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Chung Collection","type":"literal","lang":"en"}],"http:\/\/purl.org\/dc\/terms\/creator":[{"value":"Roberts, Morley, 1857-1942","type":"literal","lang":"en"}],"http:\/\/purl.org\/dc\/terms\/issued":[{"value":"2015-06","type":"literal","lang":"en"},{"value":"1887","type":"literal","lang":"en"}],"http:\/\/www.europeana.eu\/schemas\/edm\/aggregatedCHO":[{"value":"https:\/\/open.library.ubc.ca\/collections\/chungpub\/items\/1.0114654\/source.json","type":"literal","lang":"en"}],"http:\/\/purl.org\/dc\/terms\/extent":[{"value":"307 pages : folded map ; 21 cm","type":"literal","lang":"en"}],"http:\/\/purl.org\/dc\/elements\/1.1\/format":[{"value":"application\/pdf","type":"literal","lang":"en"}],"http:\/\/www.w3.org\/2009\/08\/skos-reference\/skos.html#note":[{"value":"  IS\nw\n^\n-o-f tip wrttet^tf^ |||\na*.\n(k\n11\nX\n\u00a3>       THE\nWESTERN   AVERNUS\nOR\nTOIL AND TRAVEL\nIN\nFURTHER   NORTH   AMERICA\nBY\nMORLEY   ROBERTS\nLONDON\nSMITH,   ELDER,   &  CO.,   15  WATERLOO  PLACE\ni8\u00a77\n12479\nAll   rights    reserved  TO MY FRIENDS\nTHE AUTHORS   OF ' THYRZA'  AND   'THE  CRYSTAL AGE'  CONTENTS.\nchapter\nI. In Texas\t\nII. BULL-PUNCHING\t\nIII. Iowa and Minnesota\t\nIV. In St. Paul\t\nV. To Manitoba and the Rockies .\nVI. The Kicking Horse Pass\nVII. The Railroad Camps\t\nVIII. The Columbia Crossing .       .        ...\nIX. The Trail across the Selkirks\nX. The Golden Range and the Shushwap Lakes\nXI. Round Kamloops\t\nXII. Through the Fraser Canon ....\nXIII. Down Stream to the Coast\nXIV. New Westminster\t\nXV. Back Tracks to Eagle Pass\nXVI. To Vancouver Island and Victoria\nXVII. Mount Tacoma Overhead   ....\nXVIII. Oregon Underfoot\t\nXIX. Across the Coast Range    ....\nXX. In San Francisco\t\nPAGE\nI\n18\n26\n37\n52\n63\n74\n95\n103\n125\n139\n153\n171\n179\n200\n225\n232\n247\n260\n283 if\ni 0\nWESTERN   AVERNUS,\nCHAPTER I.\nIN  TEXAS.\nTHE wide prairie of North-west Texas, with Nature's\nsweet breath bearing faint odours of spring flowers,\nwas around me; a plain of few scant trees or smaller\nbrush, with here and there a rounded hill that emphasised the breadth of level land, and again the\ngeneral surface broken, by quiet creeks and winter\nrain, into hollow canons beneath me, and beyond\nthem once more the gentle roll of grassy prairie, and\nhills again. I looked around me and I was alone ;\nand yet not wholly solitary, for about me strayed a\nband of sheep, grazing the sweet grasses that were so\ngreen when near, and which showed a faint tinge of\npurple or delicate blue afar off. I was a Texas sheep-\nherder. A month before I had walked the crowded\ndesolation of unnatural London.\nMy life had been one of many changes.    From\nB THE   WESTERN A VERNUS\nthe North of England to the wide brown plains of\nsunburnt Australia; from her again to the furrows\nof the ocean for many months of seaman's toil and\n-danger ; then England's greatest city and life, irksome\nand delightful by turns in her maze and prison ; then\nill-health, with all its melancholy train, and sudden\nfeverish resolution to shake from myself the chains I\nbegan to loathe.\nAnd it was thus I came to Texas, the land of\nrevolution and rude romance, and pistol arbitration,\nwhither my brother had long preceded me\u2014a land\n\u2022of horses, cattle, and sheep, of cotton and corn, a land\nof refuge for many crimes, and for those tired and\nweary even as I was. So outward civilisation was\ngone, and it was with strange feelings of delight that\nI came into a new country to commence a new career,\nalthough I knew that there would inevitably be much\nlabour and perhaps much suffering for rrie.\nI came into a Texas town by no means greatly\ndifferent from other American towns that I had seen\nand passed through in my swift flight south and west\nfrom the Atlantic seaboard, save that all around it\nwas open unfenced prairie, with no fertile farms or\nhouses to indicate that a town was near at hand.\nBut I found, to my surprise, that Colorado City was\ncold on that spring morning of 1884, and I was unprepared for it, for I thought myself far enough south\nto demand as my right perpetual warmth and sunshine ; and it was only when I learnt that I stood on IN TEXAS 3\na plateau two thousand feet above the sea level that\nthe cold did not seem unnatural. My impressions\nof the town and its people were favourable. There\nwere many men walking round the streets dressed\nin wide-brimmed hats, leather leggings with fringe\nadornments, long boots, with large spurs rattling as\nthey went. They were mostly tall and strong, and I\nnoticed with interest the look of calm assurance about\nmany of them, as if they had said to themselves : ' I\nam a man, distinctly a man, nobody dares insult me ;\nif anyone does, there will be a funeral\u2014and not mine.'\nThen the ordinary citizens of the place seemed\nordinary citizens, in nowise remarkable, and, as far as\nI could see, neither they nor the others, who were, as\nI soon discovered, the much-talked-of cow-boys, wore\nknives or revolvers.\nIn fact, my impressions were exactly what they\nshould not have been, according to Bret Harte. From\nhim I had taken my notions of Western America,\nand I had constructed an ideal in the air, in which\nred-shirted miners, pistolling cow-boys, reckless stage-\ndrivers, gentlemanly gamblers, and self-sacrificing\nwomen figured in a kind of kaleidoscopic harlequinade,\nending up in a snow-storm or the smoke of a gunpowder massacre. And I was disappointed ; but I\nmust not be unjust to a favourite author of mine, for\nI owed it to my own imagination,\nMy brother was living in this town, and it was\n-with very little difficulty that I discovered him.    We\nB 2 THE  WESTERN AVERNUS\nll!\nshook hands and sat down, running through our\ndifferent experiences. I detailed my disgust of\"\nLondon and the life I had led there. He gave\ndiscouraging accounts of Texas, averring that the\nwater was vile, that **fever and ague' was common,,\nthat it was too hot in summer and too cold in winter..\nI learnt from him that almost everybody in town\ncarried revolvers concealed under his coat-tails or\ninside his waistcoat, and that people were occasionally shot in spite of the peaceful look of the place..\nNevertheless, there was little danger for a man who\nwas in the habit of minding his own business, who\nwas not a drinker and quarrelsome, and did not\nfrequent gambling-houses and saloons. I vowed I\nwould go into none of them, and promptly broke it\nwhen I went down town with my brother to get\nclothes such as Texans wear, for he himself took me\ninto one and introduced me to a gentlemanly gambler,\nwho might have stepped bodily out of the story of\nc Poker ITat'\u2014a Georgian, dark and slim, with long\nhair, dressed in blacky amiable looking, and a quiet,\ndesperado if need were.\nI changed my apparel under Jack's advice and,\nappeared in the streets in a very wide-brimmed grey\nfelt hat and long boots reaching to my knees, and\nthen, when I was 'civilised,' as he declared, we went\nto his boarding-house, and he introduced me to a.\ncircle of Texan working men. I made myself at\nhome, and sat quietly listening to the talk about the IN  TEXAS\nivar\u2014a subject the Southerner is never weary of\u2014of\ndesperadoes, of cattle, and of sheep. Jack and I held\na council of two as to what was to be done. I wanted\nto work on a sheep or cattle ranche, as I had learnt\nthe ways of these in Australia, and, although he had\nnot ever followed that business himself, he agreed to\ngo with me if we could obtain such work. A few days\nafterwards we left the city in the waggon of a sheep-\nowner, hired to do the work of herders for 25 dols., or\nabout 5\/., a month.\nSo I once more dwelt under canvas, living a pastoral life, cooking rude meals in the open air on the\nopen prairies, forty long miles to the northward of the\ntown. And we went to work, building sheep ' corrals j\nor pens of heaped, thorny mesquite brush, bringing in\nfirewood, cutting it, putting up tents\u2014for my part\nglad to be so far from men in that sweet fresh air, for\nI began to feel alive, volitional, not dead and most\nbasely mechanical as at home in England.\nWe were in camp on the border of the creek that\nran by us with sluggish flow, as if it lacked the energy\nto go straight forward. In front of us, to the south,\nwas a semicircle of bluffs, up which one had to climb\nto gain the open prairie, that stretched\" out green and\ngrey as far as eye could reach. Beneath the bluffs\nwas a level with thin mesquite trees, and on the\nbanks of the creek a few cotton woods, and beyond\nit another level with thicker brush, and then a mass\nof broken, watercut land, formed into small fantastic THE   WESTERN A VERNUS\ncanons that bit deep into the red earth, and clay, and\ngravel, that lay beneath.\nI led a busy life\u2014up before sunrise, in after sundown. Then we sat round the camp-fire, smoking\nand talking. Our boss was an Englishman, one\nJones, fair and pleasant; with him another fatter,,\nruddier Englishman, young, bumptious, and green\nwithal, but no bad companion. Beside them a Mexican, long-haired, with glittering dark eyes under the\nshade of his big sombrero, small and active, taciturn\nfor want of English. I could have warranted him a\ntalker had we known his own sweet tongue. But my\nSpanish was limited to a few oaths\u2014Caramba!\u2014witlx\nsome others terrible to be translated, and Don Quixote\nin the original has yet to be mastered. Then another\nherder, myself, and Jack. Decidedly, England was in\nthe ascendant, and our Spaniard looked on dumbly,,\nin contemplation, as his lithe fingers rolled cigarettes\none after another in the yellow Mexican paperr\ndipping into his little linen bag for the dry tobacco.\nAt daylight breakfast, after a wash in the creek*.\nBacon and bread and coffee, morning, noon, and\nnight, with rare mutton and beans, red and white,,\ncooked with grease and greasy. Then I went to the\ncorrals and let out my sheep and their lambs, the\noldest skipping merrily and the little new-born ones\nweakly tottering and baaing piteously, while the\nanxious  mothers  watched   their   offspring,  turning IN  TEXAS\nround to lick them, looking at me suspiciously the\nwhile.\nWith them I spent day after day on the prairie in\nalmost utter solitude, save for the gentle animals I\nheld in charge*    These would scatter out and fleck\nthe green prairie with white of wool, browsing on\nbrush and sweet grass, while the lambs played round\nthem, taking tentative doubtful bites at the grass, as\nif not yet assured that anything but milk was good\nfor them, or stood sucking or lay asleep ; sometimes\nwaking suddenly with a loud baa of surprise to find\nthemselves in such a strange wide world, and then\nrushing  motherwards  for  milk,  butting   with   persistence the patient ewes, who moved along gently\nafter other uncropped grasses.    And at ten o'clock,\nwhen the sun grew fierce, they would take their noon -\ntime's siesta, lying down under the scant shade of\nmesquites or the few rocks at the end of the bluffs\nthat ran down to the creek.    They slept and woke,\ngot up one at a time, walking round, then down again.\nAnd I picked a shady tree  myself, taking all the\nshade, not through selfishness, but they yielded it to\nme for fear.    I ate my little lunch, and drank water\nfrom the round tin flask encased in canvas that I bore\nover my shoulder, and smoked a peaceful pipe, and read\na book I had brought out with me, or dreamed of\nthings  that had been, and of things not yet to be.\nAnd birds came round, perching on the woolly backs\nof sheep\u2014birds of blue and birds of red, some with \u25a08\nTHE   WESTERN A VERNUS\nsweet  songs.     And from the shelter of low thick\n'b\nbrush or tufts of heavier grass peeped a silvery\nskinned snake with beady eyes, drawing back on\nseeing me. Or a little soft-furred cotton-tail rabbit\nwhisked from one bush to another, throwing up his\ntuft of a tail and showing the white patch of under\nfur that gives him his name, gleaming like cotton\nfrom the bursting pod. And that yonder ? It was\na jack rabbit, a hare, long-legged, quick running ; but\nthen he went slowly, and sat up and looked at me as\nif he were a prairie dog of yonder town of quaint,\nbrown, sleek-furred marmots, whose cry is like that\nof chattering angry birds. But he swerved aside\nsuddenly, Mr. Jack Rabbit. The sheep would not\nfrighten him, and I was as quiet as the windless\ntree I sat under. It was a snake, not silver, but\nbrown and diamonded. He saw me coming and\nslipped under the rock, and lay there, making a\nstrange noise, new to me but unmistakable. He\nwas a rattlesnake. Then maybe I would go a little\nway from my herd and see an antelope on the\ndistant prairie, and between me and the deer, a sly,\nslinking coyote^ swift-footed and cunning, a howler\nat nights, making a whole chorus by himself; by\nquick change of key persuading the awakened shepherd that there was a band of them on the bluff in the\nmoonlight looking down hungrily on the corralled and\nguarded sheep.\nDay by day this pastoral life went on, not all as IN TEXAS\nsweet as an idyll, but with some content. But my\nbrother fell ill, and went back to town, and I was left\nto my own experience, which grew by contact with\nmy Texan neighbours, with whom I got along pleasantly, as I was fast relapsing into primitive barbarism.\nI read little, and the noon I spent in contemplation, or observation of the denizens of the prairie,\nand at night the hour before sleep was spent in\nsmoking and chatter, and grumbling at the sameness\nof the cookery.\nI herded through all April, but in the beginning\nof May I began to grow very weary of the work, and\nbegged fp ones to give me something else to do, no\nmatter what, so that I was not compelled to act dog\nto his sheep any more. I was evidently unfit for a\nherder, for the task grew harder instead of easier. At\nlast my ' boss' went into town and brought out\nanother man, and released me. I went to corral-\nbuilding, and wood-chopping, and to preparations for\n.shearing, which would soon be ; and as I then had\nSunday free, I used to go fishing for cat-fish in the\ncreek, and caught more often demoniacal mud turtles,\nwhich I unhooked with much fear of their snappish\njaws. And one Sunday I slew a great rattlesnake\nnearly five feet long, as thick as my fore-arm. At\nthe end of his tail, as he lay half coiled up, was a\n-cloud\u2014strange, undiscernible\u2014the loud rattles in\nfierce, Buick vibration. I went into a state of in-\n-stinctive animal fury, and killed him with a branch IO\nTHE   WESTERN AVERNUS\nwrenched from a mesquite, regardless of the sharp\nthorns that made my hands bleed.\nOur days and nights now grew warmer with advancing summer, which passed across the prairie and\nleft it barer and brown, and doubtless made the dulL\nsheep remember, if remember they can, past shearings of other years' fleeces and quick coolness. And\nshearing-time came on apace, for there were no more\nsudden ' northers' that came from the frozen north,\nthat knows no early spring, to make us shiver in our\nsleep and wake in early morning cursing the climate.\nSo, when our preparations were complete, the wool-\ntable set up in the corral, the wool-boxes for tying the\nsoft fleeces ready, the posts and cross-pieces erected,\nfor the canvas shelter to keep the glaring noon sun\nfrom the backs and bared necks of the stooping\nshearers, Jones went round and summoned the\n* boys' to start to work. And our camp took a livelier aspect with its Texan youngsters. The English\nelement was in the minority. Then the ' boss' went\nto town for more shearers, and came back with a band\nof Mexicans, who looked at the white men sulkily,,\nthinking, no doubt, that there would not be so much\nmoney to be made, as they were not to have Mas\nboregas ' to themselves. Among them was an Indian,\na dark-skinned Chickasaw, who spoke a little English,,\nand confided to me that he thought very little of the\nMexicans. These were finer men, though, than my\nlittle wizened Indian\u2014tall, some of them, with easy- IN TEXAS\nii\nmotion, dark eyes, dark hair, over which the inevitable sombrero of wide shade, with vast complications\nof plaited adornments around it, making it look\nheavy and cumbersome.\nNext day shearing began. Sheep huddled together in the corral bleating for their lambs, or\nrunning to and fro for those left outside. Under the\nrude festoons and curves of canvas, the wooden\nplatform, with a few sheep in front, and on the board\nitself seven Mexicans, and the Chickasaw, and four\nTexan boys bending over the sheep. The sharp click,,\nclick of the moving, devouring shears of sharp steel,\nand the fair fleece, white and pure, falling back over\nthe outer unclean wool yet unshorn. The last cut,\nand the loosed fleece-bearer, uncloaked and naked,\nruns shaking itself into the crowding others, wondering\n? if it be I,' and another dragged unwillingly by the\nhind leg from its companions, while the parted fleece\ngoes in a bundle of softness to the table, to be tied\nand tossed to the man who treads down the wool in\nthe suspended woolsack, for we are primitive here\nand have no press. The clean new boards underneath us grow black, and every splinter has its lock\nof wool. There is wool everywhere, and the taste\nand smell |of it; we are greasy with the grease of\nit, and hurt fingers smart with it, some little revenge\nfor the pain the sheep have for careless cuts, that run\nred blood on the divided fleece.\nAnd night time came, and the sheep stood in the. 12\nTHE  WESTERN A VERNUS\nI\ncorral hungry, and wishing the vile yearly business\nwas over. And when we got up next morning there\nwas not a Mexican to be seen. They had disappeared\nin the night, doubtless angry that there were white\nmen to divide the profits with them. Jones ' cavorted '\nround somewhat, abusing Mexicans generally, swore\nhe would have no more to do with them, and went\nfor more white men. I sheared among these in order\nto learn this noble pastoral art, as I wished to learn\neverything* else, for no man knows when his knowledge\nj o 7 o\nmay be useful and even necessary to him. So we\nhad none of I Ios Mexicanos,' with their fearful oaths,\namong us, and no Chickasaws or Choctaws. And\nfor two days the shearing went well ; then came a\ncold day, congealing the grease in the wool until it\nclogged the shears. One man, the boaster of the\ncrowd, left, as he said, because the sheep were too hard\nto shear; as we said, because he was irritated that a\nboy sheared eighty while he got through no more\nthan fifty. Then, as Jones was away, my fat ruddy\nyoung countryman had charge, and, being unaccustomed to authority and lacking tact, quarrelled\nwith one, which led to all the rest leaving. So the\npatient sheep were not yet shorn. Jones came back\nto find things at a standstill, and, being a good-\ntempered man, only swore a little at white men. But\nthe shearing had to be done, and the vow about\nMexicans had to be recanted. The waggon went\ninto town, and in two days eleven more Mexicans IN TEXAS\n'3\ncame out, better men and better shearers than our\nfirst band. The captain\u2014el capitan\u2014was a broad-\nshouldered, lithe-waisted man, quick, keen, black, and\ncomely ; with him a one-armed shearer, a great\nsurprise to me, whose first movements on the board I\nwatched with interest. He and the captain sheared\nin company, and between them made more money\nthan any other two\u2014made it shearing and gambling\nas well, for the maimed man was an adept at the\ncards, handling them with a rapidity and dexterity\nmany of his two-handed companions envied and\nsuffered from. I still sheared with them, but not\nregularly, for sometimes I tied wool, and sometimes\npressed it, and even occasionally herded again. I\nfound them friendly, and at night they sang melancholy Mexican love-songs or gambled with the light\nof a solitary candle, crowding together in one small\ntent, while I sat amongst them, rolling up cigarettes,\nas they did, catching a few words of their talk ; or I\nleft them and sat by the fire with Jones and the\nother herders, and perhaps a stray cow-boy who came\nto sleep at our camp, or some of the young sons of\nour near neighbours ; and in their conversation I got\nthe relish of a new dish that tickled my civilised\npalate strangely. The flash of humour, the ready\nrough repartee that permitted no answer, tumbling\none to the ground like a sudden tightening lasso\ndropped over head and shoulders, were like singlestick play after rapier and dagger, hard but harmless.\n\u2014- *4\nTHE   WESTERN A VERNUS\nAnd at last shearing was over, and my Mexican\nfriends took their money, doubtless resolving to get\ndrunk and gamble in town, and make up\" for the labour\nthrough which they had gone ; and I began to think\nof eoiner too, for I had heard from my brother in far\nnorthern Minnesota, and he asked me to come if it\nwere possible. I was ready enough to go, for it did\nnot seem to me that I was as well as I should be.\nPerhaps the alkali water was doing me no good, and\nI should feel better doubtless in the more bracing\nnorthern air, drinking the purer streams that ran\nfrom Minnesota's lakes and sweet-scented pine woods.\nI would leave Texas behind me, and the open prairie\nand its sheep, and bands of long-horned cattle, its\nchattering prairie dogs and howling coyotes, and\nprowling cougars, and try another country.\nBut before I could get away there were many\nthings to do, and some things to suffer\u2014notably a\nstorm one night, a surprise to me, for it seemed that\nthe wind blew calmly on the high plateau, using its\nenergy in ceaseless breezes, not in sudden destructive\ncyclonic convulsion. But one day the breeze failed.\nThe clouds came up from all quarters, opening and\nshutting, closing in the blue, dark and thunderous,\nwith pallid leaden edges. We sat in our camp, not\nthinking greatly about the matter, for so many\nthreatened storms had blown over. But presently\nJones got up, and went across the creek to the house,\nremarking that he thought we should have rain.    The IN TEXAS\nIS\nyoung Englishman soon followed, leaving me with\nAlexander, an American herder, and Bill, a Mis-\nsourian.\nPresently we heard thunder, and a few heavy drops\nof rain fell. We left the fire, and went into the big\ntent and sat down. Then there was a low roar of\nwind, and the rush of rain came with the wind and\nstruck the tent, that bellied in and strained like a sail\nat sea. One moment of suspense, and, before we could\nmove, the tent was flat on top of us, and the howl of\nthe gale and the pattering of rain were so tremendous\nthat we could not hear ourselves shouting. One by\none we crawled out, and in a moment were drenched\nto the skin. Our oilskins were under the tent; it\nwas utterly impossible to get them. The force of the\nwind was so great that I could not stand upright, and\nthe rain, coming level on it, blinded me if I tried to\nlook to windward. The lightning, too, was fearful, and\nthe thunder seemed right over and round me. In the\ndark I got separated from my companions, and crawled\non my hands and knees to a small mesquite and held\non to it, while every blast bent it down right over me\nAfter a while I grew tired of staying there, and in a\nlittle lull I made a bolt for the end C>f the corral,\nwhich was a stone wall. Here I got some shelter,\nthough I was afraid that the whole wall might blow\nover on me. As it was, some ofthe top stones were dislodged. So I stood up and leaned on it, with my face\ntowards the wind and my broad-brimmed hat over my i6\nTHE  WESTERN AVERNUS\neyes to keep the sharp sting of the rain off. In\nfront of me were the sheep, and leaning over the wall.\nI could touch them j yet such was the darkness that I\ncould see nothing till the lightning came, and then\nthey stood out before me a mass of white wool, with\nthe lightning glistening on their eyeballs for a momentary space. Then darkness. In one flash I could\nsee Alexander under one mesquite, and, twenty yards\nfrom him, Bill under another. I shouted to them, but\nthe wind carried my voice away. Here I stayed for\ntwo hours. Then the wind began to lull and the lightning to grow more distant; so, plucking up courage,.\nand waiting for lightning to give me my direction, I\nwalked over to Alexander, and then all three got\ntogether again. I wanted them to come over to the\nhouse, for we could go round by the road without\ncrossing the creek, which here ran in a horseshoe.\nAlexander said he would come, for he did not want\nto be wet all night without any sleep, but we could\nnot persuade Bill. No, he wasn't going to get lost on\nthe prairie such a night as that j he knew where he-\nwas, and that was something. So we left him. It\ntook us more than an hour to go less than a mile, for\nit was still blowing and raining hard, and the lightning\nwas even yet vivid enough to blind us. Once we got\noff the road, but I managed to find it again, and\nabout one o'clock we came to the house, where Jones\nand Harris laughed at the wretched figures we cut.\nHowever, we got out blankets, and, throwing off our IN TEXAS\nIT\nwet clothes, we soon forgot the storm. Next morning\nthe creek was full to its banks, and still rising. We\nfound Bill at the camp, still wet through, though he\nhad managed to find some dry matches and light a\nfire. Both tents were down. The provisions in the\nsmaller one were all wet and much damage done-\nStill it was well nothing worse happened. I do not\nthink I shall ever forget that night in Texas.\nThree days afterwards, when Jones began to haul\nhis wool to town, I went in with him and Colonel\nTaylor, his next neighbour, who was hauling for him.\nIt took a day and a half to get to Colorado, and during\nthe first day I killed seven rattlesnakes and two others.\nOn getting near to town we began to see signs\nof the damage done by the storm. We were on the\nbanks of the Lone Wolf Creek, that runs into the\nColorado River. The waters had run out on the\nprairie on both sides and swept the grass flat.\nAgainst every tree was a bunch of drifted bush and\ngrasses, while here and there I saw a poor little\nprairie owl or prairie dog, or a snake, strangled by the\nwater or struck by blown branches. In town, houses\nhad been washed away bodily, going down the creek,\nand others had been turned round on the wooden\nblocks beneath them. The whole place wore a dishevelled, disarranged look, as if some mischievous\ngiant had been through it, making sport for himself.\nIt was the severest gale ever known in North-west\nTexas.\nC 18\nTHE   WESTERN A VERNUS\nCHAPTER  II.\nBULL-PUNCHING.\nk\u00bb\nI WAS in Colorado City again, with resources only\nforty-five dollars, or about nine pounds English, and\nhad to go north to Minnesota, find my brother and\nsupport myself, until I found employment again, on\nthat small sum. It was quite evident that I should be\n\"unable to pay my fare to St. Paul, Minnesota, and\nI had to decide now what was to be done. Problem :\ntwelve or thirteen hundred miles to be overpassed\nwithout paying one's fare over the rails. This would\nhave been an easy task to many, and some months\nlater it would have scarcely caused me so much\nanxious thought, but I was then inexperienced and\nsomewhat green in the matter of passes, which are\noften to be obtained by a plausible man of good\naddress, and in the methods of * beating the road\/ or,\nmore literally, cheating the company.\nMy brother had told me that it was frequently\npossible to go long distances with men who had\ncharge of cattle for the ereat meat markets of St.\nLouis and Chicago, and  had, with  an   eye  to the B ULL-P UNCHING\nJ9\nfuture, introduced me to a rough-looking young fellow\nwho was an Englishman, but whose greatest pleasure\nconsisted in being mistaken for a native Texan. He\nfollowed the profession of a I bull-puncher,' that is, he\nwent in charge of the cattle destined for slaughter\nand canning in the distant North, and made money at\nit, being steady and trustworthy and no drinker.\nJones and I had come to town on Saturday, and\non Sunday morning I went to the stockyards to look\n.about me, to watch them putting the cattle in the\ncars, and to see if I might find my friend. I found\nhim too quickly, for no sooner did I come to the yard\nthan I met him. He asked me if I wanted to go to\nChicago, and offered to take me at once, as the train\nwas ready to ' pull out' I was in a dilemma. My\nclothes and blankets were at the boarding-house, my\nmoney was in the bank. I told him, and he settled it\n-quickly.\n' Leave word for my brother Fred to bring along\nyour things ; I will cash your order on the bank.'\nI went with him to the office, signed my name on\nthe drover's pass after his, and in five minutes was\nrunning at twenty miles an hour over the wide prairie,\nleaving Colorado City behind the sand dunes in the\nhollow by the river that gives it a name.\nWe had seven cars of cattle to look after. The\npoor wretches had a weary journey before them, and\ntheir release would be a sudden death. It was a\ncruel change from the grassy plains with a limitless\nc 2 bc^r^rssrss-ssrs:\n20\nTHE   WESTERN A VERNUS\nextent of sweet grass, to be shut in cars and jolted for\nmore than a thousand miles with but short intervals\nof rest and release, for they remain in the cars twenty-\nfour hours at a time.\nI found this bull-punching a very wearisome and\ndangerous business. It is too frequently the custom\nwith cattle men to crowd the poor beasts, and put\nperhaps twenty-two where there is only comfortable\nroom for eighteen or twenty. When a steer lies\ndown he often gets rolled over, and is stretched out\nflat without power to move, as the others stand upon\nhim. It is the duty of the ' bull-puncher' to see that\nthis does not occur, or to make him get up. For*\nthis purpose he carries a pole, ten or twelve feet long,,\nusually of hickory, and in the end of this a nail is\ndriven, the head of which is filed off in order to get\na sharp point of half or three-quarters of an inch\nlong, which is used for 'jobbing' the unfortunate\nanimal to rouse him to exert himself, and to make\nthose who are standing on him crowd themselves\ntogether to give their comrade a chance. If this\npoint does not effect the desired object, the ' twisters I\nare used. These are small tacks driven into the pole\nat and round the end, but not on the flat top, where\nthe sharp point is. By means of these tacks the pole\ncatches in the hair of the steer's tail, and it can be\ntwisted to any desired extent. This. method is\neffectual but very cruel, for I have seen the tail\ntwisted  until it was broken and  limp;   but,   as   a. B ULL-P [INCHING\n21\n-general rule, as soon as the twisting begins the steer\ngives a bellow and makes a gigantic effort to rise,\nwhich, if the other animals can be kept  away, is\nmostly successful.     If other means fail the train is\nrun alongside the first cattle-yards, the car emptied,\nthe steer then having no trouble in getting up, unless\nseriously   injured.     But   I  have  found  them  with\nnearly all their ribs broken on the upper side, and\noccasionally they die in the  car.     If the man in\ncharge is conscientious, he will be all over the train\nwhenever it stops, day or night, but very frequently\nhe sleeps all night and pays no attention to them.\nThe man I was with did most of the work at night,\nleaving me the day.     If he needed help he called,\nand I served him the same in the day.    He was perfectly reckless in what he did, and would do what\nmany will  not  attempt.     He would foolishly risk\nhis life by entering the cars if he found it impossible\nto make a bullock rouse himself, and as I stood outside  holding the lantern for him  I   was sick with\napprehension, seeing him hanging to  the iron rails\nabove the sharp long horns that might have run him\nthrough like a bayonet.    Their eyes glittered in the\nlight I held, and they bellowed with fear and anger.\nHad he fallen, the chances were a thousand to one\nagainst his life ; he would have been crushed to death\nbetween them or trodden out of the shape of humanity under their hoofs.    Sometimes he succeeded, but\n\u25a0sometimes all this danger was encountered in vain, 11\nTHE   WESTERN A VERNUS\n\u2022*\u00ab\nand the steer he tried to save would  be  dead at\nlast.\nIt was dangerous work clambering round the cars*\nand walking over them when the train was in motion.\nDangerous enough at any time, but in the night, when\nI carried a long pole and a lantern with me, I often\nthought I should come to a sudden end beneath the\nwheels. I had to jump on the train, too, when in\nmotion, or be left behind, and at junctions such as\nDenison to walk among shunting cars and trains and\nloose engines, whose strong head-lights blinded me,\nhindering sight of some dark, stealthy, unlighted cars\nrunning silently on the next rails.\nWe fed the cattle at Fort Worth, a bustling busy\ntown, the western capital of Texas, the scene of great\nrailroad riots since then, and at Muskogee, a quiet\ndull place in the Indian Territory, reserved for Indians\n\u2014Chickasaws, Choctaws, Cherokees, and others, with\nless familiar names. I saw but few of these, and the\nmen who loafed and idled round the stations through\nwhich we passed on the Missouri, Kansas, and Texas\nRailroad were for the most part whites, armed with\nsix-shooters, for it is not forbidden to carry them.\nIt seemed strange to see little boys, eleven or twelve\nyears old, strutting round with revolvers hung in\ntheir belts.    Little desperadoes in training, I thought.\nThis country was sweet and green, and very\npleasant, with great stretches of wood and then open\npastures, and good streams and pools of bright water.. B ULL-P UNCHING\n23\nWe ran through the Territory, through part of\nKansas andBnto Missouri, staying a few hours in\nSedalia.\nI began now to weary of this endless journey, to\nweary of the prairie that would never cease, and to\nlong for busy Chicago and well-farmed Illinois. It\nwas time, indeed, for me to reach somewhere, for I had\nnever taken off my clothes since leaving Colorado\nCity, and I slept in snatches, rarely slumbering more\nthan three hours at a time.\nWe crossed the rapid Missouri at Franklin, and\ncame to Hannibal, on the famous Mississippi. We\nstayed some hours outside the town to feed the\ncattle, and then ran through a tunnel hewn out of\nsolid rock on to the long slender bridge across the\nmighty river. I sat on the top of the cars, watching\nthdKimmense flood of waters that had come from\nMontana and had yet to go through many a State to\nNew Orleans and the Gulf of Mexico. Here and there\nwere beautiful islands with plentiful trees, green and\npeaceful, separated from the busier banks on either\nhand. The town was almost hidden behind the hill\nunder which we had come, and only its smoke, curling\noverhead, pointed out the spot of many habitations ;\nand some way down stream on the right was an old\npicturesque building, that I fancifully converted into\nan ancient ruined castle, aided by the thin haze and\nhill shadows. It gave the touch of golden romance\nand age that one so misses in that new land. :jk:\u2014\n24\nTHE   WESTERN AVERNUS\nWe ran through Illinois and came to the great\ncity of Chicago early on Sunday morning, and we\ngave up charge of the cattle, which would be almost\ninstantly slaughtered. Then I had to make up my\nmind as to what I was to do. I went to the post\noffice and found no letters from my brother, although\nI had asked him to give me directions there how to\n\u25a0find him. Perhaps he had written to Colorado City,\nand I had just missed his letter ; perhaps he had\nleft St. Paul, and had missed mine. I was in a\ndilemma. I knew not whether to go to Minnesota\nor not I asked my friend, and he advised me to\nreturn to Texas, promising to obtain me work with\ncattle there, and ' at any rate,' said he,i you can come\nup with me again when you want to.' This determined me, and I returned to Colorado Cityfjonce\nmore.\nI spent an idle, careless, novel-reading time for\nsome weeks, for I could find no one prepared to give\nme cattle to take North, as trade was slack and prices\nlow. I got a note from my brother at last, saying he\nwas near St. Paul still, and would wait for me. But\nI could not get away again now, and perforce went\nto amusing myself, making acquaintances in town,\nmostly people my brother had known. I read and\nsmoked, and went into the gambling saloons, though,\nfortunately, I have no taste for gambling. Then I\nmet one of my Mexican friends, and he shook hands\nwith me warmly, explaining in broken English that B ULL-P [INCHING\nall the others were in the ' calabosa,' or jail, for being\n\u2022drunk and disorderly. And soon afterwards I met\nthem going to work on the road in charge of a warder\narmed with a long six-shooter. They shouted to me\nand waved their hands, looking not unhappy, and\ndoubtless thinking it was destiny, and not to be made\nmatter of too much thought. I waved my hat to\nthem and saw them no more.\nAt last I determined to leave the town. I was\nsick of it, and not well besides, for the water affected\nme very injuriously. I began to make energetic\ninquiries, and at last found a man who took me with\nhim. It was time for me to get away; my money\nwas fairly exhausted, and I did not want to go to\nwork in Texas any more. I left town on July 7 and\narrived in Chicago on the 16th; and but one thing of\n-all the journey remains in my mind, and that is the\nfigure of Ray Kern, who had once been a cow-boy in\nTexas, but was leaving it on account of ill-health,\n\"who was to be a companion to me afterwards in some\nof my other trials and journeys yet to come.\nWhen I bade farewell to my friends, Ray among\nthem, I had but 5 dollars left, or \u00a31 English. 26\nTHE  WESTERN AVERNUS\nCHAPTER  III.\nIOWA AND MINNESOTA.\nI WONDER if it be possible of one who has never been\naway from his own country and his friends, who has\nalways been in comfort and reasonable prosperity, to\nimagine my feelings when I suddenly found myself\nalone and almost penniless in Chicago ? I think it\nimpossible. My desolation was in a way unbounded,\nfor every person I saw of the thousands in that great\ncity, wherein I knew not a soul, save those I had left\nnever to see again, made me feel even more and more\nlonely. I walked the crowded streets for hours,\nhardly knowing in what direction I was going nor in\nwhat direction I should go. My thoughts turned\nfirst towards my brother, who was, in the state of my\nfinances, impossibly far away, and from him to my\nfriends at home. To these I was now a shadow, for\nthey were busy, and one from the many of a life circle\nis but little. To me they were the only realities, and\nI was walking among shadows who were nothing, and\ncould be nothing, to me, whose habits and thoughts and\nmodes of life had become, after four years in London,. IOWA AND MINNESOTA\n27\nintensely, even morbidly subjective. I had lived those\nyears in a state of intellectual progress, which had cul -\nminated in a form of pessimism which only permitted\nme to see beauty in art\u2014in pictures of Turner, in music\nof Beethoven, in the poetry of the modern ; and now I\nwas thrown on the sharpest rocks of realism, and the\nawakening was strange and bitter.\nOn the second day in the city I was even more\nmelancholy, and it was an almost impossible task for\nme to seek work. But the necessity of so doing became\nmore and more urgent as my resources became less\nand less, and I made some efforts to obtain employment\non the schooners of Lake Michigan. For I had in the\ndays of my more careless boyhood made a voyage at\nsea, and along with the memory of storm and calm, of\nchannel and open ocean, remained some of the rough\npractical knowledge of a sailor's work. But I had lost\nthe calm buoyant confidence and energy of those\ndays, and with the decay of health had come a degree\nof diffidence which then made it difficult for me to push\nmyself among a crowd of rude and ignorant men, even\nthough I had enough plasticity of outward character\nto make me, to their careless glance, one of their own\nclass. And the dulness of trade in Chicago that\nsummer added to my troubles, and made me unsuccessful.\nThat night I thought I should try to save money\nby sleeping somewhere without paying for a lodging..\nI had heard in London of boys and men sleeping in\nI 28\nTHE  WESTERN A VERNUS\nCovent Garden Market, and under the arches of the\nbridges.    And now I was about to add this to my\nown experiences.    I had been told that in the large\ncities of America it was very commonly the custom\nfor the homeless to sleep in ' box-cars,' which I believe\nwould be called ' goods trucks' in England, and I\nfound at last, late in the evening, a spot where many\nwere standing on the rails in a dark corner not far\nfrom Randolph Street.    After  some little  search I\ndiscovered an open one, and after entering it and\n\u2022closing the  sliding door, I lay down on  the bare\nwooden  floor, and with my head on my arms  fell\nasleep.     I must have slept about two hours when I\nwas awakened by finding my habitation in motion.\nI was very little concerned as to where it was going,\nas I was in no place likely to be worse off than in\nChicago, and I might very easily have been better.\nI left the matter in the hands of destiny, and turning\nover fell asleep again.    But I was again awakened in\na few minutes by the car stopping,  apparently in\nsome building from the difference of sound.     The\ndoor was opened, and a man entering the car saw\nme and said, ' Hallo, partner, have you had a good\nsleep ?'   ** Pretty fair,' I said, ' but I guess it's over\nnow.'    And  I got up to go.    The intruder was a\nkind-hearted fellow, however, and as I went out he\ntold me there were plenty of cars outside that would\nnot be disturbed that night, and directed me where to\nfind them.    I  thanked him, but soon found myself IOWA AND MINNESOTA\nregarded suspiciously by a man who was the night\nwatchman, who finally ordered me to get out of the\nyard, which I was obliged to do, as under the circumstances I had no alternative, although I confess to\nfeeling very much inclined to resent his doing his\nduty. So I went out into the streets once more. It\nwas now after midnight, and I had little desire to\nwalk about all night. So after all my trouble I had\na night's lodging, for which I paid 25 cents, and was\naccommodated in a room villanous enough looking to\nbe the scene of one of Poe's midnight murder tales.\nNext morning I was still despondent, and walked\nabout aimlessly enough until I came to the Chicago,\nMilwaukee, and St Paul Railroad station. I went in\nand sat down to rest and to think. My thinking\ndiscovered me no hope, but my prolonged stay there\nwas the cause of my again meeting with my travelling\ncompanion, Ray Kern. He came in looking miserable\nenough and pale and ill, but when he saw me he\nbrightened up as I had done, and we, who were but\nof a day or two's acquaintance, grasped each other's\nhands as if we had been brothers. Poor Ray was in\nthe same condition as myself, though he had a dollar\nor two more to balance his being worse in health\nthan I was. We had a long talk of ways and means\nand aims, and his experience helped us out of Chicago.\nIn all American cities there are employment offices,\nwhich, on payment of a fee, furnish work, if any is to\nbe obtained, to suitable applicants.    They frequently \u25a0\u25a0\u25a0iirjr-i ITH)|-*H-\n\u00abM\u00bb^B    *V\u2014 mf-- '\u25a0  _*\u25a0-\n30\nTHE   WESTERN A VERNUS\ni\\\nsend labourers long distances on the cars for very\ntrifling sums to work for the railroads, who furnish\npasses for the number they need. Ray and I went\nacross the road to one of these offices, and found that\nmen were wanted to go to a little town near Bancroft,\nin North-west Iowa, Kosciusko County, to work on\nthe railroad. The fee required by the office was 2 dols.,\nbut all I had now was 1 dol. 50 cents, and I was\nrather hopeless of getting away, when Ray offered\nthe manager 3 dols. 25 cents to send us both out.\nAfter some chaffering this was agreed to, and we\nwere furnished with office tickets, which would be\nchanged at the station for passes. I was now without\nany money at all\u2014not even a cent. But Ray, whose\nkindness to me I shall never forget, helped me through\nthe day, and in the evening we started with about\ntwenty others for our destination, 600 miles away.\nThis system of sending labourers to distant points on\nfree passes is naturally taken advantage of by persons\nwho wish to go in the direction of the place where\nthe help is needed or beyond it, and very frequently\nit happens that on reaching the end of the journey\nthere is scarcely one left of those who started. And\nit was so in this instance. Of the twenty who left\nChicago, Ray and I were the only ones who got out\nat Bancroft, for the others had quietly disappeared at\nvarious stations on the way. We had been about\nthirty-six hours on the journey, and during this time\nwe had passed through a farming country, which was IOWA  AND MINNESOTA\n3i\nfor the most part uninteresting, and, in the northern\npart of Iowa, to my eye positively ugly, as it there\nconsisted of level plains with no colour or trees to\nrelieve their dead monotony, save an occasional grove\nof planted trees near a farm, placed to the north of\nthe buildings to make some shelter from the howling\n* blizzards\/ or winter storms, that rage for days on\nthe bleak and open prairie. And the natural melancholy of the scene was magnified for me by the\nhunger, which increased as we travelled, for we were\nboth without money save a solitary half-dollar, which\nRay was preserving for emergencies.\nWhen we at last reached our objective point\nwe were not encouraged by what we saw. On a side\ntrack, a little way from town, stood three cars, one\nfitted up as an eating-room with rough tables and\nbenches, and the others as sleeping-rooms with bunks\nin them. We put our blankets down and went in\nto get dinner, which consisted of huge chunks of\ntough, badly cooked beef with bread, and potatoes\nboiled in their skins. The plates were tin, the cups\nof the same material, the knives rusty and dirty and\nblunt. Our companions were of all nationalities,\nthey ate like hogs, and their combined odour was\ndistinctly simian. It was with difficulty Ray and\nI ate our dinners, hungry as we were, for one had to be\nene rgetic to obtain anything at all, and the noise and\nsmell and close quarters made both of us, who were\nby no means in rude health, feel sick and miserable. 32\nTHE   WESTERN A VERNUS\nAfter dinner, if I can call it such, we went out\nand walked in silence up the line. Presently I burst\nout, in unconscious imitation of the famous Edinburgh\nReviewer, (This will never do\/\nRay looked up and said shortly, ' Charlie, I agree\nwith you.'\nWe continued walking, and presently came to a\nlittle * section house\/ These are built at intervals-\nalong all the lines in America. In them live a\n1 section boss' and a small gang of men, who look\nafter a certain section of the line, seeing that it is\nkept in repair. They raise the * ties' or sleepers if\nthey settle down, renew them when they rot, see\nthat the joints are perfect and the rails in line. Outside the house we met the *\u25a0 section boss\/ who asked\nus if we had come up to work with the ' gravel-train\ngang.' We said yes, we had come there with that\nintention, but didn't much like the look of things, and\nwould prefer not doing it if anything else were possible. He seemed to be in no way surprised at that,\nand said if we cared to come to him we could go to work\nin the morning, promising us good accommodation\nand board, the wages being, however, only #1.25 a\nday\u2014twenty-five cents less than that ofthe other job.\nThe cost of board, however, was to be somewhat less.\nWe engaged at once with him, and went back for our\nblankets, paying our last half-dollar for our miserable\nmid-day meal.\nOur * boss' was named Breeze, and we found him IOWA  AND MINNESOTA\n33\nand his wife very pleasant and intelligent and kind.\nThe others in the gang were Swedes, who could not\ntalk much English, and Ray and I had very little to\ndo with them during the short time we stayed there.\nFor Ray seemed too weak to work, and using the\npick and shovel was so new to me that I made twice\nthe labour of it that the others did ; and, moreover, my\nfoot got so sore that I found some difficulty in working\nwith any degree of complacency.   After three days we\ndetermined to leave and go north to St. Paul, if it could\nbe managed.    But we had great difficulty in getting\nany money, as the men on sections are only paid\nonce a month, when the travelling car of the R.R.\nPaymaster comes round.     But we signed orders for\nBreeze to receive our money,  and got seventy-five\ncents apiece, one dollar and a half in all, which constituted our sole resources.    Mrs. Breeze made us up\na parcel of food, and I gave her a little volume of\nEmerson's c Essays,' which I had brought from England with me.   And thus we started north again.   Of\nall the melancholy days' walks I ever had, that was the\nmost doleful.    Around us lay a miserable, flat, most\ndreary prairie ; ahead of us stretched the long line of\nendless rails, fading in the distance to nothing, and\noverhead the July sun glared piteously on two disheartened tramps, who were most decidedly out of\nplace,|:wishing themselves anywhere\u2014anywhere out\nof that world.    Had Ray been well and cheerful, I\nshould have been more dispirited than I was, for in\nD h\n34\n777.fi.   WESTERN A VERNUS\nhis state of health and mind I had to keep him up by\ncracking jokes and singing songs when I felt more\nlike making lamentations or taking to sulky silence.\nBut he was so weak that we had to rest, and if I had\nnot kept him going we should have been there now.\nAt noon we camped by a waterhole, or small\nswamp, and ate a little and had a smoke, and, feeling\nhot and dust-grimed and wayworn, I stripped off\nand had a bathe, while Ray looked on in silence.\nBy dint of hard and painful walking we reached\na farm in the evening. We went up and asked\nfor work. The superintendent was a Swede, a\nnice enough fellow. He gave us supper, and next\nmorning set me shocking barley after a reaping\nand binding machine, while Ray went out haymaking. Our wages were to be a dollar a day and\nboard. On the evening of the second day the\nowner of the farm, a Congressman named Cooke,\ncame home, and, in American parlance, * fairly made\nthings hum.' In fact, we had to work too hard\naltogether, considering that we began at sunrise and\nworked till it was dark. Ray by no means improved\nin health, and on that evening we agreed to leave the\nnext day and make another stage to St. Paul. I do\nnot think  Cooke  minded our  going  much,  as  he\nO O 7 .\nthought we were unaccustomed to hard work. He\ncame in to give us the three dollars each as I was\nrolling up my blankets, and noticing that I had a\nbook he asked to see it.     It was ' Sartor Resartus\/ IOWA  AND MINNESOTA\n35\nTurning it over and over, he looked at it and then at\nme, and finally said, * Do you read it ?' I answered\nby another question, 'Do you suppose I carry it just\nfor the sake of carrying it ?' 'Weil,' said he, '1 am\nsurprised at a man, who can read a book such as this\nseems to be, tramping in Iowa.' * So am I, Mr.\nCooke\/ I replied, and, bidding him good-day, Ray\nand I marched off, a little better in spirits, as we now\nhad seven dollars and a half between us.\nThat night we crossed the northern boundary\nof Iowa and came into Minnesota at Elmore. We\nhad supper at the hotel, and found out that there was\na train going to St. Paul soon after midnight After\n.supper we went out, and finding an empty box-car\nwe lay down to get some sleep. But the cold and\nmosquitoes combined made it almost impossible.\nOn no other occasion have I ever found mosquitoes\nso active in such a low temperature.