thought lightly of Mr Bell's illness. I believed it was merely want of sustenance, as it was with his daughter May. I thought of her as May, which was a lovely name. I considered, I wondered who they were, what was their history, how they came to be up there in that awful predicament, in that dreadful country.
Mr Bell had spoken of gold as if they had plenty; I knew what I had, and this led me to dreaming of what might be. I pictured May in England, myself with such a woman as she appeared to be as my wife. I thought about all that we could enjoy in England, the comforts and luxuries that money would obtain there for us, and I fell asleep dreaming of such things, and slept until Patch roused me. He had become impatient at my long nap.
I had slept some hours. I was pleased, knowing the task I had before me of hauling a heavy load to the Bells', and then returning without sleep or rest. I was not complaining—far, very far from that—I was indeed rejoiced about it. But I was wise enough to remember that I must go sensibly to work—that as their very lives depended on me and what I had, I must run no risk of breaking down or failing.
There was a quantity of food, principally canned meats and vegetables, in the cache which Meade and I built up the trees. I packed the toboggan with a selection, and with a sack of flour, some sugar, coffee, a few bottles of bovril, our only bottle of whisky, and all I could think of suitable for an invalid. I heaped on joints of venison, bear meat, and a few frozen birds I had left. I covered this with the remnant of the tent, lashed all securely, harnessed Patch, and started up the creek.
This was really my first experience of hauling a laden sledge. Patch was out of practice too, so that for a while we did not get on pleasantly.
The toboggan answered well. It sank very little, having a wide base, but the dry snow piled up before it. It was, as they say, "collar work" always.
I had Patch attached by a long trace at first, and I kept closer to the sleigh. He would try to go ahead rapidly. It was surprising the power of that dog, and the more I called to him to go slower the more he hurried. When I had at length forced a halt, I shortened his trace and lengthened mine, so that I was leader. Now he paid more attention to me than his work. If I slowed up or endeavoured to take it easy he jumped on me, barking with delight. No doubt he thought it good fun.
The cold did not appear to affect him in the slightest. He was well fed; but even in the real Arctic the half-starved Huskies pay no heed to it. They sleep contentedly in the snow, with the thermometer marking 100 degrees of frost, as I have learned since I came out that it frequently does on the Yukon.
I next fastened Patch's trace the same length as my own. By this means we got on better, for I could put my hand into his collar and guide him effectually. This answered usually very well, but when our traces became entangled, it was no easy matter to extricate them in the frightful cold.
The actual weight of the load did not trouble us as long as we kept on the frozen creek, as it was usually level; and after a few hours Patch was not nearly so full of life and impetuosity, and things went easier.
We camped for an hour when we were half way. I made some tea; we had found rather a snug corner amongst some thick pine bushes.
When we reached the hill we had to cross, we had as much as we could do to pull the toboggan up the steep incline. Patch worked well; he gave me the idea that he knew we were nearing our destination, and was delighted.
So, after many heavy tugs, we reached the top, when I called a halt; but my companion was for dashing over it, and slithering down the other side without delay. By hanging on behind I stopped him, and addressed him seriously, angrily, at which he looked into my face, then gazed in the direction of the Bells' shanty, and let out a long-drawn howl.
Here I unlashed the gun and fired a couple of shots, a signal I had agreed upon with May.
She had been listening surely, for the smoke from the discharge had barely crept away ere the door flew open and I saw her wave a burning stick in token that my signal was observed, at which Mr Patch began to bark and howl melodiously: he fairly yelled with excitement, and I had difficulty in restraining him from tearing down the hill.
By care and patience we got safely down, and drew our load to the shanty. Indeed we drew it inside, for a breeze had sprung up, and it would have been a risk to handle anything in the open air.
It delighted me to see the pleasure with which my new friend examined what I had brought. "What! bovril!" she exclaimed, "and whisky! Oh, they will cure father! and sago, rice; and this lovely tinned fruit! Why, what a stock of things you have; are you storekeeping? I thought you were a miner."
I assured her that I was, and nothing more, but that my partner had been up the season before, had done well, and gained experience, so that when we came in during the summer we had brought a large stock of food—larger than was absolutely necessary—in case of accidents. I added that I was deeply thankful we had done so, as things had turned out. I begged her to use all she could, for her father's good, to say nothing of her own; and to remember that there was plenty more where this came from.
