There was much movement at the diggings: every one was busy on top, and the change from the drear monotony of the terrible winter was giving place to cheery looks and hopeful faces. One could tell that the arrival of running water had been made much use of in another way; for we hardly recognised some of our acquaintances, since they had been able to wash their faces successfully and put on clean clothing.
That May had the knowledge of what was in my mind respecting her, I believed; but she carefully avoided giving me the opportunity of telling her about it. Why, she cannot even now explain, but so it was.
Towards the end of May the sun had much power: no snow was lying in the open, but the land was in a terrible condition; the deep grass and moss, saturated with water, was a perfect morass, all but impossible to get through on foot. The trails between the shanties and to the diggings were mere ditches. Those who had not good rubber or waterproof boots, or, better still, muclucs—which is the native name for mud moccasins, the soles of which are made waterproof with seal oil—were in a bad plight; for the water was icy cold, and we believed that there would soon be much sickness amongst these unfortunates. We noticed, however, that the miners were very good to each other. If one was known to be badly off for foot-gear, food, or clothing, those who were better supplied shared with and helped them.
So far as we could judge, they were all a very decent, friendly crowd of men. We heard of no quarrels or rows amongst them, and saw none of that roughness and dissipation with which such gatherings are generally credited.
It is true there was no whisky there at all; all hands were by force teetotallers. Tea, strong and often, was drunk in gallons by every one.
We were impatient. The days passed very slowly with me and May, for we were longing to be off; but every one assured us that, even if we were then at Dawson, we should not be at all advanced, as we must wait there till the middle of June at least. No boat would yet start to descend the Yukon. Many who were said to know all about it declared it was often July before one could get away with safety.
But on the 1st of June we determined to wait no longer; and, after much discussion, we stowed our gold and what furs and gear we wished to bring home in our boat, which we had recaulked and repaired, and, accompanied by Frank and Coney, we embarked.
It was with mingled feelings we did so. Undoubtedly we were glad enough to be really on our way to England. But to leave the Bains was not pleasant: we regarded them, and they still are, amongst our truest and best of friends. Besides them, there were several other good fellows to whom we had become attached. Naturally, all were down to the water's edge to see the last of us, and to give us good wishes for our journey; nearly every man of them from the old country gave us letters and messages for their friends at home. We had a big bundle of the former, which we were pledged to deliver personally.
We brought Patch with us. May would not hear of parting with the dear dog until it was absolutely necessary.
We started at daybreak. The current was swift, and the river was clear of ice; but along its margin much was still piled up, besides logs and rubbish. By noon the water had risen considerably, and was floating this stuff off, making it unsafe to travel; so on a sort of knoll or island in the stream we camped.