\nAt midnight Ray got up, and went over to the\n-conductor of the train and made a bargain with him\nto take us to Kasota (which was as far as he went\nwith the train) for I dol. 5\u00b0 cents each, which was\nmuch under the regular fare. This is very commonly\n.done in the States by the conductors; who put the\n.money in their own pockets. Next day we were in\nKasota, a very pretty little place with lots of timber *\nindeed, Southern and Central Minnesota seem generally well wooded. We found there was a freight\ntrain leaving this  town at one o'clock, and I went\nD2 36\nTHE   WESTERN A VERNUS\nover to find the conductor. I asked him what he\nwould take two of us to St. Paul for. He said,' Two\ndollars each.' Now we had by this time only three\ndollars and three-quarters left, so I told him that\nwouldn't do, stating how our finances were, and offering him three and a half dollars. After refusing\nseveral times, finally he said, ' Very well, you can come\nalong, though I expect you will shake a fifty dollar\nbill at me when you get to St. Paul.' How devoutly\nI wished it had been in my power ! We jumped into\nthe caboose, and at eleven o'clock that night we arrived\nin St, Paul. We had then 25 cents between us,\nwhich was very encouraging to think of. Five cents oi\nthis we gave to the brakeman of our train to show us\na car to sleep in. We found one half filled with\nsawed lumber, crawled into it, spread our blankets,\nand lay down while our friend held the lantern.\nHis last words were: ' Mind you get out before four\no'clock, or you will go down south again.' After\nabout three hours' sleep we were wakened by the\nyardmen switching or shunting the car, and making\nup our bundles we dropped them out and followed\nthem when the car next stopped. Near at hand we\nfound a little platform about eight feet square, by a\nhouse right in the middle of the railroad yard. On\nthis we spread our blankets, and only woke to find\nit broad daylight, seven o'clock, and men working all\nround us. We rolled up again, and in silence went\nup into the town. 37\nCHAPTER   IV\nIN  ST.  PAUL\nWe placed our blankets and valises in a small\nrestaurant and walked to the post office. I asked\nfour men the way to this building, and of these only\nthe last could speak intelligible English, such are the\nnumbers of Germans and Scandinavians in some\nparts of the States. I found two post-cards from my\nbrother ; one of which stated he was working near the\ntown, giving me an address, and the other, dated two\n\u2022weeks later, gave me to understand that he had been\nunable to remain in St. Paul owing to scarcity of\nwork, and that he had left the city for New Orleans\nby the river steamboats. This was not very satisfactory for me, for I had cherished some little hope\nthat he might have been either in a position to help\nme to work or to repay me some money which I lent\nhim at Ennis Creek. Now I and my partner were\ntruly on our ' beam ends\/ and 20 cents alone stood\nbetween us and absolute bankruptcy. We walked\nround the corners from the post office and sat down\non a seat in the public park. As consideration,\nhowever, was in no way likely to appease our hunger, 38\nTHE   WESTERN A VERNUS\nU\nwhich was now beginning to be inconveniently perceptible, I left Ray and went to see what could be\ngot for our cash remainder in the shape of breakfast.\nAfter tramping awhile I bought a loaf for 10 cents\nand butter for the rest, and we were now'dead broke.r\nRay was sitting in the same position as I had left\nhim, having no energy to move, poor fellow, and it\nwas with difficulty I got him out of the seat to come\nand look for a quiet place in which to consume the\nluxuries with which I was laden. A neighbouring\nlumber yard seemed suitable, and we found a convenient plank on which I put the paper of salty\nbutter, while I divided the loaf with my knife.\nThis was a nice meal for two hungry men, but we\nwere glad enough to get it under the circumstances,,\nand since then a loaf would at times have been a very\ngodsend even without the butter. I was sorriest for\nRay, for a cup of coffee or tea with his meal would\nhave done him good, and it was as unattainable as-\nchampagne or oysters and chablis. When We had\nfinished the bread I wrapped up the remains of the-\nbutter and hid it between two planks in a dark corner\nof the lumber pile, for I thought it possible that we\nmight want it, though there' seemed little likelihood\nof our having bread with it. As we still had tobacco,\nwe lighted our pipes and walked slowly along the\nstreet, wondering where the next meal was to come\nfrom. Perhaps, if I were placed in the same situation\nagain, I should not, in the light of far bitterer ex- n\nIN ST. PAUL\nperience, regard it as so dismal, and my increased\nknowledge and savoir faire in things American would\nshow me ways out where I then saw, as it were, * No\nthoroughfare' plainly written.\nRay was really too ill to ' rush round\/ and he was\nquite a deadweight on me, for he was hopeless.    In\nordinary circumstances his knowledge  would  have\nhelped me, but all it did now was to pessimistically\nrecall the blackest side of his former experience.    He\nthought  it  almost  worse  than useless to go to an\nemployment office without money, and so it seemed\nto me.    But when I left him on the park seat, and\nbegan to look round without the dear fellow's most\ndismal croaking to dishearten me, I plucked up courage, after making vain inquiries in various quarters,\nto try an Employment Agency whose chalked board\noutside  gave  evidence  of labour needed  in   many\ndifferent lines  of business.    There  were  fifty men\nwanted to work on the streets.    This I considered was\nvery probable, considering the state they were in.\nThere were more wanted for the waterworks.    This,\ntoo, would be no work of supererogation.    There were\nteamsters, dairymen, and various others whose services were desired.    I walked in and* spoke to the\nmanager, who, finding I professed not to be a teamster, though  I   could  drive  reasonably well, nor  a\nmilkman, for lack of practice, offered me the  less\nlucrative and probably more toilsome job of labourer\nat the waterworks for the moderate fee of one dollar. 4Q\nTHE   WESTERN A VERNUS\nNever had the great American dollar assumed such\na gigantic size to me. Never had it seemed so far\naway. Liberty in her cap was fairly invisible, and\nthe imagined scream of the bold eagle on the reverse\nwas 'faint and far.'\n'Well, mister\/ said I, ' I have not got a dollar\/\n' What have you got ?' was his answer, thinking,\nI suppose, that I might have 99 cents. I surprised\nhim.\n' I've got a partner.'\n' Has he any money ?'\nI might have answered in the language of Artemus\nWard\u2014' nary cent,' but it did not occur to me.\n' He's got as much as I have, and that's nix'\n(corrupt German for ' nichts').\nMy friend looked at me, having no further remarks\nto make.    I felt a crisis had come.\n' Suppose you send us both out and ask the boss\nto stop two dollars from our wages on your account\nWon't this do ? You see we want work; we've got\nto have it.    That's a fact.'\nThe manager walked to his big desk, wrote a note,\nsealed it, gave it to me, and said, ' Come here at two\no'clock, and you can go out to the works with the\nprovision wagon.' I thanked him very quietly and\nwalked out.\nRay was as I left him. I composed my countenance to sombre dolorousness, and sat down beside\nhim, grunting out 'Got any tobacco ?'    No, the last -M-U\nIN ST. PAUL\nwas gone. He seemed so miserable that I thought it\ncruel to deceive him by my looks any longer, and\nlaughed till I woke him fairly up, and he saw by the\ntwinkle in my eyes that I had been in luck. ' So\nyou've got work ? ' ' Yes,' said I, ' and you too ; we\ngo out this afternoon to the waterworks.'\nHow hard must be one's lot when the news that it\nis possible to earn a dollar and three-quarters a day,\nby ten hours of hard manual labour, acts like a very\ntonic and braces up the whole man ! Ray was for the\nrest of the day quite a new being, in spite of his hunger,\nwhich half a small loaf had not gone far to appease in\nthe morning. As for myself, I laughed and joked,\nand, thinking I should be quite happy if I had some\ntobacco, I managed to get into conversation with a\nman near us, borrowed a pipeful, and smoked in calm\ncontent.\nAt two o'clock we found the wagon at the office,\nput our blankets in it, and set out on our walk, which\nwas seven miles, to the works. After a while, finding\nthe wagon move but slowly and the road plain, we\nwalked on ahead, and when we had made about two-\nthirds of the way we came on three teamsters who\nwere having dinner. They gave us a friendly hail, and,\nwhether they fancied we looked hungry or not, kindly\nasked us to sit down with them and ' pile in\/ which\nbeing interpreted signifies,' Pitch in and eat\/ Under\nthe circumstances such an invitation was by no means\nto be despised, and accordingly we consumed all there 3E3\n42\nTHE   WESTERN AVERNUS\nwas, yea, even unto the last crust, taking an occasional\ndrink at a very convenient spring, our companions\nchatting merrily the while and laughing at my semi-\ntragical, semi-comic account of our adventures since\nleaving Chicago.    These were three good fellows.\nAfter another mile or two's walk we came in\nsight of the camp, which consisted of two huge tents\non the flat and two more on the side of the hill.\nWe could see a great trench or sewer cut in the\nground with derricks swinging up large iron buckets of\ndirt, and men busily employed digging lower down,\nbreaking the ground on the line laid out for excavation, while some were laying beams in the cut to\nprevent the sides from caving in. So down we went\nand presented our letter. The boss asked if we had\nhad dinner, and as we said' No'\u2014thinking it still possible to eat more\u2014he told the cook to give us some,.\nwhich we had little trouble in getting rid of. And\nthen we went to work with a gang whose boss was\ncalled Weed, who was one of the nicest and most\"\nkindly men I ever worked under.\nHowever, what he first set me to do very nearly\nfinished me. I had to take a big unwieldy maul, or\nmallet, and drive down boards into the mud and ooze\nat one side of the ditch, as they were then cutting*\nthrough a kind of quicksand. The last week had\nnot made me very much stronger, as may be imagined,.\nand it was only sheer necessity which made me stick\nto it.     But I had to do something, and this was all IN ST. PAUL\nthat seemed to offer itself. Next day was even worse,\nfor I had a big Irishman with me, and as we had to\nstrike one after the other, he made it as hard as he\ncould by working too fast. I had some difficulty in\nrefraining from making a mistake and striking him.\nHowever, that evening I made a friend of Weed by\noffering to splice the rope into the big bucket. This\nhad been done so execrably by another man that,\nwhen I turned out a neat and creditable job, he made\nthings as pleasant as he could for me.\nWe were working with as rough and as mixed a\ncrowd as it has ever been my lot to come in contact\nwith. There were Americans from most of the\nvarious States and Territories, there were some Englishmen, and a promiscuous crew of Canadian and\nEuropean French, Germans, Swedes, Norwegians,\nDanes, Finns, Polanders, Austrians, Italians, and one\nor two Mexicans. I didn't see a Turk, but I wouldn't\nlike to say there was none.\nWe slept in a big tent with about fifty men in it-\nThere were upper and lower bunks, each holding two\nmen. Ray and I secured a top one, and had for our\nleft-hand companions two Swedes, while on our right\nwas an Irishman and an American named Jack Dunn.\nI do not know what State he was from. This man\nwas feared by everyone in the tent. He was to all\nappearance exceedingly powerful, and when in a bad\ntemper ferocious and ready to quarrel ' at the drop of\na hat\/ as the American  saying goes.     At first he II\n44\n777.\u00a3   WESTERN A VERNUS\nseemed to dislike me, and made some remarks about\nEnglishmen in general which I declined in such\ncompany to make any cause for a disturbance. In a\nday or two, however, he distinguished me by honouring me with his friendship, and we would talk for\nhours while lying in our bunks, none of the rest\ncaring to object, even if they wanted to sleep.\nHe had not been two weeks out of jail when I\nsaw him, and he gave me accounts both of how he got\nin and how he got out. And both showed him to be\na desperate man, and most uncommonly courageous.\nIt appeared he had been firing in a Mississippi\nsteamboat, and while he was in the stokehole one of\nthe negroes came past him with a box and struck\nhim on the elbow.    ' I cussed the black- \/ said\nJack, ' and he answered me back. I never could\nstand sass from a nigger, and I picked up a lump of\ncoal and threw it at him. He didn't give me any\nmore talk. He died by the time we made the next\nlanding, and you bet I just lighted out in the dark.\nThey were after me, but it was more than a month\nbefore they took me. So I got eighteen months'\nhard labour for manslaughter. I thought of escaping,\nbut couldn't see a chance, and had been there nine\nmonths when another chap escaped. I was just\nmad to think that one man had the grit in him to\nskip, while I lay in the thundering hole still, but\nwhen it came out how he tried, I didn't care for that\nway.     You see his partner four days after told how\nI IN ST. PAUL\nit was. He had crawled down a drain. The warder\ngot to hear of it, and of course off he goes to the\ngovernor. The governor just said, \" If he went that\nway, he's in there yet.\" For you see there was a\ngrating or bars across the drain 120 feet down it.\nDown they goes to see it, and sure enough there\nwas a mighty bad smell came out there. 'Twould\npretty nigh knock you down. The governor he gets\nus all out and tells us this : \" Now, boys,\" sez he, \" I\nwant No. 20 out of there, and if I break down to\nhim it will take days and days, for it's all solid stone\nand concrete over where he is ; and, besides, it will\ncost a pile o' money. Now, if there's anybody here\nwith a sentence of less than two years, I'll see that\nhe shall get half of the full term remitted, if he'll go\ndown that pipe and fetch him out\"\n' Well, we all just looked at each other; some seemed\nas if they'd speak, some turned red and pale. I thought\nmy heart was a-bursting, I heard it go thump, thump.\nAt first I couldn't speak too, but I thought if another\nchap speaks afore me I'd just kill him as I did the\nnigger. I holds up my hand, and when the governor\nlooked at me I says in a kind of queer voice, as\nseemed to belong to somebody else, \" I'll do it, sir.\"\nThe other chaps looked at me. Mebbe they thought\nI was as good as dead too. Some looked glad, as if\nI'd kind o' took the 'sponsibility off 'em. And how\ndid I feel ? I guess I felt all right in less than a\nminute.    You see I was tired of the stone walls, and 46\nTHE  WESTERN A VERNUS\nI seemed to see the river outside, and feel the wind\ncoming right through the solid jail, so I kind of\nfreshened up.\n'Well, the boss he dismissed the other men, and him\nand me and two or three of the warders goes down\nto the pipe. I can't tell you just what size it was. It\nwas just big enough for me to squeeze into. There\nwas a coil of rope, about as thick as my thumb, and\nafter taking off all my clothes but a flannel shirt and\ndrawers and socks, I coils a yard or two round my\nshoulders, catches hold in my hand, and got in, with\nthe rope tied round my heels so they could drag me\nand him out.\n' They told me I wasn't in more than twenty\nminutes. Dunno. Seems to me I served nine\nmonths in there ; the stink was just terrible, and the\nfurther I got in the worse it was. And breathing!\nJehoshaphat! I panted like a tired dog, and I\nthought I would burst. Sometimes I seemed to kind\no' swell up, and I couldn't move. And then, dark as\nit was, I seemed to see fire and sparks, and my eyes\nwere hot, and I thought they was a-dropping out. One\ntime I think I got insensible, but I suppose I kept on\ncrawlin', for the warder that paid out the rope sez I\nnever stopped till I got him. Oh yes, I got him, after\ncrawlin' through all the narrow drains in America,\ndrawing miles' of rope that got so heavy and hard to\ndrag that every inch seemed the last   I  could  go. IN ST.  PAUL\nChrist, I wouldn't do it for the world again ! Before\nI knew it I touched something cold and clammy with\nmy burning hands, and I shrunk up as if I'd touched\na jelly-fish swimming in muddy water. I got a\nhitch over his heels, and they tightened up the rope ;\n-as I told 'em to do if I stopped and gave it a pull.\nAnd I don't remember anything more till I found\nmyself outside in the air, with something lying near\nme covered with a tarpaulin. The doctor was bending\nover me, washing the blood off my face, for draggin'\nme out insensible I got scratched in the face on the\npipe-joints, you see. I lay in the hospital two days,\nand every time I went to sleep I dreamt I was in\nthere with No. 20. Then they let me out, and I came\nhere.    Good-night, partner.'\nThere was also in the same tent a man named\nGunn, a very fine-looking young fellow, from Maine,\nwho had been three years in British Columbia, where,\naccording to his own account, he had earned a great\n-deal of money by making ' ties ' or sleepers for the\nCanadian Pacific Railroad. This he had spent in\nseeing his friends. And he was now trying to make\na ' stake\/ or a sum sufficient to take him back there.\nWe had a great deal of conversation about that\n\u2022country, and I was infected with the desire of seeing\nit. It used to seem to me in England that it was\nalmost the furthest place from anywhere in the world,\nand this had some effect in forming my plans, as I f\n48\nTHE   WESTERN A VERNUS\nwas too adventurous to remain satisfied in such a\nwell-known, near-at-hand spot as Minnesota.\nI stayed at the works twelve days, during which\ntime I worked with the pick and shovel, rigged\nderricks, spliced ropes, and mixed mortar for the\nbricklayers, as the water was to run through a brick\ntunnel instead of iron pipes, where the quicksand was.\nOn one occasion the man I was working with irritated\nme, and I went over to Weed and asked him to give\nme my' time'\u2014i.e. to make up what time I had worked\nthere in order that I might get my money. He said,\n' Oh, nonsense, what's the matter with you ? I think\nyou're a little bad tempered this morning. \/ don't\nwant you to go away, so go back to work.' I went\nback and stayed four more days, but so anxious was\nI to get away from such detestable work and companions that I made all the overtime I. could. At\nlast I worked one day ten hours in the ditch, went to\nsupper at six, at seven came back, and with a little\nGerman for partner, pumped all night till six in the\nmorning, then had breakfast, slept two-and-a-half\nhours, worked from 9.30 till six in the evening, and\nafter supper again went out pumping till midnight.\nAt a quarter to twelve I lay down on a pile of loose\nbricks, as we were pumping turn and turn about, and\nfell asleep. At midnight two others came to relieve\nus, and it was with difficulty they woke me up.\nNext morning I got what money was coming to\nme  and went into town.    Ray would not come, so IN ST.  PAUL\n49\nI shook hands with him, bidding him farewell. I\nnow had a new partner, who was not so much to my\nmind as Ray, and of entirely different character. Pat\nM'Cormick was an American Irishman who had lived\nmostly in Michigan and Wisconsin, working in the\npine-woods and 'driving' on the rivers. This driving\nis taking the logs, which are sledded to the rivers from\nwhere they are cut, down into the lakes, and is a\nhazardous and laborious employment. The drivers\nare wet for weeks together, and mostly up to their\nmiddles in icy water; they stand on the logs going\ndown rapids which would destroy a boat, they ease\nthem over the shoals, and break ' jams ' that occur\nwhen some logs get caught and those floating behind\nthem are stopped by them. Pat was a great drinker,\nwhich unfortunately I did not find out till too late,\nand besides, utterly reckless, though good tempered to\nan extreme when sober.\nWe walked into town, creating some little amusement in the more respectable streets by our appearance. I had still my big-brimmed Texas hat on me,\nwhich at the camp had earned me the title of 'Texas\/\nunder which sobriquet I went for many months, as it\nwas passed on from one acquaintance \u2022 of mine to\nanother. Our boots were long knee-boots, and of\ncourse uncleaned, and our blankets looked as if we had\njust come off the tramp.\nWe walked round a little, and presently came to\nan employment office.    Outside was a large notice.\nE 50 THE   WESTERN AVERNUS\nCANADIAN   PACIFIC  RAILROAD.\nIn British Columbia and the Rocky Mountains.\n1,000 Labourers wanted at good wages.\nioo Tie-makers wanted by the day, or by the piece.\nSteady work guaranteed for two years.\nPerhaps, if I had not spoken with Gunn at the\ncamp, I might have passed this by, but his eulogistic\naccount of British Columbia had made me rather\nanxious to go there. Besides, the natural tendency of\neveryone seems to be to go west in America. In\nAustralia I had found it impossible to avoid getting\nfarther and farther into the heart of the country, and\nit is possible that, if I had not made at last a determined effort to get back to Melbourne, I should in\ntime have come out at the Gulf of Carpentaria. Here\nI had to go west, under the direction of destiny,\nepitomised in Horace Greeley's ' Go west, young man,\nand grow up with the country.'\nWe went in, and found that the fee required was\nc\\\\ dols., or about 35^\"., for which we were to be carried\ni,600 miles through Canada to the Rocky Mountains.\nAs M'Cormick had insufficient money, I did for him\nwhat Ray Kern had done for me in Chicago\u2014paid the\nextra amount, and, having bought provisions with the\nbalance of our money, we went off to spend the day\nas best we could, for we were not to start till the\nfollowing morning. That night we crossed the river,\nand finding a pile of hay in front of an unfinished  JA\n52\nTHE  WESTERN AVERNUS\nCHAPTER V.\nTO  MANITOBA AND  THE  ROCKIES.\nIt was the morning of August 7 that I left St Paul.\nWith our last money, as I said, we had bought provisions, which consisted of a couple of loaves, some\ncheese, and a long sausage, with a few onions and\ntwo or three green peppers. After buying this I had\ntwenty-five cents left.\nAll the 7th was consumed in running north from\nSt. Paul to the Canadian line, which from the Lake\nof the Woods to the Gulf of Georgia follows the forty-\nninth parallel of latitude. After getting clear of the\nMinnesota forests we ran into the Red River Valley,\nprhich to the eye seems a perfectly level plain, green\nand grassy but absolutely treeless. At nightfall we\nwere at Glyndon, a few miles from the Dakota line\nand Fargo. At midnight we passed the Dominion\nline at St. Vincent and were in Manitoba, through\nthe whole extent of which the same character of\nthe country prevails as in Northern Minnesota. We\nreached Winnipeg that morning, and I devoted an\nhour to seeing what I could of the town, which seemed ~Jtm\nTO MANITOBA  AND  THE ROCKIES\n53\nto me to be an entirely execrable, flourishing and\ndetestable business town, flat and ugly and new.\nThe climate is said to be two months black flies, two\nmonths dust, and the remainder of the year mud and\nsnow. The temperature in winter goes down sometimes to sixty degrees below zero, which the inhabitants will often tell you is not disagreeable; ' if you\nare well wrapped up, as the Polar bear said when he\npractised his skating\/ I thought.\nMy  partner,   M'Cormick,  came   to   me   a  few\nminutes before the train started and asked if I had\nany money.\nH   ' What for ? ' said I.   HH|      ^IIBbBH\nPat was ready with his answer. ' If you have, it\nwon't be any good after leaving here, and I want\nsome whisky.'\n' Well, Mac, if I give it you, you'll get drunk.'\n1 Drunk! I never was drunk in my life. Come,\nTexas, you may as well. What's the good of money\nif you don't spend it ? '\n' If I do\/ I answered, ' you'll repent it before long,\nyou bet your life ; and as to your never being drunk,\nwhy you're drunk now.' And so he was, for some\nof the others had been passing the bottle round\nfreely. But it wasn't any use trying to put him off,\nso, for the sake of peace and quietness, I let him have\nthe last twenty-five cents I had, and he got a small\nflask of whisky.\nAs I refused to drink any he drank most of it fl\n54\nTHE   WESTERN A VERNUS\nhimself, with the result that he began quarrelling with-\none of a bridge gang who boarded the train at Winnipeg. The altercation would have been amusing if\nMac hadn't kept on appealing to me, trying to drag\nme into his troubles. He called the bridgeman a\nvery opprobrious name, and for a moment there was\ngreat danger of a ' rough house' out of hand. Mac\nwanted him to get off the train when it stopped to\nhave it out, but the other man, though not very\npeaceable by any means, was not so drunk as my\npartner, and had sense enough not to get left on the\nprairie for the sake of a fight. So they sat opposite\neach other Wrangling for hours, while I expected their\ncoming to blows every moment. Presently Mac came\nover.\n| Texas, give me your six-shooter\/\n11 haven't got one.'\n' Oh yes, you have ; I know it's in your blankets.\nI want it\/\n' Well, Mac\/ I said, getting a little mad, ' in the\nblankets or not, you won't get it'\nMac went off, muttering that I was a pretty\npartner not to help him. Presently the bridgeman\ni^tme over and sat down by my side. He began with\ndrunken courtesy:\n' Sir, I thank you for not giving him your gun.\nPerhaps you saved my life.' Then getting ferocious:\n' Not that I'm scared of him\/ Then a short silence,\nand glaring fiercely at me : ' Nor of you either.    I've TO MANITOBA AND   THE ROCKIES\n55\nseen cow-boys, bigger men than you, and with bigger\nhats too, but they didn't tire me. No, they didn't\ntire me any.'\n* That's good, pard\/ said I ; ' don't get tired on\nmy account. I'm a quiet man, and don't often kill\nanybody.'\nHe looked at me for a while, muttering, and got\nup to go, saying, ' Oh no, he can't scare this chicken,\nbet your life.'\nA great many kept taking me for a regular cowboy who had got out of his latitude, especially as\nMac would always call me Texas.    And to illustrate\nthe absurd   ideas  so  prevalent about the cow-boy,\nI may mention that when we were about to approach\nMoose Jaw, in the North-West Provinces, which are\nProhibition Territories where whisky is forbidden, I\nwent into the next car to ours for a drink of water.\nThere was a little boy, about ten  years  old, there\nwith his father and mother, and it is evident he had\nheard them speaking  about it  being  forbidden  to\nintroduce spirits into Assinaboia  and  Alberta.    So\nafter he  had taken a furtive  and  somewhat  awe-\nstricken look at my hat, which, I am bound to say,\nwas of extremely formidable brim, with the leather ,\ngear on it so much affected by Southern cow-boys, he\nturned to his father, saying, ' Pa, if the police knew a\ncow-boy had whisky, do you think they would search\nhim ?'    Of course the little fellow thought the hat a\nsure sign of a desperate character, whose  belt was 1\n56\nTHE   WESTERN A VERNUS\ncertainly full of six-shooters and bowie-knives, and\nwhose mind ran on murder and scalping.\nAt Moose Jaw, where we remained for some few\nminutes, there were a number of Cree Indians, bucks\nand squaws, some of whom came begging to us.\nThese were the reddest, most bronzy Indians I ever\nsaw. They used, I believe, to be constantly at war\nwith the Blackfeet, who live nearer the Rockies.\nI paid but very little attention to the scenery as\nwe passed through the North-West Provinces, though it\nis not so wearisome as the Manitoban dead levels, on\naccount of the prairie being somewhat rolling, with\nnumerous lakes upon it, the haunt of flocks of wild\nfowl. But the country is uninhabited. It seems to\nme that we passed over nearly 600 miles of plain\nwithout seeing a town or any habitation save a few\nsmall houses ofthe section gangs. Of the millions of\nbuffaloes that used to be on these prairies there are no\nsigns save bones to be seen. In the United States\nthey have about 300 head in the Yellowstone Park,\nand it is said there are a few on the Llano Estacado\nor Staked Plain, in Texas and New Mexico. Some\nexist, too, in Northern Montana and Southern British Columbia, in the most inaccessible ranges, for\nthe process of hunting selection has destroyed all on\nthe prairie and given rise to a mountain variety. I\nconfess, for my own part, that I have never seen one\nwild in all my wanderings.\nAt Gleichen we were told we could see the Rockies,\nm \u2022a   -rffl\nTO MANITOBA  AND   THE ROCKIES\n57\nand I was so eager to get beyond the vile monotony\nof the prairie that I had my head out of the window\nall the while for hours before we got there. And I\nand Mac were now rather in straits. Our food supply\ngave out after two days, and this was the middle of\nthe third. I had foolishly given a meal to a man who\nhad nothing with him at all, and we were now suffering ourselves, staying our increasing appetites with\ntobacco. It does not, I imagine, predispose one to\nrevel in heroic scenery for one's baser mechanism to\ngo in pain and hollowness; but perhaps I had arrived\nat a stage of ascetic ecstasy, for I hardly thought of\nsuch needs the whole of that day, and was content in\nhunger until night blinded my vision and brought my\nsoaring spirit back to its more material casing.\nAt Gleichen I could just discern the first faint\nline of the far Rocky Mountains, hung like a bodiless cloud in the air over the level plain. As we ran\nfarther west it grew by slow gradations more and\nmore distinct, until at last the sharp, fine, jagged outline stood out clear against the blue. Yet underneath\nthat line was nothing, not even the ghost of the huge\nsolidity of mountain walls. It was sti]S thin, impalpable as faint motionless smoke, yet by the steadfastness of peak and pinnacle a recognised awful and\nthreatening barrier.\nWe came to Calgary, a flourishing and well-\nknown town. Here numerous Blackfeet had their\nteepees, or wigwams.    I shook hands with two of this n\n1\n58\nTHE   WESTERN A VERNUS\ntribe, the most noble of the Indians. Two tall old\nmen they were, one with smooth, tight skin and\nglittering eyes, calm, steadfast, and majestic; the\nother cut and carved by a million wrinkles, but strong\nand upright, with a kindly smile. Ye two of the\nIndians who pass away, I salute you ! Vos morituros\nsaluto !\nBefore Calgary we had crossed the Bow River,,\nswift and blue, and heavenly and crystal, born of the\nmountains and fresh from snowfield and glacier. As\nwe left the town we ran on the right bank, and being\nnow among the first of the lower hills which buttress\nup the mountains from the plain, we went more slowly\nup grade, looking down into the stream far below,.\nThe sun was shining, the air clear and warm, the\nflowers, blooming on every earthy spot, and the grass\nyet green.\nIn a few hours we ran up to the real entrance of\nthe Bow Pass. Tired of straining my neck out of\nwindow, I left the passenger-car and climbed on to*\none of the freight-cars in front, and, spite of choking\nsmoke, cinder and ash, I kept my place till we ran into\nthe heart of the mountains and night as well, for I\nwished to be alone with the hills.\nIt was the first time in my life that I had seen\nmountains. I had been in Cumberland, it is true, and\nse^i Skiddaw ; I had climbed Cader Idris, and had\nlain there for hours, watching the vast stretch of sea.\nand river and mountain ; I had been on the Devon\n0\nmm \u25a0 < am*\nTO MANITOBA AND  THE ROCKIES\n59\nhills and on Derbyshire's peak. But these are not\nmountains of snow and fire perpetual. They are, it\nmay be, haunted with ancient legend, but their newer\ngarments of story and fable have clothed their primaeval nakedness. We love them, but have no awe\nof them. They are not sacred. But the untouched\nvirgin peaks of snow, the rocky pinnacles where eagles\nsun themselves in swift and icy air, the dim and scented\npine-woods, the haunt of bears, the gorges of glaciers,\nand the birthplace of rivers, these are sacred. If I\ncome to a solitude and say, 'Here man has not been\/ if\nI can say, ' That rosy peak no eye has ever viewed but\nmine, who can reverence its glory\/ then that place is\nindeed sacred, though an awe may be on me that at\nfirst precludes passionate love, permitting only adoration.\nWe are thousands of feet above the plain. Look\nback, and look your last on the vast and hazy prairie\nbeneath you! In a moment you shall have passed\nthe barrier and be among the hills, you shall be within\nthe labyrinth and maze. Here is a vast gorge, now\nbroad with sloping bastions of opposing fortresses on\neither hand, now narrow with steepest walls and impending rocks threatening the calm lakes that catch\ntheir shadows and receive their reflections. Even as\nyou look do they not nod with possible thunderous\navalanche, or is it the play only of shadow from\nopposite peak and pinnacle ? How these are cut and\nscarped to all conceivable fantasy of art and incon- 6o\nTHE   WESTERN A VERNUS\nli\nceivable majesty of nature, how they are castled and\nupheld with arch and bridge and flying buttress! This\nis the aisle of the Great Cathedral of the Gods ; this\nis the cave of y^olus, the home of the hurricane ;\nthis is the lofty spot most beloved by the sunlight, for\nhere come the first of the day beams, and here they\nlinger last on rosy snow covering the rock whose\nmassy base lies in the under shadow.\nI was in a land of phantasm, and the memory\nremains with me as a broken dream of wonder. As\n1 write I catch from that past day shifting pictures,\nand, half seen, one dissolves into the next to give way\nin turn in the kaleidoscope to some other symbol ofthe\nseen. For memories of such a pageant as a man sees\nonly once in a lifetime are but as conventional signs\nand symbols for the painting of the unpaintable, of\nthe foam and thunder of the stormy seas, of the\ngolden sunset, of the fleece of floating cloud. So we\nran on into the night, and I slept with eyes and imagination jaded, at the end of our journey on the\nwestern slope of the Great Divide of the Continent,\nwhere the waters ran towards the set of sun.\nIt is almost as painful to me as I write to come\nback again to the more sordid facts of my journey as\nit was to be hungry. The troubles we pass through\nvanish from our memories and the pleasures remain,\nas the gold is caught in the sluice box while the\nearth and mud run out in turbid rush of water. Now\nI love to think only of the beauty I saw, and the pain TO MANITOBA  AND  THE ROCKIES\n61\ndrops away from me as I dream my toils over again.\nBut the pain was real then.\nOn the morning when we woke in the Rockies we\nfound ourselves at the end of the track. We had\ncome nearly as far as the rails were laid, and quite\nas far as the passenger-cars were allowed to run.\nRound me I saw the primaeval forest torn down, cut\nand hewed and hacked, pine and cedar and hemlock.\nHere and there lay piles of ties, and near them', closely\nstacked, thousands of rails. The brute power of man's\norganised civilisation had fought with Nature and had\nfor the time vanquished her. Here lay the trophies\nof the battle.\nThe morning was clear and glorious, the air chill\nand keen, and through it one could see with marvellous distinctness the farthest peaks and the slender\npines cresting the shoulders of the hills 3,000 feet\nabove us. Before us stood the visible iron symbol\nof jRower Triumphant\u2014the American locomotive.\nShe was ready to run a train of cars with stores\nof all kinds ten miles farther on, and now her\nwhistle screamed. Echo after echo rang from the\nhills as the sound was thrown from one to the other,\nfrom side to side in the close valley, until it died like\nthe horns of Elfland. We were to go with her, and\nall clambered in. Some sat on the top, some got in\nempty cars, with the side doors open. I was in one\nwith about twenty others. I sat down by the door,\nopened my blankets and put them round me, for the\nI HBMH^PW^BBPWBBBwwrpwrM^\n62\n777x5\"   WESTERN AVERNUS\n\u25a0li\nI\ncold grew more intense as we moved through the air\nand watched the panorama.\nBy this time I was absolutely starving, as it was\nnow the third day since I had had a really satisfactory meal, and from Calgary to the Summit I and\nMac had eaten nothing. So we were glad when\nour train stopped and let us alight. We were received by a man who acted as a sort of agent for the\ncompany. He got us in group and read over the list\nof names furnished him by the conductor of the train,\nto which about a hundred answered. He then told\nus we were to go much farther down the pass, and\nthat we should have to walk about forty miles, and\nthat we could get breakfast where we then were for\ntwenty-five cents. It was about time to speak, and,\nas nobody else did, although I well knew there were\ndozens with no money in the crowd, I stepped up\nand wanted to know what those were to do who had\nno money, adding that I and my partner were ' dead\nbroke.' And after this open confession of mine the\nrest opened their mouths too, until at last it appeared\nthe moneyed members of the gang were in a very\nsmall minority. Our friend agreed that we couldn't\nbe expected to go without food, and we had our\nmeals on the understanding that the cost was to be\ndeducted from our first pay. We had breakfast and\nset out on our forty miles tramp down the Kicking\nHorse Pass.\nII CHAPTER VI.\nTHE  KICKING  HORSE  PASS.\nI HAVE said there were about a hundred of us, and\nsoon we were all strung out in a long line, each man\ncarrying blankets and a valise, and some of us both.\nI had had in earlier days some experience in travelling,\nand took care not to overburden myself, as so many\nof the others did, who were on their first tramp ; for\nthe ease with which it was made possible to leave the\ncrowded cities of the East, combined with the hard\ntimes, had brought a miscellaneous throng of men to\nBritish Columbia, many of whom had never worked\nin the open air, but only in stores and shops, whilst\nthere were many who had never worked at all. It was\nquite pitiful to see some little fellow, hardly more than\na boy, who had hitherto had his lines cast in pleasant\nplaces, bearing the burden of two valises or portmanteaus, doubtless filled with good store of clothes made\nby his mother and sisters, while the sweat rolled off him\nas he tramped along nearly bent double. Perhaps\nnext to him there would be some huge, raw-boned 64\nTHE   WESTERN AVERNUS\nlabourer whose belongings were tied up in a red handkerchief and suspended to a stick. I had a light pair\nof blankets and a small valise, which Mac carried for\nme, as he had nothing of his own. My blankets I\nmade up into a loop through which I put my head,\nletting the upper part rest on my left shoulder, the\nlower part fitting just above my hips on the right side-\nThis is by far the most comfortable and easy way of\ncarrying them, save in very hot weather.\nWe tramped along, Mac and I, cheerfully enough,\nvery nearly at the tail of the whole gang, as we were\nin no hurry, and were yet somewhat weak. Presently\nMac picked up with another companion, leaving me\nfree to look about me without answering his irresponsible chatter or applauding his adventures in Wisconsin, where it appears he had very nearly killed\nsome one for nothing at all, while he was drunk, as\nusual when not working.\nI am fain to confess that my memories of the next\ntwo days are so confused that, whether Tunnel Mountains came before the Kicking Horse Lake or whether\nit didn't, whether we crossed one, two, or three rivers\nbefore we got to Porcupine Creek, whether it was one\nmountain fire we saw or two or more, I can hardly say\nwith any certainty. All was so new and wonderful\nto me that one thing drove the other out of my head,\nand when I think it was so while I was walking\nslowly, I am lost in astonishment to see so many\nfluently describe mountain passes they have traversed\n1 THE KICKING HORSE PASS\n65\nin the train.    I am afraid the guide-books must be a\ngreat aid to them.\nTunnel Mountain was more like a gigantic cliff\nthan a mountain. One could see the vast rock run up\nperpendicularly till it passed above the lower clouds.\nHigh from where I stood, perhaps 3,000 feet above me,\nwas a thingwhite line, which I was told was a glacier\n300 feet thick. A thousand feet above us, small and\nhard to be distinguished against the grey-brown rock,\nwere men working with ropes round them at a vein\nof silver ore. How they had gained such a position\nI cannot think, and how they maintained it, working\nwith chisel and mallet in the keen air and frost of that\nelevation, is a greater puzzle. They must have looked\ndown and seen us crawling on the ground like ants.\nThe roar of the river, though at places it almost\ndeafened us, must have been like a bee's murmur to\nthem, and when the crash of a large blast hurled the\nrocks into the stream the report would come as a\ndistant smothered roar.\nThe short tunnel ran through the outside of this\ncliff, and, just beyond, a roaring tributary of the\nKicking Horse River made a bridge necessary. This\nwas not finished then, but it had to be crossed, for\nthere was no other way. It was sufficiently perilous.\nAlong the cross-pieces of the bridge lay the stringers,\npieces of timber 8 inches by 12 inches by 16 feet; these\nwere set on their 8-inch side, two together on each\nside of the bridge, each couple at varying distances, \u00abS6\nTHE   WESTERN AVERNUS\nsometimes close together and sometimes running so\nfar apart one could scarcely straddle them. And these\nwere not bolted down, but were loose and trembling.\nThis was the path across ! Had one fallen nothing\ncould save him, especially if heavily burdened, for\nthere were but the large lower timbers to catch hold\nof, and underneath, fifty feet below, sharp rocks and\na roaring stream of water.\nAt one place we came to a river or large creek\nrunning over a flat with a very swift current, but still\nnot boisterously or with any huge rocks in it. As\nthe road ran into it on one side and emerged on the\n%D>\nother, we could see it was fordable. But still no one\nseemed to like the prospect of wading through a\nstream whose current might be strong enough to\ncarry a man off his legs and the water of which was\nicy cold. One by one the stragglers came up, until\nnearly our full band was congregated on the river\nbanks. We looked for some wagons to come by,\nbut could see none. At last, after trying in vain to\npersuade some of the others to venture in, I took\noff my trousers, boots, and socks, and with these\nhung round my neck I waded into the water. It was\nbitterly cold, especially as it was now a warm day\nwith pleasant air and sun, and the stream washed\nagainst me so that I had to lean up against the\ncurrent. The others stood watching me, giving me an\noccasional word of encouragement or a yell of delight\nat  my  strange   appearance.     After  a considerable m m\nTHE KICKING HORSE PASS\n67\n\u2022struggle I emerged on the farther bank in a red glow.\nBut my luck in another way was bad.    Just as I got\nout a wagon came round the corner to meet me, and\nin it was a woman\u2014about the only one we had seen\nsince we had left the summit or the end of the track.\nShe burst into laughter at the  ridiculous  cranelike\nfigure I cut, standing with my garments and long\nboots hung about me.    I turned and sat down in the\ngrass and made myself decent as soon as possible.\nIn the meantime, much to my disgust, some wagons\ncame up and carried the other men across.    I had all\nmy trouble for nothing, and my glorious example was\ntost on the crowd.    After going another couple of\nhundred yards we came again to a wide stream, and\nthis time I was myself carried over.    And then we\nhad a long tramp along the verge of a big mountain\nfire, which was crackling and smouldering from the\nbanks of the river to the mountain tops.\nAt nightfall, or rather just before it, we came to\nthe Porcupine Creek, another furious tributary of the\nmain river, and here we had supper at one of the\nrailroad   camps.    Afterwards  we set about lighting\nfires  for  our camping-ground, for we had but the\nshelter of the pines that night.    We dragged brush\nand sticks together, and borrowing some axes from\nthe camp we cut up some of the trees that had been\nthrown down  by the wind in  the winter  or  been\nfelled by the men who made ties.    Four fires soon\nlighted up our forest, and blue and purple flames shot\nf 2 68\nTHE   WESTERN A VERNUS\n\\\nup, singeing the pines and sending up sparks into\nthe blackness overhead, where their branches touched\neach other a hundred feet above. I think those fires\nof mountain wood upon the mountain always burn\nwith far more beautiful colours than those on plains\nand lowlands, for here only, in the heart of the fire,\ncan one see the fiery red, and over are blue and\npurple interlacings and shootings of purest colour\nstanding out against the dark background of balsam\nand hemlock, while the curling smoke runs from\nviolet to grey and shadow.\nFor  an hour some of  us  flitted  about  in  the\ndarkness gathering in the firewood, and the rest lay\ndown   and smoked, or  propped   themselves  quietly\nagainst the tree trunks, dreaming over the fire.    It\npromised to be a chilly night.    The crescent moon\nhung over a peak of snow, faint and new; but the\nstars were jubilant and strong, like glittering sword\npoints in the deep transparent sky.    Already behind\nthe trees, where the  shadows from the fires threw\numbra  and  penumbra  on  the grass, were varying\ndegrees   of silvery  frost,  glittering brightly on the\ndarkest umbral cone  in the moonglow, and in the\nlighter shadow only chilling and stiffening the slender,\ninfrequent grasses and the matted bundles of sharp\npine   needles.    Close   at   hand,   on   the  border   of\nthe  pines,  the creek  ran  over  a  bed  of   rounded\nboulders,  here and there broken by a higher   rock\nthat  threw  a jet of foam in air.     It  ran   rapidly THE KICKING HORSE PASS\n69\nand hurriedly by, with its shriller song all but over-\npowered in the deep strong bass of the distant river\nof roaring cataract. Beyond the creek, in its own\nshadow, for the moon's peak of silver snow showed\nabove the barrier, was the sombre forest, at first a\nwall of solid blackness, breaking gradually with\nprolonged sight into lighter brush and black trunk\nbelow, with grey shadows and hollows over these,\nand above again lighter and lighter shades then ran\nto slender tracery against the blue, with here and\nthere one star glittering through the branchy oriel\n\"windows to the sky.\nI woke, at midnight and found it sharp frost. The\nfires had burnt to embers. Round about me in every\ndirection lay my companions sleeping, save one or\ntwo unfortunates without blankets, who kept their\nbacks against the trunks of the pines and their heads\nand arms upon their knees, crouching in a heap to\nkeep what heat they could in them, as they looked\ninto the fires and wished for day. I walked out of\nthe shadows of the forest to the banks of the creek.\nThe moon was sunk deep below the sloping shoulders\nof her peak, and her pale fires had died from the\nsnow and ice. The stars glittered mpre radiantly in\na darker blue, and pine-wood and mountain shadow\nmelted into one upon the distant slopes. Looking\ndown the valley was vague darkness, and when I\nwalked a few yards from the rushing creek I could\nliear plainly the wavering roar of the river palpitating 7o\nTHE   WESTERN AVERNUS\nmusically through the calm cold air. Save that,,\nthere was no sound; everything was sleeping; and\nwhen I turned away from the look of the red eyes of\nfire that gleamed through the brush from our camping-\nground, I might fancy myself alone, with the voiceless spirit of the mountains brooding over me, one\nwith the night.\nBut the romance of the time fell from me as I\nfelt the air more and more chilly, and I went to\nsleep again with my commonplace partner Mac,\nwhose ideal was, I doubt not, a whisky bottle and\nnothing to do.\nNext day another twenty miles through the great\ngap torn in the forests for the right of way of the\nrailroad. The trees were hewed down, sawed and\nhacked in pieces, and piled on either side, dragged by\nhorses or cattle. Cedar, white and red, fragrant balsam,\ndark hemlock, the sheltering spruce\u2014all the pride of\nthe forest went down before axe and saw for man's\ntriumph. Grey and red squirrels came peeping to\nsee what was being done in their troubled homes, and\nthe striped chipmunks ran and darted here and there\nquicker than birds. We left the broad track and\ntook the road, narrow and dark. Here one wagon\ncould travel, but another could not pass it. It was a\nway hewn out of the primaeval forest; it was full of\nstumps and holes, with pools of water here and there,\nand sloughs of mud enough to engulf a horse. Ruts\nwere a foot or two deep.    When a wagon met me I \u2022\u00bb.n*f\nTHE KICKING HORSE PASS\n7r\nwould climb on a log or squeeze into the brush while\nit went plunging by, threatening to drop to pieces\nwith every shock, creaking and complaining as for\nwant of oil. Yet the loads were not heavy, and the\nhorses, for the most part, good and well cared for.\nOn this ' toat' or freight-road the wagons went east\nduring one part of the day and west during the\nothefl\nAt noon on this second day we came to the' Island\/\na kind of flat just above the river, and far below\nwhere the track ran. The work here was of a severe\ncharacter, as they made a ' fill' or embankment eighty\nfeet high, I should think, or possibly much more. We\nscrambled down the end of this and went to get\ndinner at the camp on the Island. Up to this time\nthey had always given us our meals in the tents with\nknives and forks and plates, but here the cooks\nbrought out a huge can of soup, some potatoes, great\nlumps of boiled beef, and a pile of plates and a bucket\nof knives and forks. A chorus of growls rose up\nfrom us on all sides. A cry was raised for our friend\nthe agent, who came out to view the scene. Some of\nus pointed out that, if we were to pay for our meals,\nwe expected to be treated in a reasonable manner,\nand not like hogs. Some of the ' boys' said it was a\nregular ' hand out\/ and that we looked like a crowd\nof old 'bummers.'\n' Bummers' is American for beggars, and a ' hand\nout' is a portion of food handed out to a bummer or a lil\n72\nTHE   WESTERN A VERNUS\ntramp at the door when he is not asked inside. The\nagent looked as if he would like to say it was good\nenough for us, but the crowd was too big, and too\nugly in temper, to play tricks with, and he temporised,\ncalming us down ; and finally, finding that we were\nnot to be appeased, said we need not pay for it, if we\nate it or not. We were hungry, however, and, finding\nit impossible to get a spread, we had to make the\nbest of it; and soon all of us were fighting for knives\n7 OO\nand plates and spoons and soup. We sat round in\ngroups, growling and eating like a lot of bears.\nAfter dinner we started out again, passing every\nhalf-mile or so a railroad camp; and now we began\nto leave at each place some of our number, whenever\nany of the contractors were in need of more men.\nMac and I were told with some others to stay at Ross\nand M'Dermott's camps; but when we got there,\nfor some reason or another we did not like the look\nof the place, and concluded that we would take things\ninto our own hands and go farther on. After leaving\nthis camp we came to Robinson and Early's, and\nnext to the large camp at Corey's, where they were\nmaking a tunnel through blue clay. This was called\nthe Mud Tunnel. We passed on a little farther, and\ncame to a sub-contractor's. At this point we met the\nagent, who had gone ahead of us on horseback. He\nreined up and said :\nj Didn't I tell you fellows to stay at Ross and\nM'Dermott's?' M-CJ\nTHE KICKING HORSE PASS\n73\n\u25a0 Yes\/ answered Mac.\nI    ' Well, why you ?'   ^^^^^^^^HH\nI Oh, we didn't care about that place.'\n' What do you want then ? If you go on any farther\nI can't give you any more meals\/\nI myself did not care about going any farther, and\nsaid so.\n' Then you can work at Corey's if you like.'\nI turned to Mac and said, ' Come, Mac, what's the\n\u2022good of fooling ; come with me.'\n' No back tracks, Texas. I'll stay here.'