Her father was much better than when I first saw him, but he was still ill and frail. He welcomed me warmly, clasping my big rough hand in his thin white ones, saying as he did so, "Welcome back. I never can thank you enough for all your goodness. You have saved my daughter's life, and I hope, too, I may recover and prove to you my gratitude."
I cut this matter short, begging him to use what I had been so pleased to bring.
His daughter, being present, went over a list of the dainties, as she called them, and was quite cheerful, which gladdened Mr Bell, and they both spoke hopefully of the future.
It was not long before we two had a kettle boiling, food cooked, and were enjoying what she assured me was the best meal she had eaten in that region. Bacon and beans, the staples with miners, had never been satisfactory food to her father and herself.
Naturally it was a delight to me to be thus familiarly associated with her. During my absence she had tidied the shanty, and had also donned a better dress—that is, a cleaner one—less worn and ragged. She had done something to her hair, and had tried to make her hands more presentable. Her beauty was, I suppose, enhanced by this, and to me it seemed that if she was not so thin, and had a little more colour on her cheeks, and could lose the sad look that seldom left her face, she would be perfect.
As for me, I had done nothing to improve my dress or looks. I did get some snow melted at my place, and rubbed and scrubbed my hands; but I could not say they were improved, though a portion of the grease and blackness was gone.
We sat with her father for a while. He was a smoker, but all his tobacco was gone: he tried to join me, but could not manage it, although he was decidedly better. We propped him up, and he talked with me, and then of course they wished to know how I came to be in that part, and how I came across them, and about England; asked if I knew the part they came from, and said a little about where my people lived. He appeared to know our name, having visited in the neighbourhood, so that we got on well. He was very feeble, spoke with difficulty, and his daughter May, as he always called her, helped him out, finished sentences for him, and described to me what she knew he wished to tell me. As for how I came to be in that neighbourhood, that was easily explained. I told of Meade's discovery the first time he came into the Yukon; how he had returned this last summer, and had brought me with him. I told how fortunate we had been in getting gold, and so forth, and generalised a good deal. I said nothing about Meade's death—I merely stated that he had left me, that I had been alone for months, had become heartily tired of it, and had determined to get to Dawson "somehow" with what I could haul out. I was making preparation for this when I heard the shots, which May afterwards told me she fired every few hours for a week, hoping to attract some one; but of late she had quite despaired. They were certain they should both die. Indeed, as I knew, when the joyful sound of my gunshots, and soon after the barking of the dog, roused hope in her, her father had swooned away, and but for my wonderful advent, and what I had in my bag, she believed he would not have rallied.
I told her my intention had been to remain at Dawson till spring, then return to our claim, finish up there with men to help, and go home in the autumn.
"So I suppose you'll be carrying this out directly?" May asked. I shall henceforth call her May, though really at that time I addressed her as Miss Bell.
"Oh, not now. No; there is no need. I've given up the idea since I've been so fortunate as to find you and your father. You see, I was only going to Dawson for the sake of some sort of company. I have been so terribly solitary; I have nothing to do there now. I shall not be so lonely if you'll allow me to come here sometimes."
"Why, surely," she laughed; "surely, we shall be happy enough to see you, as often as you can come. See what good you have done us; look at my dear father. I wish you could stay here altogether."
I thanked her, and wished I could; but added that as everything I possessed was in our dug-out, which I described, it would hardly be right to leave it entirely unprotected.
They assured me that I need have no anxiety on that score, that robberies were never committed in that country, and that even if any one came across my place it would be left untouched.
I could hardly credit this, but as they understood how Meade and I had come in, and had met so few people, they explained, and declared that I should be surprised at the good behaviour and honour amongst the miners, who, whatever other evils they did, had a strict regard for each other's property. "Why," said Mr Bell, "I've known thousands of pounds' worth of gold to lie unguarded, in view of all passers-by, and it was never interfered with; that was in Alaska, on the American side, where we know the laws are not respected as they are in Canada; and here, under the British flag, we're as safe, oh, much safer, than in England, so far as thieving goes!"
When May and I left him to sleep, we sat by the fire conversing. It was then I told her that I had something like 260 lb. weight of gold, worth, I supposed, £10,000, buried in my dug-out; it would be a serious matter if it were stolen—to others besides myself.
She whispered to me that they had also in this shanty an immense quantity, more than I could imagine possible, adding, "When the others went away they left our share with us, and father and I have got a lot since. He was not so ill then, he could help me. After they went away he and I worked, as I tell you, and our ground is very rich. We picked out as much as I can lift, and there is a dump of pay-dirt, which is full of finer gold, to be washed in the spring. But, oh dear! if father is not better soon I shall despair."
I tried to encourage her. I said I felt sure that it was only want of proper food that had made him ill; now that there was plenty, he would soon be all right.
She shook her head, saying, "Ah! you don't know. It is not all famine; he was very bad whilst yet we had food enough. But I must not despair." She tried to speak cheerfully. "Three days ago we were hopeless, dying really; yet see how wonderfully, how mercifully we have been rescued and provided for. I will hope yet. Please God, father will recover, then all will be well!"
I said that was right. I begged her to look at the bright side of things, and I continued, "You spoke just now of helping your father to mine—do you mean that you have actually worked? Yes? Not underground, surely?"
Smiling, she told me she had not actually worked down a shaft at tunnelling or driving, but that she had done about everything else. They had been working in a mound beside the creek, had traced the gold into it along bed-rock, much as Meade and I had. This mound had gold in it from the surface, under the nigger grass and moss; it was six to ten feet thick, and of course always frozen as hard as marble. They lit fires before it, then removed the dirt thus thawed. It was slow work, consisting principally in cutting firewood and keeping the fires going. She had become quite expert with an axe, she assured me. They allowed these fires to burn half a day, then raked them away, and generally found the ground was thawed a couple of feet in.
Often, she went on to explain to me, they found within a few inches of the rock the gold as thick as plums in a Christmas pudding, and she declared she knew there was an immense fortune in their claim.
I quite believed all this, for it was like our own experience.
When I looked at her I was not surprised at her ability to do labouring work. She was one of those well-built girls that one sometimes sees, more often in Britain than anywhere, who, having from their childhood been used to outdoor life, are physically able and as strong as men.
I could realise that when May was in good health her powers would be fully up to gold-mining or any other work. Withal there did not appear to be the slightest sign of that masculine style which is so horrible to see in women: she was soft spoken, eminently feminine, and one could not doubt she was in all respects a lady.
She knew all about panning off and cradling, and even sluicing, and could do them all. I was of course curious to know how they came to be where I found them, and how long they had been in Canada, and so forth; but I was diffident, and I did not like to ask her. I fancied they had not been very long from home.
I had been several hours there. I did not wish to leave, but thinking I ought to, I went in to bid her father farewell, when they both begged me to stay a while, and I did linger longer, for I really was in no hurry.
We had much conversation, which was delightful to me after my long silence. I found they had no books; so when I told them of my possessions they were envious, and charmed when I promised, next time I came, to bring some with me. I believe it was this prospect which made them willing for me to go, as I pledged myself to return in a very few days.
I left them with a heavy heart, with very great regret.
May asked me again to leave Patch with them; but when I told her that she had her father to talk with, whilst I had only a dog for company, she declared she was ashamed of having made so cruel a request.
My journey home was not a pleasant one. It was very dark, the sky was clouded, there was some wind and drifting snow. It was not so cold, however—it rarely is when the sky is overcast. But for Patch's sagacity, we might easily have gone astray.
So long as I kept my mind fixed on Mary Bell, remembered that I was not now solitary, I did well; but when, tired, cold, and miserable, I arrived at the hut so drear, so gloomy, I felt dreadful, and for a while I could barely look about me undismayed.
However, being fatigued enough and hungry, and the big fire making me drowsy, Patch and I were soon fed and fast, asleep, and forgetting our troubles and joys.
The following days I passed far from pleasantly. I sat moping by the fire, only rousing for food or fuel. I did not even think of working.
I could not go in to where I had left my poor friend's body to dig for gold—it was desecration, I thought; so I just sat eating, smoking, sleeping, and grumbling to myself, and longing for the time when I considered it would be right to go to the Bells' again.
Certainly this was very simple of me. I might have been sure they would have been pleased enough to see me; but, as I have said before, I was very diffident with ladies, and, I suppose, much more so since I had lived that isolated life.
However, I could not dismiss May's personality from my mind. I really did not try to—it was a delight to think about her. No matter what I did, or on what train of thought I was, everything led me to that young lady. Her face was always before me, it had such a hold on my imagination. Of course I had heard or read about love, the attraction between the sexes, and so forth, yet I never applied this knowledge to myself. I felt, even after the little I had seen of my sweet young friend, that I could do anything for her, that I would fain secure her continued companionship; yet, somehow, it never occurred to me to say to myself, "Bertie, you're falling in love with her; have a care, my lad."