\nIt was settled finally that these should stay and\nwork with the sub-contractor, and I went back to\nCorey's with the, agent. When I got there it was\ndark and supper was over. I had a little to eat, and\nslept that night in one of the dining-tents, under the\ntable, while above slept a New Brunswicker named\nScott, who was to be my greatest friend hereafter\nboth in British Columbia and California. He has\noften told me since that my last words that night\nwere: ' I go to sleep to-night, lulled to slumber by\nthe music of the Kicking Horse.' 74\nTHE   WESTERN A VERNUS\nCHAPTER  VII.\nTHE  RAILROAD  CAMPS.\nOUR camp was right on the banks of the riverr\nwhich ran in a sharp curve round the base of the\nhill through which the tunnel was being cut. The\nKicking Horse was furious as usual there, rushing at\nthe rocks which impeded its course and breaking\nabout them in foam, or leaping with a swing and a\ndive over the lower and more rounded boulders.\nBeyond it, on the other bank, was a thick wall of pine\nand fir, and overhead the vast slope of mountain.\nOur side was decorated with a medley of various-\nshaped tents, round and square and oblong, so that it\nwas difficult at night for a stranger to avoid tripping\nhimself up with the pegs and ropes, or half strangling\nhimself with the stays carried from the ridge-poles to\nthe trees growing about all the encampment Besides\nthe tents there were two large log-huts or shanties, built\nout of half-squared timbers with the bark only partly\nremoved, and up a little slope, on the other side of\nthe road which ran through the camp, stood a little\nlog-house and kitchen for the accommodation of some\n*-**\u25a0 \u25a0 ii-r**r-' *\" \u2022*\"*\"* \u2014f**^^*\n-\n-------------------------------------------- THE RAILROAD  CAMPS\n75\nof the ' bosses' and the head contractors. Beyond\nthis the hill ran up gradually into a maze of fallen\ntimber, with one little melancholy cleared space,\nwhere a simple and rude grave held the body of an\nunknown and friendless man who had been killed\nsome little time before I came. And still farther on\nwas the summit of the low hill under which the\ntunnel was to be, and above again mountain piled\non mountain.\nThere must have been a hundred or more men employed at this work, which was of a hazardous and\ndangerous character. The hill was being attacked on\nboth sides at once, and at the west end down stream\nthe tunnel was advanced to some distance, but at the\neast end, though there, too, the hole had been run into\nthe hill, the work was to do over again, owing to the\ntunnel having' caved ' in, in spite of the huge timbers.\nThe hill was composed of gravel on the top, then a\nthick stratum of extremely tenacious blue clay, and\nbeneath that lay a bed of solid concrete which required blasting. I and my new friend Scott went to\nwork at the east end with a large number of others.\nWe had to remove the immense mass of clay and\ngravel which had come down when the ' cave' had\noccurred, and to cut back into the hill some distance\nuntil it appeared solid enough for the new tunnel to\nbe commenced. As the cut into the hill was now\nvery deep, we worked on three ' benches.' The\nlowest and farthest out from the  crest  of the  hill 1\n1V\nJ\n76\nTHE   WESTERN AVERNUS\nattacked the clay at the bottom ; the next, twenty or\nthirty feet above us, cut into the loose gravel, taking\nit in barrows to each side ; and the highest gang above\nthat again wheeled away the sand at the top and\ncleared out the stumps as they came to them. The\nhighest gang worked in comparative safety j the next\nin some peril, as they had to look out for the rocks\nthat might fall in their own bench and for those from\nthe upper bench as well; but the lowest gang were in\ndanger of their lives all the time, as from both benches\nabove them came continually what rocks escaped the\nvigilance of those working over their heads. I worked\nhere myself, and without any exaggeration I can say\n1 never felt safe, for every minute or so would come\nthe cry, * Look out below!' or' Stand from under!' and\na heavy stone or rock would come thundering down\nthe slope right among us. I had been working three\ndays, and on the third day a rock about a foot\nthrough, weighing perhaps 80 lb., came over without\nanyone crying out till very late.    It came down and\nJ 9\/ *.* w\nseemed to be about to drop right where I stood, so I\nmade a prodigious jump on the instant, without having\ntime to see where I was going, and struck my right\nknee under the cap on the end of a wheelbarrow\nhandle iust as the stone buried itself in the ground\nwhere I had been standing. The pain was so great\nthat T had to sit down for ten minutes or more, and\nwhen I got up I found* I could scarcely walk, as the\nswelling was so great.    It was with difficulty I got to\nll THE RAILROAD CAMPS\n77\nthe camp, and for five days I was unable to work.\nThere was a doctor, paid I suppose by the company,\nwho came along on horseback at intervals, and he\ngave me some liniment and told me to rest. During\nthese days I used to eat and sleep and read what I\ncould get, which was very little, so I was thrown back\non my old friend ' Sartor Resartus.' Sometimes\nanother man who was too ill to work would come\nand talk with me, and at times I would go to the\nbanks of the river and watch the stream as it ran past\nin such a fury and haste to get to the Columbia. I\nwas not now lodged in the tent, but in a curious\nkind of gipsy arrangement which had been built by\nanother man before I came. It was made of hooped\nsticks set in the ground, and over these were spread\npieces of old canvas and a big uncured bullock hide,\nwhich indeed served admirably to keep out the rain,\nbut stank most abominably when\" it was hot. Here\nI used to He, as it did not permit one to stand or indeed to do much more than crawl into it, and look\nout, having good vantage-ground to view both the\nriver and the road. At night I would make a fire,\nand six or a dozen men would come round and spin\nyarns, dry their clothes, and rake out embers for their\npipes. After a few days I felt well enough to make\nan attempt at work, but was really unfit for it, and so-\nworked but a part of a day at a time till I felt all\nright. We were paid two dollars and a quarter for\nten hours, and had to pay five dollars a week for 78\nTHE   WESTERN A VERNUS\nboard.    They did not make us pay for the lodging, as\nmay be imagined.\nOn the Sunday after I felt quite well, I and a\nyoung Englishman, Tom, who shared my hide-tent,\nwent for a climb. We walked a mile up the river,\nand turned off the road up a creek which ran directly\nfrom between two lofty peaks, both of which were\nabove the line of perpetual snow. We walked for a\nwhile on the side of the creek, stumbling among fallen\ntimber and brush, until at last it was such a thicket\non both sides that it became impossible to advance\na step, and we took to the water, stumbling on the\nslippery stones, sometimes getting into holes up to\nour knees. It was a steep climb. After making our\nway up about a thousand feet we came to an impossible-looking place. The creek had cut deeply into\na slatey bed, and the sides were so steep and slippery\nthat our first attempts were unsuccessful. We tried\nto go round, but the tangle of brush was so dense that\nit would have taken us an hour's work with the axe.\nBack we went to the foot of the little fall, and by\nscrambling like cats we got up, wondering how we\nwere ever to get down. We still went on, finding it\ngrow steeper and steeper, until at last it was almost\nlike climbing up a cascade. I was in a profuse perspiration, and was kept damp by the spray. At last\nwe came near to the top of the timber-line, where the\ncreek branched into three. On our left hand, through\nthe few trees, rose the loftiest peak, cut into pinnacles THE RAILROAD  CAMPS\n79\nand deep gorges, and in these lay the glaciers, and on\nthe rocky slopes was a thin covering of new snow that\nhad been rain in the valley beneath us. Right from\nthe highest peak to our feet ran a tremendous slope\nof crumbling fragments of the mountain, a 'rock\nslide' 2,000 feet high, while on each side was a fringe\nof lessening pines and scrub that failed at last from\nthe bare rock, which left no foothold. In front was\nanother peak, and on the left another, both bare save\nfor glaciers, and glittering in the sun.\nWe turned and went back. My companion ran\nmuch faster than I, for I was afraid of hurting my\nknee, as I found it more tender descending than\nascending. So in a few moments I was left alone, as\nhe would not wait. When I got to where the difficult\nplace was I was puzzled. Had I been quite well I\ncould have managed it, but to make anything of a\njump was impossible, and I could not get down without jumping. I should have been in a nice position\nif I had sprained my knee. I might have been eaten\nby bears before Tom would have thought of getting\nanyone to look for me. So I sat down and considered. There was lying in the middle ofthe verge of\nthe fall a pine, from which branch and bark had long\nbeen stripped. Its lower extremity was about sixty\nfeet away beyond the rocky pool where the water fell.\nThe whole trunk was slimy and slippery with green\nwater moss, as the spray kept it always wet. At first\nI did not think it possible to go down it, but the more \"\n8o\nTHE   WESTERN A VERNUS\nI looked at the way I had come up the more feasible\nthe tree looked, until at last I concluded I must try it,\nhit or miss. I waded into the water, straddled my\ntree, and backed over the edge of the fall. The spray\nflew up and nearly blinded me, and my slide was such\na slippery one that it took all the grip in my legs to\nkeep me from going down at breakneck speed. I put\nthe brakes on with my hands too, and gradually\ncrossed the boiling pool, until at last the trunk got too\nbig for me to hold on to, and I slid the last ten or\ntwenty feet with a rush that landed me on my back\nin the shallow water. I had cleaned off the weed on\nthe tree, but I had to get a stick to scrape myself\ndown with. The rest of the walk home was easy\nafter that\nScott, whom I mentioned at the end of the last\nchapter, had meantime been discharged by one of the\nforemen, who considered he did not do enough work*\nHe went to work for Robinson and Early, who were\nnear at hand. It was now nearly time for me to go.\nOn this my last day at Corey's I was working on the\ntop bench with five or six others, who were some of\nthe laziest men I ever saw. The foreman was not\nwith us all the time, having to look after the men\nbelow, and when he turned his back, down would go\na wheelbarrow and one would sit on it, while another\nwould lie in the gravel. So, perhaps, only two or\nthree would be doing anything. This day, however,\nas we were working right at the top of the slope,\ny THE RAILROAD CAMPS\n8r\ngrubbing out stumps, it was impossible for all of them\nto hide at once. So they made up for this by doing\nas little as they could while pretending to do a great\ndeal. I am not praising myself when I assert that I\nwas really doing more work at that time than any one\nof the others, yet I was the one picked out for censure\nby the same foreman who discharged Scott. I was\nangry at this of course, and left work at 9.30, having\nworked a quarter of the day.\nThis camp was not a very nice one to work\nat. For one thing there were too many men, and it\nwas so broken up with day and night shifts that one\nnever knew where anyone else was working, and\nscarcely where he himself would work next day.\nThen the accommodation was so bad, and the cooks\nso pressed that they found it impossible to give the\nmen their 'pie.' This piece of daily pastry is a\nsource of wonderful content to many working men.\nWithout it, let the other food be ever so good, he\nfeels he is being defrauded, and with it, though it be\nonly of dried apple and sodden paste, he will put up\nwith no potatoes and bad beef, or even none at times.\nHowever, just before I left, the camp was split in\ntwo and two sets of cooks appointed, with the result\nthat ours fairly gorged his men with pie. Instead\nof the usual solitary quarter, which one had to eye\njealously or transfer at once to his own custody from\nthe rusty tin plate, to keep some greedy man from\ngetting two shares, whole pies were at the disposal of\nG\n1- $2\nTHE   WESTERN A VERNUS\nevery one, and there was great gorging and contentment.\nOn the whole, I was not sorry to leave ; and that\nafternoon I walked up to Robinson and Early's,\nwhere Scott was, and was told by Early I could come\nup at once and go to work in the morning. So I\npacked up my blankets and walked up that evening\nin the dark. This camp was divided into two parts by\nthe ' grade' or embankment where the rails would be\nlaid. On one side were the dinner and cook's tents,\nthe store tent, where one could get clothes and tobacco, the bosses' tents, and a big composite log and\ncanvas building with bunks in it On the other side\nwere four neat little log-huts. I walked along the\n* dump' or grade till I came to a fire where four or\nfive men were sitting, and went down and joined them.\nScott was not there. I did not know any of these\nmen, but, of course, in a country such as this was, that\nwould be no obstacle to my joining in the conversation. I soon found out that I should have to sleep\nin the big tent with a crowd of Finns and Italians.\nThey told me that the ' grub' was good, that the\nbosses were not bad, though they made their men\nwork hard. The wages were the same as I had been\ngetting at Corey's.\nI took my blankets and camped on a pile of\nbalsam boughs in the lower bunks of the big tent.\n\u25a0'Bunk'is here but a euphemism for the ground,as\nbunk was divided from bunk by a six-inch log, with THE RAILROAD  CAMPS\n83\nthe bark and some of the smaller branches on, being\nnailed or tied against the uprights which supported\nthe top tier. I made my bed in the dark and slept,\ncovering my face over to keep the dust and dirt off\nthat dropped through from the top bunk when the\nmen in it gave a roll in their sleep.\nNext morning I went to work ' picking on a slope,'\nthat is, smoothing off the sides of the hill above the\ngrade, as one sees it done in England when\" going\nthrough a railroad cutting. Scott was working near\nthe   camp  among  the  rocks,  where   blasting  was\ngoing on.\nstrange one.\nSurely the life I led for the next month was a\nI was working in the same glorious\nmountain scenery that had roused in me a fervour\nof artistic appreciation that had resulted in a curious\nstate of forgetful ecstasy, blind and deaf to the actual\naround me. But now, while working, I became\nmechanical and base, the mountain opposite was\npainful, and I longed for a change of scene, an hour\nwith the plain and prairie. Partly, no doubt, this\nchange resulted from the strain put upon my imagination by the perpetual contemplation of the most\nmagnificent scenery\u2014a state of mind of which Ruskin\nspeaks in the ' Modern Painters' when writing of\nthe psychological effects of the various aspects of\nNature\u2014 and partly from the manual labour, in its\nphysiological effect of robbing the brain of the blood\nthat  ran   to   the  active  and   strained   muscles  of\ng 2 84\nTHE   WESTERN AVERNUS\nperpetual effort. Perhaps it was also partly owing to*\nthe mental analysis and introspection which irksome\ntoil forced me to, when I chanced to work alone or\nin circumstances which compelled my companions\nto silence. Long suffering from bodily ailments in\nLondon had induced, as it were, a morbid melancholy\nof mind, which remained even when the troubles of\nindigestion and bile were partially removed by Ifhe\nkeen mountain air, and the sense of unfitness for my\nsurroundings threw me back, when alone, into the\nmorbid introspective lines of thought that had been\nmy pain and solace in the solitary times of indifferent\ncompanionship at home. I would repeat to myself as\nI worked snatches of our melancholy modern poetry\nthat I knew so well. The indictment of life in the*\n' Lotus Eaters' came before the Grand Jury of my\npassions and desires, and I found it a true bill. I\nsmiled bitterly to myself to think of the gods,,\n'where they smile in secret\/ and as I laboured I\nsang softly :\nHateful is the dark blue sky, Vaulted o'er the dark blue sea;\nDeath is the end of life.    Ah, why Should life all labour be ?\nYet, with the strange contradictions of man's*\nnature, when I was with the others I was the merriest\nof all. There were some six or seven of us, English\nor American, who came together in one of the little\nlog-huts, and we sang our songs and chatted and\njoked round the- pine-wood fire that roared up the\nrude chimney, as if labour were but a dream, or, if THE RAILROAD CAMPS\n85\nreal, a delight.    There was  Scott, little, with keen\ngrey eyes, a reddish beard and moustache, light brown\nhair over a broad forehead that betokened untrained\nintellect, and  a  mouth  which  showed much possibility  of emotion.     He  was  not,  in   the  ordinary\nsense of the term, educated, and was indeed ignorant\nin many ways, but he had that desire for knowledge\nwhich in so many goes farther than compulsory culture\ntowards the attainment of mental height.    After him\nin my mind comes Davidson, a Canadian also, a bricklayer by trade, but by no means to be judged by the\nstandard of an English artisan of that grade.    He\nhad read a great deal in a desultory way, and was a\nman of kindliness and keenness of thought, though\nwithout possibility of culture such as Scott possessed.\nThen comes  Hank, a rude, rough block of a man,\nuneducated, powerful, with sensual  lips   and mouth\nand rough shock of hair.    He played an execrable\nfiddle most execrably, but his love for it and tolerance\nand gentleness forced forgiveness from me, even when\nthe tortured strings drove me outside.\nAnother of our evening company was a pleasant\nCanadian, who also played on the violin, not so badly\nas Hank. He was somewhat melancholy, and I\nthought at times that some woman was at the bottom\nof his troubles. His name has slipped my memory,\nbut I think it was Mitchell. There was also a German,\nFritz, whom I shall speak of in the next chapter, as he\n\u2022was my companion in the journey towards the coast. 86\nTHE   WESTERN A VERNUS\nWe were a strange gathering at night-time, and\nnot without elements of the picturesque, I fancy, in\nour strange interior.of log-hut and confused forms on\nblocks of wood before the fire, burning brightly, and\nthrowing a glare on the darkness through the entrance,,\nwhich did not boast a door, but only a rude portiere\nof sewed sacks.    We sang at times strange melancholy unknown ditties of love in the forests, songs ot\nMichigan or Wisconsin, redolent of pine odour and\nsassafras, or German Liede, for we were more cosmopolitan than a crowd of Englishmen would be at\nhome> and  did not insist only  on  what we could\nunderstand.   I myself often sang to them both English\nand German and Italian songs, and it seems strange\nto me now to think that those forests heard from me\nthe strains of Mozart's ' L'Addio\/ sung doubtless out\nof time, as it was also out of place perhaps, and the\nvigorous tune of ' La donna  e  mobile.'    But even\nsongs like these were appreciated, and often called\nfor, with ' Tom Bowling' or some other English sea-\nsongs.    Then we would  tell  each  other  stories or\nyarns, and  I would repeat some   of my travels in\nAustralia for them, or explain how large London was,\nor tell those who had never seen the ocean stories of\nmy own and my brother's voyages, or those of the\ngreat English sea-captains.\nSuch evenings came to be a recognised institution,\nand if I felt melancholy or savage one or another of\nthese men would come to the little tent I now had THE RAILROAD CAMPS\n87\nall to myself, and say they wanted me to settle some\npoint in dispute for them. For now, by virtue of my\neducation, which was apparent to them, they made\nme 'arbiter elegantiarum\/ umpire and referee as to\npronunciation, and encyclopaedia, so that I was often\nhard put to it by a dozen different questions, which\nonly a visit to a library could settle. I wrote for\nthem a song which was very much admired as the\nculmination of genius. It was a song ofthe C. P. R.,\nor Canadian Pacific Railroad, and all I remember is\nthe chorus, which was\u2014\nFor some of us arc bums, for whom work has no charms,\nAnd some of us are farmers, a-working for our farms,\nBut all are jolly fellows, who come from near and far,\nTo work up in the Rockies on the C.P.R.\nFrom which specimen the reader will not estimate\nmy poetical powers so highly as the simple railroad\nmen.\nPerhaps the most surprising incident to me during\nthe month I worked at this camp was the unlooked-\nfor appreciation of some lines which few ordinary\neducated people at home really like, through lack of\nfiner insight It happened one Sunday afternoon\nthat I, Scott, Davidson, Hank, and Mitchell were\nin one of the 'shacks\/ or huts, and they were idly\nlistening to me while I was inveighing against the\ninjustice in life, its vanity and uselessness. Nobody\nbut Scott was paying much attention, as I thought,\nand turning to him I repeated Rossetti's last sonnet 88\nTHE   WESTERN AVERNUS\nin the 'House of Life\/ the 'One Hope.' To my surprise Mitchell asked me to say it again, and then\nmade me copy out the first quatrain :\nWhen vain desire at last and vain regret\nGo hand in hand to death, and all is vain,\nWhat shall assuage the unforgotten pain,\nAnd teach the unforgetful to forget ?\nSurely it was a strange enough thing for Rossetti\nto come to my memory in this beautiful desolation,\nbut it was stranger still that his sorrow should find\nan echo in the heart of a poor labourer, to whom we\nso usually deny the power of real suffering, and the\nspirit of appreciation of subtle rhythms and obscurer\nimagery.\nOften after that I spoke to this man, feeling that\nto him had been given great power of suffering, or he\ncould never have understood. I believe that, if the\npoets learn in suffering what they teach in song, we\nalso must suffer greatly before we can learn of them.\nMeanwhile, in the daytime there was the usual\nlabour, such as drilling holes in the rock to blast it with\npowder, whose explosion sometimes threw the heavy\nstones a hundred yards into the torrent of the foaming river. We would dodge behind trees and get into\nall sheltered places till the shot was fired, then come\nout again and take away the de'bris, hammering the\nlarger blocks to pieces and shovelling up the smaller\ninto the carts. Then there would be slopes to make\nsmooth and round rocks and stones to be picked up mmm\n1\nTHE RAILROAD CAMPS\n89\nfrom the borders of the Kicking Horse, to make a * riprap ' or stone wall at the bottom of the embankment,\nwhere the river would chafe it when swollen with\nmelted snow. It was often laborious and wearisome,\n.and I never looked at the scenery then, except,\nperhaps, when clouds gathered overhead, and rain\nmist crawled along the ramparts of the hills, filling\nthe valley, until a shower would come upon us suddenly and as suddenly depart, when the mountain\nwind rolled up cloud and mist and the sun shone bright\nupon the hills above, dazzling with a sheet of new snow\nthat had fallen on us below as rain. Or sometimes at\nevening, especially on Sunday, which in our camp was\nan idle day, I would walk up the grade to the turn of\nthe river, and see, perhaps, the most exquisite picture\nthat remains in my memory. At my feet ran the\ntumultuous current of the river, swinging quickly\nwith a loud murmur to my left, covered with short\ncrisp waves, with here and there a hurrying swirl and\nbreaking foam that showed a hidden rock. It came\ntowards me for three hundred yards, it may be,\nshowing a swift declivity from the mass of argent\nfoam as it turned the bend where stood a knoll of\nnoble pines. Across the stream from where I sat\nwere larch and pine on a spur shouldering rapidly\nfrom the river to the mass of the main mountain.\nIts side was cut away steeply by the wash of water,\nand showed bands of coloured clay, and here and\nthere was a solitary tree marking its lofty line against m\n90\nTHE   WESTERN A VERNUS\nthe mass of the hill, emphasising by its sombre foliage\nthe red and yellow ground against which it rose and\nfrom which it sprang. And in front was the mountain\nitself, rising from its shadowy base, where the thick\nforest of green marked its foot against the foam of the\nrapid, to loftier height on height, whence the trees\nshowed less and less, until they were at last but a faint\nfringe and sparse adornment of the line sharp against\nthe sky, and higher still a peak of solitary snow, rosy\nin the sunlight that had left me in shadow for an hour.\nIf I walked but half a mile up the road I came\nupon another beautiful sight, for there the valley pass\nwas broader, and had a long, almost level space,\nbeyond which was one of the queen peaks of the\nRockies, whose presence dominated many miles of\nthe valley.\nIt was after one of these evenings spent alone\nwith the mountains that I had a long talk with my\ncompanions as to what they proposed to do. Some\nintended staying on the railroad work until it was\nfinished, and some thought of leaving it soon, and\nmaking their way into lower British Columbia over\nthe intervening ranges of mountains. This had been\nmy intention since leaving Corey's. It was quite\nimpossible for me to stay at such irksome labour\nmuch longer, and I had tried to obtain what information I could as to the route. This was very sparse.\nThere were vague reports as to the immense difficulties\nand dangers awaiting anyone rash enough to attempt\n**v=*i \u2022\u2022-cm\nTHE RAILROAD CAMPS\n9i\nit, and had I been very timid I should have been\nscared into staying in the Rockies for the winter.\nThis I hated to think of, as the snowfall would be\ntremendous and the cold very severe at that elevation\nand latitude. There were four possible ways out.\nOne was to go back through the North-west Provinces\nand Manitoba. This could not be thought of. For\none thing, I hate going back at any time, and in\nAmerica (forward ' was always my motto. Another\nobjection was that one would have in all probability\nto walk great part of a thousand miles to Winnipeg,\nas it was reported that the train men had very strict\norders to let no one ' beat' his way on the trains, and\nof course I had insufficient money to pay my fare,\neven if I had desired to do it. There was another\nexit from the mountains which commended itself to\nmy imagination if not to my prudence. That was to\nmake a raft and go down the Columbia to Portland,\nOregon, or rather to Kalama, W.T., first, and then up\nthe Willammette to Portland. A German at Corey's\nhad told me that this was feasible. He swore that the\nColumbia was ' smooth wie a looking-glass\/ and that\nthere was no danger at all. Others, however, told me\nof the great falls of the Columbia and the rapids,\nand asserted there were so many terrible gorges and\ncanons and whirlpools to be passed through that\nthe river took a Dantean and Infernal colour in my\nmind. And, worst of all, it was utterly impossible to\nget a good map.    So this was laid aside as impracti-\nI -92\nTHE   WESTERN A VERNUS\ncable. The next way was to go down to the Columbia\nand take the 'trail' to Sand Point, on the Northern\nPacific Railroad in Montana, a journey of 300 miles,\nwhich would take from fifteen to twenty days and\nrequire one to pack a large quantity of food on his\nback to provide for all possible accidents and delays.\nThe remaining route was to follow the railroad line.\nThis would lead me to the Columbia, then over\nthe Selkirk Range by Roger's Pass, and over the\nColumbia again. As far as I could gather we should\nthen be in some kind of civilisation. But this, as\nwill be seen, was far from the truth. The fact of the\nmatter is that I could find no one who had been the\njoufney, and the reports about it were so contradictory that in the Kicking Horse Pass it was impossible\nto find out how far it was across the Selkirk Range,\nwhether it was 60 or 120 miles or even more. There\nwas a halo of romance thrown over the whole place\nwest of us, and when we passed in imagination the\nColumbia for the second time all beyond was as truly\nconjectural as El Dorado or Lyon esse. But this was\nthe route I determined to take at the end of September, when I proposed leaving the camp. But my\ndeparture was hastened by the following circumstance.\nI and some Finns and another Englishman had been\nset to work in a very wet and nasty place, from which\nwe had to run the dirt in wheelbarrows over planks,\nand as the nature of the place necessitated our getting\nwet none of us liked it.    About ten in the morning\nM-H-Ai THE RAILROAD CAMPS\n93\nRobinson, one of the contractors, came down to take\na look at us, and while standing on the bank spoke\nsharply to my English companion, who answered him\nback with no less sharpness. Next time he ran the\nbarrow out it capsized. He laughed, which infuriated\nRobinson, who ordered him peremptorily to take his\nbarrow out of the way. The young fellow said, ' I\ndon't have to, Mr. Robinson.' This made Robinson\nworse. He jumped down, grabbed hold of him, and,\nbeing a very powerful man, shook him to and fro as a\nterrier shakes a rat, at the same time threatening to\nstrike him. This, however, he refrained from doing,\nand finally he ordered him to go to the camp and get\nhis money. Of course this was nothing to do with\nme, but still I did not care to work for a man who\nhad as little control over himself as the contractor\nshowed, fearing that I might myself have a disturbance with him, which would end either in him or me\nbeing disabled ; so when noon came I went and got\nmy time made up, and sold the order, which would\nnot be cashed for nearly a month, to Davidson, the\nbricklayer. I went then to Fritz, the German, and\npersuaded him to come with me. I should much have\npreferred Scott or any of the others, but none would\nleave the work for a while, though some of them had\nit in their minds to go farther west before the snow\nblockaded them in. So I rolled up my blankets and\nfound a nice tin-pot with a handle, which we should\ncall a ' billy' in Australia, and stole a cup and knife 94\nTHE   WESTERN A VERNUS\nand fork. The cook made us up some food in a\nparcel, and with our blankets on our backs we set off\ndown the road. As I passed the men sang out:\n' Good-bye, Texas, take care of yourself.' I shook\nhands with my particular friends as I met them at\nintervals on the mile of work taken by Robinson and\nEarly, and set off into the unknown country with\n18 dols., or a little over 4\/. I saw my friend Scott the\nlast of all as we turned the corner. But we were to\nmeet again. iXM\n95\nCHAPTER VIII.\nTHE COLUMBIA  CROSSING.\nFritz and I passed through Corey's camp, as it lay\nin our westward journey, and I was greeted, of course,\nby some of my old companions, who asked me where\nI was bound for. When I told them we were going\nacross the Selkirks, many of them really seemed to\nthink I might as well jump into the Kicking Horse.\nOne said,' Well, old man, if you really mean going,\nyou must have lots of grit, but I'll bet you a dollar\nyou will soon turn back.' I assured him that I was\nnot going to come back, and that I would die on the\ntrail first.    We shook hands and parted.\nWe had from Corey's tunnel about fourteen miles\nto traverse before coming to the Columbia Valley\nand Golden City, which was at the mouth of the\nKicking Horse Pass. Our way lay along the main\nand only road, first on the left and then on the right\nside- of the river going down. Beautiful as the upper\npart of the pass is; I think that this last fourteen\nmiles  is in some ways   even more delightful.    We iV,\nll\n96\nTHE   WESTERN A VERNUS\nwent for some miles by the side of the river, which\nfoamed and thundered over huge rocks, and rushed\nthrough narrow openings to broaden out into foaming\nrapids. Then we began to ascend, as it had been\nimpossible to take the road on a level without encountering the engineering difficulties of tunnel and\nrock cut, which made the railroad in this lower pass\nso costly. We went up and up the side of the hills,\nuntil at last we were probably a thousand feet above\nthe river and the railroad track. Below us the stream\nwas at times calm and blue and then instantly torn\nand fretted into foam. The road we were walking\non was sufficiently wide for one wagon, but there\nwas scarcely at any one place more than a foot or\ntwo to spare, and sometimes there was so little room\nthat I had to scramble up the hill out of the way, or\nstand on the lower slope of crumbling stone, while a\nvehicle passed. , Sometimes I saw that a horseman\nhad to turn back for a hundred yards or more before\nhe could make his way beyond the wagon ; and the\ndeclivities were of such a steep character that, had\nthe brakes given way at many places, horses, driver\nand wagon would have rolled a thousand feet\nbelow!\nAt last we began to go down, and came finally in\nsight of the valley of the Columbia. We could see\nthe Kicking Horse quietly making its way across the\nlong flat to the main river, and some miles away,\no j  7\nunder the heights of the Selkirk Range, we could THE COLUMBIA  CROSSING\n97\ncatch a glimpse of the blue broad waters into which\nit ran. We turned from the road, taking a footpath\nwhich led us steeply down to Golden City.    It was\nnow evening.\nGolden City is a beautiful and alluring name, but\nI scarcely think that its most ardent supporter would\nallow thatjt really deserved such an adjective. It\nconsisted, when I saw it, of a few log-huts and a few\ntents. There were two or three stores, where goods\nof all kinds were sold ; there were also several places in\nwhich spirits could be obtained, I should imagine, if\none could judge by the amount of noise issuing from\nsome of the habitations. There was also a blacksmith's shop, and a blacksmith who was fairly busy.\nIt was at this town we proposed to buy our provisions\nfor the journey, and here we made more inquiries in\norder to find out how far it really was across the\nSelkirks. At the blacksmith's we found the very man\nto make them of, as he was in the habit of going across\nthe range sometimes, and was now getting ready for\nanother trip. He tried to scare us into going with\nhim, offering to take us for iodols. apiece, but finding\nthat we meant going by ourselves he gave us what\nadvice he could, and told us that the journey from\nColumbia to Columbia across the Big Bend was not\nmore than seventy-five miles, and that we had yet\nto go eighteen miles to the north of where we were\nthen   before we  came  to  the  first  crossing of the\nColumbia.\nH -98\nTHE   WESTERN AVERNUS\nWe went into a store and bought our provisions.\nHere is the list:\u2014\nFlour\nio   lb.\nBoston biscuit   .\n.    5 lb.\nBacon\n.      6    \u201e\nBaking soda\n2 OZ\nTea\n\u2022      i*\u201e\nPrunes\n.    2 lb.\nHard biscuit   .\n.    io    \u201e\nButter\n.   I 1\nOf course we paid extraordinary prices, but I have\nlost my note of them. I think the bacon was twenty\npence a pound, and, in such a place, of course it was\nnot of very fine quality. For reasonably good tea we\npaid 3-y. 9d. a pound.\nWe walked three miles north, and camped a few\nyards from and above the road in a pine-wood.\nFritz, who was the more active member of the two,\ndid the cooking, though I made and attended to the\nfire. I have often noticed when travelling how one's\ncompanion alters one's self. \u25a0 In Iowa and Minnesota,\nwhen with Ray Kern, I did everything and was most\nactive. Now, with Fritz, I was the lazy member of\nthe firm. We, however, did not do much cooking that\nnight, beyond making tea, for we had cooked pro-\nvisions with us from the camp. After supper I lay\nback against a pine, smoking dreamily and looking\nout across the valley at the great barrier of the Se]M\nkirks, which rose like a wall beyond the river. In\nthe advancing shadow of the evening the lower hills\nwere dark, for the sun was setting behind them. In\nthis darkness the black solidity seemed perpendicular,\nbut above, the indentations of the valleys could be THE COLUMBIA   CROSSING\n99\nseen, and over these were the snow-capped summits\npiled one on another. As far as one could see on\neither hand this wall extended, and just half-way\nfrom sunwhite crest to shadowy base hung long white\ncloud wreaths, motionless and sullen, just catching\non their upper sides a faint glow from the sunlight\nthat yet remained on the peaks. And as I lay the\nlight faded away, the hills took deep violet and purple\nhues, and they were deep and transparent as the\ndarkest amethyst.\nI think that hour I spent watching the changes of\nlight and shadow on those unchanging hills was the\nmost peaceful of all my life. There seemed then in\nlife nothing more of sorrow than gentle melancholy,\nnothing more of passion than lives in kindliest\nmemory, and no more pain at all. Then, if ever for\none hour in my restless life, I was at rest.\nI slept that night the sleep of the righteous, on a\nspot where the turf seemed soft and dry, from which\nI removed the little sticks and branches of decaying\nwood that dropped from the trees above me. The\nscent of the pine smoke of our dying fire mingled with\nthe sweet native odours of the place, making a pleasant incense smell. In the morning I woke when the\nfirst grey dawn was on the opposite hills, and as I\nrolled over and put my head out of the blankets I\nsaw a little red squirrel sitting with his brush over\nhis head gnawing a crust of bread. It was, may be,\nbis first taste of that civilisation whose last word to\nH 2 IOO\nTHE   WESTERN A VERNUS\nsuch is shooting and skinning or a cage, after blithe\nwoodland freedom. Here and there a bird or two\nchattered overhead or in the lower brush, preparing\nfor flight, and down the valley came sounds of other\nlife awakening\u2014the neigh of a pack-pony or the bray\nof a mule from the corrals of the Golden City. From\nthe river light wreaths of mist arose and gathered\nwith advancing day upon the hills, from whose crests\nthe rapid sunbeams ran to their bases, discovering\nthe huge gaps and gorges hidden from sight the\nevening before. For it was day now, and time for\nbreakfast.\nOur simple meal over, and the embers of our\nrelighted fire extinguished or but smouldering, we\nmade up our burdens. It was decided that I should\ncarry both sets of blankets, which would weigh about\n*\u2022 7 o\n16 lb., and the io lb. of flour, and Fritz took the\nremaining provisions. We were then about equally\nburdened, each carrying about 26 lb., which was no\nsmall handicap, considering the country we had to\ntravel over. We both had plenty of matches, and I,,\nfor additional precaution, took a small medicine-\nbottle with me filled with lucifers and tightly corked.\nI had experienced in Australia the misery of camping\nout without a fire, and I had no desire to make perhaps a week or ten days' journey on raw bacon and\nflour if an accidental swim in a river or a heavy fall\nof continuous rain should deprive us of the power of\nmaking a fire.\nI mU\nTHE COLUMBIA   CROSSING\n101\nOur way now ran north, still following the line of\nrailroad work, to where it was to cross the Columbia,\neighteen miles from the Golden City. The grading\nwas here of an easy character, as it was a low embankment that could be made of the recent sands\nand clays of the valley alluvium; consequently it\nwas let out in great measure to small parties of\nworking men, or' station men ' as they are called, who\nwere paid by the piece and not by the day. The\nonly difficulty here was the number of little bridges\nthat would have to be built, owing to the swamps\nand back-washes from the Columbia, for this part of\nthe valley was absolutely flat. For part of the time\nwe walked along the road, and then along the grade\nif it seemed easier and more direct. About half-way\nto the Columbia, however, we found ourselves in\nrather an awkward place. The grade ceased abruptly\non the edge of a deep sheet of water that had previously run alongside of it on our right hand between\nus and the road for a mile or more. It was necessary\neither to get across or go back. We searched for\nsome time before we found a place that seemed ford-\nable, and that was rather doubtful. However, anything seemed preferable to going back, and I stripped\nmyself nearly to a state of nature and waded in,\nholding clothes and blankets and flour above my\nhead. At the deepest it was only breast high, so I\narrived without mishap at the other bank, and was\npresently joined by Fritz. 102\nTHE  WESTERN A VERNUS\nEarly in the afternoon we came to the Columbia\nCrossing, where there was a rather lively canvas\ntown, consisting of numerous stores and saloons and\ngambling-houses. We passed through it and went\ndown to the river, which was here of no great breadth,\nthough strong and deep. We were ferried over for\ntwenty-five cents apiece, and in a few minutes stood\non the rude road in the thick forest. We were at the\nfoot of the Selkirks.\nr IC\nCHAPTER IX.\nTHE TRAIL ACROSS  THE SELKIRKS.\nWe were still on the wagon road, if road it can be\ncalled, which was all stumps and rocks and hollows,\nswampy and thick with mud. It ran steeply enough\nup the mountain, through pine, balsam, hemlock and\nbirch, past a few railroad camps, for the first work on\nthis side of the river had been commenced some time.\nAs we walked we could hear below us the thunder of\nthe blasting, and could catch now and then sight of a\nwreath of powder-smoke among the trees as it eddied\nupwards. We came out at last, after a hard climb, to\nwhere it was possible to get a view of the river and\nDeath Rapids. We were almost above it, and as we\nlooked down we could see the high walls of rock on\neither sideBand the dark blue water before it broke.\nThis canon has some dangerous whirlpools in it, and\nI was told of many accidents which occurred to men\nattempting to raft it. Two young fellows on a raft\nwere drawn into a whirlpool, both were sucked under,\none never to reappear, while the other was thrown up\nbefore he became insensible, and, grasping a floating lit\n104\nTHE   WESTERN A VERNUS\npine trunk, he was saved. Once the railroad men\nwere going to raft some dump cars down the rapids;\nthe raft broke away from them and ran the gauntlet\nof the rocks, and was brought to shore eleven miles\nbelow.\nIt was now getting towards nightfall, and it behoved us to seek out a camping-ground. About\nthree miles from the river we came to a sharp bend\nin the road and a little gorge or canon, down which\nleapt a creek that ran across the road and plunged\ninto the valley. We saw a little clear space of velvet\nlawn ten yards from the road, and, scrambling across\na pool upon a fallen tree, we laid our packs down\nand built a fire. We were in absolute darkness\nin a few minutes, for lofty rocks were round us\nand thick growth of pine and brush above. The\nspray from the fall leapt almost to where we made\nour beds, and the damp air and seclusion \"gave good\ngrowth to the ferns about us. It was with some\ntrouble that we made a fire, as we had no axe with us.\nWe cooked some bacon, boiled some tea, and with\nbiscuit made a comfortable meal. Fritz's last words\nto me that night were: ' If you wake early call me, for\nI must steal an axe in the morning, for this is our\nlast chance of getting one, as far as I can see.'\nI called him at early dawn: ' Fritz, how about\nthat axe ?' And I turned over and went to sleep\nagain. When I woke once more Fritz was making\ntea.    I asked if he had got the axe.    He pointed to THE  TRAIL ACROSS THE SELKIRKS      105\nmy side, where it lay in the grass. He said : ' I went\ndown this creek till I came to the camp, but I couldn't\nsee one, so I walked right through to where they were\nworking and picked this one up. It is a good one,\nbut wants grinding. Now we must look for a grindstone.'\nI   Of course I know the morality of this axe business is very questionable, but I lay all the responsibility on Fritz. 1 He suggested it, and he stole it    It\nis true I had the benefit of it, but I couldn't help that.\nI   We rolled up the blankets and set off as soon as\npossible.     This day we passed the last  contractors\nand entered on the loneliest part of the road.    At a\nsurveyor's camp we ground the axe and made it a\nuseful weapon\u2014in fact, improved it so much that we\nconsidered now that we had at least a part title to it.\nThis day was the last day of comfort for me.   The inevitable hardships of the journey I thought little of;\nbut, unfortunately, my boots began to chafe me, and\ngradually I wore a raw place on both heels, so that I\nwalked more than 130 miles, every moment in positive\npain and anguish.    I have at times in England considered a blister a thing intolerable, but  when  the\nblister gives way for a raw bleeding place about the\nsize of a florin I think there is not much doubt that\nthe former is preferable. I In the evening we came to\nthe Beaver Creek and crossed it, and following the\nroad about a mile, after having had a talk with a\nhunter who had his camp at the crossing, we made .\nio6\nTHE   WESTERN A VERNUS\nours under a thick balsam tree, cutting down another\nsmall one to make our bed of the branches. We were\nin tolerable loneliness. While Fritz made the supper,\nI, still being lazy partner, went to the banks of the\ncreek and bathed my sore and aching feet in the cool\nrunning water, watching the sun set on the peaks by\nwhich the Beaver ran. We had a fine supper that\nnight. We had bought fifty cents' worth from the\ncook of the last surveyor's camp we had passed, and\nfor our money we got biscuits, cakes, deermeat, bread,\nand some fruit pie. So we made merry, and smoked\nthe pipe of peace and contentment |; while I put away\nfrom me the thoughts of the misery I should endure\nin the morning when I put my boots on again.\nBut the morning came, and the misery had to be\nendured, although I put it off as long as possible,\nwalking round barefoot till we were nearly ready to\nstart. This is a bad plan, however, and in future I\nwashed my feet, dried them, warmed the boots at the\nfire, and put them on the first thing. In this way\nthey get supple, and are not so harsh and hard when\none has to make a move. We started again, and\nwalked through the thick forest on a reasonably level\nroad that did not entail much climbing, until we came\nO'\nat last to the road-makers' camp. I fere we' saw a\nparty of hunters, with black and grizzly bears' skins\nhung up, and I began to think there were other\ndangers, perhaps, to be encountered than those we had\nreckoned on.    Our chief fear had been lest we should\nLL I **mU\nTHE  TRAIL ACROSS  THE SELKIRKS      107\nrun out of provisions, not lest we ourselves should\nmake provisions for a hungry grizzly ; and we were\nbadly armed, having nothing but the axe and my\nbowie-knife. However, it could not be helped ; it was\nto be done.\nAfter walking a mile we came finally to the end\nof the road, such as it was, and entered on the trail.\nThere were now three of us, for on this day at\nnoon we came upon a man camped in a little bark\n' lean-to ' all by himself. He was suffering from an\naccess of bile and blues, brought on by drinking\nheavily in Columbia City, and had dragged himself so\nfar. When we came by he had been there two days,\nand as it was time to make dinner we stayed with\nhim and used his fire. We had a talk with him, and\nfinding him to all appearance a good possible partner,\nwe asked him to come with us. This he was glad\nenough to do, as it was not by any means a nice walk\nfor a man by himself.    His name was Bill.\nThe trail upon which we were now walking was\na narrow foot or bridle path cut years before through\nthe forest It had received very little attention since\nit was first made, and was blocked every now and\nagain by trees that had fallen either by natural decay\nor by force of wind. At times it was\" full of large\nstones, jrequiring some circumspection in walking to\navoid spraining one's ankle, or a mass of mud in\nwhich one sank a foot deep. The brush, heavy with\nrain and dew, dropped its moisture on us as we passed, io8\nTHE   WESTERN AVERNUS\nand the prickly devils' clubs made things unpleasant\nfor us as well.\nAt noon, or a little later, we passed through some\nhundreds of yards of swamp, in which I had to walk\nquickly and carefully to avoid getting ' bogged down\/\nand, in spite of all my care, when half across it I fell\non my face and hands in the sticky mud, through my\nfoot getting caught in a slender branch of willow\ntrodden into it. I was a most melancholy-looking\nobject, and Bill and Fritz exploded with laughter at\nmy appearance, which was remarkable, no doubt, as\non arriving on firm ground I had to scrape myself\ndown with a knife and wash the mud out of my nose,\nears, and eyes at the first creek.\nTowards evening we were overtaken by a bright,\nsmart-looking, young fellow, who was well dressed,\ncarrying an overcoat and no blankets. He was\nwalking rapidly, and would have passed us had it not\nbeen near camping-time. After going a mile or two\nmore we found a splendid place among a few trees in\na fork of the creek, along the banks of which the trail\nran, and right under a magnificent peak or crowd of\npeaks, which crowned an almost perpendicular wall of\nrock two or three thousand feet high. Under the\ntrees we found a few sheets of bark leaning against\na horizontal supported by two sticks, which would\nserve us as a shelter from any rain or dew. It was\nnow getting a little dusk.    Fritz set to work making\n\u00a9 o \u00a9\na fire, Bill and our new friend sat talking, and I went THE  TRAIL ACROSS THE SELKIRKS\n109\ndown to the creek with the flour and baking powder\nto make some bread. It was necessary to get a\nmixing and kneading place. I suppose a civilised\ncook would find some trouble in bread-making under\nsuch circumstances, but I was equal to the emergency,\nand mixed my dough in the hollowed top of a rock,\nand kneaded it on another flat stone. By this time\nthe fire was roaring, and I soon found enough ashes\nto bake it in. In Australia, under similar circumstances, we used to cut a square piece of bark out of\na tree and mix the bread on that.\nWe cooked some bacon, making neat frying-pans\nof our tin plates, having cut sticks that were slightly\nbent at one end, which we split, to insert the edges of\nthe plates; and we boiled the tea as usual. Fritz\nand I at Golden City had had an argument as to\nwhether it was best to take tea or coffee. He wanted\ncoffee and I tea. He had not travelled so much as\nI had, and I knew from my life in the Australian bush\nthat tea was the best drink in the world when one\nis roughing it. It was not long before Fritz acknowledged I was right, and he was as eager as I to\nlight the fire and ' boil the billy' whenever we stopped\nduring the day.\nThat night was the last of pleasant times, and it\nwas the best On the morrow my sufferings were to\ncommence in earnest. But here everything was\ndelightful\u2014the well-situated camp, the shelter, the\ntrees, water brawling on either side; on the left the no\nTHE   WESTERN A VERNUS\nenormous wall of mountain with old glaciers here and\nthere, and drifts of ancient snow, and snow bridges,\nunder which ran the decreasing waters of approaching\nwinter; on the right three sister peaks of lofty snow,\nand beneath them and all around the quiet yet murmuring forest. So we sat round the roaring camp\nfire, on which we piled all available logs, smoking and\nchatting and joking until the blaze shone its brightest\n^D> J \u2022\u25a0- \u00bb C\u00bb\nin the full darkness of night and threw faint shadows\nand glows across the creeks into the forest on one\nside and the mountain on the other. Our new friend\nwas a curious individual, who told us a number of\nstories calculated to make us respect his personal\ncourage if they were true, and his powers of invention if they were false. For my part, I preserved\nmy usual attitude in such cases\u2014I believed as much\nas I could, rejecting the rest. In this way I obtain\nmuch more enjoyment from yarns than the cold, incredulous critic. My own opinion is that he was now\nin a hurry to get to a place where he was unknown.