This is the manner in which I sat mooning by my fire.
I had long since hunted out all our literature and packed it. I went through the remainder of our eatables, finding a few things that my new friends had not received. What more could I do to pass the weary time?
I could not start for four days at any rate, as the weather became terrible—wind, snow, and continual darkness. Not a star or ray of light was visible when I went outside, as I very rarely did, for necessaries only. I can conceive nothing more dismal, nothing more frightful, than this four days' gale. It seemed to me the very forest would be uprooted; the hill shook, inside which I lived. Alone in that awful turmoil was torment. I feared that the whole aspect of the country would be changed, that I should never find my friends again; indeed I fancied it was more than probable that they and their frail habitation must have been swept away.
To live outdoors in such weather, to travel through it, I knew was impossible, and I wondered if any poor folk were journeying, and I pictured their sufferings. I little knew then that there were crowds of people hurrying into this very part—for I was ignorant that the news of these great discoveries of gold had already startled the world, and that all the passes and trails were crowded with folk trying to get in—and most of them what we call "tenderfeet," men, ay, and women too, who had never known privations before, to whom the idea of sleeping out of their comfortable beds had been till recently an event undreamed of. What they must be suffering I could imagine, and what many are suffering now, even during the winter of '98-99, who can tell? although already much improvement has been made.
On the fifth day behold an entirely different state of matters. The wind had dropped; the absolute quietness was painful. I peeped out: the cold was intense, and all nature was deep imbedded in fresh snow. The full moon was shilling brilliantly in the south, and the northern heavens were sown thick with stars, and the sky was cloudless.
Believing that some days of quiet weather were assured, I made ready for a start.
Our load this time was quite light, and we went off gleefully. Patch quite knew where we were going, and made no scruple about his happiness.
Decidedly I was glad to be off, but I had some very grave anxieties. I was impatient to know if my friends had weathered the gale. Having cut a large supply of fuel and carried it in before I left the last time, I knew that May had no need to go outside, and so I thought if the shanty had held together I might find all well.
We soon skimmed up the creek—my dog and I—and camped again in the pine thicket for refreshment. Here I shot two black foxes. They had, I suppose, scented the meat we had with us, for happening to look behind me just before we stopped, I saw them in our track. At first I thought of slipping Patch after them; then I wondered if I left them unnoticed whether they would draw nearer, and come within gunshot; but I soon perceived that they were afraid, although they kept after us, so I gave up hope of getting them.
When we camped we left the laden sleigh out in the open, thirty yards away—I had forgotten the foxes. Patch was in the shelter with me eating; suddenly he stood up alert. Fortunately I took him by the collar instantly, and looking under the branches saw one of the black beauties on the load, tearing at the cover to get at the meat, whilst the other was rooting in the snow close by.
Commanding Patch by gesture to lie still, I raised my gun, and from the rifle-barrel drove a ball through the head of one, and as the other dashed away I bowled it over with buckshot, with which the second barrel was charged.
I felt proud of this performance, for I had been talking to May about black fox-skins, and had promised to get her some. It was good to be able to do it so quickly.
They were both very thin, mere skeletons, starving, which was why they had acted as they did; but their fur was very beautiful, and I tied them on the load with great content.
Arrived in due time at the hill-top, I fired the gun again, then very shortly after we drew up at the door, entering with the sleigh as before.
May met me with a radiant face—shaking my hands most heartily, hardly giving me time to remove my mitts before she had me by the hand; and long before I had unlashed my snow-shoes she was praying me to come forward and see her father, who, she announced, was improving rapidly.
He really seemed to be. She had rigged up a couch beside the fire, on which he sat wrapped in a blanket, but looking, as I thought on first seeing him, quite bright and cheerful.
The books and papers pleased them mightily; it delighted me to see them so interested.
May looked ever so much better; she had a little colour in her face now, and in spite of the very terrible storm, which had raged around their unsheltered hut with still more force than it had around me, so far as I could judge, and alarmed them greatly, they had certainly both improved. We talked incessantly.
I found Mr Bell an interesting man, full of information on many subjects; his daughter was just like him in that respect. He was about sixty, and must have been, when in health, an able, stalwart man.