\nI fancied that the police on the railroad line might\nhave a fancy to interview him. If I am wrong I beg\nhis pardon, for he afforded me much entertainment\nby one story, the point of which consisted in his luck\nin stealing ten horses in succession, at each fresh\ncapture leaving the horse he had wearied out as an\nexchange, without being captured until in the act of\ntaking the tenth, when he was compelled to surrender\nto a loaded gun held by a man who turned out to be\nU4L THE   TRAIL ACROSS  THE SELKIRKS      in\nhis brother-in-law ! This story and another one about\nhis throwing a British Columbia sheriff in the Fraser\nRiver, how he was captured, sentenced, imprisoned,\nand how he escaped, kept us well amused until it\nwas time to turn in.\nIn the morning, after breakfast, he left us, as he\ncould walk much faster than we, owing to his being\nunencumbered with blankets and much food. So we\nbade him farewell. This day we came across a splendid\npatch of huckleberries and blueberries, and putting\nour blankets down we all three ate solidly for about\nan hour. These huckleberries are to my taste the\nnicest wild fruit I have ever tasted, and bears are of\nthe same opinion, being extremely fond of them.\nMy feet were now in a horrible condition, and the\npain every step caused me was exquisite. I picked\nup a pair of boots that had been thrown away and\ntried to wear them, but found them even worse than\nmy own. It was impossible to walk barefoot in such\na country, or I would have tried it. It was simply a\ncase for endurance, and I had to support myself with\nthe knowledge that it could not last for ever. This\nday we passed the summit or highest point in the\npass, which was a meadow of natural grass and rather\nswampy. Just after passing it, and coming to the\nstreams that ran west, we found a poor pack-pony\nlying in a swamp unable to get up. He had been\nleft behind as useless, I suppose; but it seemed a\n\u2022cruelty to let him die of starvation, so we pulled him If I\n112\nTHE   WESTERN A VERNUS\nill\nout and put him on his feet, hoping he would manage\nto pick up a living. It was no infrequent thing now\nfor us to find these ponies dead alongside the trail,\nand if what we heard was true one at least had been\nthe means of saving the lives of some men who had\nattempted to cross the trail with insufficient provisions,\nfor they had eaten part of it.\nAs I stumbled painfully along the trail, now the\nlast of the three who was wont to be first, I overtook\nan old blear-eyed individual carrying an enormous\npack nearly as big as himself. He was short and\nthick, with boots up to his hips and a cap down to\nhis eyes. In his boot he carried a knife and in his\nbelt an old muzzle-loading revolver. His weather-\nbeaten and hairy countenance was devoid of joy or\nsorrow, and it seemed to me that his mind was a trifle\nweak.    He camped with us that night.\nIt had been raining since the early morning, and\nwe were sufficiently wet and miserable. If my feet\nhad been sound such a trifle as rain would never have\ndisturbed me, but when one is in positive anguish a\nlittle additional discomfort sometimes is the last straw.\nIf it had been dry it would have been of no consequence where we camped, provided only that there\nwas wood and water, and there are few places where\nthere is not enough of one and too much of the other\nin this mountain range. But as it was raining it was\npositively necessary to find some shelter, and we walked\nfor an hour after dark, stumbling and cursing, looking\nIMb THE  TRAIL ACROSS  THE SELKIRKS      113\nfor a good tree. At last, just when we were about to\ngive up and camp anywhere, rain or no rain, we came\non a delightfully thick spruce fir close to the trail.\nThis tree is the best shelter-tree in the world, I should\nthink. In appearance it is something like a lofty\npagoda, and the thick needles and downward slope\nof the branches throw off all rain, even if it be wet\nfor weeks. We threw our blankets underneath, cut\nsome of the lower branches of it off, and were in a\ndry circular tent, with a big pole in the middle to be\nsure, but a plentiful soft bed of generations of soft-\nshed needles.     Outside we soon had a roaring fire,\nO 7\nthrowing a red light into the murky air and diffusing\na pleasant warmth on all around, though the heavy\nrain quenched the outside embers and caught the\nfloating sparks before they could rise a yard from the\nblaze.\nI slept magnificently that night, 'forgetting my\nmiseries, and remembering my sorrows no more.'\nBut in the morning we had an unpleasant surprise. It seemed very bright when I opened my\neyes, although I knew it must be still early by my\nsleepy sensations, and when I looked round I found\nit had been snowing heavily during the night, with\nthe result that there were six inches of snow on the\nground. The trail was covered by it, and it seemed\nas if we were in for a detention. However, it thawed\nrapidly, and most quickly on the bare trail, so that we\nwere able to find our way with but little difficulty.\nI 114\nTHE   WESTERN A VERNUS\nWe were, as I have said, now well on the western\nslope, but instead of there being less climbing there\nwas more. The path ran up one side of a mountain\nand plunged down again on the other, and this was\nthe way with it all that day. The rain again commenced to fall, and the snow dropped from the trees\non my head and down my neck, so that I was wet\nthrough in half an hour, and yet perspiring toiling up\nthe steep slopes. And while going up my heels were\ntorture to me, and when going down my boots, being\nnow thoroughly wet, gave me blisters on the toes.\nThe trail, too, was at times almost impassable for\nwind-fallen trees, as it is no light thing, when one is\nwet, weary, and heavily burdened, to climb over a\ndozen trees, three feet through, every hundred yards.\nAnd now, to add to our troubles, we came to a river\nwhich had to be crossed, the Illecilliwet If we had\ncome there a day or two before it might have been\npossible to wade it, but now, swollen with two days'\nrain and melted snow, on the side nearest to us it\nwas five or six feet deep, and the current running\neight or ten miles an hour made it impossible to\nattempt it. The only thing to be done was to fell a\nlofty tree and to trust to its lodging in the shallow\nwater on the other bank, so that we could go over it\nas a bridge. We put our burdens down, and selecting\na tree felled it in about three-quarters of an hour. It\nfell with a tremendous splash into the river, and we\nraised  a  shout of joy, seeing that it reached well THE  TRAIL ACROSS  THE SELKIRKS      115\nacross. But, alas, our joy was short-lived! Before\nwe could get on to it the rapid current took hold of\nit, and slowly first, and then more quickly, it swung\nright down stream and lay along the bank on which\nwe stood. There was nothing to do but to fell\nanother. This time we selected a loftier red pine,\nand in another hour it crashed into the water, with its\nslender top lying on the dry stones of the farther\nside, I seized my blankets and the axe and ran out\non the tree, and after me came Bill and Fritz. I\nscrambled through the branches half-way across, with\no J t\nthem close behind me, and then slowly, but surely,\nthe tree began to move and swing. I scrambled a\nyard or two more on the trunk, that was here in the\nwater, and then made a jump into the stream on the\nupper side, the water coming over my long boots. It\nwas icy cold, and it swept so strongly that it was impossible to go straight across, and so I was forced to\ngo down stream, with difficulty preserving my balance\non the boulders of the river bed. As I got ashore,\nwith Bill and Fritz a moment later, the stream took\npossession of our bridge and swung it alongside the\nfirst tree.    We had got over, and that was all.\nWe had left the old man behind, and I don't know\nhow he got across, although I know he managed it, as\nI heard of him afterwards in Lower British Columbia.\nI met some time after this a man who, recognising\nhim from my description, told me that he was known\nas ' the man-eater\/ through his having eaten part of\n1 2 n6\nTHE   WESTERN A VERNUS\nhis companion, who, having been caught in the snow\nwith him on the eastern slope of the Selkirks, had\ndied from starvation and exposure.\nWe camped, soon after crossing this river, in a\ngloomy cedar forest. This is the worst shelter-tree in\nexistence, I believe. Its scanty foliage and infrequent\nboughs make it little better than nothing at all, and\nindeed sometimes worse, as one may select unconsciously a spot to camp in where the branches deliver *\na concentrated stream of water and allow the rain to\ncome in as well. But we found here another little\nbark lean-to, and of course stayed there, as we were\nall tired out, although we had scarcely done ten miles\nthe whole of the day. We soon had a good fire\nlighted and began our cooking. Bill and I suggested\npancakes, so I mixed up a lot of batter in the cups,\nand, having cut handles for our frying-pans, we began\ncooking. Now, my notion of a pancake was, and is,,\nthat it should be large and thick and puffy, but Bill\nthought they should be small, thin, and brown. Consequently, when I had my first one well under way,\nBill said, ' What do you call that ?' This was very\ncontemptuously. I was nettled. ' Why, a pancake.\nWhat do you call it ?' ' Oh, I call it a pudding. You\nwait till I get my pan fixed, I'll show you what a pancake is.' When he had his first one nearly done, I\nsaid, ' Bill, what's that you're cooking ?' ' Why, a pancake. D\u2014n it, can't you see ?' ' That's not a pancake,,\nthat's a miserable little hot cake.    It's only a wafer. THE  TRAIL ACROSS  THE SELKIRKS      117\nTJiese are pancakes, Bill; see them, something to eat\/\nBill nearly dropped his in the fire.    ' Don't you think\nI know what a pancake is ?    I've made 'em all over\nAmerica; and you\u2014why, you're only an Englishman ;\nwhat do you know, any how ?'  ' That's your ignorance\/\n.said I;' I've cooked them in England, in Australia, in\nthe States, and now I'm cooking them on the Selkirk\nTrail.    You're only an American.    Why don't you\ntravel and learn something ?'    Bill got perfectly furious, and if I had chaffed him any more it would\nhave ended in a fight over those miserable  cakes.\n\u25a0* Well, well, Bill, call yours pancakes.    They are pancakes, Bill; mine are only flapjacks.'  Then there was\npeace in the camp, and the mollified Bill condescended\nto eat a flapjack and say it was good, while I took\none of his, saying it was the best hot cake\u2014no pancake\u2014I had ever eaten.\nSo we smoked the pipe of peace and lay down,\nwhile the rain came through the cracks above us and\nthe melancholy wind howled among the dark and\ngloomy cedars.\nDuring the night the snow again fell, covering the\nground to the depth of four or five inches, and making\nx\\s as uncomfortable as three poor tramps could be.\nStill even so, I was, in spite of the pain and inconvenience I suffered, able to observe, in the bright\nsunshine that happily broke through and mastered\nthe clouds, the beautiful effects of the snow on the\nnear and far landscape.    On the long arms of the ml\nI\nJ   j\nL*-\n118\nTHE   WESTERN AVERNUS\ncedars lay bright patches of snow, and bush and\nfallen trunks, and jagged stumps, whence the wind\nhad smitten the top of branch and foliage, had their\nadornment. And in the distance, on the slopes and\nshoulders of the hills, the snow on the green forest\nshowed thicker and more and more as the eye passed\nupward, until the green gave way in the overpowering\nmass of white on the laden limbs, frozen fast in the\nlofty height, and the snow of the forest joined the\nsnow on the untimbered slopes, running at last into\nthe never-failing frost of the peaks of the range.\nIt was well I could look at so much, for indeed\nunderfoot things were not so pleasant, and rock and\nmud and morass made it almost impossible walking ;:\nand when, on one occasion, we came to a roaring creek\nwhich had to be crossed on a fallen tree, I nearly\ncame to a sudden end of my adventures by slipping\non the round wet trunk, although I was fortunate\nenough to recover my balance. That night we camped\nagain in a cedar forest in a sharp rain, which had\ncome upon us suddenly in the late afternoon.\nIn the morning, when we came out of our damp\nshelter into the wet grass and brush, we found that it\nhad ceased raining, though the water still dropped\nfrom the heavy branches as they swayed in the wind ;\nand there was some blue sky to be seen among the\nwhite clouds above the mountain tops. This day was\na repetition of the yesterday, tramping and climbing,\ngetting wet in the brush and drying again in the open, THE  TRAIL ACROSS THE SELKIRKS\n119\nwhen we came to a clear space below some mountain\npeak which had been cleared of brush and timber, by\na gigantic avalanche or snow slide, from summit to\nbase. Below us at times we could see a confused\nand hideous pile of jagged tree trunks\u2014fir, pine, cedar,\nbalsam, spruce, and hemlock\u2014piled one above the\nother, and mixed with rocks and earth, in utter and\nviolent confusion ; while, looking up, we could see, too,\nthe ice and snow above the way cleared through the\nstanding forest. My own condition was, of course,\nno better, for nothing but rest could do my feet any\ngood, and under the circumstances rest was impossible, so I had to plod along, trying to be as Mark\nTapleyish as might be, though I confess I doubt even\nhis serenity in such a state of things. But my burden\nwas now growing lighter, for the food was rapidly\ndiminishing, and we knew we could not be very far\nfrom the second crossing of the Columbia.\nSince we had crossed the Illecilliwet River we had\nbeen on its left bank going down ; that is, we had\nbeen somewhere to the left of it, though how far we\ndid not know. I fancy we were close to it on one\noccasion, for this day we came to a narrow gorge or\ncanon, and on crawling to the edge and looking down\nI saw a furious stream at the bottom two hundred feet\nbeneath me. But we knew that we had to cross this\nriver again before we reached the Columbia, and we\nspeculated anxiously as to how it was to be crossed,\nwhether  by raft or  swimming, for  there  was  very\n' 120\nTHE  WESTERN AVERNUS\nlittle likelihood of its being fordable at the second\ncrossing if we could not ford it at the first.    But our\n-doubts   were   solved    about   noon,   when,   turning\nsharply round a turn in the trail, we came upon a\nbroad and rapid stream.    We did not know whether\nthis was our river or not, but following the trail for a\nwhile we heard the ring of an axe at a little distance.\nThere was evidently somebody thereabouts, and we\nshould  be able to  make  some  inquiries.    A little\nfarther along the trail we came to a small clearing,\nand the first logs of a log-cabin.    Under a tree was\na rude table, made of a slab of split pine, on stakes\ndriven into the ground.    There was a log-bench permanently fixed, so that one could sit down.    Under\nanother tree was a smouldering fire with a camp oven\nor skillet, a kettle, and some dirty pans lying in the\nmud and ashes.    Near at hand was a small tent with\nblankets and a  small pile of provisions, flour and\nbiscuit, with some  bacon   lying on  the flour sack.\nOn a big tree close to the trail was this notice:\u2014\n' Illecilliwet Restaurant.\nMeals at all hours.'\nThis was then the Second Crossing, and looking\nround we could see where the trail ended abruptly in\nthe river.\nPresently the sound of the axe ceased, and a man\ndressed in long boots, blue trousers of dungaree, with\na broad-brimmed hat, came out of the forest.    He THE  TRAIL ACROSS  THE SELKIRKS      121\nwas brown and bearded and unkempt. His hands\nwere brown, hard, and exceedingly dirty, his face the\nsame. We saluted him in a friendly manner, and he\ngave us separately a ' Morning, pard ; on the trail, eh ? '\nThen he asked us whether we wanted meals, stating\nthat his prices were 75 cents a meal ; that is, in\nEnglish money, $s. \\\\d. Fritz and I declined to eat\nat such terms, but Bill, who had more money than the\ntwo of us put together, thought he would have something to eat without cooking it himself, and our new\nacquaintance prepared him some bacon, boiled some\nvillanous coffee, and heated him up a mass of greasy-\nlooking beans. The bread was certainly solid and\nsatisfying, judging solely from appearances. While the\nprocess of preparation was being gone through with deliberation we asked him how we were to get over the\nriver, and were told that he had a boat and would take\nus across for 50 cents each. In order that we might\nnot attempt to raft it, he gave us an account of how\nthree or four men had fared before he came there.\nThey had, it appears, made a raft on which they put\ntheir blankets and saddles, previously making their\nponies swim across, and when it was in mid stream\nthe raft capsized. They with difficulty escaped with\ntheir lives, and their money, to the amount of about\n600 dols., which they had carelessly left in their\nbaggage, was lost.\nAfter Bill had finished eating, we went down to\nview the boat.    This was an extraordinary structure, If\n122\nTHE  WESTERN AVERNUS\nmade of unpainted fir boards an inch thick. It was\nshaped like a punt, flat bowed and flat sterned, and\nlooked as crazy and cranky a craft as could well be\nimagined for crossing a rapid and turbulent mountain\nriver. However, there was nothing else for it, and we\ndetermined to venture it, bargaining that we were\nnot to pay if we were upset and had to swim for our\nlives. It was only possible for two at a time to\ncross, so Fritz and the ferryman went over first I\nwatched them with a great deal of interest as the\nriver swept them down while they both paddled\nfuriously. But there was no accident. The ferryman\nhauled his boat up stream along the bank until he got\nwell above where we were on the opposite side, and\ncame across again. Then Bill went over, leaving me\ntill the last. When it came to my turn I could not\nhelp thinking of the proverb about the pitcher going\noften to the well and getting broken at last, considering that the third time might be unlucky. So I took\nsome extra precautions, throwing my coat and long\nboots off. However, things went very well, and I, too,\njoined the others, and, having paid my 50 cents, we\nstarted off on the last portion of the trail, as we\nwere that evening to come to the Columbia.\nBad as the trail had been before, I think that that\nlast piece of eight or ten miles was really, in many\nways, the worst There was, perhaps, not such hard\nclimbing ; it was not so muddy; there were not so-\nmany rocks and stones ; but the fallen trees lay upon\nI -MtfrSi\nTHE  TRAIL ACROSS  THE SELKIRKS\n123\nit in numbers innumerable. There would sometimes\nbe two or three close together, and twenty or thirty\nin a hundred yards. We were crawling over them\nnearly the whole day, until we were fairly wearied out,\nand cursed the trees and the whole trail from the\nbottom of our hearts. But the end of the trail was\nnow nearly at hand. We came at last to where it\nforked, and on the tree was a notice of some one's\nferry over the Columbia, which was declared undeniably the best; on the other hand, there were\nother notices equally commending another ferry. We\ntook the right-hand fork and went down and down\nthrough the forest, on a trail which was now infinitely\nbetter and clearer, with ways chopped through the\nfallen trees. We were in high spirits\u2014that is, the\nother two were. For my part, nothing but rest could\nmake me * feel good\/ and there was no prospect of\nthat as far as I could see; and I, speaking from experience, defy any one to be happy when there is a\ngoodly portion of skin wanting from his feet, and he\nhas nevertheless to walk, and to walk hard, and to\ncarry a bundle weighing ten or twenty pounds.\nBut still it was getting towards evening, and a stage\nin our journey of unknown length was nearly completed, and there would be the respite of camping-\ntime. And presently we saw the forest thinning as\nthe trail descended; in front, above the tree-tops, were\nother mountains, and soon below we saw the gleam\nof blue waters and a stretch of sand beyond.    We mi\n124\nTHE  WESTERN AVERNUS\nwere at the ferry, we paid our money, and in a few\nmoments stood on the other side of the Columbia.\nStanding silently, I looked back, and between two\nsnow-clad mountains I saw the great gap through\nwhich we had toiled. The Columbia was behind\nus, and the Selkirk Range and the Selkirk Trail\nJ CHAPTER X.\nTHE GOLDEN  RANGE AND  THE SHUSHWAP   LAKES.\n1\nI HAVE seen some rivers in my life in England, in\nAustralia, and in America. There are many most\nbeautiful streams in our own country\u2014the upper\nThames with its gentle scenery and placid quietude;\nthe brawling Dove; the splendid Mawddach in Merioneth, between the mountains of Cader Idris and\nDiphwys; the rapid Eden at Carlisle; and the turbid\nSevern. In Australia I have seen the bright Murray\nwhen it comes from the hills, the sluggish Murrfin-\nbidgee, and the Lachlan; in America I have been across\nthe Missouri, the Mississippi, the Brazos, the Colorado,\nthe Ohio, and the Alleghany ; but never have I seen\na more beautiful and magnificent stream than the\nColumbia River, at the spot where we had just crossed\nit. It was bright, blue, deep and calm and strong |\nnot a speck of foam was on its bosom, not a break\nor a wave marred its mirror, save where a Breath of\nwind touched it lightly as a shallow's wing. Yet it\nwas so strong and earnest, and so bent on doing its\nwork in silence.   In the late spring and early summer 126\nTHE   WESTERN A VERNUS\n*  I\nit is, doubtless, turbid and swollen with the rush of\nmelting snow, but now beauty, majesty, and strength\nwere equally joined\u2014the beauty of the lake with its\ncolour, the majesty of a stream hurrying to the verge\nof a cataract, the strength of a power that the beaten-\ndown barriers of the mountains had proved.\nAnd before me lay a scene that I felt was worth\nthe toil and   pain and endurance that had brought\nme there to see it.    There was no sunlight in the air,\nfor the sky was veiled with a sullen stretch of unbroken\ncloud, and the air was calm and quiet.    Before me\nwas a stretch of white sand and shingle, over which\nthe waters had been running in the spring, and beyond\nit, on the flat, a few pines and firs lifted their heads\nabove the  lower  brush, from  which rose the blue\nsmoke of some hidden habitations ;  and far above\nthis the mountains again, opening  into three great\nand gloomy passes, south and west and north.    On\nthe loftiest peaks, the sentinels  guarding the ways,\nlay the snow, and low down the bosoms of the hills\nwere  the  fair garlands of mist and cloud.     From\nthe northern pass the river ran, sweeping round the\nbend to be lost to sight in the southern ways that\nbrought it at last to the Pacific.   Through the western\npass, a grand and narrow canon, lay our road over\nthe Golden Range.\nWe had been speculating all this day as to whether we should be able to get a somewhat civilised\nmeal, for the constant repetition of bacon and bread GOLDEN RANGE AND SHUSHWAP LAKES   127\nwas beginning to pall upon us. But if we had really\nnoped for anything we were doomed to disappointment, and all inquiries after a place to get a meal only\nobtained us the information that we could buy flour\nand bacon at such and such a canvas tent, which was\na store\nIn making these inquiries I spoke to a pleasant-\nlooking little man, who turned out to be the contractor\nwho had constructed the wagon road through the\nEagle Pass, upon which we were to make our way\nwest. He asked me where I was going and offered\nme work, which I declined, as I wanted to get to the\ncoast. His name was Gus Wright, a man who is very\nwell known in British Columbia. Him I met again\nin many different places.\nAs we could not get any one to feed us for love\nor money, we bought some more bacon and set off\ndown the road in the dark, for it was now late evening,\nhoping to find a good camping-ground. To make\nthings pleasant for us it began to rain, so that by the\ntime we came to an extremely well-ventilated bark-\nshelter we were nearly wet through, and by the time\nwe had a fire going we were soaking.\nWe were camped in a swamp, with a few dead\ntrees around us and a rocky bluff overhead. The\nwind rose in the night, we heard a tree fall in the gale\nnow and then, and the driving rain came in upon us\nas we lay, dropping through the miserable roof, and\nmaking the ground soft and muddy and. our blankets B\n128\nTHE   WESTERN AVERNUS\nof little avail. In the morning we crawled out before\nit was dawn and kindled the fire afresh to boil the tea,\nsitting meanwhile on a log in front of it with our\nblankets round us, smoking the first pipe.\nAt noon we came to a camp at a river and got a\ngood meal for 50 cents, and by four o'clock in the\nafternoon we crossed the Divide after passing three\nlakes, the last of which was the Summit. At the camp\nhere we had another meal, and walking four miles\nfarther came at dark to the best camping-place we\nhad found yet, as it was absolutely rainproof on the\nthree sides and the roof. Fritz and I were alone by\nthis time, as Bill had insisted on camping at the last\nlake. Having had dinner so late, or supper so early,\nwe thought it unnecessary to eat again, and devoted\nour energies to building a glorious fire to dry ourselves\nand our blankets. We made it of cedar bark, which\nburns furiously and throws out tremendous heat. We\nwere soon comfortable and slept magnificently. As\nwe made a late start Bill caught us up, and we tramped\nalong as usual. Our objective point was now the\nShushwap Lakes, which lay at the end of the road.\nOn these we were told we should find steamers, on\nwhich we could get down to the inhabited parts of\nBritish Columbia and comparative civilisation. In\nthe Rocky Mountains these steamers had given rise to\nmuch discussion, and at first we had thought they ran\nsomewhere down the Columbia to the Arrow Lake,\nand it was only at the ' Illecilliwet Restaurant' that GOLDEN RANGE AND SHUSHWAP LAKES    129\nwe had heard positively in what direction we had to\ngo. On leaving Columbia City, or the Second Crossing,\nwe were told the day on which the next steamer was to\nleave, and now we found we had to make the Lakes\nthis evening, or we should have to wait for the next\none.    So we pushed on, and it was a terrible day for\nme.    Of course the road was much better than the\ntrail had been, but we made up for that by walking\nfaster, and my feet were getting worse all the while,\nbeing so bad at times that I thought I should really\nbe laid up and perhaps entirely incapacitated.    We\nhardly stayed at noon to make tea, and walked along\ndoggedly, without any means of knowing how far we\nhad come, hoping that we should find the distance\nshorter than we had been told.   But it came to night\ntime and a renewal of rain, and still there was no\nend.    We camped at last, for a while, close to the\nroad by a pool of water and ate some supper, and\nthen started out wearily in the dark, without saying\nanything to each other.     It was a case of walking\nagainst Time, and  I felt sure that he would get the\nbest of us.    I began to get tired in addition to the\npain, though I said nothing. I could see Fritz on ahead\nof me, plodding along, and behind me I heard  Bill\nsplash, splash through the water on the roads, with an\noccasional curse as he stumbled against a stone.    We\nwere now in a thick dark forest, and   began to be\na little alarmed, as occasionally I heard noises in the\nK if! I\n130\nTHE   WESTERN AVERNUS\nV\nbrush which might be caused by bears. Afterwards\nI found out that they were quite numerous along here.\nI had no wish to stumble up against one in the dark\nwithout any weapon save a knife, so I called to Fritz\nand asked him if he would camp. No, he was going\nto the Steamboat Landing. Bill wanted to go on too,\nso I gave in and we walked another mile. Then Bill\ncalled me, and I called Fritz. Bill was going to camp\nanyhow, so he said, but still Fritz was inexorable, and\nas I thought that we really could not be far I determined to walk on as well. But after the next hundred\nyards I began to feel as if it was more than I could do\nto lift my legs up. My boots seemed as heavy as lead,\nand my head began to swim, and I almost fell asleep\nwhile walking. At last I stopped : ' Fritz, I'm going\nto camp right here.' ' Very well, I'm going on.' So\nhe left me. But presently I heard him call, and thinking something might have happened I got up, and\nwalking a hundred yards I came to my valiant Teuton,\nwho had ' caved in' at last. He could go no farther,\nso we cut down a balsam, made a bed, and slept as if\nwe were never going to wake. The bears might have\neaten one of us without waking the other, I believe,\nand it is fortunate they did not try.\nIn the morning we made breakfast and set out on\nour last stage, which was about four miles. As we\nknew.we had missed the steamer we did not hurry,\nand only got to the Landing about two o'clock in the\nafternoon.    We found Bill there, for he had passed us GOLDEN RANGE AND SHUSHWAP LAKES   131\nas we slept in the bush without noticing where we lay.\nBy this time he was nearly drunk, as it was possible\nto get spirits to drink here.\nOn making inquiries we found that the ' Peerless '\nsteamer would come up next day and leave soon\nafter for the towns of Kamloops and Savona's Ferry,\nso I had time to look after my miserable feet, which\nwere now in a condition to entitle me to go into\na hospital. However, by bathing them and doing\nnothing, they began to feel a little more comfortable,\nand the sores dried up and the new skin began to\nform.\nWe were not now in a town, or anything resembling\n-one ;  it was merely a store and whisky saloon, kept\nby two partners,  Murdoch and Hill.    Opposite the\nhouse, which then consisted of a big bar-room with\nshelves in it for liquors and dry goods, and a room for\n\u2022eating, was the stable with some hay in it.    Besides\nthis there was a log-hut some distance away.    This\n-constituted the  whole  settlement,   at  that time, of\nEagle Pass Landing.    It was on the borders of the\nGreat Shushwap (pronounced Su-swop) Lake, which\nwas here nine or ten miles across and surrounded by\nmountains, which are high enough certainly, but to\nme  looked  mere  hillocks  after   the giants   of the\nRockies and the Selkirks.    The Eagle River, which\n\u2022came down the pass we had followed, ran into the\nlake about a mile from the  house, and behind the\nk 9 Ilfl\n132\nTHE   WESTERN AVERNUS\nhill which bounded our view of the lake in front was\nthe Salmon Arm, into which ran the Salmon River.\nAt the junction of the Eagle with the lake waters\nwas another river, of which I knew nothing at this,\ntime.    It was called the Spallumcheen or Spullama-\ncheen, and came down past an agricultural valley as\nI was told, though it was hard to believe that there\nwas any land in British Columbia level enough for\nfarming, if I  could  judge  from what  I   had  seen.\nBehind the house were steep mountains covered with\npine, fir, and birch, but there was no snow to be seen.\nIt was a curious enough sight to sit in Murdoch's\nand see the little gathering of men there.    Murdoch\nhimself was a short, strong-looking man with a good-\nnatured face and agreeable manners, though rather\nrough, and getting a little grizzled in the beard.   Hill,,\nhis partner, was a small, boyish-looking fellow, who\nlooked slightly out of place in these wild regions, in a\ndecent suit of black and a good felt hat.    Then there\nwas a man named Fairweather, I believe, who talked\nin a loud and boisterous, bullying tone, as if anxious\nto make men believe he was a dangerous person, who\nmust  be  treated  with consideration.     One or two-\nothers, who were waiting, like ourselves, for the boat,\ncompleted the company.    At times the door would\nbe pushed stealthily open, and an Indian with a soft\nfelt hat over long greasy hair would slide in and show\nus a pair of well-worn moccasins on flat feet, and\nragged trousers and coat to match.    He would bring: GOLDEN RANGE AND SHUSHWAP LAKES   133\na skin or two\u2014a marten or a beaver or perhaps a fox\n-and would argue with Murdoch or Hill about the\nprice in a language of which I then knew nothing,\nand which I supposed to be Indian, but which I afterwards discovered to be Chinook, a barbarous trading\njargon made of English, Indian, and French.    Then,\nperhaps, a squaw with her papoose, both a little dirtier\nthan the man, would enter and stare round.    They\nwould consult in their own tongue, and then make a\nbargain or go out without trading, to give way in turn\nto some other Indians with fish or deermeat\nAltogether I found plenty to amuse me without walking or falling back on my solitary book,\nI Sartor Resartus\/ and when I got bored or too lazy\neven to smoke, I retired into a corner and put my\nhead on my blankets and slept for awhile.\nIn the evening, after supper was over, we gathered\nround the stove and talked about the railroad, and\nwe who had come from the other side had to give\naccounts of the progress made there. And then some\none from Kamloops or lower down would tell us in\nreturn how the road was progressing under Onder-\ndonk, the contractor who had the main British\nColumbia portion of the C. P. R. under contract.\nThen would follow yarns and jests, and presently we\nwould pull out the blankets, spread them on the floor\nwhere there was least tobacco-juice, and all would be\nsleeping and snoring.\nOn the evening of the second day the steamer II\n134\nTHE   WESTERN A VERNUS\ncame round the point and blew her whistle, which?\nechoed again and again among the mountains, and\npresently she ran gently on the gravelly beach and\nlet half-a-dozen passengers ashore, who came straight\nup to Murdoch's. One young fellow rushed in, insisted on standing drinks to the whole crowd, and\nseizing a box of cigars went round inviting everyone-\nto take a smoke. Meantime I inquired as to when\nthe steamer was to go, and, finding it would not be\nbefore morning, I came back to get my share of the\n\\D>7 v. ' 9f\nfun, if there was to be any. However, there was little,,\nsave a few glasses of whisky and a loud gabbling of\n*T\"*> V *-' v-\nvoices, though some of us amused ourselves by trying\n7 *^D> ^ J CD)'\nto set beaver-traps. These are made of steel, with\nimmensely strong springs, and it is quite a trick to-\nset one. Few can do it without treading on both\nsides, and it was delightful to see a very light man\ntrying in vain. I could manage it after a few trials.\nThere was only one among us who could set it by\nhand simply, without treading it, and he was an old\ntrapper. Bear-traps, which are, of course, much more\npowerful than these, can only be set by using a\nlever.\nIn the morning we paid up what we owed, and\nI got a dollar's worth of bread and deermeat from.\nMurdoch, for my cash was now necessarily getting\nvery low. In fact, when I went on board and paid\nmy seven dollars to go to Savona's Ferry, which was\nas  far as the steamer went, I was again penniless,.\nm. GOLDEN RANGE AND  SHUSHWAP LAKES    135\nwhich seemed then my normal condition. So it was\nimpossible for me to pay fifty cents a meal on the\nboat and the same for a bed.\nThe boat was of the usual American shape, with\nlower and hurricane decks, and was a stern-wheeler,\nsuch as, I believe, have lately been introduced in the\nNile navigation. She was capable of doing twelve\nknots or more an hour, and it was certainly necessary\nthat she should be able to make good headway, as the\ncurrent in the rivers between the lakes is at times\ntremendous.\nWe had reckoned on being in Savona's Ferry,\nabout 100 miles away, the next day, but we were\ndoomed to disappointment; for, instead of going\ndirect to Kamloops and then on to Savona, the boat\nturned to the right instead of the left and picked up\na big ' boom of logs,' which she was to tow down to\nthe saw-mill at Kamloops. These were logs cut and\nthrown into the lakes, and then collected into the\nboom, which consists of logs connected with a chain,\nmaking a ' pen\/ as it were, to keep them together.\nSo, instead of going.down flying, we had to crawl\nalong, doing about three miles an hour. The scenery\nwas pleasant enough, and at times grand, sometimes\nheavily timbered and sometimes bare, with the hills\nterraced as it were. The lake water was deep and\ndark, and cold to those who were not used to mountain\nwater, but to me it seemed absolutely warm.\nWhen  we left  the  Great   Shushwap Lake, and m\n116\nTHE   WESTERN AVERNUS\nran through the connecting river, which was part\nof the south fork of the Thompson, I had my first\nview of the Pacific salmon. Standing on the bows,\nand looking down into the clear, transparent water,\nI could see hundreds of large fish, from ten to thirty\npounds, darting about in every direction. There were\nfairly tens of thousands of them. At intervals along\nthe banks there were camps of the Shushwap Indians,\nliving in little bark shanties, along the front of which\nwere hung hundreds of split salmon drying in the sun.\nThe little brown children, some of them naked as\nthey were born, would come out and stare at us, and\ntheir dogs would yelp and dash a little way into the\nwater. Out in the stream there were a few canoes\nwith a squaw paddling in the stern, while the ' buck'\nstood up forward with a long spear watching for the\npassing fish.\nMy life on board those three days was commonplace and quiet. I slept and smoked and ate my\nbread and deermeat, and at times talked with some of\nthe deck hands, who were full Indians or half-breeds.\nSome of the latter were fairly good-looking, and one\n9* *0 *0 \u2022*\nwas positively handsome, while the former were for\nthe most part as ugly as possible.\nI read a little, too, in Carlyle, and fancied myselt\nTeufelsdroch on his travels, though mine were certainly\nof a different character from those celebrated wanderings. And perhaps I borrowed a scrap of a newspaper, which would set me speculating on what the GOLDEN RANGE AND SHUSHWAP LAKES   137\noountry was like down stream. And sometimes I\nwondered whether I should get work, and if so what\nwork, and if not what I should do, and so on. Consequently I had no sense of ennui on me, and if Fritz\nor anybody bored me I could easily take refuge in\nsleep or in the scenery.\nSo we slowly got down the river, coming more\nand more into land which looked possible at least for\ngrazing stock, and in places fit for farming, and soon we\nbegan to pass stock-farms. We could see bands of\noattle and horses, and here and there a house on the\nriver banks, back from which the country now had\nall along the curious terraced appearance I had\nnoticed occasionally higher up. The timber got less\nand less, and the appearance of the country was\n\u2022drier. I was told that we had now passed out of the\nup-country Wet Belt, and were in the Dry Belt, where\nrain did not fall all the year round.\nAt last, after a journey which would not have\nseemed long if I had not known how much faster we\nmight have travelled, had it not been for the logs behind us, we began to come near to Kamloops. I had\ndetermined to go no farther than this on the boat,\nand on representing the matter in the proper light\nto the captain he returned me the extra fare I had\npaid to Savona's Ferry. This two dollars was now\nall my capital.\nLate in the evening of the third day, on coming\nround a bend in the river, we saw the lights of a town, 138\nTHE   WESTERN AVERNUS\nand a quarter of an hour after the steamship had\nblown her whistle we were moored alongside the-\nwharf at the Flour Mill, and taking my blankets on\nmy back I went ashore, after bidding Fritz farewelL\nI was in Kamloops at last. 139\nCHAPTER  XL\nROUND   KAMLOOPS.\nAfter asking where I could find an hotel, I walked\nfrom the wharf across a bed of sawdust which was\nwheeled from the saw-mill adjoining, and came to\nthe street of which Kamloops consists. In a few\nminutes my blankets were lying on a pile of rugs and\nvalises, and I sat down by the stove to get warm in\nthe bar-room of Ned Cannell, the best known and\nmost popular hotel-keeper in the town. There were\nfifteen or twenty in the room, most of us smoking or\nchewing; a few were in the boisterous stage of incipient intoxication, and some two or three were lying\nhelplessly on the floor. I could hear snatches of\nconversation. ' Come, step us, boys, what's your\nliquor ?' ' Take a smile ;' ' Oh now, don't give us\ntaffy;' 'What's this you're telling me ?' or,' Say, Jack,\ngot a chew o' terbacker? hand us your\" plug.' Then\nthere was talk of the railroad, which, of course, was\nthe all-absorbing topic, some prophesying prosperity,\nand some universal ruin and desolation as its result.\n' See now, pard, Montana was a good country before 140\nTHE   WESTERN AVERNUS\nthe Northern Pacific was put through, and what is it\nnow ? Why, a few years ago cow-boys were getting 45\nand 50 dols. a month, and now wages is down to 25 or\n30.' Everybody judged solely from his own experience,\nas men mostly do in matters which affect the pocket.\nI found there was no work to be done except\nrailroad work, and of that I had had a sickener,\nand when I found that white men's wages here were\nonly 175, dol. for such work, and that there were\nhordes of Chinamen introduced into the country to\ncompete with our race, I began to think I had come to\na curious country. But I lay back taking it as easy\nas possible, and, under the narcotic influence of much\nnicotine, sank into a lethargic state of indifference; in\nfact, I chewed myself into a state of coma, like Dickens's\nElijah Pogram. About a quarter to twelve some of\nthe company began to go, and, as all the beds in the\nhouse were full, about a dozen of us slept in our\nblankets all about the bar-room, and in an alcove\nwhere stood a diminutive billiard-table.\nIn the morning I was out early and took a look\nat the town. It consisted then of a long straight\nstreet of wooden houses, some of them quite handsome structures, especially when I compared them\nwith the log-shacks I had been living in. This stre'et,\non both sides of which were houses, runs at some\nlittle elevation above the river, which is here the\nThompson, with its fall waters, as the South Fork\ndown which I had come the day before, is joined by\nkc ROUND KAMLOOPS\n14\nthe North Fork, the junction taking place right in\nfront of the town. Across the river, in the corner of\nland washed by the two rivers, was the Reservation for\nthe Kamloops Indians, with their dirty little town of\nmiserable huts, and behind this a steep, barren, and\ntreeless mountain, which had the peculiarity to me\nof always looking as if it was partly in shade and\npartly in light, owing to the difference in colours of\nX J CD 7 O\nthe mass. In fact, it gave me somewhat the same\nimpression, in that respect, as St. Paul's in London\ndoes when one sees the clean and discoloured portions\nof the stones in contrast.\nOn the opposite side of the South Fork was a\nstretch of flat country running gradually up in the\nbackground to hill and mountains and a confusion of\npeaks. These mountains are but sparsely wooded in\ncomparison with the ranges in the upper country.\nMy object was now to get work if I could, so I\nwent to the saw-mill and the flour-mill, but was unsuccessful there, and I found nothing in the rest of the\ntown. When I was thoroughly satisfied that it was\nuseless to trouble myself any more in this place, I met\nBill, who was in an advanced state of intoxication.\nHe rushed out of Edward's hotel, clawed hold of me to\nkeep himself up, saying, ' Come and have a drink*\nTexas ?' I would much rather have left it and him\nalone, but thenKwas no denying him, and I had to\ntake something. Then it was,' Take another,' but I\nrefused firmly. 11\n14-\nTHE   WESTERN A VERNUS\n' Well, anyhow, you'll come and have dinner with\nme, Texas ; 1 know you can't have much money.'\nNow this was very kind, and I did have dinner with\nhim, though he worried me all the time by behaving\nas if he was in camp under a cedar, glaring round\nwildly, clawing at things unsteadily, and capsizing his\ntea on the table. Still, it is nothing uncommon in\nthat country for a few men at table to be drunk,\nand nobody marks them if they are not quarrelsome.\nAfter dinner I thought it was time to get out of\ntown. It was no use staying there with i dol., which\nwas now all I had, and I thought there might be a\nchance of getting work in the country, as 1 was told\nthat there were many cattle ranches in this part of\nBritish Columbia. So I slung my blankets on my\nback and set off, consoling myself with the thought\nthat, if I was unsuccessful, at any rate I was going\nwest, and might reckon on reaching the Pacific in\ntime if I did not starve on the way. I set off on the\nroad which led to Savona Ferry, and walked steadily\nin spite of my feet, which soon began to hurt me\nagain, although they had been better during the last\nfew days of comparative rest For three miles or\nso my way lay uphill through a dry, barren-looking\ncountry, with here and there the efflorescence of alkali\nshowing among the coarse grass and whitening the\nbaked mud at the bottom of the dried water-holes.\nThe trees were bull-pines with red scaly trunks of\na foot or two in diameter  for the most part, with ROUND KAMLOOPS\n143\nbere and there a fir, or occasionally a tree that looked\nlike a dwarf cotton-wood. Here and there were a few\nhorses, that lifted their heads to look at me, and then\nwent on grazing assiduously. Then I would come\nupon a band of cattle. These would start a little,\nthen run into a cluster, and stand staring with the\nboldest in front, perhaps pawing the dusty ground\nor bellowing. They would stand so until I got out of\nsight, and then some would come to the next rise\nto have another look at my departing figure. Four\nmiles from town I came to a woodcutters' camp, and\nstayed awhile to talk with the one man in camp,\nwho was from Missouri, but had not been there for\ntwenty years. From him I learnt there was a ranche\nabout seven or eight miles farther on, and I bade him\nfarewell and tramped along, making nearly four miles\nan hour. As I came round a curve in the road, past\na dried alkali lake which was white as snow, I saw a\nlittle house on a rise with farm buildings near at hand,\nand on the side nearest to me a man was working\nwith two horses, driving them round and round in a\nring, while he stood in the middle holding the reins,\nor lines as they call them in America. There was a\nwoman with him who was using a hay fork. On\ncoming closer I found they were thrashing out grain\nin this primitive manner, something in the way they\nmust have done in the ancient days spoken of in the\nOld Testament, when it was forbidden to muzzle the\noxen that tread out the corn.   I climbed over the fence ml\nI\n#j\u00bb\n144\nTHE   WESTERN AVERNUS\nand went down towards them.    As I came up the\nman stopped his horses.    He was a hard, wiry-looking  individual,  with  keen   eyes, scanty  beard  and\nmoustache, weather-beaten skin, a good mouth and\nteeth.    He wore long boots, into which an ancient\npair  of blue trousers were tucked, a waistcoat unbuttoned showing a white shirt, and no coat.    His\nhands  were  hard  and  muscular,  with   the   glazed\nappearance on the backs one so often sees in old\nseamen.    In spite of this rig-out, I saw at once he\nwas not  an  ordinary   British   Columbian, but   was\nprobably an educated man, and possibly an Englishman.    I was more puzzled by the woman, who was\nan Indian I could see, short and strong-looking, with\nstrongly-marked features, and such a look of intelligence  and such a smile on her face that I  almost\ndoubted my first impression as to her race.    I spoke\nto him, ' Good afternoon, sir ; are you the boss here ? '\nHe smiled : ' Well, I guess I am, unless she is,' he\nsaid, pointing to the woman, who grinned, and then\nlaughed   genially,  but   said   nothing.     ' You're  an\nEnglishman ?'    I confessed to my nationality, and he\nsaid, ' So am I.    Are you travelling?'    I explained\nthat I was looking for work, and asked if he could\nhelp me to get any.    ' I'm too poor to hire anyone\njust now, and I must get on as I can by myself\/ said\nhe, ' but you can go up to the house if you would like\na cup of tea ; my wife will give you some.'    I thanked\nhim and went  up to the house, and  sat down in ROUND KAMLOOPS\n145\nthe kitchen, where I was soon drinking tea and eating\ncorned beef. Presently my host came up and sat down\nto talk. He told me that his name was Hughes, that\nhe was an Englishman, that he had been a sailor in\nthe East India trade, had left the company and taken\nto running opium into China. After this he came to\nCalifornia soon after the days of '49, and mined for\nfourteen years in that State without much success,\nand since that time he had been in British Columbia\nworking for Gus Wright, the man I had met up at\nthe second crossing of the Columbia, and mining on\nhis own account, and that now he was in the cattle-\nraising business. In return for this confidence I told\nhim my history, how I had been in Australia and at\nsea, speaking of my life in London and my adventures\nsince then. Finally, it grew so late while we were\ntalking, that he asked me to stay there all night and\nmake a fresh start in the morning.\nThat evening, after supper, we had a long talk\nabout things in general\u2014about emigration, about\nEnglish politics, in which he still took an interest,\nbeing an ardent Conservative. This is, I find, very\noften the case with Englishmen living abroad, though\nI found their adherence to Conservatism was, for the\nmost part, based on the belief that that party is the\nmost consistent in foreign politics and pledged to an\nImperial policy. On the other hand, the Liberalism\nwhich would allow the Colonies to go their own way\nis thought contemptible   and   narrow-minded   and w&\n146\nTHE   WESTERN A VERNUS\nselfish. I may take this opportunity of saying that I\nhave found the Colonies generally more devoted to\nthe mother country than she generally is to them,\nalthough the affection of the human parent for the\nchild is, as a rule, greater than that of child for parent.\nFrom politics we ran into philosophy and religion,\nand we chatted for hours on agnosticism and atheism,\non religion as it is and as it should be, and diverged\ninto literature. I found him a very well-informed\nman, considering everything, and by no means bigoted.\nHe told me, however, in confidence that he was\nnot beloved by his neighbours, and I found this to be\ntrue ; but, considering their general ignorance, that\nwas a compliment to him.\nBefore going to bed he told me that I might\npossibly find work at the next ranche, belonging to a\nMr. Roper, who was a good boss, he said. If I was\nunsuccessful there I could go over to the-Lake, about\nthree miles from Roper's, to where the railroad was\nbeing made, and try there. Finally, ii I was unsuccessful at both places, I might come back to him, and\nhe would give me a week or two's work at a dollar\na day. So I thanked him, and went to sleep on a\npile of rugs in the corner of the room.\nIn the morning I had breakfast, shook hands with\nhim, in case I should not come back, and set off down\nthe road. I found Mr. Roper, but could get no work\nthere, so I went over to Ferguson's on, the Lake,\nwhere two tunnels were being made. ROUND KAMLOOPS\n147\nI found Mr. Ferguson, but he, too, had no work for\n-me unless I could drill. As I was unable to tackle\nthis job on account of ignorance, I walked down the\ngrade, finding large gangs of Chinamen at work at\ndifferent places, in charge of a white man, who was\n\u2022called the ' herder.' This job is not always a happy\none, although it is well paid, for the Chinamen who\nwork on railroads are the very scum of China, 'wharf\nrats' from Hong Kong, and are evil and desperate.\nConsequently it is no uncommon thing for a ' herder'\nto get killed or badly beaten by them if anything\ngoes wrong, and sometimes in protecting himself he\nwill have to shoot several of them when they run at\nhim with picks and shovels.\nAfter walking some distance I came to the boss\nof part of the work, who gave me directions how to\ngejftback to Hughes's Ranche without retracing my\nsteps. I had to climb up a terribly steep hill, and\nthen walk two or three miles through open timber,\nfinally coming out just at the spot I had aimed at.\nI went down to the ranche and shook hands with\nHughes. That evening I bathed my feet, which had\nbroken out again in sores and blisters, and Mrs.\nHughes gave me a pair of buckskin moccasins, in\nwhich it was a perfect delight to walk after going\nabout in my big boots. I stayed at this ranche two\nweeks, and was kindly treated in every way. We\nhad good food and plenty of it, and did not work long\nhours.    I gathered rocks for a stone wall and drove\nl 2 w\nI\n148\nTHE   WESTERN A VERNUS\na scraper team to fill up holes round the near farm\nbuildings. Sometimes I dug potatoes or gathered\nbeans, and at night we had long conversations about\nall possible things, or I read the English illustrated\npapers or wrote letters. My health here was better\nthan it had been at any time since I had left home,\nfor the air was magnificent. The scenery was not\ngrand, but beautiful and quiet Below the house was\na stretch of flat meadow, beyond it birch and cotton-\nwood, over these ranges of grass with a few bull pines,\nand above and beyond these the spurs of the range\nwhich divided us from the Nicola Valley.\nAt last one night Hughes told me that he had no\nmore need of help, and that we must part on the\nmorrow. I was more than sorry to go, but at any\nrate this comparative rest had done me much good.\nMy feet were thoroughly healed and I had fifteen\ndollars in my pocket. In the morning I set out alone,\nthis time determined not to stop or stay until I reached\nthe coast. I promised to write to Hughes and he\npromised to answer.\nThat evening I reached Savona's Ferry at the\nwest end of Kamloops Lake, and stayed in a hotel\nkept by Adam Ferguson, one of the handsomest men\nI ever saw in British Columbia.\nI was now in the Alkali Dry Belt, where the rain\nis very scanty and the ground brown and the grass\nparched and burnt. The water is often very bad and\nunfit for drinking.    My next day's solitary walk was ROUND KAMLOOPS\n149\n\u2022over a high, almost level plain, on a good road with\na few climbs, when it plunged into a canon and came\nup again on the other side. The scenery was desolate but beautiful, the hills were rounded but in the\ndistance lofty, and here and there the country was\ncut up into mounds or buttes and bluffs, with now and\nagain terrace rising above terrace. The hillsides were\no o\ncut sometimes like irregular channelling in an Ionic\n\u2022column, and the few trees gave the place a more solitary look than if it had been bare. As I had crossed\nthe Thompson River at Savona it was now on my\nleft hand, and it ran turbulently over rock and rapid\nfar below me, in its calmer intervals bright and blue,\nwhile the noise of the rapids was like the roar of the\nbreakers when one hears them from a long distance.\nAt times the winding road took me far from the river\nback towards the hills, and sometimes I was in the\nmiddle of a plain, the only sign of life in it. I had\n\u2022dinner at the Eight Mile House, so called on the\nlucus a non lucendoprinciple, for it was thirteen miles\nfrom Savona and twelve from Cache Creek. Here I\nfound three teamsters at dinner, who were bound the\nsame way as myself, with empty wagons. I remember\none went by the extraordinary nickname of ' Hog\nHollow Bill\/ which I found out afterwards was given\nhim because he came from a place of that name in\nMissouri. I started to walk before they had their\nteams hitched up. . While I was getting ready to go\nthe woman who kept the house went outside to see 150\nTHE   WESTERN A VERA US\none of the men tie a kettle to the tail of an unfortunate cur who had made his home there.    Her child\nbegan to cry aloud about something, and she ran in,,\ncaught it up, saying: ' There, duckie, don't cry; come\nand see Jim tie a kettle to the doggie's tail.'    I was\nhappy to see that the instrument of torture parted\ncompany with the dog after the first hundred yards,,\nwhile this mother was giving her child a first lesson\nin  cruelty  to  animals.    After walking  a  mile  the\nwagons caught me up, and I was invited to take a ride\non one of them, and by this means I got into Cache\nCreek  before dark.    This place consists of two or\nthree houses, a hotel, a store, and an express office.\nThe Buonaparte Creek comes down this way, and it\nis here that the wagon-road turns off to Cariboo, the\ngreat mining-place in British Columbia.    I got vile\nfood and viler accommodation, and all the bar-room\ntalk   was   about   the   extortionate  charges on   the\nrailroad.    They told me  about a horse, which was\nworth 40 dols., for which the owner was asked 75 dols.\nfor transportation.   He told the railroad men to keep-\nthe horse.\nIn the morning I continued the journey on the\nwagon with my friendly teamster, and after going'\nthrough much the same country came at noon to\nI Oregon Jack's.' Oregon Jack had been in British\nColumbia more than twenty years, and had never been\nsober since he entered the country.    It is not known ROUND KAMLOOPS\n151\nhow many years he had been drunk in Oregon, but\ntestimony from all sides averred that his intoxication\nhad been constant on the north side of the 49th\nparallel. He was a little bald-headed man, with red\nface and leering, satyr-like eyes, and he certainly was\ndrunk when I saw him, though able to talk fluently\nabout being perfectly sober, ' though I was drunk\nwhen you were last here, Bill.'\nWe afterwards passed Cornwall's, the hotel kept\nby the Governor of British Columbia. This was the\nquietest, most comfortable hotel on the road, with lots\nof English papers lying round the rooms. In the\nevening we came to Eighty-nine\u2014that is, eighty-nine\nmiles from Yale, and stayed at French Pete's. There\nwere a dozen wagons here, going up and down, and\nthe teamsters made things so lively that soon after\nsupper, which was cooked by French Pete's Indian\nwife, I took my blankets outside and got into my teamster's wagon and slept there comfortably, although\nit was a rather frosty night. The hills on both sides\nof the river were now drawing closer together and the\ncharacter of the country was changing, as if we were\napproaching mountains again. I asked the. teamster\nabout this, and he said I was coming now to the\nCascade Range, and that I should enter the canon at\nCook's Ferry. Accordingly a little afterwards I began\nto see larger hills and mountains, while the river ran\nmore rapidly over rocks, breaking in foam down long 152\nTHE   WESTERN A VERNUS\nrapids, and when unbroken running round the bends\nwith a quiet velocity even more impressive than the\nnoisy rush of the broken waters.\nSoon after noon we crossed the bridge at the ferry\nand passed to the left side of the stream. This was\nthe end of the track in this direction.\nSince leaving the summit of the Rocky Mountains,\nwhere I had last heard the whistle of the eastern\nlocomotives, I had traversed mountains, lakes, and\nplains on foot, by steamer, and by wagon, and had\ncome 360 miles to hear them again. And I had yet\n180 miles to pass before I should reach the coast.\n\u25a0*\u2022*\u00bb 153\nCHAPTER   XII.\nTHROUGH   THE  FRASER  CANON.\nI HAD, up to the moment of my leaving Cook's Ferry,\ndeluded myself with the thought that I was coming at\nlast to some beautiful evidences of civilisation. After\npassing each comfortable ranche and seeing the prosperity of fat cattle and plentiful horses, I said to\nmyself,' I shall soon be in El Dorado, where, perhaps,\nthere is a library with books to be read ; perhaps there\nmay be men who are civilised and educated, even so\nfar the delightful victims of our pleasures as to be\nacquainted with chess. Then, instead of playing\ndraughts on a tree stump, rudely marked out with a\nburnt stick, in the primaeval forest, I may sit by a fire,\nwith a cup of coffee near at hand and a pipe of good\ntobacco, and astonish my opponent with a crafty\nMuzio or a well-played Evans. Or I may play mild\nbumblepuppy, or even whist, instead of fiecre poker,\nor insidious euchre or assassinating cut-throat' But\nnow it seemed that my airy visions and dream castles\nwere to be shocked and shaken down. My library of\nbooks eager to be read, my chess-table with opponent ill\n154\nTHE   WESTERN A VERNUS\nwaiting, my smoking cup of coffee, vanished from my\nimagination when once more a tremendous barrier of\nrock and mountain, thrust high into the black clouds\nabove, came before me and shut me for a time,\nunmeasurable until passed through, from level land,\nif such there were, and from coast and Pacific, whose\nimagined roar was driven from my ears by sound of\nwind and river.\nFor the Cascades were in front of me, frowning, and the Thompson ran mockingly past, while\nI toiled slowly up the road into the labyrinth of\nhills. I      I\nAnd yet I was light-hearted, for my feet were\nwhole and sound, and I heard again in my pocket the\njingle of pleasant silver. The road, if steep at times, was\nat any rate well made, and the change from the cloudless blue of the Dry Belt to the broken harmony of\ncloud and clear sky, mist and rain, and green of tree or\ngrass, was sweet. So as I climbed I watched the fretting\nriver that had worn its way through these hills for\nthousands of years\u2014for a geologic age perchance, and\nwhen I rested I sat on a fallen tree under which, when\nin its first youth and glory, perhaps the pioneer Indian\nwho found the pass had come, and upon whose fallen\ntrunk had rested, it might also be, the most adventurous of the white trappers when the Hudson\nBay Company were sovereign in these solitudes. And\nwhen I wandered from the road and sat down by the\nriver, or lay by a little brawling creek to rest, I was,.\nni-w . THROUGH THE FRASER CANON\n155-\nas it were, the first myself in this realm of nature.\nThe white trapper was yet unborn in the home of his.\nfathers, and the Indian a little farther yet in the unknown, while his tribe are on the plains of the east or\namong the timber of the coast. Or the abode of his-\nfathers is farther yet, even beyond Alaska\u2014yea, even\nbeyond Behring's Straits, in the mystic land of Asia,\nmother of nations, fertile and not yet past childbearing,\nthough a Sarah among the younger lands.\nBut no ! am I dreaming or awake ? For there is-\nmy Indian coming down the pass ; verily an Indian,\nand a dirty one, with his long greasy locks and the\nmoccasins. This is no pioneer. No ; but here is the\nwhite man's pioneer. I hear a shriek and a rush and\na roar, and as I look up, staring across the foam to\nyon shelf of rock, on it there sweeps, like an embodied\nhurricane, the Engine and the Train, the Power and\nthe Deed. And my pioneer of Indians looks not\nup ; his thoughts are far away, perhaps to the times\nbefore the white man was ; or, perhaps, they are but\ndreams stomachic as to where the next dinner may\nbe begged.    For so has the Indian fallen !\nHave the elder races halted ?\nDo they droop and end their lesson .  .  .\n\"We take up the task eternal, and the burden and the lesson,\nPioneers ! O Pioneers !\nSo went that day's walk in the canon or valley\nof the Thompson, so soon to lose i|B name and be\nmingled with the waters of the greater and longer If\n156\nTHE   WESTERN A VERNUS\nft\n[III\nriver the Fraser. And as the evening came on the\nsky got sullen and drooped wearily, until it rested on\nthe mountains, and a chill, sharp wind came from the\ngorges, keen and hard and piercing, like the ranked\nspear points of an invisible host or close flight of\nunseen magic arrows. And I walked quicker and\nquicker, for I was but thinly clad\u2014nay, almost unclad\nagainst such ice breezes from the north, and still in\nsolitude. But I came round a corner and saw four\nIndians\u2014two women, one old and one young, and two\nchildren, a boy and a girl. The older woman was of\nany age, but surely nearly ready for her rest in those\nquaint fantastic graveyards in which the Indians put\ntheir dead, adorning the guardian railing with globes,\nspikes and strange painted figures of carven cocks,\nand figure dummies on the graves under tents, to\nkeep off the snow and hail and biting wind. Yet\nshe was heavily burdened with a large roll of blankets or rugs, in the middle of which was perhaps\na package of evilly smelling salmon, supported by a\nbroad pack-strap on her forehead. And the poor\nlittle children were bearing packs bigger than themselves. It was happy that the wind was behind them,\nor how else could they toil up that slope, although so\nmuch better a road than their old ancient trail, which\nat times came in sight as the white man's broad way\ncrossed and supplanted it, leaving the briers and\nbrush and weeds to encumber and choke it up ? The\nold woman greeted me : ' Clahya.'    ' Clahya\/ said I, THROUGH THE FRASER  CANON\n157\nand passed on, melancholy for myself, but sadder yet\nfor them.\nAnd yet another step, and I see the earliest lights\nof Lytton stretched along a little flat; I see the\nFraser, turbid and swollen, bursting from its northern\nhills ; and I see the Thompson's blue beauty overpowered in the whitened stream, like a bluebell\nsmitten by discoloured snow. But still it shows, as\nmight a petal, along the nearer shore a thin, diminishing band of light amethyst against the broad\ncolour of grey jade.\nAnd now I come down to men's habitations,\nwhere Indians and whites dwell together. I walked\ninto the bar-room of Bailey's Hotel and found my\nwhite host as drunk as an Indian might be, yet good-\ntempered and smiling and amorous of his fiddle,\nwhich he embraced lovingly. It was there I stayed\nthat night, amid some noise and disorder, while outside the rain and sleet drove down from the hills.\nIn the early morning, after breakfast, I set out\nagain on another solitary stage ; and now the Jackass\nMountain was to be climbed. I know not why\nJackass, unless it be that none but a jackass could or\nwould climb it. Be that as it may, it was a long and\nsteady pull against that height, and I j was tired and\nnigh breathless when I paused on the summit, where\na bridge hung against the wall of rock above, and I\ncould look down eleven hundred feet of almost sheer\ndepth to the Fraser that was silent beneath me !    The -58\nTHE WESTERN AVERNUS\nrain had ceased in the morning, but the air was damp\nand chill. The clouds capped the pine-clad heights\nand drooped in long streamers down the slopes,\ntouching bold rock and precipice into faint mystery,\nand leaving dew or unshed rain on fir and pine. The\nswift river crawled slowly below, like a train that\nseems to fly when we are in it and to lag dismally in\nthe far background, and its roar was hidden in the\nfaint murmur of the wind or the startling chirp of bird\nor squirrel. And even now, as I write, from that bridge\ncould one see the river, for it crawls by as it has\ncrawled for ages that are an eternity to us. And I\n*saw it for an unspeakable moment, and passed down\nthe steep and precipitous road, above whose verge\ntrees that sprang from roots clutched round rocks\ntwo hundred feet below showed their slender waving\ncrowns and spire of branches.\nFrom my mind now all trace of the picturing\nvision of the day or two ago had passed, and books,\nor chess, or men of converse were far removed from\nmy mind ; and yet the vision had been no deceitful\none, nor had a lying spirit lied to me. I was nearer\nto civilisation, to a pioneer camp of civilisation than\nI knew, and the next house was the spot I should\nhave dreamed of. I came to it. It had all the semblance of a hotel\u2014verandah and benches outside,\nbig front door to let the weary or thirsty traveller in\n\u2022or to drag the intoxicated one out for refreshment\nand sobering.    I went up, took hold of the handle, THROUGH THE FRASER  CANON\n159\nmuttering to myself, ' It is surely dinner time. I\n:smell something.' Had I been he who said, ' Fee-fo-\nfum\/ I should have smelt the blood of an Englishman.\nThe handle turned but the door was locked. | It\nwas strange but explicable. Perhaps every one inside\nwas asleep\u2014and drunk. Perhaps they had stayed up\ntill morning playing poker, and were tired. So round\nI went to the back door. Yes, there was somebody\nthere; for dinners don't cook themselves, except as\nin Lamb's story of Roast Pig, and this savour in the\nair was not porcine. Another step brought me to\nthe door. I peeped in, and fell back more than\nsurprised. I was surely dreaming. I looked again.\nI saw an individual in a cassock\u2014long and black!\nHe turned and saw me. What he saw I know not\n\u2022exactly\u2014a tall ruffian, with red curly beard, long\nmoustache, brown hair, long and nearly to his\nshoulders, brown eyes, and a big broad-brimmed hat,\nmy dear old Texas' hat, now much ventilated with\nholes, and blue trousers tucked, of course, into long\nand muddy boots. I saw a pleasant, bright, youthful\nand intelligent English face, and when he spoke I\nheard my mother tongue spoken as it should be\nspoken, in a manner which it seemed to me I must\nhave forgotten, for it sounded so strange*\n' Good morning, sir. Can I get dinner here ?'\nsaid   I.     'Come  in\/ said  he, 'and   I will ask  Mr.\nS .'    I went in, and he led me to what had been\nthe bar-room in this old hotel, for such it had been. i6o\nTHE  WESTERN AVERNUS\nHeavens! what an alteration from the days whei*\nmen lounged and drank and spat here! For whisky\"\nand liquor shelves,books and a bookcase ; for hacked\nbenches, comfortable lounging-chairs ; for floor adornment of saliva and discarded chews and old cigar\nstumps, neat carpets ; and instead of smoke reek and\nbrandy fume, odour of calf and morocco and vellum !\nI sat down stunned and astonished, not able yet to-\nrealise what I looked like in such a place, else should\nI have disappeared through the window, or put my\nbull head through the panel of the door, and gone off,\nlike Samson bearing the gates of Gaza, a giant through\nfright. The opposite door opened and another cassock\nappeared\u2014another mage. But he spoke in a pleasant\nvoice and held out his hand, and when he learnt what\nI wanted, which at first I had forgotten, having to\nfish round for my stray intention in my surprised,\ndislocated mind, asked me cordially to join them at\ndinner if I would excuse the rough fare, which, he\nO 7 7\nsaid, could not be much in such a desolate place.\nFare ! why what was fare to me if I was to dine\nwith two magicians, two wizards, with, by-the-by, a\nthird in training? For there was a bright young boy\nface to be seen too, and another gentle voice. Would\nnot a Barmecide feast satisfy ? for then I could talk\nthe freelicr, and interchange mind with mind, and\nbe, perhaps, witty or humorous or pathetic, though,\nHeaven knows, I was a pathetic figure enough to\nthose with eyes to see and hearts to know. THROUGH THE FRASER CANON\n161\nSo we sat down to dinner\u2014salmon, bread, potatoes,\nwith pie to follow.\nM   We talked. P   'H'*   X   Wf '    W    HB^\n' Have you come down from the upper country or\nare you going up towards Kamloops ?' asked the elder\nmagician, clean shaven and healthy and bright-eyed.\n,' I'm just tramping down from near Kamloops,\nwhere I was working\/ said I, ' and I'm bound for the\ncoast, to see what can be done down there.'\n' How did you like Kamloops ? '\n' Not much. Too much drunkenness and fighting.\nI am rough myself, as you see, but I like quietness\nand order.'    This was a little hypocrisy.\n' You are an Englishman, are you not ?' said the\nyounger clergyman.\n' I am ; everybody finds that out. So are you, both\nof you.    Is it not so ?'\n' Yes, we are both from the old country.'\n'Well, it is an extraordinary place to find two\nclergymen in. I must own I was so surprised that I\nfelt as if I was dreaming. I thought I was coming\nto an ordinary hotel, and then to see you here!'\n' That is nothing ; very often men come along and\ninsist this is an hotel. Of course it used to be one.\nWon't you take some pie ?'\n' Thank you\/ and a piece of very suspicious-looking paste was put on my plate.\nThe younger   man,  whose  name   I   found  was\nM 162\nTHE   WESTERN AVERNUS\n1\nIll\nEdwards, looked very doubtfully at it as he gave it\nto me, and said, ' I made that'\n' Indeed ; then it must be good\/ said I, courteously.\n' Oh no ; I never made one before in my life, and\nthe paste seems so hard, and unlike pies that other\npeople make.'\nI tasted it, and it was like a board, solid, unbend-\nable, durable, and waterproof. ' Pray, sir, how did you\nmake it ? '\n' Just of flour and water.'\n' What, no grease or baking soda ?'\nI    ' Not a bit.'    BHhB       H.     H '   ^^|\nI broke into a peal of laughter. They were so\nkind and sociable that I was now at my ease. ' Then\nit is certainly a new kind of pie.'\nMr. Edwards looked very rueful. ' Well, I'm sure\nI never thought it was so hard to cook. There's some\nflour and water mixed up now in the kitchen, and it\nwon't stick together, but lies in flakes, however much\nI knead it'\nI burst out again into a very broad smile. ' Put\nmore water in, sir, and see if that will do any good.'\n' Well, Mr. , I wish you had come along a little\nearlier, and your advice and assistance would have\ngiven us a better dinner.'\n' A better dinner I don't want. It is far more\npleasure to me to talk to two of my countrymen, who\nare educated, than to eat a dinner that would suit a\ngourmet!\n1 1\nTHROUGH THE FRASER CANON\n163\n' Well, then, let us go into the book-room and have\na smoke.'\nIn the library they gave me some good English\ncigarettes, and we all sat down. But it was impossible\nfor me to be there and not examine the shelves.\n' Pray, sir\/ said I, ' may I look at your books ?'\nand without waiting for permission, so eager was I,\nwent to the opposite shelves. They were rather disappointing, however, there, being mostly theological.\nI ran my fingers along the shelf: Eusebius, Mosheim,\nMilman, Paley, Butler\u2014familiar enough names, but\nnot in my line at all. When I came to Eusebius\nI read the name out.\n' Do you know him ?' asked Mr. Small, smiling,\nthinking, doubtless, he was a name only.\n' Why, no, I don't know him, but I've seen him\n-quoted in Gibbon's \" Decline and Fall.\" '\n' Oh,ljndeed, have you read that ? '\n' Yes, sir, I read it first before I was twelve, and\nonce since then.'\nThen to another shelf. Poets here: Shakspere,\nKeats, but no Shelley\u2014too much of an atheist, may be,\nI thought\u2014and various others. And then the classics\n\u2014Horace, Virgil and a huge Corpus Latinorum, and\nanother of the Greek poets and tragedians. I came\nto Catullus. ' I think Catullus is my favourite, sir,\namong the Romans.    What do you think ? '\n'Well, I am rather surprised. Can you read\nLatin ?'\nM 2 164\nTHE  WESTERN AVERNUS\n' A little. I learnt some, and I have.managed not\nto wholly forget it, like most when they leave school\nor college.'\n' Then were you at college ?'\n' Not at Oxford or Cambridge ; though I know\nboth well.    You are of one of these universities ? '\nH ' Oxford\/ said Mr. Small.    H-    ^^^^^^|\n'And you, sir?' said I, turning to the other.\n' Only from Durham.'\nThen I sat down again, and we had a long and\ndelightful conversation. Mr. Small showed me a\nbeautiful edition of Horace published by Bell and\nDaldy, illustrated with cuts from coins and medals.\n9\/ 7\nHe read an ode or two, the ' Fons Bandusiae, splen-\ndidior vitro\/ and ' Persicos odi apparatus\/ and I\nread Catullus's ' Lugete, Veneres Cupidinesque\/ the\nmost wholly delightful piece of poetry in the whole\nrange of Latin literature; and finally, getting more\nenthusiastic, we came to Greek, and Mr. Small read\nfrom some of the plays of the dramatists, kindly\nkeeping to those I knew, for my knowledge of Greek\nwas always small, and confined to the dramatists and\na little Homer. In fact, I ground my way through\nSophocles, y*Eschylus, and some of Euripides with aid\nof translations, solely for the sake of the poetry.\nThen we ran on into English, and talked for hours\nof the poets, until it began to grow dark and the wind\nhowled and a little rain fell, and it was time for me to\ngo, before the fiercer rain began.     So I shook hands THROUGH THE ERASER CANON\n165\nwith both my friends and the younger boy and set\nout, as they wished me ' God-speed' and turned back\ninto the lighted room. And I was in mud and water\nand forest and mountain, and the shades of Greek\nand Roman flew before the blast like dried leaves\nfrom the tree of knowledge.\nThese two gentlemen were High Church English\nclergymen, who had come out there as missionaries\nfor the Indians. What a terrible sacrifice to make !\nIt seems to me waste of such lives ; but yet what\ngoodness of heart and strength of conviction must\nhave led these to leave a land of culture and expatriate themselves among these mountains, and men\nruder than the mountains !\nSo I thought as I walked along, splashing in the\npools made by the rain that had fallen as we had\nbeen talking. And as it grew dark I came to some\nhouses. I knocked at the door of one, and was\nanswered in Chinook by a slattern of an Indian\nwoman whom I could see through a crack in the\ndoor. I insisted on English, and finally got out of\nher that there was a hotel farther on. Another\nmile of tramping and another house. I tried again\nand found this full of Indians and half-breeds, who\ntold me to go farther yet. Finally I came to the\nhotel, after two more miles of tramp in bright moonlight, for the clouds had passed away. And the moon\nabove me threw such strong shadows of blackness\nunder brush and tree, and such silver floods on the 166\nTHE  WESTERN AVERNUS\nopen ground, that the alternation of light and shade\ngave the appearance of snow.\nI stamped into the usual bar-room, greeted the\nowner of the hotel and store, nodded to a man by\nthe stove, said 'Clahya' to an Indian woman with a\nbaby, and sat down to smoke and dry myself.\nAnd in the morning, clear and fresh, but threatening rain, the road lay before me again. Again\nmiles of solitary walking towards the Elysium that\nlies beyond the rainbow. At noon I came to Boston\nBar, the commencement of the wildest and most\nterrible part of the Fraser Canon, where the mountain\nbases lie close and closer together, and the fierce flood\nof water boils and surges through its deep and narrow\nchasm, until it breaks its bonds and frees itself at\nYale. This Boston Bar is named from the bar of\nsand and shingle in the river, which was in early\ndays a great mining place, and is even yet worked at\ntimes by Chinamen. Just below the Bar is the sullen-\nlooking gorge, fringed with clouds, into which road\nand river run.    And this was my way.\nThis cafion is other than the canons, passes, and\ngorges in the Rockies and Selkirks. All are narrow\nand mountainous, heavily clad with timber, but there\nis something about this that makes it stranger and\n*> c?\nwilder and sterner. It may perhaps seem so in my\nmind, because the days I passed in it were cloudy and\nsullen, with every now and then a gust of wind and\nan hour of rain, for it was then nearing winter, and THROUGH THE FRASER CANON\n167\nthough the snow lay not yet upon the mountains,\nthe air was shrewd and bitter. But the main feature\nwhich influenced my mind was the steepness of the\nlofty precipices, from whose heights fall after fall,\ncascade after cascade, leapt to the valley a thousand\nfeet at a bound, swayed by the wind like silver\nribbons, or dissipated into foam and spray. And\nhere I noticed how strangely slow the water of a\nlofty fall appears to come down. There is no swift\nplunge of mighty waters such as Niagara's, but the\nslow dropping of the thin light line of the mountain\nstream, running through a fringe of misty cloud that\nhangs upon the breast of the hills.\nAnd all along the road were evidences of the\nIndians. In the trees were boxes built to keep dried\nsalmon in, secure from thieves and prowling beasts,\nand here and there were slender stages built out over\nthe terrible stream, on which the Indians stand when\nthe salmon come up the river, holding a net like a\nmagnified racquet-bat, in which they catch the fish\nas they pass. Graveyards too there were at intervals,\neach stranger than the last. And I came at evening\nwith a new companion, the man who was at the hotel\nwith me the night before, to another little wayside\ninn, kept by a Portuguese from the Azores, who gave\nus the best meal that I had eaten for many a long\nday. It was necessary, for that fatal pie had given\nme a terrible attack of indigestion, which lasted three\ndays. If\n168\nTHE   WESTERN A VERNUS\nI spent a pleasant evening in that little house in\nthe lonely canon, while outside the river chafed and\nroared, and the river of wind over it swept down\nbetween the hills, eddying and swirling over the\ntrees, as the rain pattered ceaselessly on the roof,\ngathering in pools on the road, and running down to\nadd to the turbid volume of the Fraser.\nIt was nearly noon next day before we started,\nand then it was made in desperation of its clearing\nup. But, as if to cheer us for our courage, the clouds\ndrifted away before a cold north wind and the rain\nceased. So we came to Hell Gate dry, and could\nstand with some patience for a while to see the river\nroar through the pass of ill-omened name.\nHere the river ran at its narrowest, and here it\nmust have been the deepest. The huge rocks jutted\nout on each side into the boiling current, and were\nbare and black-looking. The river looked strange\nand dangerous, alive and struggling like a python in\nthe toils, and at times ran backwards on the surface,\nwhile below it was fiercer still, finding its destined\nway down through cavern and bar, and leaping at\nlast to the surface to roar above the level of the\nmain stream, curling and coiling and eddying in confusion worse confounded. Here at flood-time, after\nsnow-melting in the distant northern home of that\nriver and in the Golden Range, source of the Eagle,\nand the lakes whence come the Thompson, its tributary, the waters rise in revolt and despair, and storm THROUGH THE FRASER CANON\n169\nthis Bastille Gate of Rocks, climbing higher and\nhigher,Hbaring louder and louder still, whirling pine\nand fir trunks down like straws, to suck them under\nin a maelstrom that makes the quick eye giddy,\nfinally lifting its foaming crest above the barrier, to\nscream like a freed eagle and leap rejoicing down\nthe wider ways. And when it passes and the floods\nare over, where is the road ? Washed into the stream,\nand the bare rock is left. See, as we stand here, on the\nroad high above our heads is a red line painted on the\nrocks. So high can this river rise, and it may be\nhigher yet.\nSo, after watching the Gate for an hour, we passed\non and found a bridge below, and crossed thereon to\nthe right bank. Surely we were nearly to Yale. But\nit seemed impossible. How could a town be put into\nthis canon ? The shelf of rock on which the trains\nran in such seeming peril above the terrible waters\nhad been cut and carved out by huge labour or\nyears. Was it possible a town could be near ? It\nwas possible truly, and we were close to it when we\nturned and saw a vast pool of quiet water, with a\nlong eddy that took a floating log round and round\nfor an hour as we sat smoking in quiet, never letting\nit approach the verge of the lower rapid. Round\nthis pool were tremendous mountains steep and sheer,\nbut across the water, on a little flat, was a house right\nunder the hills, and on the sand an Indian canoe.\nOn the highest crests of the hills the hand of winter fM\n170\nTHE   WESTERN A VERNUS\nhad been laid, for there was a gleam of scanty snow,\nand save that house which sent up no smoke as sign\nof habitation, making the scene thus even more\ndesolate than snow and sullen mountain could by\nthemselves, there was no appearance of life.\nSo we rose and took up our blankets, and a\nhundred yards farther on we came round a corner, and\nYale was before us, snugly settled down on a little\nflat space at the foot of the hills, smoking from\nmany chimneys, while on the beach under the town\nlay a steamer. We were then on navigable waters.\nWe and the Fraser were free of the hills. I turned,\nlooked up the canon, frowning and stupendous, and\nwalked into the town. I7i\nCHAPTER XIII.\nDOWN  STREAM  TO  THE  COAST.\nThat night I and my partner, who was a little\ninsignificant chap, ' a man of no account\/ slept and\nate at the nearest hotel, a very refuge for tramps,\nundelightful, dirty, with bad cooking and worse beds.\nKept by a semi-intoxicated, wholly disreputable\nlandlord, who kept on giving me good advice with\nregard to my morality, which, he feared, would be\nundermined by the license and drunkenness among\nwhites and Indian * klootchmen\/ or women on the\ncoast, it was the haunt and rendezvous for undelect-\nable characters from the other parts of the town. We\nwere first amused by two or three of the Yale demimonde, who came to Taylor's to get more drink,\nbeing at that time rather more merry than wise, and\nthe more drink resulted in a quaint fandango, or\nsemi-cancan, danced, on the floor first and then on\nthe counter, by a bright little dark-eyed Mexican\ngirl, with brilliant teeth and coils of hair and a strange\ndress of purple and reddish colours interwoven, who,\nas she danced, sang snatches of Spanish songs and 172\nTHE   WESTERN AVERNUS\nEnglish too, every now and again cursing volubly\nin both. And late at night there was a ferocious\nencounter of tongues between our host and his housekeeper, a voluble, vicious, snap-eyed woman, who\nstuck out her chin and placed her arms a-kimbo, the\ncause of dispute being Taylor's half-bred Indian child,\nwhich this virtuous woman, '.far above rubies,' declined to wash or otherwise tend on account of the\nluckless infant's illegitimacy. Result: furious war of\ntongues, and at times I feared a personal encounter.\nBoth appealed to me. ' Should I wash a dirty little\nIndian bastard, sir ?' says she. ' Don't you think she\nshould, sir ?' says Taylor plaintively, but getting fierce\nagain when talking to her. The end of it was banging of doors and screaming inside, while Taylor himself and an old white-haired Mexican took charge\nof the little girl, who had been seated on the floor by\nthe stove all this time playing with a rag doll, paying\nno attention to the raised voices.\nIn the morning we started off again to walk to\nNew Westminster, which I here learnt was the largest\ntown on the mainland of British Columbia. We\nfollowed the line of railroad, walking along the track,\nand passing on numberless bridges across streams and\nsloughs through a flat timbered country. That day we\nmade thirty-six miles, camping at last t in a fence-\nmakers' camp, where two white men were superintending a large gang of Chinamen engaged in\nfencing off the line.    It was bitterly cold and very DOWN STREAM TO   THE COAST\n173\nlate when we got to the camp, but the two white\nmen gave us some coffee and sat talking with us for\nsome time, though their conversation's tendency was\nnot encouraging, as they ran down New Westminster,\naverring that it was unlikely any one would get work\nin such a dead-looking town. Finally, they went to\ntheir little tent, while I raked up some more wood for\nthe fire and lay down beside it, to wake at intervals\nall night long shivering with the cold. My partner\nmade a little shelter of a pile of ties near at hand,\nand shivered there by himself till early dawn, when\nhe came out to me, seating himself over the fire like\nan Indian, with the water running out of his rather\nweak eyes, making clean channels down his unwashed\nface, for he did not, I imagine, very often wash.\nThis day another long walk over flats, and we came\nout to the river Fraser, now broad and placid, with\nislands and bars in it piled with drift-wood and brush,\nand long back washes half as broad as the river, but\nshallow and weedy. Then to Harrison River, bright\nand clear and blue, a Fraser tributary, and dinner at\na Chinaman's restaurant, where we had a plentiful\nand well-cooked meal served by the owner himself,\nwho spoke good English to us, Chinese to his pig-\ntailed compatriots, and fluent Chinook to his Indian\nwife, who held in her arms a curious child with the\ncharacteristics of Indian and Chinaman stamped\nunmistakably upon it. The father admired it immensely, and was, it seemed, very fond of his wife 174\nTHE   WESTERN AVERNUS\nwho, for her part, was stolid and undemonstrative, as\nmost pure-bred Indians are, except when under the\ninfluence of liquor.\nThen away again over the long bridge, and that\nnight we stayed with an oldish French farmer, who\nlived on a swamp in a new wooden  house  all by\nhimself,   and he served   us well, and   talked   queer\nFrench  to me and strange  English, and made me\nvery comfortable, charging next   to   nothing for it,\nmaking  our  thanks   for  our  night's   entertainment\nhearty and  not  merely perfunctory.    And at noon\nwe were at the Mission, eighteen  miles from New\nWestminster, and  there we determined to wait for\nthe  steamer, having had  enough walking.     So we\nstayed at a boarding-house for our meals, and slept\nin an old disused mill, where the wind had free entrance through cracks and joints and warped seams,\nand the ceilings and ties and joints were covered with\nlong cobwebs, and an infrequent rat came out squeaking for the flour and grain that were wont to be but\nwere there no more.    And I slept, eking out my thin\nblankets with dirty old sacks.    Next afternoon the\n' Gem '   steamer came   down   stream.     Poor  little\nwretched steamer to be so miscalled : ' Coalscuttle ' or\n* Hog-pen ' would have made good names for her. The\ncaptain and one more made up the crew\u2014two all told.\nThe  captain  usually  steered,  and  the  other   man\nengineered and fired up, and one or the other would\nrush  out  when making a  landing to hitch a rope DOWN STREAM  TO   THE  COAST\n175\nround a stump ; and when wood ran low they would\nrun her ashore near a pile, the noble skipper getting\nout to throw half a cord on deck. Then they had\nto take it aft before they could back her off. So we\nmade slow progress, even with the current of the\nnoble river ||inder us, especially as every little while\nwe stopped to take a few squealing pigs on board or\nsome sacks of potatoes.\nWe had a few fellow-passengers, one of whom,\na Mr. Turnbull, kept a temperance hotel in New\nWestminster. I had a talk with him, and finding\nthat he was, to all appearance, a really good-hearted\nman, I determined. to stay at his place and bestow\nmy last dollar or two on him, for my cash was now\nnearly run out.\nThe scenery on the river was placid but beautiful.\nThe hills were not high as a general rule, but still\ntwo or three ranges were in sight that were mountains. And far above all in the distance glittered\nthe silver, snowy, truncated, volcanic cone of Mount\nBaker, solitary and alone, in Washington Territory,\nfor we were now near the southern border of British\nColumbia. This peak rose above the clouds, towering 10,000 feet and even more. And there were long\nbright reaches of waters before us, with willows trailing on the banks, and every now and again we saw\na stretch of back water, silent and still, windless, with\nreflections in its depths, while before and around us\nthe dancing waters of our flowing river threw back 176\nTHE   WESTERN AVERNUS\nthe  sunlight.    And  we were now in  tidal  waters\nCD>\nOn the right the frowning Pitt River Mountains\nand the entrance to the Pitt River. In front we saw\na white building\u2014a cannery for salmon\u2014and round\nO 9*\nthe bend the town, built on the river front, and running\nup towards the crest of a hill that showed a gaunt\nfringe of pines and firs, robbed of their foliage and\nbranches by a forest fire. And beneath them fields\nof stumps and clearings.\nAnd   we  came   to  the   solitary  dark wharves.\n\u2022\u25a0\/ 7\nwhich made one imagine that this had been once a\nbusy town, and was now living in the memory of\nthe past and the hope of the future, like a bear in\nits winter cavern, supported by its accumulations of\nsummer fatness, and dreaming of the berries of the\nlater springtime.\nAnd so to the Farmers' Home. Saturday night,\nand November 2. I was but sixteen miles from the\nsea, the Gulf of Georgia. In a little over seven\nmonths I had come from New York, having journeyed\nnearly 8,ooo miles in train, on steamer, and on foot;\nover prairie, mountain, river, and lake ; in pain, and\nmisery, in joy and delight, with Fear and Hope my\ncompanions; and now I could in imagination hear\nthe roar of the breakers of the ancient ocean of the\nPacific and smell the sweet brine odour of its illimitable waters that rolled to Australia and Japan, and\nbetween these, as through wide-opened gates, against\nthe dark African continent half a world away. DOWN STREAM TO  THE COAST\n177\nI left the wharves and passed up dark Front Street\nto Main Street, bustling and well lighted, and I was in\nthe Farmers' Home, looking a strange wild man of\nthe woods amongst the well-dressed citizens of the\nplace, who sat round the fire in the smoking-room,\ndiscussing with eagerness a murder at the fail, for\nO O J 7\nthat day one jailer had shot another. And my first\ncomment would have been a strange one to a civilised\near. I thought, 'What a fuss about a murder ! This\nis evidently not Texas, and killings are scarce.' And\nso it is in British Columbia ; murders are comparatively rare, and Judge Begbie is a hanging judge, who\nis feared by the wilder emigrants and settlers and\ncitizens, whites, English or Canadian or American,\nthe Indians and the Chinese. I sat down among them\nin silence, but soon found a congenial spirit in a man\nwho had travelled, who spoke up when I ventured to\nexpress my surprise at there being so much excitement\nabout a solitary murder, and we soon found that we\nwere agreed on the point In the course of a violent discussion that followed we mischievously supported the Texas and Southern method of relying\non pistol arbitration. ' At any rate\/ said Johnson, my\nnew friend, ' if a man gets into a row in Texas he\nwon't be kicked and jumped on, and it is better to be\nshot. And a man there does not rely on his superior\nbrute strength, for a small man js just as likely to\nbe smart with weapons as a giant, or smarter.' Then,\nas  talk   began to be rather hot, I turned the con-\nN 178\nTHE   WESTERN A VERNUS\nversation to work, and found out that there was small\n\u2022chance of getting any if it were not on the railroad\nwork at Port Moody or Port Hammond, unless I\nshould happen to be lucky enough to fall into a job\nat one of the three saw-mills in the town. And\nthen my inquiries elicited that there was a library in\nthe town. My dreams were true then ! And there\nwere actually chess-players to be found there! So\nwhen I got tired out I went to bed and dreamed I\nwas in the library at the British Museum, and that\nafterwards I played chess with Zukertort at Simpson's\nin the Strand and beat him badly. 179\nCHAPTER  XIV.\nNEW   WESTMINSTER\nSUNDAY I spent in letter-writing, in conversation, or\nsulky sullenness\u2014or, better and more euphemistically\n\u2014contemplation, retrospect, and forecasting. Prophesying unto myself from the past gave little hope\nof good, so my last mental resource was proverbs,\nsuch as * It's a long lane that has no turning' and\n' Every cloud has a silver lining,' and so on. Here\nI was down again to one and a half dollars, in a\nstrange place, with no friends save my no-account\npartner from up country, who had no more money\nthan I. It began to seem to me that I was a very\nwanderer, a male Io driven by gadflies from plain to\nmount and mount to sea and strait; that I was a\nfootless bird, not of Paradise but of an Inferno ; that\nI was a thistledown on an* endless wind, with never a\nfriendly eddy to drop me down to root and grow,\nthough it were but to a thistle. And I bethought\nmyself that I had consumed eight months in travelling,\nthat I had seen much and suffered much, and rejoiced much as well, and that it was at last time for\nN 2 i8o\nTHE   WESTERN AVERNUS\nIt\nme to stay for awhile and gather in shekels, if it\nwere in any way possible, else it would be perennial\nseed-sowing by the wayside and never a harvest, and\nno harvest-home with songs of sweet thanksgiving\nand return. So I said, ' If I can but turn my hand to\nsomething in this town, however humble and ill-paid\nit be, here I will stay ; for my health is better, and it\nis time I fed my mind with something over and beyond scenery of pines and peaks, of cloud and mist\nand dew, and the wonderful music of the organic\nwinds of the worlds and the Psalm of Nature to the\nunknown God.'\nTherefore, next day, when my cash amounted to\ntwenty-five cents, I sought and found work in a sawmill\u2014hard and laborious lifting of timbers, arranging\nof boards and planks, carting and carrying of sawdust, flooring boards, headings and scrollings, sashes,,\ndoors, what not. Twelve hours a day, minus one\nhalf hour for a hurried dinner\u20146 A.M. to 6 P.M.;.\nenough for a giant, enough for me, and at first more\nthan enough. Board and thirty dollars a month for\nthis labour, every cent earned, and more than earned\nsurely, by sweat and fatigue of muscle, and contact\nwith Chinamen\u2014that strange, indomitable, persevering, vile, and wonderful race.\nSo to work I went, and was very nearly discharged\nthe first morning by the superintendent, who declared\nthat he knew not what had come over men who came to\nthe coast from the east, for they all wanted a ' soft seat\/ NEW  WESTMINSTER\n:Sx\na ' soft snap\/ which is, being interpreted, a light and\n\u25a0easy job. Wrongly enough in my case, however, as\nhe found out when he sent me into the mill to work\nwith a mighty man from Michigan\u2014M'Culloch, one\nof the finest Americans I ever knew\u2014strong, long\nand lithe, quick of motion, quick of eye, large-handed\nand large-limbed, clean-coloured, moustached and\notherwise shaved, with the pupil of one eye pear-\nshaped, making him strange as a man with eyes of\ntwo colours, like the Hereward of Kingsley's, sharp\nand lively in speech, kindly of heart, liberal in opinion,\natheist, human, and lovable.\nNext a young sawyer, Johnny\u2014little Johnny, as\n\u25a0we called him\u2014small and bright, and strong as a\nyoung bull when he got hands and knees under a\n\u25a0log or ' cant' of lumber ; a fighter, and a ready one ;\npugnacious as a gamecock, and quick as lightning\n-with his small hands, but pleasant and friendly if one\nwho cared not for quarrels watched the glint of his\neyes and made an occasional soft answer to this\nwrathful bantam.\nThen Indians, half-breeds and Chinamen mingled\nand ever changing, and the chief sawyer beyond, a\n\u2022deceitful man, a speaker behind backs. Between him\nand Johnny great enmity existed as it seemed.\nIn such company in the half-open mill, one storey\nup in air, I passed the days, with the whirr of belts\nabove and below, the scream of the circular saws\nas they bit the advancing log of pine or spruce or\n9 i I\nH\n1\nHUH\njg\\\n1\n1  ill\nIII\nJ\n182\nTHE   WESTERN AVERNUS\nDouglas fir, with the strips of bitten-out wood thrown\nout in a stream, and clouds of smaller sawdust, with\nthe smiting of mallets on wedges in the cut, and the\nheavy fall on the greasy skids of the divided tree.\nAnd then, in the pool below, stood a long figure with\na pole balancing on a round log, pushing it into its\nplace, then the hammer driving in iron clamps or dogs,\nand the chain, revolving on the drum, dragging the\nponderous tree to the saw, and then its rolling over\nand over on to the carriage, and afterwards more saw-\nscreaming and sawdust and wedge-driving. So hour\nafter hour, till the trees, rude and huge, fall into planks\nand boards and squared timbers\u2014large for bridges\nor small for posts or pickets, and the waste cut into\nlaths, and the sawdust burning in the gaping furnaces to drive the saw again. Then sudden whistle\nscreaming, and hurrying figures, while the saws revolve slower and slower, and all is still, so that one\ncan hear his own voice, and the hum of the saw only\nlingers in the unaccustomed ear; then dinner devoured,\nnot eaten, and a smoke, and the whistle, and the saws\nturn quicker and quicker, and all is to do again till\ndark and supper and rest.\nSo went the life, and the days were quick and\nlaborious. The superintendent spoke to M'Culloch\none day:\n' What kind of a man is that long fellow with the\nbig hat ?' [j^^^^B^^^^H      S^^^l\n' Well, Mr. G , he does not know much about. NEW WESTMINSTER\n183\nsaw-mills, but I just tell you he is a rustler. He gets\nround quicker'n any man in the mill, in spite of his\nlong legs.'\n' Why, I nearly fired him the first morning ;   I\nmust have made a mistake.    I thought he wasn't any\ngood\/\nNow a ' rustler' is a great Western word, and\nexpresses much. It means a worker, an energetic\none, and no slouch can be a rustler. So this was\nhigh praise. And' fired ' means, in that oversea, overland language, being discharged, so Mr. G did not\nmean me any good. But when he saw I could work\nwe were friends, and he did me many a good turn.\nWe slept, some four or five of us, over the dining-\nroom, and the rest lived in cabins, or little huts, some\nof them boarding themselves, being married either\nto white women or Indians, or perhaps not married.\nMy friend in our sleeping-room was a German\u2014Pete\u2014\na great character, who had lived many years in California, and who had been working at various intervals\nat the mill and up country at other saw-mills, or at pile-\ndriving or bridge-making, just to make, so he said, 20\ndols. and a suit of clothes to go back to California with.\nBut when the 20 dols. were collected- he would disappear and be found sitting in front of a hotel, blandly\ninviting passers-by to take a drink, and when the\nmoney was dissipated he would come back to make it\nover again, being in deep dumps and very virtuous for\nthe future.    He had been seven years trying to make 184\nTHE   WESTERN AVERNUS\nthe money and the clothes, but though he was always\ndressed well enough he could not get that new suit\nand the dollars both at the same time. Pete was a\ngreat favourite of mine.\nThe library, of course, I did not leave long unat-\ntacked. The third day, after working-time, brought\nme to it, and there were actually lots of books and\nsome boards and chessmen, and, better still, men playing. I went in, dressed as usual in my working garb,\nhaving no other, and sat down to watch a game which\no t O\nwas being contested between a man with weak eyes,\nwho had a great grievance, as I afterwards found out,\nand a man named Collins, with whom I got to be quite\nfriendly. Both played fairly well, but I knew I could\nbeat them. I had been a fourth-class player in London,\nand had played regularly at Gatti's in the old chess\ncorner, in the Adelaide Gallery, for more-than two\nyears, so I was probably more than a match for any\nWestern player. When the game was over, and the\nman with a grievance had aired it for half an hour,\ntalking vehemently because he had been deprived of\nthe librarianship of this very place, I asked his opponent if he would give me a game. He looked at me\nout of the corners of his eyes, as if wondering if I could\nplay. And I took the vacant chair. First game was\nwon in less than twenty minutes. My opponent\nlooked at me, as if he thought I had made a great\nmistake. The next one was played by him more\ncarefully, and it took me three-quarters of an hour to NEW  WESTMINSTER\n185\nmate him. Then a look of stern resolution came over\nhis face, and he put his head in his hands and studied\n\u2022every move. But I beat him in an hour. He sighed\nand looked dazed, but shook hands with me and said\nI was the best player in British Columbia.\nThen, to console him, I told him how I had learnt to\nbe a player, and that I had actually, by a fluke, twice\nbeaten a man who had once, by a fluke, beaten\nZukertort He looked greatly relieved. I very often\nplayed with him afterwards, and let him win a game\nnow and again to keep him in good temper.\nThen I* went through the bookshelves, with the\nlibrarian showing me a light, and I saw enough to\nmake me promise to be a subscriber, at the moderate\nterms of 50 cents, or 2s. id., a month. I brought up the\nmoney next evening and took home Buckle's' History\nof Civilisation\/ a book I had never read through\nbefore. There were 2,000 volumes in the library,\nand during the time I stayed in New Westminster I\n\u2022devoured most of those that were worth reading, for\nthere was a vast amount of engineering and military\nmatter, left by the English troops who were formerly stationed in the locality, which had no interest\nfor me.