They begged me to smoke, and I having no objection, started my pipe, which caused Mr Bell to try again, and this time he succeeded fairly for a little.
I could, however, see pretty well that he was still very frail, requiring great care, and I felt half afraid that the excitement of my visit would harm him.
But what was I to do? The shanty was but one room: I must either go altogether, or stay; there was nothing else for it. I put this to Miss Bell, who said decidedly that I must stay, that she knew my presence would do her father good, and he backed her up with much vigour, for him. The tears came to his eyes when he besought me to stay as long as I possibly could.
What could I do, then, but accede to his wishes? for indeed I did not wish to go away—far, very far from it.
This shanty was perhaps twenty feet by twelve; the floor was clay. The only furniture besides the two beds behind the blanket curtains was a very rough table of split wood, fastened on to four unbarked stakes driven into the ground. The seats were a couple of three-legged stools, a block or two of wood, and an empty keg. Of table furniture there was nothing but some granite-ware cups and plates, some iron spoons, and a few knives and steel-pronged forks. Their cooking gear was a frying-pan, a tin billy, black and battered, and an iron camp oven.
I perceived they had no bread, only "flap-jacks," a species of griddle cake cooked in the frying-pan. I said something about this, which caused May to say that she could not make bread.
"I'm a first-rate hand at it," said I; "let me make you some."
"It's hardly fair to set a visitor to cooking," she answered, with a smile.
"Nonsense," I went on; "I'm a good all-round cook, really—I've had plenty of experience during the last few years; let me show you what I can do—I'd like to."
Blushing, she agreed, explaining that with a proper stove and the right appliances she had managed when they were in a civilised country, but here, she had to confess, she was a perfect failure.
I set to work, much to their amusement, and as I busied myself they talked to me, and by degrees I got to understand how they came to be in this terrible predicament.
I learned that their party originally consisted of four besides themselves: they had come up the Yukon from St Michael's, had rested a few days at Dawson, and had then continued up the Yukon, and by degrees had crept up a branch river, always prospecting, and without much success until they hit on this spot. Here they had found gold plentiful. They all worked hard until winter was near, and it was time to go out.
The four men were rough fellows, Americans, who had been mining in Alaska on and off for years—they believed them to be perfectly honest.
They had got gold to about the value of £1000 each during the short time they had been working, and were anxious to get out and go home to the States that season, and return the following year.
May and her father were willing enough to depart with them, but when the time arrived to start Mr Bell was attacked by an old complaint, a species of fainting fit, which always laid him by for weeks; so for him to undertake the terrible journey down their river to the Yukon, and then down that river to Fort Cudahy, which they supposed was the only way out, and where they hoped to catch the last steamer going down that year, was impossible.
The men were in a measure sympathetic; they waited a few days, trying to persuade my friends to risk the journey, but May would not agree.
Yet, if they did not go out then, they knew they would have to winter there. Provisions were low; there certainly was not enough to last them all till spring. Many and long were the discussions as to what should be done.
These men being, as I have said, anxious to get out and home, arranged this plan at last. They would go, leaving with Mr Bell and his daughter all the food they had; they would make their way to Dawson, and then hire Indians or others to come up for them, bringing a good boat, laden with ample food. By that time it was hoped Mr Bell would be able to take the journey.
This seemed to all such a sensible and practical plan that it was agreed to, and the four Americans left.
It would take four weeks at least before this help could arrive. It would have to come before the rivers were frozen, or else a very different mode of egress must be devised. Sleighs and dogs are the only means of winter travel there.
The men left early in October; the rescue party might be expected in November.
That month arrived. Mr Bell had recovered; he and May worked at their claim, being very successful, but as the month went by, and no one came, they were very despondent. At the end of that month the river was solid; no hope was left to them of getting out by boat. When December had half gone they felt they were abandoned, and their food was short! They ate sparingly; week after week passed; the snow came and buried them; Mr Bell became feeble—ill; May had everything to do, wood to cut, cooking to attend to, and her father to nurse.
Their provisions were by that time very short, even the frozen salmon was nearly exhausted, and they had no means of obtaining another ounce of anything to eat! and now it was February.
Three days before I reached them they had consumed everything but a little tea, and were actually starving.
As this sad narrative was ended, I placed on the table what I had cooked. "Come, then," I exclaimed, "eat now; let us be thankful I arrived in time. No need for any more anxieties, but to get strong and well, and away from this terrible region."