\nThen on Sundays I would take a walk, sometimes\nwith a companion, though usually alone, and sit down\non the river bank and look at the stream and the\nscenery beyond it, or climb the hill at the back of\nthe town, whence I could see Mount Baker's white cone 186\nTHE   WESTERN A VERNUS\nacross miles, yes, fifty miles of forest, high and shining\nor, turning towards the west, catch sight ofthe glitter of\nthe straits, and beyond, the peaks of Vancouver against\nthe blue. East, thirty miles away, stood the Pitt River\nmountains, snow covered, beautiful and near in the\nclear transparent air. But first glance with me at the\nriver, on our right broad and clear and wider than the\nThames at Westminster, and across it at these narrow\nflats, with a few shanties on them scattered here and\nthere, with blue wreaths of smoke above their chimneys, and a long low white cannery, reflecting the\nsun, under the gentle slope of a hill covered with fir\nand pine. Then see how the river spreads out above\nthis to twice its breadth below, bending away to the\nright until it takes no reflections, but throws out\nsparkles from the ripples of a solitary gust of wind\nand in a moment is lost to sight, while beyond its\nfarther bank rises slope after slope of the hills beyond\nthe Pitt River until, on the left, the high peaks are snow\nagainst the blue heavens, and the long shoulder or\nthe dim range runs down in curve and sudden lower\npeak to hide the farther fainter hills of Sumass.\nAh, how beautiful it was, even for a discontented\nbeing like myself!\nSo, working and dreaming, time ran on till well\ninto December, and winter came on us with rush of\nwhite wings and icy breath. First the hills covered\nthemselves with snow, and the north-east wind came\ndown the reaches of the river, blowing into the open NEW WESTMINSTER\n187\nmill like the wind of death, making me rush out for\n7 <D\nincrease oi clothes, until at last I worked in all the\nshirts I possessed and coat and waistcoat. Then\ncakes and floes of ice came down stream, and came\nback again with the flood tide ; there was grinding\nof huge blocks against the shore and piling up of\njamming floes in mid water; and perpetual roar for\ndays till the bitterer frost suddenly spanned the\nstream with cold fingers, fixed it, and grew in power\nof solid dominion up and down, growing thick and\nstrong. And snow came in the streets, drifting over\nand over; from the houses depended stalactites and\nicicles four feet long, and blunt stalagmites grew up\nbelow.\nUpon the hilly streets in town, boys and girls\nwere laughing, shouting and screaming, running down\nhill in sleighs, c coasting' as they call it, with swift\nvelocity, sometimes capsizing without much harm\ndone. And we had time enough for play, for the\nlogs were set fast in the thick ice and the ' buzz-saw'\nwas silent, the fires out, and snow upon the piles of\nsawed lumber. So we ate and drank and slept, and\nI read through the library steadily : Gibbon's ' Rome *\nagain, with story of Alaric and the grave of the\nBusentinus, and Attila the Hun and Mahomet and\nthe Turk, in the slow majestic sentence ; Vasari's\n1 Lives of the Painters\/ graphic, inaccurate, delightful;\nand reading on without system, or attempt at any,\nAlison's ' History' and Motley's j Netherlands\/ ter- 11 L\n1   \u25a0\nI\n88\nTHE   WESTERN A VERNUS\nrible and picturesque, a favourite of my boyhood, and\nBuckle's book of destiny and necessity, 'The History\nof Civilisation.' Then a canter among the fields of\nscience : Huxley on the ' Origin of Species\/ and\nDarwin's book itself, the most delightful book of\nscience, that puts all Nature into one's hand; and\nCarlyle's ' Essays\/ and Landor, whose ' yEsop' and\n'Rhodope' I learnt by heart almost, with its beautiful\npathos and marvellous rhythm of unequalled prose.\nThen snatches of 'Noctes Ambrosianae\/ and Maginn's\n' Miscellanies\/ and Locke's ' Human Understanding'\nas a cold douche, and 'Middlemarch\/ 'Bleak House\/\nand my favourite novel of novels, the ' Tale of Two\nCities.' So I filled up my time, at any rate not to\ndisadvantage, save that the bitter weather and my\ngreed for books kept me indoors without exercise,\nand this was to be revenged on me afterwards. And\nthen came to me, from England, Virgil and Horace,\nfor which I had sent, and I dipped here and there in\nthese.\nSo Christmas came and passed away, and it was\nthe dead of winter.\nDuring all this fearfully cold weather, of ice and\nsnow and bitter wind, we lived in the room above the\ndining-room without any fire. G , the superintendent, told us several times that we could get a stove\n7 O\nand stove-pipe from the carpenter's shop if we liked\nto put it up ourselves. But no, we were absolutely too\nlazy to do it, and used to lie in bed nearly all day, NEW  WESTMINSTER\n189.\nor stand round the pipe that came through our floor\nfrom the room below when that stove was lighted.\nWe would walk about with blankets round us,\nlooking like Indians, and sometimes we went in for\nmaking a noise\u2014dancing, singing, and fooling, just\nto keep warm. And we actually went through it ail-\nwithout a stove until the thaw came, and then we got\nit and made big fires. ' Pete\/ said I, ' we are deuced\ncunning fellows and show lots of foresight. It will\nbe cold next winter\/\nOur room, too, was often a sight to look at,\nespecially when we had a row about whose turn it\nwas to sweep out, with the result of general sulkiness\nand declarations that ' I Won't' and ' I won't,' until\nsomebody got desperate and hurled a mass of dust\nand rubbish, chips and rags, down the stairs. So we\nwere tormented with fleas for our folly, and had\nuncomfortable days and nights through laziness.\nOn December 29 some one proposed a walk over\nto Granville, or Burrard's Inlet. I wish he had been\nhanged before he suggested it. But I thought a\ntramp would do me good, for I had been suffering\nfrom vile headaches for some days before. So I and\nPete, and John Anderssen, a Swede, and Charley, my\npartner from the upper country, and another Swede\nset out after breakfast in the snow. It was hard\nwalking, going crunch, crunch in it; but still the road-\nhad been beaten down a little, and one could find\nreasonably good  footing if walking  in  Indian file-.\nI II\nI.\n190\nTHE   WESTERN AVERNUS\nII\nAbout eleven o'clock we came to Granville, and\nwalked down to the mill and long wharves, where\nships loaded lumber for South America and Australia. Then the wind began to blow, and it was\nfearfully chill and bitter, searching me through and\nthrough as it swept over the Inlet, a kind of fiord,\nladen with concentrated frost. Some of us ate dinner,\nthough I had little appetite, for my head was nearly\nsplitting, and I rejected all tobacco, sure sign of something very wrong in a man who had used it for ten\nyears. Then we set out homeward at two o'clock.\nAnd what a walk it was! At first we kept close\ntogether, talking; then we plodded along in silence?\nas the low sun at last disappeared with pale glow of\ngold, and the gibbous moon stood out half way up\nthe sky before us, brighter, it seemed, than the sun.\nYet we had not done half our homeward twelve\nmiles. We began to get thirsty, terribly thirsty, and\nsome took up snow and chewed it ; but I thought it\nwas not good, as I fancied I had read so in some book\nof travels, and still plodded on with my tongue nearly\nas dry as it had been on some horrible days of travel\nin sunburnt New South Wales. And it grew colder\nand colder still in this forest. The wind had dropped\nand it was calm and still, but the frost grew out on\nthe bushes into diamonds, glittering before us on\ntwig and pendulous snowy branch, and the unbroken\nsnow on both sides shone with innumerable millions\nof sharp spicules, keen and crystalline.    The moon NEW WESTMINSTER\n191\n1\ncast blackened shadows on the white, and her splendour came down on us with such lack of warmth\nthat her light seemed a ghostly cataract of freezing\nwater, and the sharp stars stabbed us with spears of\ncold when we came out of the shadow of the forest.\nThen came a faint shout from behind. Tired as I\nwas, I turned back. Pete was seated on a log, swearing\nhe was going to die ; Anderssen lay in the middle of\nthe road in snow and moonlight, chewing snow with\nhis head down, talking unintelligible Swedish and\nmixed English, and cursing. I sat down by the ditch\nat the side of the road and put some snow to my\nburning forehead. We must have seemed a queer\ncrowd in that silent forest.\nPresently Pete. \u25a0 Charley, I can't get up, I'm\nstuck fast to this log. Am I going to stay here and\nbe frozen to a snow image ? ' \u25a0 You can if you like\/\nI said, sulkily and selfishly ; ' I'm not, if I can rustle\nthrough it' I got up, fell on my knees, and rolled\ninto the snow at the bottom of the ditch. ' Come and\npull me out, Pete.' ' Can't get up,' said Pete solemnly.\n' You then, John\/ to Anderssen. John growled and\nlay still. ' You hog\/ said I, ' quit chewing that snow ;\nyou'll die there if you don't.' John muttered : ' I die\nin the road and you in the ditch.' Then the other\nSwede came across and held his hand to me, and I\nscrambled out of the brush and snow. I went over to\nAnderssen and kicked him gently in the ribs : ' Get\nup, or I'll knock seven bells out of you.    Give me\n. 1\n0 -*\u25a0\n.\n192\nTHE   WESTERN AVERNUS\nyour hand.' I got him up, and we pulled Pete off his*\nlog. * Now\/ I said, ' you may lie down and die ; I\nwon't come back any more. Good-bye.' So I and\nthe other Swede set off again, plodding desperately,\nfor I really felt as if I must have a drink or die myself, and I would not touch the snow. Presently we\ncame through a patch of dead timber, and saw the\nlights of the town two miles away at the bottom of\nthe slope. Half a mile farther brought us to a little\nlog-house,where two woodcutters lived. In we went,\nand I drank about a quart of icy water, and out\nagain. I was tired now, and my head was nearly\nbursting, with my temples throbbing hard. Every\nstep I took seemed as if it was my last, for I thought\nI was shod with lead, and my legs were heavy and\nhalf dead. And the cold grew worse and worse. At\nlast we came down to the flat, and another quarter of\na mile brought me to our boarding-house. I stayed\nand turned off, my partner the Swede said nothing,\nmarching straight ahead up town. I got to the door\nof the dining-room, turned the handle, and fell inside\non my hands and knees, very much surprising two of\nthe bosses, one of whom was Mr. G .    He said 1\n' Hullo, got back, eh ?' I couldn't answer him at\nfirst, but I got up, shut the door, and fell on a bench\nnear at hand. He saw I was about done, and he very\nkindly got me a cup of tea from the kitchen. Then\nhe asked where Pete and the others were. ' Coming\nalong behind if they're not dead  yet\/ I said, and NEW  WESTMINSTER\n193\nthen I went upstairs, threw my boots off with a great\neffort, fell into my bed, and drew the blankets over me.\nIn five minutes the blood was running through all my\nveins like molten lead, and I was in a high fever. I\nfell asleep and did not wake till morning. Looking\nup I saw Pete in bed. ' You're not dead then, Pete ?'\nsaid I, and he solemnly shook his head. ' Pretty near\na go, though.'\nO       7 CD\nI never felt cold like it in all my life, although it\nwas not really very intense, as the thermometer in\ntown did not go quite down to ten degrees below\nzero, which is nothing to the temperature at Kamloops and farther east, where it sometimes goes down\nto 300 and 400 below, or at Winnipeg in Manitoba,\nwhere 6o\u00b0 below is not uncommon in winter. I\nsuppose I suffered more than I should otherwise have\ndone, owing to my being in a very bad state of health\nat that time. For two weeks after this I was ill, for\nfive days in bed, living on biscuits and milk. Then I\nrecovered somewhat for another week or two, and\nthen went down completely with bilious fever, and\nlay nearly dead for three weeks, coming round at last,\nwhen I was but a long ghost and a skeleton.\nDuring this winter, when I was reasonably well,\nboth before and after the fever, I used sometimes to\ngo down to see some of the men who lived in the\nlittle cabins close at hand. This was an Indian town\nas well, and the Indians and whites used to live together\nin a fearful state of dirt and drunkenness.    Indian\nO 794\nTHE   WESTERN AVERNUS\nwomen have few of them any notion of modesty left\nnow, since the whites came amongst them, and the\nconsequent license resulting from the state of manners\nwas curious to see. Sometimes I walked into a cabin\nto find everybody drunk, perhaps some on the bed,\nsome on the floor, or under the table ; or there\nwould be a wild hubbub inside, with fragments of\nEnglish, Chinook, German or Spanish, of the real\nguttural Indian with its strange clicks. On coming\nin, drink would be offered me, or I would be invited\nto send for some, and the ' jamberee ' would get worse\nand worse, until finally there was a fight or a scratching\nmatch and loud oaths and yells.\nOne of the mill-men, an English sailor, went about\ncontinually with a black eye or his face scratched with\nthe ' ten commandments\/ until at last he was relegated\nto the discipline and sobriety of the jail for a period\nof three months for having broken open the door of\nan Indian woman to assault her on account of some\nfanciful amatory grievance. Sometimes the constable\nwould make a raid and take a woman to jail for being\ndrunk, but this was in the daytime, for he dared not\ncome down round where we lived in the dark, as\nseveral had sworn vengeance on him if ever they\ncaught him there when they had a chance of getting\n\"away without being discovered.\nThus my time passed away with sickness, riot,\ndisorder, reading, and writing. Yes, writing too, for\nI wrote this winter an autobiography, psychological NEW WESTMINSTER\n195\nat that, with snatches of verse and long letters to\nEngland. This MS. I sent to a literary friend of mine\nin London, but it never came into his hand, having\nbeen lost in the post. Then I learnt some Chinook,\nso that I could speak a little to the Indians. And a\n\u25a0strange enough jargon it is\u2014English, French, and\nIndian; and English and French corrupted and\naltered to suit the vocal Indian peculiarities, or\nbecoming I, as ' dly ' for' dry.' There are some strange\nwords, as ' hyas puss-puss ' for the mountain lion or\ncougar, the northern representative of the South\nAmerican puma ; ' hyas' means great or large ; and\n' hyin\/ plenty. ' Moos-moos' is cow, and ' moos-moos\n\u2022glease\/ butter. The great salutation is, ' Clahya, tili-\ncum\/ or' How goes it, partner ?' ' Siwash' is an Indian,\nand ' sitcum siwash ' a half-breed. I never progressed\nvery far in this gibberish, but I could say 'yes' and\n' no\/ ' nawitka' and ' halo\/ and,' What do you want ?'\n' Ikta mika tiki ? ' and so on, and gestures and English\ndid the rest.\nAnd then the frost broke up, and soon the mill was\nrunning again, and the river swung to and fro with\nburden of ice blocks, grinding on shingle and against\nwharf and pile. But I was yet weak and did little\nwork for a fortnight, spending my time leisurely and\nin repose or in the library, until I got fat again and\nturned to throwing board and plank\u2014fir, pine, cedar,\nand spruce\u2014like a machine as before. And I was now\nin debt to the mill, and had to work a month to get\nbf\n1\no 2 lr-\nI96\nTHE  WESTERN AVERNUS\n\u2022t\nout of the obligation ; and, besides, I owed a doctor's\nbill.     So I had not, so far, made much more money\nby staying in one place.    It was now February, I had\nbeen nearly four months in New Westminster, and\nwas   30 dols. worse off than nothing.    However,   I\nfelt reasonably contented, having some little leisure,.\nfor we did not run full time, and besides, something was\nalways going wrong with the machinery or the belts,\nwhich gave me opportunities to get to chess or books.\nBut I doubt if I should have been in such a serene\nstate of mind if the mill had owed me money, for it\nseemed they were in a bad way financially.    If a man\nleft it was hard, nay, almost impossible, to get what\nwas due to him; and even  when  they discharged\nany one  it was necessary for him  to wait days to\n**et   a  few   miserable   dollars.    One   man   worried\n>\nthe   manager  so  for  his   money, which   was   only\n40  dollars, that at last   H threatened to kick\nhim off the  place if he  troubled   him   any more I\nThen another man wanted his, and   H- offered\nhim an order for it on the Victoria agency of the\nfirm. ' But how am I to get to Victoria without a\ncent ?' said the unfortunate individual. ' Oh, get\non board the \" Teaser': and beat your way\/ or,\nmore literally and in English, cheat the steamer by\nstowing away. Strange advice under the circum-\nstances truly! The Chinamen employed in the mill\nstruck work until they got their money, which was\nfound for them with great difficulty.     Some of the\ncs\nS NEW  WESTMINSTER\n197\ncreditors, men in the town, merchants and others,\ncould only get payment by taking lumber for it,\nand the mill was constantly being sued in the courts,\nand we looked every day for somebody to come down\nand take the mill in execution, or something equally\ndesperate. In fact, someone seized 120,000 feet on a\nschooner loading for Victoria. So I thought it lucky\nthey did not owe me anything.\nBy the middle of March I began to make a little,\nand it grew up slowly to about 20 dols., which, considering the little likelihood there was of my getting it,\nseemed a huge sum. However, I determined to make\nit 30 dols., and then try to get paid in cash, not in\nclothes and hats out of the stores. But an incident\nhappened that prevented the sum to my credit going\nbeyond 23 dols., and that was in all probability the\nbest thing for me under the circumstances, as if I had\nlet it go to 30 dols. I should never have got any of it.\nIt was the first week in April, and we were all at\ndinner, twenty at the table at which I sat and about\nten at the other, with a Chinaman to wait on us and\ntwo cooking. Now this waiter was a very insolent\nindividual, rather strong, with well-developed arms,\nwho had for some time worked in the mill. He was\nthe cause ofBbiy leaving the place. Wanting some\nmore meat, I asked him for some civilly enough, I am\nsure, but none came. Thinking he might have forgotten, I asked again, and still no meat in any reasonable time.   The final result was that  I thrashed m\n198\nTHE   WESTERN A VERNUS\nthe man, and some one  ran to the office and told\nH , the manager, that I was killing a Chinaman.\nJust as I sat down in he rushed. ' Who's been\nmaking this disturbance ?' 'I have\/ I said. ' Then\nI discharge you.'    ' That's all right about discharging,\nMr.   H 1 said   I,  ' but can   I get my  money ?'\n' You can get it this afternoon\/ and out he went.\n' Served the Chinaman right, old man\/ said Mac\nand Johnny, ' but we're sorry you've got to go.' Then\nthey and another went to the office, and wanted to\nknow  if the Chinaman  was to be discharged too.\n' No\/ said H .    'Well\/ said Mac, the spokesman,\n' if he isn't discharged we'll all go and shut the mill\ndown.' So the Chinaman went too, and Fraser, the\nbook-keeper, who was a very good friend of mine,\nactually charged him with two cups, a plate, and a tin\ndipper which had been smashed when we-were in the\nthick of the fight, and, what's more, made him pay for\nthem.\nAnd thus it was I left the mill, for I did get my\nmoney, though the manager had to borrow 20 dols.\nto pay me. It was lucky that it happened as it did,\nfor in about ten days the concern went bankrupt, and\nnobody got any money at all.\nThat night I went up town, taking good care to^\nlook about me as I went through the Chinese quarter,\nand bade farewell to my chess and library acquaintances, and in the morning, after long deliberation as\nto whether I should take the ' Teaser' to Victoria or the ' Adelaide' for Yale, I made up my mind to the\nlatter course, and started for Kamloops again to visit\nmy. old boss, from whom I had received many kindly\nletters since arriving in the town of New Westminster.\nNEW  WESTMINSTER\n199. 200\nTHE   WESTERN A VERNUS\nCHAPTER XV.\nBACK TRACKS TO EAGLE PASS.\nSo I was bound up-stream once more, leaving sawmill and library behind me. Yet I carried a few\nbooks, for I had Virgil and Horace, and a volume\nor two of poetry, Coleridge and Keats, and 'Academy\nSkits' for '84, and the illustrated catalogue of the\nInstitute of Water-Colour Painters, which had been\nsent to me, and which I was now taking up to give\nto Hughes. So my blankets were heavier than when\nI came down, for I had even left my 'Sartor Resartus'\nwith him as a present, as I thought I might do myself\ngood by a change, especially as I nearly knew it by\nheart, having read it through many thousand miles of\ntravel; to say nothing of my habit of poring over that\nsame volume at breakfast when in England, to which,\nwithout meaning any disrespect to Carlyle, I believe\nI owed more than a moiety of my indigestion and\ncongestion of liver.\nAnd I was in the Fraser again, this time to fight\nthe current for a hundred miles or so to Yale. And\nit was a very pleasant trip.     Our captain, one of the BACK  TRACKS  TO EAGLE PASS\n201\nwell-known pioneer families of British Columbia, a\nMoore, the one-armed one, was a very delightful\ncompanion, and Jim, the mate, was as good. Then\nwe had two Chilliwhack farmers, and one from\nSumass, and a Chinaman or two. When we tied\nup for the night at the bank below Chilliwhack, for\nwe started late, we sat down and talked and smoked\nmost amicably, and when they found out I could\nsing, it was ' Sing us another\/ ' Come and take a\ndrink, you must be dry,' and then sing again; and\nthen Jim and the skipper beguiled the intervals by\ntelling dreadful stories of going up the Fraser and\ngetting, steam up to 150 lb., when the boiler was\nonly certified for 60 lb. Then he told a yarn about\nthe steamer that blew up under similar conditions\nten miles or so below Yale, and another of the boat\nwe were then in, when they one day had the tiller-\nropes break in the most perilous place on the river,\nand had to let her drift blindly, till she hung in an\neddy behind a rock, giving them a chance to mend\nthe gear. Then we sang more songs and had more\ndrinks tijl twelve o'clock, and I spread my blankets\nout and went to sleep, with the consciousness that I\nhad done my duty in singing at any rate, for I was\nas hoarse as I could be.\nIn the morning there was a frightful fog of mist\nand smoke, caused mostly, however, by the latter,\nwhich came from a glorious mountain fire above\nPitt   River, which  we  had   seen   the  night  before.\npi \u00ab\n202\nTHE   WESTERN A VERNUS\nThe whole side of the mountain was red hot, and\nthe horseshoe ring of the outer flames shone gloriously bright, while there was a mile of dull ember\nin the midst of it.\nIn consequence of this fog we had to go very\nslowly, at times stopping altogether, and at last,\nwhen we thought, or rather the captain thought, for\nI had no notion at all, that we were near Chilliwhack,\nthe deck-hands shouted, and someone answered out\nof the fog, and next moment we went bump against\nthe high bank, stem foremost, and soon made a landing, and parted with two of our friends.\nThen   it  gradually cleared   up, and we  ran   on,\nfighting  the  stream   at  intervals, but ' making  the\nriffle,'   or  crossing  the  rapid, without  resorting  to-\nbacon hams in the furnace or a nigger on the safety-\nvalve, as was the custom in the palmy days of steamboat racing on  the Mississippi   or the  Sacramento.\nAnd   then we  ran   through lovely reaches of calm\nwater, and past huge piles of drift-wood stuck on\nsand-bars, and came to Hope, whence the trail runs-\nto  Similkameen, the  last new  gold   find in British\nColumbia.    After that came fierce fighting with the\nstream, and again we tied up and waited for morning ;  then riffle after riffle was triumphantly passed,,\nthe whistle-scream echoed from the entrance of the\ncanon,  and   I  was  at  Yale  once  more, somewhat\nexercised  in   mind   as to  the means of getting  ta\nKamloops without walking and without paying my BACK TRACKS  TO EAGLE PASS\n20'\nfare, which was too much for my pocket. Now\nthe main office of the railroad was then at Yale,\nwhere A. Onderdonk, the well-known and much-\nabused contractor, whom the men usually called\nAndy or A. O., had his residence, and it was often\npossible to get a pass up country to work on the\nroad, either grading or track-laying, without paying\nfor it. I had no intention of working at this kind of\nwork if it were possible to do without it, for I now\nconsidered myself a cut above a mere railroader,\nbeing a saw-mill man, for railroading is considered\nby all who do not follow it as a ' low-down job,'\nnearly as bad as the dog's-meat man's in London.\nSo I went up to the office and bored two or three\nofficials, even speaking to the great Andy himself,\nwho is a good-looking and pleasant individual, until\nat last I was told to jump on the train in the morning\nfor Ashcroft or Barnes, near the Black Canon, where\nI could get work.\nDown I went early, with my blankets on my back,\nhaving slept that night at Taylor's, where the usual\nracket and fandango had been going on, and found a\ndozen or two others who were bound for the same\nplace on the same terms, and besides these I came\nacross Fraser from the mill, who was going up to\nEagle Pass to be book-keeper for a contractor doing\ngrading and tunnelling along the banks of the Big\nShushwap Lake. We got in the train and started up\nthe canon.    I was glad enough to get to Ashcroft, or 204\nTHE   WESTERN AVERNUS\n\\\\n\nat any rate out of the worst of the canon, for the\nnarrow shelf of rock on which we ran, the vast blocks\nof overhanging stone, the perilous high-trestle bridges,\nand the black depth of howling waters beneath, kept\nme in a state of mental tension, especially when we\nslashed round a curve or went down an occasional\nsharp descent that made me imagine the train was\nflying in the air. We got out at Ashcroft, in the\nAlkali Dry Belt, but I put my blankets on my back\nand marched a mile to Barnes's Hotel, and slept there\nthat night, after having had the worst supper I ever\npaid 50 cents for, spending the evening in a crowded\nbar-room amid noise and smoke and half-intoxicated\nrailroad men from the camps near at hand. In the\nmorning I started on my walk to Hughes's Ranche,\nwhich was about forty-one miles from here. I passed\nmy companions of yesterday working with pick and\nshovel in a mixed gang of whites and Chinamen,\nand tramped along the railroad track between the\nrails, for the line was now roughly finished as far as\nSavona's Ferry, at the foot of Kamloops Lake. It\nwas a weary, thirsty walk, for it was almost impossible\nto step except upon the ties or sleepers, and these\nwere set so that to go from one to the next made\nme walk with a ridiculous short step, and if I missed\nout one I made an immense stride. And I could\nnot step in between, for the line was unballasted ; that\nis, the space between the ties was not filled up with\nearth or gravel.    Then there was no path alongside\nm BACK TRACKS  TO EAGLE PASS\n2d\nthe track ; or if there was, it was painful to walk upon\non account of the  rocks.    The water  in  the  little\ncreeks that  ran down the hollows in  the hills was\nterribly alkaline, soft and horrible to taste, so  that\nas  I tramped on the awkward ties, watching every\nstep, with a burning sun glaring on the bare soil, I\ngrew thirstier and thirstier, while the beautiful blue\nstream of the  Thompson, down  far  below me, or\nshining farther off yet in  the distance, mocked my\nparching  tongue,  and the  musical whisper  of the\nwater, as it ran over the rapids, sounded like a fiend's\nrejoicing voice.    So I stumbled along, tasting almost\nevery stream I came to, unless I saw the white alka-\nj t\nline incrustation on its banks, in the hope of finding\ngood water. But in the twenty-one or twenty-two\nmiles to Savona I only found one that was passable.\nI tramped into that little settlement, or rather into\nthe newer portion, since called Van Horn, after one\nof the C.P.R. officials, at three o'clock, ' peted\/ done\nup. I came to a Chinaman's, who had ' Restaurant'\npainted outside, with some Chinese characters as\nwell, and walked in. I began to demand dinner in\nthe usual way one speaks to Chinamen there, but\nfound he could talk very good English indeed. He\ngave me a good dinner too, and I sat there smoking\nand talking till half-past four, and then started, hoping\nto get to Hughes's that night, although the distance\nwas seventeen miles. If I had taken the wagon-\nroad I might have done it, but thinking it would be 206\nTHE   WESTERN A VERNUS\nI. J \u25ba,-\nshorter to follow the railroad along the lake until I\ncame to Cherry Creek, which ran down through his\nland, I kept on the track, taking the bare grade, until\nthat gave out at places and I had to scramble round\nbluffs or rocks, until it was dark, and I came to a\ncamp where there was only one man, who refused\nme a cup of tea. I thanked him for his courtesy,\nand started to climb the hill in the dark to discover\nthe wagon-road, as it would have been out of my\nway to go farther on the grade. At last I found the\nroad, and set out on the last six miles in total darkness, but when I had done three, arriving at Roper's,\nI felt I was done up and could do no more. So I\nopened the door of the hotel and walked into the\nbar-room. Next morning I left for Hughes's and took\nthree hours to do three miles, such was my fatigue\nfrom the day before. I found Hughes \"working by\nthe house, shook hands with him, and went and lay\ndown, enjoying dolce far niente for that day at any\nrate. I stayed there some days, working a little,\nsometimes shooting, and sometimes trout-fishing, for\nthere was a plentiful supply of small brook-trout to\nbe caught there, and one afternoon I hooked out\nforty.\nThen I went into Kamloops and stayed a day or\ntwo to look out for work, but seeing no chance I came\nback for a little while and then went again; Finally,\nacting on my friend's advice, I determined to go up to\nEagle Pass again, as work was reported lively there, BACK TRACKS  TO EAGLE PASS\n207\nand a town building up rapidly. My 23 dols. was\nnow nearly exhausted, and when I got into town I had\ninsufficient to pay my fare up to the lakes, and so I\nwent to the captain of the' Kamloops' steamer, and he\nallowed me to work my passage up. So down I went\nto the fires, and passed wood for the fireman, stowing\nit away whenever they took more on board, working\nlike a demon.    One time I stowed away three cords\n9\/\nof four-foot wood without resting. First my shirt\ncame off, then my undershirt, then I slung the wood\nwithout even that, with the perspiration rolling off me\nin streams, getting into my eyes, and running down\ninto my very boots. It was little scenery I saw at that\ntime, as I was down in the stoke-hole nearly all the\nwhile. At last we came up to the landing, and I\n\u2022could hardly recognise the place. Instead of three\nbuildings there were more than a hundred, all strung\nalong the foreshore, and new ones were going up, and\neverywhere one could hear hammers going and the\naxe, while on the beach was a crowd of men, and piles\nof merchandise, of lumber, casks and odds and ends\ninnumerable. Had it not been for the unchanged\nmountain background I could not have thought it was\nthe almost desolate spot I came to after my tramp\nover the Selkirks and through the Golden Range.\no o\nI went ashore and up to Murdoch's, finding the\nplace in the throes of dissolution and regeneration,\npulling down and rebuilding at once. At every step\nI came across acquaintances from the lower country or 2oS\nTHE   WESTERN AVERNUS\nmen I had met in the Kicking Horse Pass. There\nseemed much business doing, especially for carpenters,\nwho were in great request, and, judging from the\nnumber of drunken men, a vast quantity of liquor was\nbeing disposed of, although it was forbidden to sell it\nwithout a licence from the Provincial Government\nand with or without one by the Dominion Government, which led to a conflict, to which I shall refer\nafterwards. At the present time Murdoch was the\nonly man with a licence, but still it was possible to\nbuy whisky anywhere. I went into the bar-room,\nthrew my blankets in a corner, shook hands with\nMurdoch and one or two acquaintances, sat down,\nlighted my perpetual clay pipe, and took in the scene\nand conversation. There was an immense amount of\nrailroad talk, and I soon saw it would be easy enough\nto get work of that kind if other things failed. I de-\ntermined not to do any of it if it could be avoided,\nand thinking that Fraser might be able to get me\nsomething to do, I went down to the end of the town\nand got an Irishman, voluble and semi-intoxicated, to\npull me across the lake for four bits to where he was\nworking. When I got across I found he was somewhere else, and waited for three hours, meanwhile\ngetting most vilely hungry, and ageing as it were, for\nI soon suspected myself a fool, which would, according\nto the ' Night Thoughts\/ indicate my age as thirty, and\n^y %d) -\/        o -\u2022\/ 7\nsoon afterwards I seemed to know it, and that means\nforty.    At last I could stand no longer to watch the BACK TRACKS  TO EAGLE  PASS\n209\nsalmon and lake trout leap for flies, and I got into\nanother boat, paying another four bits to get back. So\nmy trip was in vain, and cost me a dollar, which I\ncould ill afford. On arriving at the landing I had a\ngood supper and was rejuvenated, though I had now\nbut half a dollar left, and half a dollar in the mountains of British Columbia only means one meal, or\ntwo drinks or four cigars, whereas in Melbourne it\nwould have the larger significance of four dinners and\na single extra glass of beer, and even in London\nBohemia the initiated is a long way from starvation\nand the archways with 2s. 2d. to his credit, or even\nwith but a splendid shilling.\nSo I was very pleased to meet Fraser in the main\nand only street that night, for I borrowed five dollars\nfrom him, which was given kindly and gracefully.\nIndeed, one thinks of five dollars there as one would\nthink of five shillings at home, and I spent a dollar when\nI had plenty of them, which truly was only occasionally,\nas if mere silver was nothing. Fraser promised to see\nif it were possible to get me a good job with his contractor Mitchell; but next day I was fortunately put\nbeyond any need of troubling him for work or further\nloans by getting employment at 2.50 dollars, or\nios. $d. a day. My' boss ' was one of the best men to\nwork for I ever met, a Mr. G. F. Kyle, a Canadian, who\nhad risen to a good position in Onderdonk's employ.\nI never saw any one who had anything to say against\nhim, but, on the contrary, everybody had a good word -\n-j\n<l\n2IO\nTHE   WESTERN AVERNUS\nfor him. He was a tall, strong, pleasant and good-\nfeatured man, somewhat English looking, with a sharp\neagle eye and that undefinable look about him of a\nman who knows other men\u2014somewhat similar to the\nappearance and quick, penetrating glance of ' our only\nGeneral\/ whom I had often seen in Pall Mall and\nthe War Office when he was Quartermaster-General.\nHe made me work hard while there was any necessity\nfor it, but then he worked himself, and was as energetic\na ' rustler' as British Columbia held. My first month\nwith him was one of almost continuous labour, Sunday\nand week-day and overtime, so that I made about\neighty dollars that month, subject to the deduction of\na dollar a day for board. We built a stable and a\nwarehouse for the stores for the railroad work in the\nEagle Pass, for the first twenty miles of which Kyle\nwas superintendent. Then I grubbed up stumps,\ncleared up all round, graded off the yard into a slope,\ncut poles in the forest, helped load up the wagons,\nweighed the stores out\u2014potatoes, bacon, and flour\u2014\nmarked them, and so on. So for that first month I\nhad my hands full indeed. Beside Kyle there was a\nbook-keeper, a Mr. Requa, who was also a very agreeable individual, and with whom I got along very well,\nso well indeed that he told me I was a first-rate worker\nand hadn't a lazy hair in my head. I said, ' Wait\nawhile, you don't know me yet, for I can be as lazy\nas the next man.' Then there was the storekeeper,\nlittle Mac, who had been a telegraph operator in the BACK TRACKS  TO EAGLE PASS\n211\nlower country. He was extremely conceited, and\nwould tell me, ' I am so different from other fellows,\nyou know, Charlie,' as indeed he was, but not in any\nway to give him much reason for boasting. Besides\nthese there was an old white-haired watchman, with\nwhom I had some trouble about the horses. He was\ngoing to break my neck, but it is still whole. There\nwere also two teamsters, one a good-looking, somewhat soft young fellow, genial and pleasant, Bob by\nname or nickname, and Joe Fagin, tall, clumsy, with\nhuge strength, being capable of lifting 800 lb., hairless\non the face, ruddy and reasonably good-tempered, a\ngreat swimmer and a splendid driver. Then there were\ntwo carpenters, one of whom insisted I was a runaway\nman-o'-war's man. The other was a gambler, and\ndropped his money at stud-horse poker or faro as\nsoon as he made it. These two went away as soon\nas the store was finished.\nAll this time building was going on rapidly in the\ntown, and money was very plentiful and circulated\nfreely. Half the town would be drunk at night, and\nthere was a fight or two every evening, and black\neyes were plentiful as dollars. The Swedes were the\nworst for drinking, getting intoxicated early in the\nmorning. One day I came across six lying in a pile,\nclose to our warehouse, by the edge of the lake. One\nwas lying with his head down hill and his hair touching the water. I tried to put him right, but as he was\na heavy man, weighing perhaps 14 stone, with another\np 2 i -\n21\nTHE   WESTERN A VERNUS\nheavy fellow lying across him, I was unable to get him\nup. While pulling away at him I woke one of the\nothers, who was the least drunk. ' Get up\/ said I,\n' and help me get your partner out; his head's nearly\nin the water\/ ' So much the worse for him\/ said the\nother sleepily, and dropped off to rest again. I put a\nhat over the man's face to keep the burning sun from\nhim, but when I came round again he had taken it off.\nSo I let him lie.\nThen there was a well-known individual in town,\na Welshman whom we all called Taffy, who rejoiced in\nperennial drunkenness and black eyes. He was always\nfighting and always getting whipped, but, as he kept\non, I suppose he liked it. One day he called a carpenter, whom I knew, an opprobrious name, and got\nbadly choked and beaten. Our method of fighting\nthere was different from what is considered fair in\nEngland. When a man falls or is knocked down,\nhis opponent gets on him, choking or thumping him\nwith his fists, and sometimes, if any sticks or stones,\nc clubs' or ' rocks\/ are lying within reach, they are\nbrought into action, and, besides, biting and eye-\ngouging are not considered absolutely wrong, though\nseldom resorted to. Consequently, as Taffy was\nusually too drunk to stand up, he got the worst of\nhis perpetual combats, unless he came across an\nopponent who was drunker than himself. This,\nhowever, would be very rare, as any increased intoxication would result in sleep and quietness.  When BACK TRACKS  TO EAGLE PASS\n213\nTaffy got to that stage he went down to his boat\nand lay under a tarpaulin, and one day, when Mac,\nthe storekeeper, and I found him there, we cut him\nadrift and sent him out into the lake, where he floated\nround for an hour or two, an object of universal\ninterest\nWhile working here I used to see Major Rogers,\nthe surveyor who had surveyed the line through the\nKicking Horse Pass and the Selkirks. He had been\nin the mountains seven years at this task, and he and\nhis men toiled and suffered fearfully at times. His two\nnephews were with him, and were fine, good-looking\nyoung fellows.\nAfter my first month times were much easier for\nme, as I had very little to do except to attend to a\nfew horses in the stable and help load the wagons ;\nconsequently I used to lie on a pile of grain sacks in\nthe stores and read novels. Then we would go in\nswimming, perhaps twice a day, and I would take a\nwalk up town, looking into the gambling saloons or\nchatting with my acquaintances, who were not a few.\nAnd then I got my old chum Scott again, from the\nKicking Horse Pass, who had followed my footsteps\nover the Selkirks in company with Davidson. When\nI saw him he was purser on a lake steamer, the' Lady\nDufferin,' and we had a great palaver together.\nHe told me that he and Davidson had often talked\nabout 'Texas\/ as he still called me, wondering what\nhad become of me.    He was glad to see me again, 214\nTHE   WESTERN AVERNUS\nas glad as I was to see him.    He had had a hard\ntime crossing the trail, though not so bad as I, for\nhis boots fortunately did not chafe him, and, besides\nthat, his time on the trail had been shorter, owing\nto the extension of the wagon road.    We met constantly after this, until at last he left the steamer,\nbeing unable to stand Bill Fortune any longer.    This\nman, an uneducated Yorkshireman who was ' bossed*\nby his  wife,  was owner of a little  saw-mill  below\nKamloops.    He used to cause some amusement by\nblowing his little steamer's whistle at intervals from\nthe time he came in sight round the point to the\ntime he disappeared again, unless he was too much\nintoxicated  to pull the rope.    When Scott left his\nemploy  he took to running whisky into  the town,\nbut without much success, as the police confiscated\nhis biggest venture, which almost ruined my friend, as\nhe had put all his cash into it that time.    I used to\ntell him it served him right for trying to make money\nout of whisky, for I was then, and am now, a prohibitionist, although not a total abstainer.   I am quite\nsure  that I went through sufferings and privations\nboth in British Columbia and afterwards that would\nhave almost killed a man accustomed to drink spirits,\nand I have often been six months at a time without\ndrinking anything intoxicating, even when it almost\nrisked my life to refuse.    Nevertheless, in some company I have had to drink, and I myself have deemed\nit occasionally politic to swagger into a bar-room and BACK TRACKS TO EAGLE PASS\n215\nsay : ' Step up, boys, what's your liquor ? ' just to show\na rough crowd I was not too ' high-toned ' to drink\nwith them, or too mean to pay out a dollar now and\nagain.\nIt was getting towards the end of June, when one\nevening Kyle sent for me to say that he wanted me\nto come out with him the next day to bridge over\nsome sloughs, and that he needed another man, too,\nwho was to be an axeman. So I went round and\nhired one, and next morning this man, Williams,\nwhom I had met before at Kamloops, and who was\nTaffy's partner, and I set out together up the road and\nwere presently joined by Kyle on horseback. We all\nworked together, felling trees across these sloughs\nto make temporary bridges for the men to cross who\nwere making the grade. We took all the morning to\ndo three, and then Williams and the boss and I ate\nour lunch on one of the trees in the middle of the\nswamp, dipping up water in a tin cup to drink. I\nwas not much of an axeman ; indeed it is rare to find\nan Englishman who can do very much with that\ninstrument, as it requires a long apprenticeship, so\nKyle did great part of my work in showing me how\nto do it. He knew very well I worked hard, but then\nhe could, from knowing how to handle an axe, do\ntwice as much as I in half the time, with half the\nexertion, and he would be calm and smiling where\nI was sweating and puffing, striking every blow in\na different place.    After lunch we went up to the -\ni6\nTHE  WESTERN AVERNUS\nEagle River, and hailing the other side a man came\nacross in a boat, or a vile apology for one, like the\nthing I had crossed the Illecilliwet in. However, we\ngot across safely, and went farther up to another\nslough, and after working there awhile we left\nWilliams at the job alone and came back to the\nriver. Here Kyle told me he wanted to make a\nferry, though he did not explain how he was going to\ndo it. We had brought out with us in the morning\ntwo coils of rope, which he had left in the boat.\nWhen we got to the river again, to where this punt\n\u2022was, a quarter of a mile above where the railroad was\nto cross, we got in and I took the oars. As we\ndrifted down Kyle told me what to do. There was\njust above the railroad crossing a long dead tree,\nbare of branches, lying on the bank, projecting halt\nway over the stream, which is narrow but extremely\nrapid, running at least eight miles an hour. I was\nto let the boat drift right under the point of this tree,\nso that Kyle could throw a running noose over the\nend of it, which, as he stood up, would be four or five\nfeet above his head. So down we swept, quicker and\nquicker, until at last we were right under it. Kyle\nthrew and missed. ' Pull, pull, G\u2014 d\u2014 it, can't you\npull ?' he said. I swore back,' Can't you see I am\npulling ?' But it was no use. I could not make any\nheadway, strain as I might, with a flat-bowed thing\nagainst which the waters stood up. So down we\nwent, and  I had to pull to the  shore  nearest our\n'\nit-UK] BACK TRACKS  TO EAGLE PASS\n217\ncamp. Then Kyle took the rope, when he had\nrecovered from his fit of irritation, and walked out\non the tree and put the loop on and came back again.\nMy heart was in my mouth, for if he had slipped\nhe would have had a hard struggle to save himself.\nHowever, he came to the bank in safety. Then he\nbrought the rope down to the boat, and, holding on\nto it, we swung out into mid stream, and then tried\nto steer her over to the other side. We found it impossible to make the shore without letting the rope\ngo, and then it would have been a great chance. So\nback we went, and Kyle pulled his watch out and\nsaid, ' It's past four now, and I promised to see someone in town at five. I must go, and you must get\nover and bring Williams across.' ' Yes,' said I, ' but\nhow the devil am I to do it ?' 'I don't know\/ said\nKyle, and strode off. I sat down and laughed. He\nand I could not get across, and now I was to do it\nmyself. Then I grew serious, for I could not see how\nit was to be done. I looked at the stream and the\nstrong eddies, then at the boat and the rude oars or\npaddles, then at the tree and the rope. I thought it\nimpossible, and was very nearly turning round and\nwalking off without even attempting it. However,\nI hit on a plan at last. I thought I could try at\nany rate, and if I was drowned it would be Kyle's\nfault, and I would, if possible, haunt him. My\ngreatest fear, however, was not of drowning but of\nbeing carried down the river, which would deprive 218\nTHE   WESTERN A VERNUS\nthe men working there of all means of crossing at\nthe old place. As I sat down, making plans, one of\nthese men came to the opposite bank and asked how\ntheir boat got there, and when I told him he made\nsome uncomplimentary remarks about Kyle. I asked\nhim how I was to get across, and he said I couldn't\ndo it. ' Well, I've got to do it.' ' Well, you can't\/\nand he disappeared. Then I got into the boat, laid\nhold of the rope, the loose end of which I tied to a\nstump, and hauled myself slowly up stream, hand\nover hand, until I was right under the tree again, and\nthe water boiled in over the bows. I let go, jumped\nto the seat, snatched the oars, was caught in an eddy,\nand came just where I wanted to. So far so good ;\nbut the question now Was how Williams and I were\nto get back again. If I had been able to bring the\nloose end of the rope over it would have been all right,\nbut that had been impossible owing to its being too\nshort. To start from that side without any rope, just\nin that place, would have taken us and boat probably\na mile down stream. So there was nothing for it but\nto take the boat back to the place Kyle had brought\nit from, and a delightful task that proved. The\nbanks were thick with brush, and trees projected over\nthe water everywhere. One of the railroad men got\nin and tied a rope to the bows, and Williams and another hauled it up while I scrambled round the brush\nto pass the end on when they came to an impassable\nplace    Three times I fell in, once I had  to swim BACK TRACKS  TO EAGLE PASS\n219\nand once I was dragged out by the scruff of the neck,\nbefore we got it back, and many were the curses\nlevelled at my boss for his ' darned ingenuity ' as the\nman in the boat called it. At last Williams and I\ngot across, and set off just at dusk to walk eight\nmiles or more to town, thinking that we had at any\n\u2022rate got over the worst and that the rest was plain\nsailing or plain walking. But we were greatly deceived. As we walked down the embankment of soft\nsand in the middle of the cedar forest the sky rapidly\ndarkened and the wind came down in heavy puffs,\nlike the forerunner of a gale. Up to this time I\nhad not seen it blow much in British Columbia,\nexcept for a little while once at New Westminster,\nso I thought it would blow over and be nothing of\nconsequence ; but, instead of doing that, it came\ndown heavier and heavier, until it ceased puffing and\ncame in violent blasts, each lasting longer than the\nother, and fairly screaming in the trees. Then needles\nand dead branches began to fly, and presently a tree\ncrashed down and then another. We had got by\nthis time to a long slough with a log-bridge lying in\nthe water across it, and on both sides there were\nparties of men at work. We saw them standing up on\nthe grade looking round, and then one made a run\nand then another, trying to find a better place. Then\nthe gale's force suddenly increased,  and  a  dozen\no J 7\ncedars came down at once all round us, with a roar\nlike thunder, and all through the thick timber they MB\n\u2022N\n220\nTHE   WESTERN A VERNUS\nfell right and left, one lodging against another, then\nboth would go. And the fires lighted by the men to\nmake their supper roared and crackled in the wind,\nsending out clouds of sparks and red embers. And\nthe rain began to fall heavily, blown stingingly right\nin one's face. I ran out into the middle of the\nslough on to the bridge, thinking it might be safer,\nbut when out there the tall trees seemed to bend\nover to me, and I ran right across to where the others\nwere scuttling round like holeless rabbits, trying to\nfind a shelter.\nAnd meantime there was a perfect windy pandemonium in the forest, roars and shrieks of wind, and\ncrash, crash, crash came more trees, here, there, and\neverywhere, some into the slough, some across the\ngrade near where we were standing, and others in the\ndistance; the rain was piercing and stinging, and\nsparks flew into the forest and set fire to the brush,\nand were extinguished again and again.\nFinally, after about an hour, it began to lull, and\ncame less and less, and no more trees fell. Presently\nWilliams came across the slough and we made a\nfresh start home, and after a weary tramp in the\nrain got to the store. I went in. ' Hallo\/ said\nRequa, ' you look like a ghost, or as if you had seen\none.' Mr. Kyle was sitting near. ' Mr. Kyle\/ said I,\n' I brought Williams over, but you let me in for a\nnice thing. We had to drag that boat up stream and\nI fell in three times, and afterwards we nearly came 1\nBACK TRACKS  TO EAGLE PASS\n221\nto an end on the grade with the wind. Trees are\nlying all over the work.' He was grinning till I came\nto the last, but that touched him a little, for he was\nin a great hurry to get the job finished, and anything\nlikely to delay it made him wild. So he stopped his\nsmile and said, ' Very well, that will do ; I'll go up\nto-morrow.' They had had it nearly as bad in town,\nand there had been a big waterspout on the lake.\nThe amount of fallen timber must have been immense, and that so much of it fell was owing to a\nfire that had been through the forest the year before,\nwhich had burnt round the butts of the trees and\nweakened them.\nSoon after this came the Fourth of July, which,\nstrange to say, was kept with games and rejoicings\nand fights and much intoxication, just as if it had\nbeen on American or United States soil. We had a\nhorse-race down the narrow street, and jumping,\nthrowing the hammer and tossing the caber. In the\nafternoon came running and an incidental fight,\nbecause our brawny blacksmith kicked a dog out of\nthe way of the runners. ' Don't you do that,' said the\nowner. ' I'll kick you off too.' ' Will you ?' No\nsooner was he dared than the blacksmith knocked his\nopponent down and kicked him just over the eye.\nThen the constable interfered and got a blow in the\nmouth. There was every prospect of a general\nmilee, but things quieted down and the games went\non, and at last we had a tug of war, in   which  I\nm 717\nm\ni)\nm\nTHE   WESTERN A VERNUS\nwas picked on one side. I confess our side was\nbeaten, however, and the others drank the keg of\nbeer, which was the prize. By this time it was dark,\nand at least 75 per cent, of the population were drunk\nand vociferous, and there was great howling down the\nstreet all night, and lugubrious procession of black\neyes and swollen heads next day.\nIn the middle of the month I had a trip down to\nKamloops on a very unpleasant errand, for Kyle sent\nme there with some others in charge of the body of\na young fellow who had been killed in his tent one\nnight by a tree falling on him when asleep. I had\nto go to the funeral, and was glad enough to get\nback to the pass again to my horses and novel reading in the hay.\nI read a good deal of trash this time, and only\nremember Hardy's ' Far from the Madding Crowd,\nthe best novel I had seen then for many a long day.\nAnd then I got Meredith's ' Diana of the Crossways\/\nand the first volume of Ruskin's ' Stones of Venice\/\nand became temporarily learned in voussoirs, spandrels, arches, ornaments, &c.\nDuring this month we had still a very lively time\nin town, with occasional intervals of comparative\nquiet for a day or two when Mr. Todd, the magistrate,\ncame up from Kamloops, for then the unlicensed\nliquor dealers would hold their hands and go quietly,\nso that no one could be very drunk in town. One\nday he came into our store, when it was fearfully warm, BACK TRACKS  TO EAGLE PASS\n223\nand sat down sighing. ' Don't you find it rather dull\nhere, Mr. Todd ?' said I. ' It is a little dull after\nKamloops.' ' Well\/ said I, smiling,' you can bet your\nlife it will be livelier when you leave town.' He\nsmiled himself, rather feebly, and left me sewing\nsacks, to keep myself from dying of ennui and heat\ncombined.\nWhen I look back on those months they were\nreally very happy. I had not too much to do ; I\nwas saving nearly ten pounds a month ; I had novels\nand my two classical dead friends, and my unclassical\nlive friend Scott, who would come in and argue about\nreligion, and get me to tell him something about\nDarwin, in order that he might try to controvert\nwhat I said. Then there was our daily swimming,\ncanoeing in Indian canoes, and jabbering with\nIndians, and rowing over to Major Rogers's place\nat Sickamoose Narrows. And good board was to be\nhad, even in this place. Better than all, I did not\nsuffer from home sickness, which can so unaccountably destroy all pleasure in life at times.\nAnd then I actually had a long conversation with\nanother educated man, a Church of England clergyman, from Kamloops, who had come up to do a little\npreaching to those who would listen. And these\nwere few. I took care of his horse, and so got acquainted with him, and one night he came down to\nthe stable to see the animal, and then we sat down\non the edge of a boat\u2014Taffy's boat, by the way\u2014and ^\nwmmm\u2014n\n224\nTHE   WESTERN A VERNUS\nargued of strange things, * free will, fixed fate, foreknowledge absolute\/ and the 'origin of evil\/ and\nfinding that the discussion would be interminable for\nlack of something we could really agree upon, we\nwent off into English literature, having a pleasant\ntalk about many different authors. Then I told him\nabout my meeting the two clergymen in the Fraser\nCanon, and made him laugh about the pie, although\nhis knowledge of cooking was no greater than Mr.\nEdwards's, the author of that most abominable crust.\nSo altogether I did not spend those three months\nto any great disadvantage, and I was sorry enough\nwhen Mr. Kyle told me he would not require my\nservices any longer, as there was so little to do. I\nhad been expecting this for some time, as during the\nlast two weeks I was with him I did not do a good\nday's work. So I took my money, bade farewell to\nEagle Pass Landing, went on board the 'Peerless\/\nand back to Kamloops.\n\u2022\u00bb\n'    1 225\nCHAPTER XVI\nTO  VANCOUVER  ISLAND  AND  VICTORIA.\nIn Kamloops I sent home ioo dols., leaving myself\nabout 40 dols., thinking that would be sufficient to see\nme through a period of rest, but I was sorry before\nlong that I had not kept it, as will be seen.\nI went over to Hughes's, and stayed there a few\ndays, doing a few odd jobs for him, and hunted a little\nand fished. I met an old acquaintance there again,\nan Indian woman, Mary, who had been .married to a\nwhite man near Kamloops, who nearly killed her with\na shovel. So she left him, and when I knew her was\nliving with an American from Maine, who certainly\ndid not try to kill her, but still used to beat her.\nThey would go into town together and get drunk, and\nthen fight and squabble. I got her to make me a pair\nof moccasins, which I lost going down to the coast.\nI had a pleasant week at Hughes's place, not doing\nmore work than made me fit to eat a good dinner, and\nwe had great talks and discussions, making plans of\nmeeting one day in London, which may yet come to\npass.    Then at last, getting tired of doing nothing\nQ V\nI\n226\nTHE   WESTERN A VERNUS\n%\nand earning nothing, I thought I would go to the\ncoast again.\nSo I bade my friend Mr. Hughes farewell, and\noff I went to Savona. I found an old saw-mill friend\nat Van Home, a man who was half an Indian by\ndint of living with them, who could talk Chinook as\nfluently as English, and with him I started to walk\ndown once more, firmly determined not to pay the exorbitant railroad fare ; and I walked the whole way to\nYale again, looking in at my friends the clergymen's\nplace near Jackass Mountain, of course, as I passed\nby. They gave us dinner, and we stayed to service\nwith a crowd of Indians, and heard them talk to\nthem in a strange soft tongue, very different from the\nguttural language of the coast.\nThen to Yale, and thence by steamer to New\nWestminster, and the Farmers' Home.\nI had been so careless of money coming down that\nI found I was running short once more, as usual with\nme, and as the mill had ' started up ' on a different\nbasis I went to work there again, but had trouble with\nanother Chinaman, and was discharged for knocking\nhim down. This was the second time. It was very\nunfortunate.\nI had only about 10 dols. If I had had four times\nas much I should have bought a rifle and hunted and\ntrapped that winter, but under the circumstances I\nthought it best to leave British Columbia, especially\nas I was told the Chinaman was going to take me to VANCOUVER ISLAND AND   VICTORIA      227\ncourt, and I should have been heavily fined if he had.\nOf course I could have got help to pay it if it had\ncome to that, but I thought it best to avoid accidents,\nso I jumped on board the ' Teaser ' for Victoria. The\nlast incident of note in New Westminster was my\nmeeting with a Japanese sailor, who had been looking on in the mill when I had the difficulty with the\nMongolian, and who insisted on shaking hands with\nme for thrashing him ; for these Japanese cordially\nhate their neighbours, and regard them, as this one\nand many another told me, as ' pigs and dogs.'\nWe ran down out of the river and were in the\n.Straits of Georgia, on the sea. Not the open sea, for\nit looked more like a large lake, yet it had the smell\nof the brine and the long roll of the sea, and the seaweed, and it was pleasant to me, whose last sight of\nopen salt water had been outside of Sandy Hook.\nWe ran across the straits, down, a multiplicity of\n-channels, among a thousand islands wooded to the\nvery edge of the water, and came at last into the\nland-locked, pleasant little harbour of Victoria.\nI had by this time picked up a companion or\npartner on board. He was an Englishman who had\nbeenBn the Cape Mounted Rifles and the Mounted\nPolice of the North-West Provinces east of the\nRockies, from which he had been discharged as an\ninvalid. He was a tall, strange individual, in a sort\nof velveteen jacket, evidently a gentleman, and with\nQ 2 \"ft \"*.\n228\nTHE   WESTERN A VERNUS\na good voice and English accent, but there was something uncanny about him. One might suspect him or\nbeing haunted. We talked a great deal of British\nColumbia, and I found he had been at Hughes's once.\nThen I remembered Hughes had told me of such a\none who came and asked for work during haying time,\nand when terms were agreed upon said he would like\nto go and read the newspaper that afternoon, and,\nfinally, that he thought he would not work there, but\nwould try to get a job that would last longer somewhere else. I found out he was the same individual. He had since then been at the Spullamacheen\nValley and was going to Victoria to try to get admission to the hospital.\nIn Victoria I went to the same hotel, and slept in\nthe same room with him, and was rather alarmed at\nthe wild way he talked. He was clearly insane. He\nraved about his relatives in England who had robbed\nhim of his money, of his comrades in the Mounted\nPolice who had put forth evil reports about him, and\neven about the people in Victoria, who knew what had\nbeen said of him, for he had heard them talking about\nhim in the streets. I went to sleep, but not without\nsome misgivings, glad that he had no razor in his\nvalise, for he looked no unlikely subject for homicidal\nmania.\nNext day I was relieved by his getting admission\nto the hospital, which, unless I am much mistaken,,\nwould be a first step to his obtaining a permanent VANCOUVER ISLAND AND   VICTORIA       220\nrefuge at the lunatic asylum, certainly the best place\nfor him.\nI was now coming down gradually in cash, and\nwas in a very fair way to have nothing at all. It\nreally seemed to me that it was my fate to be perpetually in financial difficulties, for no sooner did I\nget anything than it vanished again, and when I got\na good job it would not last. But then a bad one\nwould not either. I was perpetually in anxiety, and\nsometimes even felt inclined to spend my last dollar\nor two recklessly, in order to know the worst at once\nand be no more in suspense. As I was walking about\ntown in a state of mental inquiry as to ways and\nmeans, occasionally asking for work at some likely-\nlooking place, I met suddenly my two friends from\nthe canon. Now I was a pretty object to talk to\n-clergymen in a populous city. It is true my old\nTexas hat had been discarded at Eagle Pass, but I\nwas nevertheless only in rough working clothes, and\n\u2022doubtless the state of my pocket might have been discerned by a keen observer in my dejected face. Nevertheless my wild appearance did not daunt Mr. Small\nand Mr. Edwardes, who bore down with smiling faces\nand shook hands, making all sorts of inquiries. Then\nI walked down the street with them, feeling something like a prisoner between two policemen, and many\nwere the curious glances cast at me by passers-by\nwhen they saw me in such company. Perhaps they\nthought I was  a brand snatched from the burning. m-%\nns\ni ii\ni *'\ni 11 \\\nm\n230\nTHE   WESTERN A VERNUS\nI met a man from the hotel in which I was staying,\nand his astonishment and temporary paralysis were delightful, and I had to stand a considerable amount of\nchaff about my ' high-toned ' acquaintances when I left\nthem, after promising to lunch with them next day. I\ntried to get off, but they insisted, so I went to a good\nrestaurant with them, and surprised the waiter, who*\nat first, I have no doubt, thought I was an unfortunate\nman these two charitable individuals had brought in\nto save from starvation ; but when he saw the terms we\nwere on, and heard snatches of our conversation, he-\nlooked at me with more respect and a great amount\nof subdued curiosity. After lunch we went out and\nhired a boat, and I pulled them round to Esquimault\nHarbour, and we took a look at H.M.S. ' Triumph\/*\nComing back we got into a religious argument, and I\nfear they got to look at me as a very heathen, for my\nviews and pessimistic philosophy of life seemed, no\ndoubt, extremely wrong viewed from their standpoint,\nand it was with the sorrowful charity of shocked yet\nj 9\/\nforgiving spirits that they parted from me for the last\ntime. And I was left alone to come back from metaphysics to the reality I philosophically denied, and\nfrom subjective introspective analysis of motives impelling to action, faith, or belief, to the objectivity of\nnearly penniless pockets and need of paid employment.\nThat afternoon I went down to the wharves and\nasked the mate of the steamer ' Olympian\/ which ran VANCOUVER ISLAND AND   VICTORIA       211\n0'\ndown the Sound, to let me work my way to Tacoma,\nand after several refusals, as I refused to be denied,\nhe told me to take a truck, and I helped discharge her\ncargo and then to load her up again, working like a\nhorse, running and sweating along with the regular\nhands.\nSo I left Victoria and ran down Puget Sound,\ncalling in at Port Townsend, Port Ludlow, Port\nMadison, and Seattle, doing little or nothing on the\nway down, as there was no discharging to do until I\ncame in the morning to Tacoma. 1 \u25a0\u2022\u25a0-ll\n2 *5 2\nTHE  WESTERN AVERNUS\nl! ,\nCHAPTER   XVII.\n1\nMOUNT TACOMA OVERHEAD,\nxAs I had had breakfast on board the steamer, I\nwas not obliged to pay out anything from my scanty\nstock for meals, and I went up town to look for work,\nI soon discovered that I had jumped out of the frying-\npan into the fire, and there was even less to be done\nin Tacoma than in Victoria. I tried road contractors\nand house builders, but could not even get work at\nmixing mortar. I went to the coal wharves and\ntried to obtain employment trimming coal, but every\none was full handed. Then I walked down to the\ngreat saw-mill, and tackled every one about the place\nwithout success, until at last I came to the man who\nsuperintended the loading of the vessels at the mill's\nwharves. Yes, I could come down in the afternoon\nand go to work. Then I wanted to know the wages.\nHe looked at me. ' Oh, it's the wages you want to\nknow !    Then you can wait till you find out\/    I got\nJ 7 o\nwild and ' talked back\/ and finally told him and the\nmill to go to a warm locality, for I didn't want his MOUNT TACOMA   OVERHEAD\n233\nwork, and wouldn't work under him at any price.\nThis, of course, was not true ; but then I had never\nbeen answered in that way in all my life, and it very\nnaturally made me angry. And the fact that he\nanswered in such a way showed me that men must\nbe very plentiful, or he would not have' ventured to\nspeak so, for the bosses are polite enough when hands\nare scarce. I walked off boiling, and made up my\nmind to leave Tacoma and the Sound and go to\nPortland. Then I would go to sea again and get\nout of America. I began to think I had had enough\nof it.\nI walked up town, and, in order to reduce myself to a cool and quiet state of mind, I climbed the\nhills beyond the main street, for I desired to see\nMount Tacoma, which I had been told was a lofty\nand magnificent mountain. After a while I turned\nand looked back, but could see nothing, for all the\nlevel land across the head of the Sound was filled\nwith a mass of vapour. I sat down and waited, and\npresently mist and cloud began to shift and roll in\nthe wind, that bared to me at last the most glorious\nmountain I had yet seen. The peaks of the Rockies\nfaded from my memory, and the snowy pinnacles of\nthe Selkirks\u2014even the white cone of Mount Baker\u2014\nwere hidden and diminished, as this white miracle of\nrock and ice and snow rose before me, towering nearly\nfifteen thousand feet above the sea that was at my\nfeet and the level lands at its base.    Its tremendous w\n-*\u00ab\u25a0\nmr^mm\n234\nTHE  WESTERN AVERNUS\nIK; ,\nmajesty is not lessened by division of peaks nor\nmarred by additions ; it is one and indivisible, solitary,\npatriarchal yet childless. It lifts its ancient head for\never above the clouds ; the storm thunder rolls below\nthe thunder of its loosening avalanches : the scream\nof the soaring eagle fails to pierce to the olden silence*\nof that height; and only the fires of the stars are-\nabove the cold sharp jewels of its glittering icy crest;\nonly the splendour of the sun can kindle it to responsive rose, that magic colour beyond even the ethereal\nglory of the rainbow and the tinged fleece of floating*\nclouds at even. It is imperial, antique, beyond worship, eternal and godlike.\nI had seen a mountain, and one unsurpassed in\nAlps and Andes.    Is there a greater on I fimalay?\nI came back slowly to earth after that, not this\ntime from the depths of subjectivity but from the-\nrapt state of ecstasy that one knows so seldom, when\none becomes one with Nature for a while, and an un--\nreasoning pantheist, when one's eyes are blind to anything but the glory of the universe, and one's ears**\nare deaf to the anguish of the world, and forgetful\neven of one's own. I was alone that hour, and I am\nglad ; a voice would have iarred on me like a false note-\n\"O ' \u00bb7\nin an exquisite sonata, and even another silent like*\nmyself would have kept me to the earth and reality.\nFor that time I was a mystic, a theopath, and a\nbeliever in dreams and visions, and the mountain was\nalive, theurgic, whole and part of me, and the sea- MOUNT TACOMA   OVERHEAD\n239\nstrait beneath and the sky above were ways for spirits\nand spiritual ministering, and sacred.\nYet I came back to reality, pain, anxiety, to converse with brutish men, and weariness of the flesh.\nMy plan was now to get out of this town and go\nto Portland, that was now so near to me, in comparison with the huge distance when I had dreamed\nof a raft voyage down the Columbia from the Rocky\nMountains. As it was impossible for me to pay my\nfare, since I had but two dollars and a half, there\nremained two courses open to me. I could walk or\n'beat my way' on the train. I declined walking; I\nhad had enough of it in British Columbia, toiling to\nand fro over mountain and road, so there remained\nbut ' beating.' I had to find a freight or goods train,\nand in it an open or unlocked car in which I could\nsecrete myself, so that I might be taken to Portland\nwithout any one knowing. And even if I was found\nout perhaps a dollar would set it right with the conductor or brakesman, who are, as a rule, not above\nmaking an addition to their pay. So I went down\nto the railroad yards, and was told by a man to goto a certain hotel, kept by an ex-conductor, who would\nbe able to put me up to the tricks and tell me what\ntrain would be best for me to take. I went there, and\nfound out that there was a train at four o'clock next\nmorning going to Portland. I learnt the conductor's\nname, but was told to keep out of his way. I could\nfind out nothing about the brakesman. *L*\u00ab\n236\nTHE   WESTERN A VERNUS\nI went down in the evening to the place from\nwhich the train would start, near which there was a sawmill, and I soon made friends with the night watchman, who promised to find me a good pile of sawdust\nto sleep on, which would save me paying for a bed,\nwhich I could as ill afford as when I was in Chicago.\nI sat down by the fire and talked and smoked with\nhim till ten o'clock, and then together we hunted up\nsome good shavings and sawdust, and I spread my\nblankets out and went to sleep most placidly.\nNext morning, at half-past three, he called me, and\nI rolled up my blankets and went out into the darkness to seek my train, after shaking hands with him.\nWhen I came to the cars I went along trying the\ndoors, and was nearly caught by the conductor.\nHowever, I hid in some lumber until he passed by,\nand then came out again, finding, fortunately, a car\nwith the end door open. I jumped up, put my head\nin, and finding there was room I dropped my blankets\ninside, following them as quickly as possible, shutting\nthe door behind me. I found there was very little stuff\nin the car, but making my way nearly to the other end\nI kicked a soft yielding mass, which grunted out:\n* Hallo, partner, where are you coming to ?' ' Didn't\nsee you, pard, it's too dark,' said I; and then thinking\nI had heard the voice before, asked : ' Ain't you the\nIrishman I spoke to last night ? ' ' Yes, I am.' So\nwe knew each other, and presently, when the engine\nwhistled and rang her bell, and started out, I lighted MOUNT  TACOMA   OVERHEAD\n237\na match and took a look at my companion and my\ntravelling carriage, or ' side-door Pullman,' as the\n' tramps' and ' dead-beats ' facetiously call them. It\nwas new and smelt most villanously of vile paint,\nthere were some planks in it, dirty and evil, the floor\nhad cracks in it, and the sides as well. My Irish\nfriend was a man about thirty-five or forty, or even\nmore, bearded and dirty, with a longish upper lip\nand a sulky inward look\u2014in all respects a man whom\nI did not desire as a companion or a friend. He was\nlying down with his head on his blankets, chewing\ntobacco. I spread mine out and rolled myself up in\nthem, and soon went to sleep, waking up every time\nthe train stopped. About two hours from the time\nof starting, when we were side-tracked, waiting for a.\ntrain to pass us on the single line, the door was suddenly shot back on its slide and a young fellow leapt\nin. 'Hallo, you fellows, where are you bound for?'\n' Portland\/ said I, sitting up and biting off a bit of\ntobacco to show I was at my ease. ' Well, you'll have\nto put up the stuff (Anglice, put down some money),\nor you can't travel.' ' How much will do it?' said my\nIrish partner. ' A dollar and a half each.' We both\nswore it couldn't be done. ' I haven't got a dollar and\na half,' I said. I lied. I had 2.50 dols. Then he\ncame down to a dollar and a quarter. ' Yes\/ said I,\n' but suppose we give you the cash now, what will\nhappen if the conductor comes along ?' ' That will\nbe all right'    'No, it won't be all right, brakie;   I si\n1\n.\u00a3,\nm\n238\nTHE   WESTERN AVERNUS\nknow this man's name, it's M , and you know it\nisn't all right.' This took him aback. 'Well, I'll tell\nyou what I'll do. If you'll give me a dollar and a\nquarter after we get across the Columbia at Kalama\nI'll let you ride.    If you get bounced by M before\nthen it will be my loss, and if it's over the other side\nit will be yours.' ' That's a bargain\/ said I ; ' you\n-shall have it when we cross.' So he went away, and\nI went to sleep again for a while, and then woke up\nand sat smoking and thinking about the stories my\nbrother used to tell me about beating his way in New\nMexico. Very often men will ride on the engine\nabove the pilot or cow-catcher, and sometimes even\ninside it. Then some men travel on the passenger-\ntrains, on top of the cars, or on the baggage-car at\nthe end where there is no door\u2014the ' blind baggage\/\nas it is called. And, besides this, there is what is\nknown as the ' universal ticket\/ a board with notches\nin it to fit on the iron stays under the passenger-\ncoaches. Some, too, will ride on the brake-beam. In\nfact there is no method, however hazardous it may be,\nthat is not practised by men who want to go somewhere in a hurry or without walking. My Irishman\ntold me that he was travelling in Oregon once, and was\nstanding up between the freight-cars, with his feet on\nthe coupling, holding on to the steps with his hands.\nA brakesman coming along on top noticed him, and\n\u2022demanded a dollar, which the Irishman either wouldn't\nor couldn't pay.    The brakie came down a step and 1\nMOUNT TACOMA   OVERHEAD\n239\n\u25a0made a kick at him.    ' I  grabbed hold of his leg\/\nsaid he, ' and held him.    He couldn't let go with his\nhands or shift his other foot.   It was a pretty position.\nBut I got tired myself, and at last I sez : \" Will you\nbe quiet if I let yez go?\"    \"I will,\" sez he, for he was\nscared I should pull him down and throw him under\nthe wheels, and devil the good in his hollering for the\nrow of the train.    So I lets him up.    And what do\nyou think the murdering blagaird   did ?     He goes\nright back to  the   caboose, I guess, and fetches a\ncoupling-pin' (of iron, about one inch thick and ten\ninches long) 'and comes over me and sez: \"Take that,\nyou dam bum,\" and lets drive at me.   When I see him\nlift his arm I pulled my six-shooter.    The pin came\ndown an' just missed me, an' I shot at him.     Away\nhe goes forward, and presently the train slackens up.\nSez I : I It's time I left, if I don't want to be killed.\"\nSo I jumps off, and rolls twenty feet down a bank.   I\n-scrambled on me hands and knees about twenty yards,\nfor I was hurt, and I couldn't run, and got into a thick\nbush, an' I lay low.    The fireman and brakie and the\nconductor came huntin' me with lanterns, and two o'\nthem had guns, and I heard 'em swear to kill me.    I\ncocks mine and says : \" Not if I can help it\"    Twice\nthat brakie came within five yards o' me, and each\ntime I was just going to shoot him when he turned\noff.    At last they gets tired, and goes on board the\ntrain, cursing horrible, you bet.    I wish I'd killed the\nbastard anyhow\/ 240\nTHE   WESTERN A VERNUS\nI\nI    I I\nII rl\nWith such  yarns  we beguiled  the time,  and I\n\u2022\u2022\/ CD> 7\nbegan to think that we were going ' slick' through to\nPortland, but I reckoned without the conductor. When\nwe stopped at a small station, after running about\nfive hours, the door slid back' again and a different\nhead looked in.    ' Hallo, boys, how are you making\n7 j     7 j jj)\nit ?' with a sardonic grin that boded us no good.    ' Oh,\no *o 7\nwell enough,' said I. 'Are you going to Portland?\n' That's where I'm going.'    ' Then you had better get\nO O 9\/ o\nout and walk.'    I grinned and sat still.    ' It's far easier\nthis way.    Ain't you going to let us ride ?'    ' Not by\na darn sight.    You've come ninety miles, and that's\ngood  enough.'    ' Well\/ said I at last, ' if I must I\nmust,' and I grabbed my blankets and jumped out,\nthinking at any rate  that  I   had   saved my dollar\nand if the * con' had found us on the other side the\ndollar and the ride would have both been lost.    So\nI rolled up my loose blankets on a pile of ties, while\nthe Irishman sat smoking alongside philosophically.\nI heard a colloquy between the brakie and the conductor.    The former was angry with the latter  for\nspoiling his little game, and the conductor evidently\nenjoyed the whole business.    Finally he said : ' Who's\nrunning this train, you or I ?    If you don't like what\nI do you can get off and walk.'    So the brakie ' dried\nup' and said no more.    Presently the  train moved\noff, and I found myself at Cowlitz, ten miles from\nthe Columbia, and set out to walk, soon leaving the\nIrishman behind.    After walking five miles, I heard MOUNT TACOMA- OVERHEAD\n241\na hand-car coming along behind me, with some\nsection hands working it along by means of the lever,\n' pumping\/ as it is commonly called. When they\ncame up with me the boss stopped it and invited me\nto take a ride and pump with them. So I was on a\nhand-car again, for the first time since I had left the\nsection in Iowa, where Ray Kern and I worked for\nthree days. In a very short time we ran into Kalama,\nand I went and got some supper and slept in a big\ndeserted house that had been built when the town\nhad a ' boom '\u2014i.e. when there was great speculation\nin lots and building, and a great future was predicted\nfor it. This is the place where the cars run across\nthe river on a big ferry-boat ; from the farther side\nthey then go to Portland.\nNext morning I went across with the passenger-\ntrain, paid a dollar to go to that town, and soon\narrived there, an utter stranger with no friends and a\ndollar and a half in my pocket. This was just as\nusual, however, and by this time I began to get used\nto it, and did not feel as miserable as I ought to have\ndone. I went to a cheap hotel, had supper, and next\nmorning began to look for a ship to get out of America.\nI was not particular where I went\u2014England, Australia,\nSouth America, or China.\nI had a notion then in my head to go to China,\nthence to Singapore, thence to Calcutta, and then\nhome to England through the Suez Canal; or I\ncould go to Australia, and thence to Calcutta, in some\nR 242\nTHE   WESTERN A VERNUS\nof the ships that take Australian horses for mounting\nthe Indian cavalry. I had been to sea before, indeed\nI had served as an ' able-bodied seaman ' between\nEngland and Australia for a while, and though six\nor seven years had elapsed since my more youthful\nescapades, I thought I had still enough of the business\nat my fingers' ends to carry me through. So I walked\ndown to the wharves along the Willammette (accented\noh the second syllable), and the first vessel I came\nto I was lucky enough to get a job in. This was\na barque, the 'Coloma\/ of Portland, bound to China\nwith lumber and returning Chinamen. I spoke to the\nmate at the gangway as he was tallying lumber down\nthe chute into the bow-ports, and afterwards to the\nskipper, presenting him with my brother's certificate\nof discharge, as I had lost my own by shipping once\nbefore in England for New Zealand in a fit of pique\u2014\na foolish love affair\u2014and then backing out just before\nshe sailed. I was told to come to work in the afternoon. I brought down my bundle, had dinner, and\nstowed lumber down in the hold with my new companions. It was hard work, lifting heavy planks,\nforty feet long, in a confined space, driving them in\nwith a sledge-hammer or using another plank as a ram.\nThen sometimes lumber would come down without\nmuch warning, through the carelessness of the man\non the look-out for it, and it was necessary then to\njump for one's life, or at any rate to save one's legs.\nMy shipmates were a mixed lot.   ' One was  a MOUNT TACOMA   OVERHEAD\n243\nFrenchman from France, not a Canadian Frenchman,\nwho spoke very bad English, so bad that I had to\nmake him talk French slowly when I wanted to\nunderstand him particularly, but at other times I\nwould let him ramble on unintelligibly, throwing in a\nfew remarks at random to make him believe I was\nlistening. Another was an old Englishman, formerly\nsailing in the steamers from England to the West\nCoast of Africa : a little man he was, whose boast was\nthat he never got drunk, although he drank to excess.\nHe told me many horrible and circumstantial accounts\nof fever-stricken ships, and how once he made canvas\nshrouds for eighteen men on the voyage home, the\nonly survivors of passengers and crew being himself,\nthe captain, two firemen, and an engineer. There\nwas a Newcastle-on-Tyne man, a Geordie, fair and\nblue-eyed and strong and broad-shouldered, a gay\nLothario of seamen, and a babbler concerning\n* bonnes fortunes\/ but a good-hearted, pleasant\nEnglishman. After him, in my mind, comes an Irish\nsailor, long in America, lithe and loose-jointed, perpetually smiling, mirthful and mirth-provocative, loud\nand witty, a great joker, a natural humourist, a born\nlow comedian out of his element. He made me\nlaugh against my will, waking me in the dead of\nnight by stumbling into the fo'cs'le half-drunk. His\nfirst remark in the dark would make laughter and\nsleep struggle against each other in me, and by the\nR 2\nif K*\n11\n244\nTHE  WESTERN A VERNUS\ntime he had the lamp lighted I would be shaking in\nmy bunk and shouting.\nDown below, working in the hold, it was the same ;\ntime ' could not stale, nor custom wither his infinite\nvariety' of facial contortion and remarks. Once he\nnearly caused me to fall from aloft by making me\nlaugh until my sides ached.\nHe was delightful so, and at the same time an\ninimitable raconteur. Three times had ships sailing\nfrom the Pacific coast to England foundered, compelling him and the rest of the crew to the boats,\nafter laborious pumping day and night, until some\ndied of fatigue and some jumped overboard.\nThen in the West Indies, one time, the cook died\nof yellow jack, and the captain made him cook, much\nagainst his will. He got on well enough for a while,\ncooking beef and potatoes, as the bread came from\nthe shore. But one day the skipper brought ten\npounds of rice on board, and told him they would have\nrice for dinner that day in the cabin. Now Jim\nknew as much about rice as a man would who had\nonly eaten it, and thinking, from the size of the bag,,\nthat it would about do for the three in the cabin-\nleaving perhaps some for himself, he began to cook\nthe whole of it. His account of the progress of that\ncooking was delightful: how it swelled up and\nthrust the lid off, and began to pour out on the\nrange; how he snatched more saucepans, and how\nthose  filled  up  and  came over ;  and how, finally,\nHLi MOUNT TACOMA   OVERHEAD\n245\nevery available pot he had was choking with rice,\nwhile he was ladling it out, blind with excitement, on\nto a board. His tragic accents and facial play would\nhave made his fortune as a story-teller.\nAt night time he and Geordie and I went up\ntown, but after a little while I always left them, to\navoid getting drunk, as both of them could drink\nbuckets of lager beer, while five glasses would be\nmore than enough for me; indeed, four would make\nme crawl along the gang-plank to the t'gallant fo'cs'le\nfor safety. Then they would come in, boisterous and\nsinging, at midnight.\nOur officers were mixed, as usual. The captain\nwas very quiet, and, as far as I found him, very considerate.\nThe chief officer, or first mate, was a big, heavy\nman, weighing about fifteen stone, loud-voiced but good-\ntempered, and yet rather a dangerous man to handle,\nI fancy. At any rate, I had no desire to try conclusions with him. The second mate was my particular\naversion, and it was through him I left the ship. I\nhad soon found out, when once on board, that as my\nsea-education had been very hasty I had forgotten a\ngreat part of it after six years of the' land, and that\nmade this second mate take a dislike to me. Then\nhe had a particularly bullying way of speaking to all\nof us, and I disliked it very much. He used to look\nat me sometimes as if he was saying, ' Wait till I get\nyou to sea.'    Now I could have whipped him if it had 246\nTHE   WESTERN AVERNUS\nonly been between us two, but I knew that if I had\ntrouble with him at sea I should have to reckon with\nthe mate as well, and I could not have whipped him\nAnd, to make things worse, one day the second mate\nset me to grease down the mizzentopmast, and would\nnot give me a bo'son's chair. I refused to do it, and\nthe ensuing altercation was heard by the captain, who,\nordered him to give me one, saying I could not be\nexpected to do it without. This made him thoroughly\nmy enemy. So, after I had been on board two weeks*\nI determined to leave, although I had signed articles,\nand having got my money due for working with\nlumber, which was paid every Saturday night, and a\nlittle more of that due to me from the monthly wages\non the pretext of wanting to buy some underclothing,\nI left her early on Monday morning with my blankets\nand five dollars cash, intending to see if I could not\nget work in the country in the valley of the Willam-\nmette. And if I was unsuccessful I could walk south\ntowards California, keeping in my mind, as an ultimate\npossible destination, the city of San Francisco. 247\nCHAPTER  XVIII.\nOREGON    UNDERFOOT.\nAll Oregon was before me where to choose, and I\ndetermined on that southward course, I was sorry\nindeed to feel myself forced to leave the ' Coloma,' but\nstill I knew it was probable I should have come to\nHong Kong in irons, or maybe not at all, for the occasional brutality of American officers is incredible, and\nfar beyond anything that occurs in English ships. So\nI cast loose and let myself into the stream of Destiny,\nthat runs for ever southward to that ' common sink\/\nSan Francisco ; whither, sooner or later, all men on\nthe Pacific slope must come for awhile, drawn by the\nmagnetic influence of a great city.\n\u00ab Portland, that flourishing, detestable, Chinese-\nridden town, that selfish city, I left without regret.\nHere they believe that the part is greater than the\nwhole, that their prosperity overweighs calamity even\nof greater Oregon, and that all the rest was made for\nthem.\nSo my time in America had not come to an end,\nand the 'terminus ad quern' was unknown and unknow- \u25a0^2\nf    1\nah\n248\nTHE   WESTERN A VERNUS\nable. I was thrown back again on myself, and my\nlate companions were behind me and a cloud-covered\npath before me.\nI went over the river and took a ticket for Aurora,\nso that I should get a good start into the country far\nfrom the city, as the farther I went the more likelihood there would, be in all probability, of obtaining\nwork. And when Aurora came I sat still in the\ncars, in order that I might go a little farther without\npaying for it. If the conductor had not come to me\nI would have gone on as far as the train went, but he\npolitely reminded me that my ticket had been for\nAurora ; so I had to get out at Hubbard, and walked\ndown the line after the disappearing train.\nI felt most melancholy for the rest of that day,\nand my thoughts ranged forward without finding any\nsatisfaction, and backwards with regret. It seemed\nas if I had no will of my own; that I was but the\nsport of Necessity and Destiny\u2014a straw on a stream\nto be carried on or lodged on a bar, as it might be.\nThe sky of blue was dull, and the singing of birds\nmelancholy, and the wind a dirge and a wail. I was\ntoo much alone, and dwelt in a cave without light;\nno natural cave-dweller or troglodyte, but a prisoner\nwith all natural friendly impulses and affections repulsed and rejected. Like a vine that finds no\nsupport for its tendrils to grow on and to be uplifted\nby, I ran along the ground, thrown down. My sacrifices were rejected, my fires quenched, and the heavy i\nOREGON UNDERFOOT\n249\nsmoke ran low in the air, portending storm. I was\nraging, nihilistic, anarchist, a mutineer against gods\nand men, a sneerer, a scoffer, atheist even as to Nature\nand Loveliness; a misanthrope, a misogynist, a re-\nviler of all things, a Sadducee, a Philistine. For the\niron entered my soul. And I walked like a whirlwind,\nwith a pestilence and despair in me, self-contained\nand wrathful. I ate in silence or went hungry in\nsilence. I rose up in starvation, and lived on apple\norchards like a bird of prey forced to hateful fruits,\nlacking blood and flesh. I passed men on the road\nand spoke not. If they spoke to me I did but\nstare at them, and went by in strange quiet. This\nfor days. Then I came back to myself somewhat,\nyet still walking as if towards a fixed goal that was\nfar off. I asked for work and asked in vain ; there\nwas no work and no money, and the hospitality was\nniggard and mean and unbountiful. I was no happy\ntramp who never worked, preferring to beg and lie in\nthe sun or steal; I was strong and tall, and could do\nmost things ; yet no work. I passed quiet Salem and\nwidespread Albany, and through Eugene City without hope. At night I camped out without supper;\nin the morning I awoke cold and chilled through, and\nwalked in hunger. I bought but little, and got a\nmeal now and again for chopping wood. I split much\nduring that journey, oak and pine, madrona and\nmanzanita. I drove the axe down vengefully, as\nthough an enemy's head was beneath the keen edge. w\n\u00ab#-.\n250\nTHE   WESTERN A VERNUS\nI filed saws for people.    I did all things that came\nto hand ; but no work yet to be obtained.\nAnd I left the fruitful, cursed Willammette Valley,\nand strove across the range to the valley of the North\nUmpqua River, walking, recklessly and hard, nearly\nforty miles that day.   And that night found a human\nbeing on the range, a farmer and a man, who spoke\nkindly and asked me in.    I remember him gratefully.\nThen through Oakland, old and new, and across the\nNorth Umpqua River to Roseberg.   Still no work, and\nstarvation.    And I left the road, crossed the South\nUmpqua, wading it, and went up Rice Creek into the\nhills,   meeting  no work  but  more  friendly  people.\nThen to Olallie Creek, for I heard of rail-splitting to\nbe had.    I came to a little house belonging to some\nmen owning sheep.    My hope  proved vain.    They\nhad nothing to do.    That night I slept a mile away\ndown in   the quiet  valley, getting breakfast  in the\nmorning.    And then the trail to Cow Creek, and to\nRiddle.    This was a pleasant walk, and I began to\nrecover from my fit of depression.   The air was bright\nand kind and large.   I could breathe.   And as I went\nalong the ridges of the hills I looked down on peace\nand  solitude, and sunlight and shadow.     And ever\nand again, as I walked quietly along the unfrequented\ntrail, a deer would jump through the brush and plunge\nleaping down or up the hill.    And I sat down and\ntook out my Virgil and read part of the Sixth Book,\nand got up calmer and better than I had been for OREGON UNDERFOOT\n2*\"I\ndays.     I  had   come  up  from   the  Avernus  for  a\nwhile.\nI came at last out of the trail on to a road and\na little house on the side of the hill. Beneath lay a\nstretch of plain with farmed land and houses, and\nbeyond a line of willowy creek, and beyond again\nhills. Under the verandah of the house sat a man\nreading. I went up and said ' Good day,' which he\npleasantly returned. I saw I had come across no ordinary farmer. He was an educated man evidently,\nwith good forehead and head and keen eyes, though\nspectacled. His hands were finely shaped, though\nhard and brown as his face ; good teeth and supple\nlips, and a fine smile ; young, about thirty-five perhaps. I sat down beside him. Presently he gave me\nthe paper, and I sat down and read the news. I asked\nhim for a bit of tobacco, and he gave me nearly half\na pound. Then he asked me to stay for dinner, and\nintroduced me to his wife, a gentle, pleasant, girlish,\ngraceful figilre, with much intelligence if slightly uncultured. Her pet fawn, with large ears and lovely\neyes, made friends with me. After dinner we sat and\ntalked. He was manager of a mine near at hand, an\nassayer and practical miner, a chemist too.    He took\nme to his little laboratory, and I showed him that I\nj t\nremembered a little of the chemistry I had learnt in\ndays gone by, and mentioned some of the best known\nnames in that science. Then we spoke of books, and\nI   found   him   well   informed   even   outside   of   his wltim\n5'\n1 c**>\nr\/ZS'   WESTERN AVERNUS\nspecialty.     So I spent a pleasant hour or two, and\nparted with him regretfully.\nI came down to Cow Creek, and passed on to\nCanyonville, sleeping in the canon in a barn that\nnight, walking next morning fifteen miles before I got\nbreakfast. Then I ran into the wilderness again of\nWolf Creek, and spent 25 cents of the last little\nmoney I had in buying a can of salmon, which I\ndevoured sitting on a log in the forest, and came at\nnight to Grave Creek, and split a pile of oakwood,\ngetting a good supper thereby and a long talk with\nthe hired girl, who was pretty and pleasant, not\ndeeming me a common tramp.\nThen onward next day as hard as ever. And I\ncame past Grant's Pass and saw Rogue River in the\nrain, and sat in a deserted barn, thinking what a fool\nI was to be there, while the rain came to sleet and\nsnow, and the wind was bitter. Then to Woodville,\nand 25 cents gone for supper, and sleep in a barn,\nand no breakfast. And I came now to an'old English\nfarmer's place, still asking for work, and still finding\nthere were more men in the country than were enough\nto do what was wanted. Then I saw the .Rogue\nRiver Valley, beautiful, level to the base of the\nfrowning Siskyou Mountains of Northern California, that lifted peak on peak of snow above that\nsmiling valley. I walked miles through it in vain,\nand turned at last to Jacksonville, having then but\none dollar. OREGON UNDERFOOT\n253\nI recklessly had supper and a bed that night I\nhad come 300 miles from Portland in twelve days.\nNext morning I breakfasted with an old farmer,\nwith whom I talked, telling him my adventures. He\nwas a tall, thin, careful-looking individual, shaven.\nHe said but little, but at last asked me whether I\nwould go to work for 10 dols. a month. I would\nhave willingly worked for nothing for a week or two,\njust to take a rest and be sure of my meals and a\nplace to sleep. Indeed, I offered to work for the men\non Olallie Creek for three days for nothing on that\naccount So I jumped at the offer. He said he\nlived near Waldo, sixty-five miles away, and that he\nwas not going back for three days. He offered,\nrather unwillingly as I thought, to pay for my board\nin town until then, but I said no, that I would walk\nthere, for I didn't want him to think that I was one\nof the very numerous class of men who would suddenly disappear at the end of the three days. So he\ngaveBne his name and directions, and I set out,\nhaving, when I had settled my bill at the hotel,\nthirty-five cents left to carry me sixty-five miles.\nHowever, I had served a good apprenticeship to\nstarvation, and did not doubt my ability to walk the\nwhole distance on nothing, since I was sure of a meal\nat the end. So I left Jacksonville with a lighter\nheart than I had since leaving Portland behind me.\nThat day I walked steadily about twenty-five miles,\nhaving nothing to eat but a pound of dry biscuits. -I\n1\n254\nTHE   WESTERN AVERNUS\nI slept in a barn. Next day I started without breakfast, until I came to a farm at ten o'clock, where I\ngot a meal for my last twenty-five cents. The country\nreceived but little attention from me, though it was\nworth more, as it was a gold-mining district I\npassed the Applegate River, and many places where\nthey were sluicing away the gravel with water,\n' hydraulicking' as they call it, filling up the river\nwith ' slickens ' or soft mud. I walked all day with\nsome degree of hunger, and slept in a barn, by this\ntime ravenous. Next morning no breakfast, for I\nwould not ask for it, as I knew I could get to my\ndestination that day. I walked through Kirbyville,\nand then went out of my way. I was put right by\ntwo men, who asked me where I was going. When\nI told them they looked at me with pity : ' You are\ngoing to work for the meanest man in all Oregon.'\nThis was consolatory, but I answered I was ready to\nwork for the very devil himself sooner than work for\nnobody at all, and walk and starve.\nThen I got lost again, and went nearly ten miles\nout of my way, for this place was so full of roads in\nevery direction that it was impossible for a stranger\nto keep right. At last, by dint of inquiry, I made\nmy way to what I imagined was the house. On one\nside of the road were barns and stables surrounded\nby a fence, and behind, forest and hills ; on the other\nstood a ramshackle old house, dirty outside, un-\npainted, with moss-green roof, with piles of rags and OREGON UNDERFOOT\n255\nold boots on the verandah, and more rags stuffed in\nthe broken and uncleaned windows. It was antique\nbut unvenerable, ruinous but not majestic. It looked\nlike a miser's house. I went through a little badly\nhung gate, that was pulled to again by a string with\nan old saucepan hung to it for a weight, and went up\nto the door.    H , my boss, had told me there was\na man named Pete working for him. I knocked, and\ngetting no answer turned the handle. The inside\nwas worse than the outside. I shut the door, and\ngoing to the back of the house saw somebody\nworking in the orchard. I crossed the fence and\nwent to him and said, ' Are you Pete ?' ' Yes\/ he\nsaid.    ' Then, for God's sake, come and get me some\ndinner.     H   sent me out to work here, and  I\nhaven't had anything to eat since yesterday at eleven\nin the morning.' It was then three in the afternoon.\nPete grinned and left his potato digging. He was a\nfine young fellow, keen-eyed and intelligent, with the\nfigure of a man who has worked hard, but no harder\nthan is sufficient to bring out all his strength ; his\nskin was beautiful and his eyes bright blue. He was\nconfident, rather selfish, very self-reliant j a man to get\non in life if it could be done.\nHe made me some tea and cooked bacon, bringing out good bread, meanwhile talking about H .\nThis man had formerly been a lay preacher, through\nsome extraordinary want of knowledge of his.own\n.character.     He  even   then  used  to swear  volubly, 2 .\".6\nTHE   WESTERN A VERNUS\nmuch to Pete's astonishment when a child, as he\naverred. Then he gave up what he had no vocation\nfor, and turned all his attention to farming and\nmoney making. Pete prophesied evil times for me,\nbut told me to stand no nonsense and talk back if\nnecessary. This I felt quite able to do, and generally\nI thought myself able to ' hold up my end' in a row.\nPete and I spent all next day together digging\npotatoes  and   making  fences,  and   in   the   evening\nH  came home.    Pete stayed   three days  more\nand then left So I was left alone with my ' meanest\nman in Southern Oregon.' I did not find him very\ndifficult to get along with however, for I worked hard,\nand if he growled in spite of what I did I growled\nback. The weather was very bad, raining nearly all\nthe time, but I lost scarcely an hour through that. I\nhad four to six horses to look after and the stable to\nclean. I fed these and about twenty head of cows\nand calves. I did what milking was to be done. I\nchopped the wood, got up in the morning to light the\nfire, and often cooked the breakfast. Then we hauled\nfirewood and made fences. I rode for letters and\nafter cattle. I did everything, and he did nothing at\nall at first, for his hand was but then recovering from\na felon or whitlow. Pete told me that a man who\nhad been there before me had had a very bad hand\nwith the same disease, and that H  had charged\nhim four dols. a week for his board, and made him as\nuncomfortable as he could, jeering at his sufferings. OREGON UNDERFOOT\n257\nThen he got one himself, and behaved like a sick\nchild, 1 . .^^H i^^^^^l\nOne day, when I came in from the field, I found\nH 's brother Angus was in the house.    He had\n\u25a0&'\ncome from Crescent City, in Del Norte County,\nCalifornia, having been further south, working in the\nredwoods of Mendocino County. A greater difference could not be between two brothers. Angus was\nfifteen years younger, stout and ruddy, with a full beard\nand an open, pleasant smile. He had the greatest\ncontempt in some ways for the other, declaring that\nall the meanness of the whole family had centred in\nhim. His coming was a great relief to me; I had\nsomeone to talk to ; and then, as Angus worked there\nand I with him, he would quit work before I could\nhave done had I been alone.    Then if H  ever\ngrowled he would take up the cudgels for me as I sat\nsilent smoking by the fire. Then he did all the cooking, which not only resulted in greater freedom for me,\nbut in better bread and food, though there were great\nrows at intervals between the brothers about the tea,\nas the elder liked it weak and the younger strong.\nAll this time I did various kinds of work, sometimes harrowing with three horses, sometimes hauling\nrails. And then all three of us went out felling\ntimber, and we hewed out logs to build a place to put\nroots and potatoes in, using axe and broad axe,\n'weapon naked, shapely, wan\/ as Walt Whitman\ncalls it. Iff\n\u00bb: '\n1\n258\nTHE   WESTERN A VERNUS\nOn Sundays I would take the rifle and go hunting,\n-not so much to kill anything as to get away from our\nmiserable little interior of dirt and smoke-grimed\nceiling beams, cobwebby rafters, and windows through\nwhich the fowls came to pick up the unswept\ncrumbs from the floor. Kitchen and dining-room in\none was as dirty as sleeping and sitting-room, even\nthough Pete had so far revolutionised appearances as\nto make H  suspect him of wasting time in the\nvery necessary job of cleaning up. So it was a relief\nto go up the mountains after deer, even if I mostly\nkilled none. It was a good place for hunting, and a\ngood time, for the snow on the upper hills drove them\ndown, and I could, if I hunted carefully, often see them.\nI hardly ever shot at them, but stood watching. One\nday I saw either an elk or a most majestic deer, and\nwould certainly have killed him if he had not been\ntoo quick for me. Then I could watch an occasional\nfox or the long-haired grey squirrels with their winter\nfur. And I usually got drenched through and through,\nand came back soaking to attend to the horses and\nthe cattle, for nobody else would do it. <\nSo time went, and my month began to draw to a\nclose. My affectionate regard for my employer did not\nincrease with more knowledge, as I found him selfish,\nclose, and querulous, and, in spite of my previous experiences when out of employment, I determined to\nleave at the end of the month if he would not increase\nmy wages to at least 15 dols. a month, and go across ! I\nOREGON  UNDERFOOT\n\u25a0S9\nthe Great Coast Range to Crescent City, and thence\nto San Francisco. So the night on which I had completed my term I spoke to him, and was refused any\nadvance. He paid what was owing to me, 8 dols.\n75 cents, for I had had some tobacco and one or two\nother things. Next day, however, it began to rain\nfuriously without ceasing, and the creeks got full and\noverflowing, and  a  passing  neighbour  told  us the\nIllinois River was not fordable.    At noon H told\nme I could stay till it cleared up if I liked, on condition\nof working, and so for nearly a week I did all the\nstable work and odd jobs as usual. During this last\nseven days I walked over to Waldo to see if I could\nget some letters I thought would be lying there for me\nfrom Hughes, to whom I had written on my first arrival\non this ranche. I had to cross the river on a big flume\nor aqueduct built to carry water across the river to a\nditch for a hydraulic mine. The sight beneath me\nwas magnificent. The river was fairly roaring in its\nrocky channel, red and turbid, running ten or twelve\nmiles an hour, beaten into foam on the huge rocks in\nits midst and hurling the spray into the air, while the\nflume on which I stood trembled with the burden of\nwater it carried and the shock of the stream below.\nI found letters at Waldo from my friend at Kamloops,\nand next day I left Mr. H  and set out over the\nCoast Range.\nS 2 \u00bb!       .    U*-**-\"\n260\nTHE   WES TERN A VERNUS\nII\nCHAPTER XIX.\nACROSS  THE COAST RANGE\nI HAD made preparations for a three or four days'\"\nwalk, packing up some bread, bacon, and a little tea\nwith a small bag of parched maize or Indian corn,\nwhile I put some stripped from the cob, but un parched,\nin my pockets. I had no exact knowledge of the\ndistance to Crescent City in California, from which\nsteamers ran to San Francisco, but knew it was between seventy and ninety miles or thereabouts, and, of\ncourse, as the road was very lonely, it was necessary\nto be provided with food. And then my finances\nwould not have permitted me to pay for my meals,\neven if I had been able to buy them, inasmuch as the\nfare from Crescent to San Francisco was, I had been\ntold, about 7 dols.\nThe week's rain and storm that had kept me\nfrom travelling had had a terrible effect on the roads.\nAt stated intervals during the summer it was usual to\nrun a stage from Waldo to Crescent, but this was now\nabandoned for the present for great part of the way,\nowing to the roads being ' washed out\/    The rainfall ACROSS  THE COAST RANGE\n261\nhad been terrific at the ranche, for at least an inch\nand a half fell in ten hours one night, and the wind\nhad done some damage. There were vague reports\nof disasters on the coast, which most probably arose\nmore from the likelihood of such occurring than from\nactual knowledge. What was of more importance to\nme were the facts that the Illinois was still unfordable,\nnecessitating a detour over the flume, and that all the\ncreeks in the valley were likely to be very full; and I\nfound, after passing Waldo, that I had occasionally\nsome difficulty in crossing one or two, while the road\nitself was muddy and full of pools of water. I walked,\nhowever, in good spirits until nightfall, and camped\nabout twelve miles beyond Waldo, at the foot of the\nrange, in a miserable hut with no doors or windows or\nflooring. All possible wood had been burnt by other\ntravellers, and I had great difficulty in kindling a fire,\npartly from the scantiness of fuel and partly from\nthe dampness of everything. I took my knife and\nscraped off the outer bark of a big fir-tree close at\nhand, and took some of the dry under bark ; then I\ngathered up little bits of sticks, putting them inside\nmy shirt to dry ; finally, I took some gum or pitch\nfrom an old axe-cut in the tree, and with the aid of a\nletter from a friend in London, who little thought to\nwhat end his letter would come, or in what way aid\nme, I managed to make a poor blaze and to keep it\nin long enough to boil some water for tea. I need\nnot have taken so much trouble if I had cared about 1     IP,\n\u2022-\n1    \"               f\n262\nTHE   WESTERN AVERNUS\ntearing some of the shingles from the little hut, but I\nnever liked to do that. There are some men who>\nwill always do this, but I had some little considera-\nj 7\ntion for those coming after me, and if every one\ncamping in a place took some of the building for\na fire there would soon be no shelter.\nI cooked a little bacon, ate that and a piece of\nbread, and drank the cup\u2014the tin cup\u2014of tea. Then\nI went into the shanty and spread my blankets.\nThere was every prospect of a bitterly cold night, for\nit was now getting towards the end of November.\nThe wind was chilly, and moaned outside and came\nthrough the openings and cracks of my abode. My\nblankets were old and thin, and the ground even\ninside was damp. ,My fire outside was now extinguished, with but a smouldering ember the wind\npuffed into momentary redness and a little wreath of\nsmoke, and there was no wood to make one inside\nwithout aid of an axe. The situation was lonely and\ndismal. Below me ran the creek, not singing sweetly\nand placidly, but groaning and hurrying. Thick\nforest went back to the hills all round, while overhead\nthe sky, moonless and chill, showed frequent clouds\nand an infrequent fugitive star. The nearest house\nwas three miles from me, down the road on which I\nhad come, and was uninhabited. To make matters\nworse 1 got an attack of nervousness, a.thing most\nunusual with me, so that my imagination became\nheated, creating  panthers, cougars, and  bears, that\nHi ACROSS  THE COAST RANGE\n263\nwould come and devour me in the night. To be sure\nthere were these animals somewhere on the hills, but\nhitherto they had never alarmed me, not even in the\nSelkirks, where they were really numerous, and here\nthey were scarce. I tried to lull myself with the\nnotion that it was late enough in the season for the\nbears to be in their winter quarters, fast asleep and\ndreaming, but all the time I knew I was but deceiving\nmyself, and every howl of wind I converted into a\ngrowl of nocturnal predacious animal\u2014bear or wolf or\nmountain lion. And it grew colder and colder, until\nit was nearly freezing. I lay on my right side and\ndropped off into uneasy slumber. Presently I woke\nand found my left side nearly frozen, so I turned\nover and lay awake for awhile until that side grew\na little warmer. Again I went to sleep, and woke\nonce more with a start to find the other side cold.\nSo went the night, until at last I woke, shivering\nall over, in the very earliest dawn, finding a white\nfrost outside. I made a little fire again, drank some\ntea, and started off before it was fairly light, recovering courage and confidence as I grew warm with walking hard and climbing. The road was fairly good,\nand I had no dangerous creeks to cross. I climbed\nup and up in the fresh morning air, with bright sunlight above me and no fear or threatening of rain,\nuntil I was far above the valleys in a very winding\nroad. The hills were not covered in all places by\ntimber, and I could see far across the depths, which \u25a0*\u2022*\u25a0\u25a0.\n264\nTHE   WESTERN A VERNUS\nwere filled with glistening clouds or mists, beneath\nme.\nAbout seven o'clock I came round a turn in the\nroad that ran high up the hillside above a deep\nvvalley or gorge, that was filled with cloud. The sun\nwas behind me, and here, to my great delight, I saw\na similar phenomenon to the Spectre of the Brocken.\nOn the dense white fleece of cloud was a sun ring or\nhalo, and in it, magnified to gigantic size, my own\nfigure. I threw down my blankets and shouted with\njoy. I was all alone with my own ghost, my enlarged\nand liberated cloud-spirit, my likeness, but great,\nspiritual, free, apotheosised, among the gods. And\nfrom cloudland he returned my salute as I took off\nmy hat, and waved his arms as I waved mine. I was\nfree there from grossness; I was etherealised. idealised,\npoetic. And what a background even for a spirit, for\na god ! The little valley of my sun-shadow ran out\ninto a larger one, filled with a sea of glistening cloud\nthat lay still in places, or rolled and heaved solemnly\nlike a light sea freed from the heavy chains of gravity.\nIt lay not level, but in hills and long upward curves,\nindicating faintly the possible outline of the under\nhills, and here and there one loftier height thrust through\nthe veiling mist fir and pine, like a far ocean palm\nisland, when the island is not seen, and the trees are\nunbased and dreamlike, fantastic, divided from earth,\nand skyey. And the mass of mist was white, shining,\nfleecy and glorious, while beyond miles of it rose higher ACROSS   THE COAST RANGE\n265\nrange after range, with the farthest capped with frost\nand snow, glittering like diadems of jewels.\nI looked long and breathed in that air, and turning\nI bowed solemnly to my cloudself, who bowed again.\nI took up my burden and walked on in a curious state\nof mental exaltation, oblivious of the future and the\npast, regarding simply the scenery, the sun and the\nclouds beneath and above me. Yet the walk was\narduous enough, though the worst was to come, for I\nwas climbing up and going down all the while, while\nthe road took most disappointing turns, and frequently\nI could have saved miles of tramping had I had wings\nto fly across a narrow valley or gorge round the head\nof .which the road ran. Still I felt so well, for my\nnervousness had fled with the night, that I did not\ngrumble, and when I came at noon to a good cabin,\nor house, I made dinner with care and sang while I\nprepared my frugal meal. This house belonged to a\nman named Bain, who had a notice put up on the\ndoor asking travellers to be careful of fire, and I\nthanked him for the hospitality of open door by\nwriting a few lines of rude verse on the name-\nscrawled wall with a burnt stick, signing myself ' A\nTramp.' I had no notion of any place-to camp in at\nnight, though I thought it possible that I might reach\nSmith River, on which there was an hotel, as I had been\ntold by Angus H .    So I walked on cheerfully\nenough, meeting not a soul on the road, and at last it\nbegan to grow towards evening without any sign of a \u20225b-\nmmw*m\n266\nTHE   WESTERN AVERNUS\nhouse or river. About half an hour before sundown\nI was walking along the road on the side of the hill,\nand across the valley, which was deep and thick with\ntrees, I could see that I should have to make my way\nin exactly the opposite direction to which I was then\ngoing, after coming to the head of the gorge. This, of\ncourse, rather irritated me, although my anger was\nunreasonable, as the road was just so long, and I\ncould not make it shorter. Still such a round made\nme anxious to camp, as the road, I could see, made\nquite a fresh start up the hill, and evidently Smith\nRiver must be many miles away yet.\nFinally, I plunged deep in the valley, and I found\nat last a kind of broken-down hut or house, with a\nroof on, by the side of a creek, in silence and shadow.\nI looked at it for awhile and sat down, but the aspect\nof the place was so forbidding, so chill and damp, and\nso fearfully lonely, that I took up my blankets again\nand walked on, chewing corn as I went, determined\nnot to stop or stay until I came to the river and the\nhotel. I came out just at sundown on the top of a\nvery high ridge, and I fancied I caught a faint glimpse\nof far sea, but was not sure. It rapidly grew dark,\nand I walked hard and harder. Finally, there appeared\na deep valley, or canon, in front of me, with a narrow\nstreak of silver turbulent river 4,000 feet below, and\nopposite another wall of mountain westward. 1\nplunged down the road, and I fancied I saw the\ngleam of a far-off light  close  by the river.    The\n\u2014 ACROSS  THE COAST RANGE\n267\ndescent was difficult and dangerous. The rains had\nwashed out the earth and gravel and smaller stones\n<D>\nof the surface of the road, so that it was like going\ndown the dried bed of a mountain torrent. Every\nhundred yards or so the way zigzagged to and fro,\nseeking the easiest way down. Twice I fell, and\ntimes innumerable I only just saved myself. At last\nit grew so dark that I could only distinguish the road\nby the absence of brush. And the roar of the river\nbelow grew louder and louder. After an hour and a\nhalf's hard stumbling over rocks I came on to level\nground, alongside the river, and with difficulty at last\nfound a bridge across, and saw the lights of a house\nnear at hand. This was my resting-place for the\nnight.\nInside the main room were two men, one with a\nwooden leg, the owner of the establishment, a great\nhunter in spite of his infirmity, and the driver of the\nstage from Waldo, who had passed me during the\nnight as I slept and shivered in that hut There were\ntwo women, wife and sister-in-law of the one-legged\nman, a child, and two hunting-dogs. There was a\ngood wood fire, and I was glad to sit down and smoke\no 7 o\nin front of it, being little inclined for talking. Soon\nafter I came in supper was announced, but I declined\ntaking any, my ostensible reason being that I had\nhad supper before coming down into the valley, and\nthe real one that I was anxious to keep all the money\nI could in my pocket for my San Franciscan fare.    I\nI \u2022-vsr\nrsBBSt'\n268\nTHE   WESTERN A VERNUS\nwas hungry enough, however, and could well have enjoyed a good meal. However, I promised myself a\nbreakfast. That night I slept on a lounge or sofa in\nmy own blankets, and was charged nothing for accommodation, so I only spent 50 cents for my morning\nmeal. After eating I started to go up the opposite\nmountain, which took me about two hours' hard\nclimbing up another zigzag of a road. On the top\nwas a kind of plateau, almost bare of trees, and it was\neasy walking, with a fine view of mountains behind\nme. At noon I went down into another valley, coming\non a deserted mining town of several houses and two\nhotels, with all the furniture removed, including doors\nand window-sashes. This desolation of past habitation made the scene more chill and lonely than if\nthere had been no dwellings at all. I was very hungry,\nso I lighted a fire and boiled some tea.\nIn the bar-room of the largest hotel I found the\nhindquarters of a deer that had been left by some\nhunter, possibly by my one-legged acquaintance, and\nalthough it was somewhat flyblown I found it fresh,\n\u2022O *\u2022 ar 7\nand by aid of my bowie-knife I managed to get some\ngood pieces of steak, which I toasted on a sharpened\nstick over the fire.    Then I cooked some bacon.\nI had now a choice of roads\u2014one the old and the\nother the new. The former was the shortest, the latter\nthe best. After some consideration I chose the old road,\nand had some frightful scrambling over rocks, at times,\ntoo, having difficulty in discovering what was the road ACROSS  THE COAST RANGE\n269\nand what was not. Finally, I got in better walking on\na gentle slope. I was now eagerly looking for sight\nof the ocean. The Gulf of Georgia and the Straits of\nSan Juan de Fuca, the land-locked waters of Puget\nSound, were but salt water ; they lacked the enchantment of the sea. And I came over the long ridge,\nand before me was the deep sea\u2014not a gulf or a\nchannel or a strait, but the mighty main, the vast and\ntremendous waters of the mysterious Pacific, misty\nand grand, the ocean that Balboa saw from the silent\npeak in Darien. I sat down quietly on a knoll of\ndwarf manzanita, so still and quiet that the shy birds\ncame and sang to me, and a wondering rabbit peeped\nfrom the brush and played before me ; and as I drank\nin that sweet fresh air and watched the majestic expanse of far faint blue I seemed to see that the earth\nwas round, huge, and curved; and beyond the horizon\nI saw, with spiritual insight and in trance, the long\nbrown plains of the great Australian continent,\nwhereon I too had wandered in the years passed by;\nand in front lay the long coasts of ancient populous\nAsia ; and yet farther beyond that illimitable expanse,\nfar across zones of calm and cyclones of wind storm,\nj 7\nand belts of terrible thunder-cloud, lay the shores of\nthe Dark Continent, full of mystery. And Europe, my\nhome and birthplace, was behind and beneath me.\nI thought of Vasco Nunez, the discoverer of this\nocean ; of Magellan, who had blundered through the\nnarrow straits that bear his name, and of Vasco di I\n270\nTHE   WESTERN A VERNUS\nGama, who had entered on its waters round the far-\noff stormy Cape; of Pizarro, on those shores of Peru\nto the southward; and of our Drake, who chased the\nSpaniards through these seas ; and I drew in with\necstasy the air that all those strong old voyagers and\nsea-captains had breathed in the times when something was yet unknown, and there were possibilities of\nEldorados unmarked on any chart, when charts were\ngraved on horns with strange adornment of gaping,\nimaginary sea-monsters, such as the young Amyas\nLeigh wondered at in the etched ivory of Salvation\nYeo. s^^H^^^I: ' j IH : s^^H\nAnd I looked still, and  the   mystic water grew\nalive, subtle, serpentine, and more mysterious, coiling\nand wonderful. She became eyed like the peacock's\ntail, with faint eddies of currents, and personal and\nfeminine. This was the ocean from which the earth\narose, this was the grave to which she descended to\nbe renewed ; and the eyes grew intense and vivid,\nprophetic and full of kindness unutterable, and of\ncruelty. In her was the beginning of all things and\nthe end ; she and the sky were time and space, and\nsymbolic. From her came the primaeval slime of life,\nand she was full of dead men's bones. Ships sailed\non her bosom, and in her depths they lay shattered,\nbroken, sunken, dwelling-places for her monsters, evil\nas the thoughts that never pass men's lips. Her eyes\nwere as those of one who knew all things, and her lips\nwere touched with the melancholy of cruelty satiated, I\nACROSS  THE  COAST RANGE\n27'i\nand yet her hands and fingers were eager for slaughter.\nShe was calm and silent as a handmaiden of Fate,\nbut passionate in her hair and eyes even as a sleeping\nfury ; for in her dwell all things evil and good, and\nall knowledge and all power and all possibility of\nbeing.\nAnd there was more of grief than of joy in my\nheart, for I remembered I was a man, and finite, and\nthe spirit of my race, and the desire of love came\nupon me, and while the birds sang, and fearless\nsquirrel and rabbit played in the wind-rustled man-\nzanita and the slender grasses, I was oppressed and\ncold at heart, and I was glad to take up my burden\nand the burden of life and walk on and on, to save\nmyself from thought. So I walked on downward,\nfor I had done with climbing, and I saw in the far\ndistance, across the level lands between sea and mountain base, the smoke of Crescent City. Down narrow\npaths, and all winding ways, through roads cut deep\nwith the wash of rains, I still went on, among brush\nand a few scanty trees. And at last I plunged into\na dark forest and a steeper path, and as I stumbled\nover bare roots and rocks I grew wrathful, and\ncursed the whole Pacific from Behring's -Straits to the\nsouthern unknown lands of the South Pole, from San\nFrancisco to African Zanzibar, and the Pacific coast\nand Horace Greeley, and the strange longing that had\nbrought me West. For it grew darker yet, and still no\nsign of habitation or indication of nearing any, while *\u00a3>-&\n272\nTHE   WESTERN AVERNUS\nI came down into mist and fog, damp, chill and\npenetrating, making the gloom worse, hanging in\nwreaths among the thick .growth of trees, touching\nbrush with damp dews that dropped on me as I\nwalked. Twice and again I fell and rolled over, the\nlast time wrenching my ankle severely ; but I walked\nin spite of it, desperately determined not to camp\nout in a gloomy place if perseverance could bring me\nto a better. And suddenly the path grew level, and\nI came out in the aisle of a very forest cathedral.\nI was in the redwoods, the most majestic of all trees,\nsave only their elder brethren, the gigantic sequoias.\nThese were huge and solemn, some ten feet and more\nin diameter at the butt, rising bare of branches to 200\nfeet above me, where they spread out in thick crowns,\nthat darkened yet more the obscure and misty air of\nnight. I stood for a few moments to admire them,\neven tired as I was, and then with difficulty I discovered the road. I found that it forked here. I\nstood and considered again. The straight road was\nmost probably the road to the town, the other would\nprobably lead to some house or camp. I determined\nto turn off, and as a reward for my reasoning |[ saw\na light less than a hundred yards away. I passed\nthrough the barn-yard and knocked and went in.\nThere were two men, rather well dressed, and a very\nladylike woman. We talked for a while and they\ngave me supper, and said I could sleep in the barn.\nThe hay was wringing wet, through the leaks in the ACROSS  THE COAST RANGE\n27\n:>\nrroof, but I managed to get to sleep in spite of any inconveniences after the walk I had had, and next\n.morning I had still thirteen miles to do to reach\nCrescent City, and I started without breakfast, and\n\u2022did the whole distance wearily and fasting. My\nroad ran still through the redwoods, and if they were\nsolemn and weird at night they were more beautiful in the daytime. Under them at times was\nthick brush, from which they rose like towers or great\nlighthouses from the breaking of little waves, and in\n\u2022other places they stood by themselves, springing\n\u2022straight from the bare ground, or moss, or scanty\nturf. These had grown for so many centuries, and\n.had such great life in them, they were so grand and\nsolemn and kinglike, that I felt they had personality.\nIt seemed nothing short of murder to hew and saw\nthem down for planks and post-making, for housebuilding, and shelter for little men, who lusted to\ndestroy in an hour the slow, sweet growth of their\n.unnumbered years. We come with our quick and\nfurious .flood of life to a quick conclusion ; they, with\nthe slow sap under bark and in the wood, rise imperceptibly to majesty, and fall at the end of their long\nterm by overgrowth of summit and crown ; they sink\nat last under the burden of natural honours, and\nmingle slowly in long decay with the soil in which\nthey were rooted. But men come and destroy them,\nas barbarians in the pathetic, silent senate-house, and\nnature is wounded and bleeding.\nT \u25a0**\u2022\u25a0*.\n74\nTHE   WESTERN AVERNUS\nI came out on the banks of the Smith River again\nand was ferried over, and was asked no fee. I was\nastonished at the lack of greed, and the natural sweet\nO 7\nkindliness of the man, a Charon fair and young, which\nis so rare in all countries, and, alas ! much too rare in\nAmerica. I thanked him courteously, and he bowed\nand wished me well most knightlike, pushing back\nacross the stream, and I passed again into the redwoods, climbing up through a sweet tangle of thick\nbrush with the great god-trees rising from it, and then\ndescended and came on a flat, more bare, with willow\nand birch, and no more redwoods. And I began to\nhear a faint roar, like a singing in my ears. But it\ngrew and grew till I recognised the sound of the sea,\nthe roar of breakers, the eternal ocean voice. It put\nnew life into me ; I walked faster, though I was faint,\nuntil I came where I could hear the separate roar of\nseparate waves\u2014distinct thunders. I sat down under\na tree by the roadside and lighted my pipe, and, to\nsave myself from vain imaginings of possible things,\nI took my Virgil and again read part of the Sixth\nBook. And when I came to the middle I thought,\n' I am not yet out of Avernus, and who knows if\nI shall return to the lucid stars and lucid earth, for\nthere is much to be passed through before my time is\nat hand.'\nSo I came at last to Crescent City, and found it\ndull and vile, with work scarce, so they said, and men\n'plenty.    I was truly in golden California, but not in. ACROSS   THE COAST RANGE\n\u25a075\nthe land of wine and oil, of fleeces and fat beeves.\nBeing hungry and disconsolate, it was necessary to\neat, and I ate the worth of 25 cents and was more\nrefreshed. The steamer for San Francisco was lying\nin the bay, loading timber, and was to sail in the\nnight, having been delayed by the storm, which had\ntorn away part of the pier and driven driftwood\nupon the very streets of the town.    So I went to buy\nmy ticket.    Now Angus H had told me the fare\nwas 7.50 dols. As I had started on this last journey\nwith 8.50 dols., and had only spent three-quarters of\na dollar\u201450 cents at the Smith River Valley and 25\ncents in town\u2014I had 7.75 dols., which would leave\nme 25 cents with which to make a start in San Francisco. But when I got to the office they demanded\n8.50 dols. as the fare, and I had it not. I used much\npersuasive eloquence and rhetoric to induce the agent\nto make a reduction, opening up fully the state of my\nfinances. But he was adamantine, flinty, and I could\nmake no impression on him. I appealed to the\nchief man, a general of militia, and calling him General\nI asked him to ' fix ' it for me. But no ! he would do\nnothing. The fare, the full fare, and nothing but the\nfare. So I went out to consider. To walk to San\nFrancisco meant 300 miles of semi-starvation at\nleast if I did not obtain work. I furiously determined\nto go by that steamer or perish in the attempt. I\ntook stock of my possessions. Had I anything to sell ?\nMy clothes might have been worthy of acquisition by\nt 2 \u25a0-\u25a0-*'**%.*\u25a0*\"**\u25a0\u2022*\u25a0\n-276\nTHE   WESTERN AVERNUS\na museum of antiquities, but even then I could not go\nin that vessel ' Berserker.'    My blankets were old and\nthin ; besides, I attached a superstitious value to them.\nThey were part of myself.    Had they not travelled\nin Australia with me over hill and plain ?   Had they\nnot been wet with salt water in my voyages ?     And\nthey had done me great service in great need in all\nparts of America.    No !    I would as soon part with\nmy skin.    Then I had a bundle of letters from men\nwho might be celebrated one day, literary Bohemians\nof London, who had not forgotten their Waring on his\ntravels.     There  were  photographs  too.    But these\nwould not fetch  money in   the market.    Finally, I\ncame to my Horace and Virgil.   Was it possible there\nwere men with a knowledge of the Latin tongue in\nthis  wilderness,  this  end   of the  earth?    Or  were\nthere some burning with thirst to acquire such knowledge ?     I  walked   up   the  street  and  came  to  a\nnotice :\u2014\nWalter Jones, B.A., Advocate,\nTeacher of Latin, Greek, and Mathematics.\nMl\nYe gods ! I stared, thinking I was dreaming!\nThis was the man. I pushed open the door and\nentered, acting on the spur of the moment. I saw a\nlittle sad-looking man, with a good forehead and\nshabby clothes. There were lots of books there too.\nHe received me courteously and asked my business.\nI   sat  in  silence  for  a  moment,  wondering  if he ACROSS THE COAST RANGE\n277\nthought I wished to learn Latin or Greek or even\nmathematics. Then I told him I wanted to get to\nSan Francisco, and then, interrupting me nervously,\nhe said:\n* If it's money you want, I'm very sorry, but I\nhaven't got any myself.'\n' I'm not surprised\/ I answered,' that an educated\nman should be without in such a brutish wilderness.\nBut I did want money\u201475 cents\u2014and I want to sell\nyou this Horace or Virgil for it'\n' I can't, I can't, I haven't got a cent, and I'm in\ndebt too. But perhaps you could sell it to Father\nGrady, the Roman Catholic priest'\n' Is he an Irishman ?'\np ' Yes.' H' H|^^H|H^bh|H|1\n' Then I don't want anything to do with him. I\nhave a premonition of the kind of man, and somehow I don't like Irishmen, especially if they are\nreligious.'\n' Well, I can't do anything for you but that. 1 m>\nreally sorry. I could see, when you spoke, that you\nwere an educated man, and I would do anything I\n7 j o\ncould for you. But I am positively unable to make\na living here myself.'\nI was sorry for him. He looked ill and weak. I\nwas at any rate well and strong, and could do manual\nlabour.\n' Well, thank you, Mr. Jones. I suppose I must\ntry the reverend father.' -'\u25a0'\"\u00ab.\u25a0\n**\u25a0\nHi\n278\nTHE   WESTERN A VERNUS\n* Yes, do, and corne and tell me how you get on\nwith him.'\nI shook hands with the little man and made my\nway to the priest's house. He came out to me. I\nwas right. He was just the kind of low-class peasant\nIrishman that I detest most cordially. The very look\nof him made me half sick, and I very nearly turned\naway without speaking. However, I opened my\nbusiness to him, and told him Mr. Jones had sent\nme. ' Thank you, I don't want either of them. I\nknow them by heart already' (said I to myself, ' You\nlie'), ' and I have copies with me of course. But you\nmight try Mr. So-and-so' (I forget the name) ' the\nhotel-keeper.'\nI thanked him as civilly as I could, which was\nnot over courteously, for my gorge so rose against\nhis fat conceit and complacency.\nI found the hotel-keeper. He was an intelligent\nman, but half-drunk. 'Yes, I am something of a\nclassical scholar, but I don't read these books now.\nI don't want 'em.' Then a look came into his eyes\nI could not quite fathom. ' But,' said. he, ' do you\nsee that tall man down the road, with a plank on his\nshoulder ?' ' Yes\/ said I. ' Then you go and ask him.\nHe's the best scholar in this city, bar old Jones.'\nI turned away and went after the man with the\nplank. I had serious doubts, when I came close to him,\nas to his scholarship. Good-natured idiocy seemed\nmore his intellectual station among men than learning. ACROSS   THE COAST RANGE\n279\nI went up and told him that the hotel-keeper had\nsent me. He burst into a roar of laughter. ' Ho ! ho !\nho ! Why, man, I can't read or write at all. Ho!\nho! ho!' and he put his plank down and sat on it to\nlaugh at his ease. I was in a fearful rage. I turned\nto go back and assault my jocose friend, but as I went\nalong I thought, ' If I do they'll have me in gaol too\nquick, and I have no friends here at all.' So I thought\nbetter of it and restrained myself, although I was\nfairly boiling. It would have gone hard with him,\neven after second thoughts, if I had met him face to\nface.\nI went back to the office and tackled the General\nonce more, but in vain. Then I determined to jump\non the steamer in spite of them, and if I got on and\nout to sea they should have no fare at all. If I could\nnot manage to get on board with the other passengers\nwhen they went off to her I would borrow a boat\nand try to get on her in the dark. So I went down\nin the evening and found a crowd of people waiting\nuntil the boat was ready for them. A big barge, or\nscow, laden with lumber was to take them. When\nword was given for the passengers to come forward\nI tried to get down, but the agent or,clerk was too\n:smart for me, and demanded my ticket. I had none,\nof course. Then the fare. ' How much ? ' said I, as\nif I didn't know.\n' Eight and a half dollars.'\n' I've only got seven dollars and six bits.' pjfSTR\n\u25a0i^-\u00abl*sJ|\n!n-s;\n\u00aeam\nr?*wbs-:\n280\nTHE   WESTERN A VERNUS\n' Then stand back.'\nSo down the others went until I was left alone on\nthe pier with the clerk and one or two lookers-on.\nHe came over to me.\n' How much did you say you had ?'\nI told him.\n' All right, you can go.    Hand over\/\nI handed over, and then said : ' You may as well\nleave me two bits to get a meal with in San Francisco.'\nHe looked and hesitated a moment, then gave\nme back the twenty-five cents. I thanked him and\nwent down to the scow, and presently we got on\nboard. I had ' made that riffle ' at any rate, and was\nnot compelled to risk the ' conveying' of boats and\nstowing away.\nWhen we got on board I went down into the steerage\nand found one more white man and four Chinamen\nin it. This place was a veritable Black Hole. There\nwere four double bunks, each holding two men, a big\nchest in the small space between the bunks, and the\nrest of it was taken up by the steps. The only light\ncame from the hatch above, and was supplemented\nby an evil-smelling oil lamp. I am cosmopolitan\nenough, Heaven knows, and have consorted with all sorts\nand conditions of men\u2014Australian blacks, Hindoos,\nMalays, Japanese, Indians, and all kinds of Europeans\n\u2014but of all I have been thrown into contact with I\nmost thoroughly detest the low Chinese.    And now imm\nACROSS  THE COAST RANGE\n281\nI had to spend two whole days, at least, in close\nquarters with them. I chummed in with the white\nman, who was a nice, good-looking young fellow\u2014a\nmilker and butter-maker\u2014and slept in the same\nbunk with him ; but we had to eat with the Chinese,\nand as they were violently sick when we got out to\nsea they managed to make things very unpleasant.\nI stayed on deck as much as possible, and when I did\ngo below I went there to sleep. Yet these two days\nare black ones in my calendar, though blacker ones\nwere yet to come to me. On the evening of the\nsecond day we came to the Golden Gate, and ran\nthrough it into the great bay of San Francisco. It\nwas a beautiful sight, but I was too melancholy and\nanxious to enjoy the sight of sea and cliff, of lighthouse and quiet shining water, and the hills gleaming\nin the setting sun that sank behind us. As we passed\nup the harbour the city was gradually lighted up with\ngas and electricity, and the waters grew gloomy and\ngloomier yet. We threaded our way through ships\nat anchor, and passed dark wharves with others\nloading or discharging, and at last made fast ourselves to the wharf at the foot of Mission Street\nOutside on the wharf were numerous 'buses to hotels,\nand as we touched the sides we were boarded by a\ncrowd of hotel-runners, shouting and screaming:\n' The International,' ' The American Exchange\/ ' The\nRuss House,' and eulogising the merits of a dozen\nothers.    The man from the ' American Exchange * urnm**\nTHE   WESTERN A VERNUS\ncame to me as 1 sat on my blankets smoking, and\nwas most urgent I should go with him, and would\nnot let me alone. At last I turned to him, and said :\n' It's no good, partner, I'm no catch. I'm dead broke.'\nHe left me, and when things began to get a little\nquieter I picked up my bundle and went over the side.\nI was again in a strange city, and all that 3|had was\n25 cents\u2014one shilling, and a halfpenny over. 283\nCHAPTER  XX.\nIN  SAN  FRANCISCO.\nIn the steamer I had had plenty of opportunity for\nreflection as to the course to be pursued on arrival in\nSan Francisco, but all the mental exercise had resulted\nin was the conclusion that I should be in a very bad\nfix indeed when I got there, and that I should, if possible, leave it at once. As it was a great shipping\nport, in fact the port of the whole Pacific coast, my\nmind naturally turned to going to sea again if nothing\nelse turned up. So when I slung my blankets on my\nback and walked along the city front towards the\nbetter-lighted portions of the city, I determined to\nlook for a sailors' boarding-house, the proprietor of\nwhich would take me in if sailors were at all in\ndemand. I came in front of what I afterwards found\nout was called the Ferries, at the foot of Market Street,\nand went to where there were a lot of saloons, eating-\nhouses, boot-black stands, peanut vendors, and newspaper sellers, and asked a man to direct* me to a\nsailors' boarding-house. He pointed to the saloon\nbefore me and I went in, and asking for the boss told 284\nTHE   WESTERN A VERNUS\nhim I was a sailorman, and that I wanted to find a\nhouse, acting in a jaunty, devil-may-care manner.\n' Hev you got any money ?' ' Nary cent' ' Then\nI can't do anything for you. Hell ain't fuller of devils\nthan San Francisco is of sailors, and most of thern\ndead broke. My house is full up now. Perhaps you\nmight stand a show at the Arizona Hotel on Clay.'\"\nHe came outside and showed me which way to go.\nIn Clay Street, a dirty dark narrow way, I found the\nother house, and had no better luck there. I asked the\nproprietor to let me leave my blankets for a while. Then\nI went out and found another house, and was again refused, this time roughly, and without courtesy such as\nthe other two to whom I had applied had extended to\nme. It must be remembered that I looked rough\nenough to be a sailor a dozen times over, and I could\nO 7\nvery well affect the old sailor roll, which now was no\nlonger natural to me.    So I looked like one who had\nbeen taking a spell in the country.    However, it was\nno good trying these houses, and after talking for a\nwhile with a sailor, who confirmed the statements of\nthe boarding-house keepers about the numbers of idle\nmen in the city, I thought I would go and look for a\nlodging.    I found one in Clay Street, and after paying\n20 cents for my bed I put my blankets in the trunk-\nroom and went in and sat down in the sitting-room.\nThere were more than twenty men in this place, which\nwas bare of adornment save a quack doctor's advertisement on the walls.    The tables were wood un-\nMMl IN SAN FRANCISCO\n281\ncovered and somewhat hacked with knives, the floors\nwere dirty and covered with saliva, old chews, and tobacco ash, while two or three spittoons of rubber were\nfull to overflowing.    There were chairs, however, and\nnot benches, as in many lodging-houses.   The denizens\nof the place were not to me, after what I had seen, in\nany way strange, but I fancy if some cultured, educated\nman direct from London civilisation had been dropped\ninto the room he  would have been struck   by  the\nscene.    The  room   was   well  lighted with  kerosine\nlamps, but a dense cloud of tobacco-smoke hung from\nthe ceiling to the heads of those who were seated, and\nthe gabble of tongues made the place a very Babel,\nfor some were talking at the tops of their voices, some\nplaying cards at the tables, laughing and occasionally\neven yelling, and there was a ring of others round the\nstove keeping up a loud and animated conversation\n. with all the interest of a round game, in which victory\nremained with the longest and loudest talker, and ignominious defeat and forfeit to him who ceased first.\nThen there were others round the wall, some asleep in\nspite of the din, others with their chairs tilted back,\nsunk in coma or reflective study, and some with their\nheels on the vacant table, chewing tobacco and spitting\nwith vast differences in accuracy of aim at the overburdened spittoons, one of which was most gruesome\nto  see,  and betraying occasionally faint gleams of\naroused interest when a lucky shot was made in this\nmodern American game of \/corrafSos-. \u25a0*-\u00bb\u25a0%-\nw^s-Jft*'\n286\nTHE   WESTERN AVERNUS\nThe faces, figures, and dresses of these men were\nas various as their moods, attitudes, and occupation,\nand after a little while spent in quiet observation,\nwith my chair tilted back against the wall, the differences began to be very perceptible to me. One of the\nloudest talkers was an American Irishman, and his\nprofessional occupation was evidently something to do\nwith coal, as I noticed the grime of coal-dust round\nhis eyes, which comes off only after repeated washings.\nHe was slight, dressed in blue dungaree trousers and\nan old shiny black coat. His face was merry and red,\nand his brown eyes twinkled as he made a joke at a\nstolid-looking Swede or German, with a face as motionless as a block of wood, who, nevertheless, at times let out\na flood of broken English which I could scarcely understand. There was another, manifestly a sailor, rather\nsmartly dressed, with a bright face and a. red knotted\nhandkerchief under it. He was evidently at home,\nand noisier than a man of forty usually is when sober.\nThere was a big, heavy German, whom they addressed\nas ' Bismarck,' who sat playing casino, or seven up,\nor some other card game, sometimes joining vigorously\nin the talk and thumping the table till the lamp\njumped and the light flickered up the chimney. Then\nthere was a very fine, handsome-looking young fellow,,\nwho was a cigar-maker as I found out afterwards, with\nwell-cut features and a pleasant laugh, who usually\nsat with his heels on the table.\nThere were men, too, who looked as if they did\nHI IN SAN FRANCISCO\n287\nnothing\u2014'bums' in fact\u2014others whose trade it was a\npuzzle to discover, and some who seemed, like myself,\nto be from the country. It was a curious mixed gang,\nand I was glad at last to take my lamp and go to\nbed in a little narrow room, in which the bed took up\nmost of the space. There were nearly two hundred\nof these apartments, separated from each other by\nwooden partitions with an open roof covered with a\nmosquito netting, and I could hear the snoring of my\nneighbours in various keys, and notes from deep bass\nto shrill treble, while one or two ran through the\nwhole gamut, some occasionally choking and waking\nthemselves.\nIn the morning it was a very serious question\nwith me. I had five cents\u20142\\d.\u2014and no prospect of\nbreakfast. Of course I was hungry, and the fact that\nit seemed impossible to appease the growing famine\nmade me worse. I walked out and up and down to\nconsider things, and finally, after taking a smoke, I\ndetermined to go to the British Consul, to see if he\ncould get me a ship. I found my way to his rooms\nnear the Post Office, and had an interview, not with\nthe Consul himself, who is an august and unapproachable person, but with a short stout man of sailor-like\nappearance, who heard my story, briefly told, and gave\nme a note to the captain of an English ship, asking\nhim to ship me if possible. I went down, found the\nvessel, and after waiting dismally for two hours,\nkicking  my heels  on the wharf, and disconsolately ***r\"\nnam*\n288\nTHE   WESTERN A VERNUS\nwatching the boats in the bay, I was told that the ship\nwould not sail for six weeks and wanted no hands at\npresent, as she had more than enough staying by her.\nThen I tried a dozen other vessels without success,\nand got so weary, hungry, and disgusted that I went\nback to Clay Street, and sat down in the house for\nan hour or two, still having a little tobacco to prevent\nme from suffering too acutely from famine. Then I\nwent again to the Consul's, but got no encouragement\nthere.\nI went up Market Street and tried to divert my\nattention from myself by taking a look at the city,\nwhose fine broad streets, and street cars or trams that\nrun without horses, being drawn on an underground\ncable, had great attraction for me. I noticed, too, the\ncosmopolitan character of the place, the numerous\nraces to be seen, and the beauty of many of the\nwomen ; but as evening drew on the calls of hunger\nbecame so piercing that I went back again to my\nlodging-house, and sat down thinking where I should\nget something to eat and how to get a lodging. At\nlast I determined to spend my last five cents, and going\nto a restaurant got a cup of coffee, telling the man\nthat the ' nickel\/ or five-cent piece, was my last money.\nHe gave me a dough-nut to eat with the coffee. This\nwas the first I had eaten for twenty-four hours. I\nthanked him and went back again to the house,\nthinking that I should have to spend the night in the\nstreets.    I sat down and got into conversation with IN SAN FRANCISCO\n289\nthe man next to me, and I opened up the talk by\nspeaking about the state of things in the city, and he\ntold me that thousands were out of work, and that\nthere was every prospect of its being a hard winter to\nworking men. Then I told him I was dead broke,\nand asked his advice as to where I should sleep.\n' Well,' said he, ' the clerk here is a good fellow, and\nwon't turn you out; you can stay in this room all\nnight and sleep, on a chair or on the floor. There's\nlots of fellows do it' This was some consolation, for\nI did not desire to tramp about the city and spend\nthe damp cold night in the open air. I asked the\nclerk at ten o'clock if he would let me stay, and he\nsaid that that would be all right if I came up when\nthe others had gone to bed. At half-past eleven I\ncame up, and he let me in the room, from which the\nlamps had been removed, and I found there five or\nsix other men whom I had seen about the place\nduring the evening. One was quite an old, respectable-\nlooking man, another was a jolly-looking individual,\nwho carefully spread some newspapers on the floor\nin the warmest corner and lay down on them. The\nothers were nondescript fellows, rough and dirty. I\ndrew a chair up to the stove and slept for an hour\nvery uncomfortably, then I lay down on the bare\nboards and slept uneasily until four o'clock, when Jim,\nthe clerk, came in and roused us up by calling out\n' Breakfast\/ which seemed to me a very poor joke\nindeed, as I was about as hungry as I could be.    We\nu THE   WESTERN A VERNUS\nwent out and washed in the lavatory, looking a miserable lot of wretches, and I went down into the street,\nlighted dimly by lamps, for there was yet no sign of\nIt was absolutely necessary for me to get something to eat. It could be put off no longer. So, after\nthinking awhile, I went down to the wharf where the\nsteamer in which I had come from Crescent City\nwas lying, and had a talk with the night watchman, whom I asked to give me some breakfast He\ngave me some coffee and bread and meat, which I\nate ravenously, and went away thanking him for his\nkindness. I ate nothing else all day, and spent the\ntime hunting for a ship, and at night slept on the\nbare boards as before. Next day I went in the forenoon to an employment office, not with any hope of\ngetting employment, having no money for fees, but\njust to do something. But my luck was great. I sat\ndown on a bench, above which was a notice board\nwith requisitions for milkers, butter-makers, coachmen,\nchoppers, and labourers of all sorts, among a crowd\nof men, some of whom I knew by sight, when in came\nmy old friend of the Rockies and Eagle Pass Landing,\nScott! I jumped up and we shook hands warmly.\nHe was dressed well, and had a gold chain across\nhis waistcoat. I was as rough-looking as possible,\nand just as I had been when I saw him last, save\nthat my hat was new. He asked me how I was\n* making it,' or getting  along,  and I told  him just IN SAN FRANCISCO\n291\nbow it was with me. He gave me 25 cents, and\nI went out and got a 10-cent dinner at a cheap\n\u25a0eating-house, where they give a great deal for the\nmoney. Scott had left Eagle Pass soon after me\nand had gone direct to Victoria, and then to San\nFrancisco, where he had been for some weeks, working\npart of the time. The remaining 15 cents kept me\nfor that day and the next, as I spent nothing for\nlodging, and then he gave me a little more. At the\n\u2022end of a week from the time I had come to the city\nhe told me he had heard of a chance for work for me,\nand I went up to a store in Market Street, owned by\na man whose possessions ran into millions of dollars.\nHe told me to come round in the morning and I\ncould get a day's work. I came accordingly at seven\no'clock and went to work without having had breakfast, my supper the night before having consisted of\na cup of coffee and a roll.\nI helped two men, one. a Swede, the other an\nEnglishman, to clean out the cellar or basement of\nsome new buildings, carrying up heavy timbers, iron\nboilers, bricks, and glass frames, hard work at any\ntime, but laborious in the extreme on an empty\nstomach. However, my Englishman was a good little\nfellow, and lent me 15 cents, with which I got the\nbest meal I had had in San Francisco. At night\nI got a dollar and a half, my day's wages, and was\ntold to come again on Monday, as this was Saturday.\nI was now quite a capitalist, and by eschewing the\ntr 2 292\nTHE   WESTERN A VERNUS\nluxury of a bed  I could manage to live for sometime.    I worked again on Monday, and then my boss\ntold me to come up to his private house next night,\nas he wanted a man to get some rock and gravel out\nof a quarry to fill up his yard and make a good floor..\nI was to sleep in the barn.    I went up and lay in a\nloft among bales of hay and innumerable rats, who'\nran along the bales and then jumped on me, waking\nme up all night long.   Sometimes half a dozen would\ncharge  across   me at once, and if I made a noise\nit would only quiet them  for a  minute, and their\ngames would begin again.    In the morning I went\nto work in the quarry, and kept at it for ten days,,\ntaking all the dogs of the establishment to bed with\nme at night, whereby I saved myself from rats, but\nwas troubled with fleas and an occasional fight over\nmy recumbent figure.\n\" My meals cost me a good deal during this time, so-.\nwhen I left I only had about nine dols., upon which I\nlived for nearly three weeks, still  staying in  Clay\nStreet, where I now had a bed, paying a dollar a.\nweek for it.\nScott by this time was working in a Turkish bathhouse, and was at any rate making a living.\nI tried hard to get employment myself but without\navail, and gradually my small store of silver got less\nand less as I went back into my old condition, even\nthough I nearly starved myself, exercising great self-\ncontrol in the matter of meals.     And in these days I IN SAN FRANCISCO\n29\nj\npassed into the company of books, and in them found\nthe only true nepenthe. They were a refuge and a\nconsolation, for in them I sought strength for my\nweakness, and renewed courage, and did not seek in\nvain. They are indeed steadfast friends to the\nafflicted, and wise counsellors to the wavering and\ninfirm, and but for them who can say what might\nhave been my lot ? If there are no fields of amaranth\nbeyond the grave, there is even asphodel on this\nhither side, and in the company of the mighty men of\nold we wander at last in a discoverable Eden, and by\nthe very borders of the fabled lakes of Elysium. For\nthe end of culture is a salvation of the soul from all\nthings foul and horrible, and the ghastly phantoms\nborn of despair, whether it be engendered of the\npestilential miasma of our lower humanity or the\nfriendless desolation of utter misery.\nI came down at last to no money at all, and\nin desperation I sent home for the 100 dols.\nwhich I had remitted to England in Kamloops.\nThen I had at least forty days to get through.\nTimes were now terribly hard in San Francisco.\nIt was estimated that there were at least 20,000\nmen out of work, to say nothing of women and\nchildren. Londoners have nowadays some faint\nnotion of the struggle for life among the poor of\nLondon, and the unutterable miseries they suffer\nduring a bad winter, but they still think that America\nis a paradise, and that there can be no want there,\n1 294\nTHE   WESTERN A VERNUS\nespecially in the Golden West. But they are much\nmistaken.\nI had to take again to sleeping on bare boards,\nand I was much luckier than many others, who slept\nin doorways, and on the piles of potatoes on the\nwharf, and sometimes went to the police station\nand got a bed there. Then there was a fearful\nstruggle for food. I used to sit in the lodging-house\nroom and hear men, whom I knew to be near starvation, telling each other of hotels and restaurants\nwhere they would give men food, warning each other\nnot to go to others lest they should be given into\ncustody. I knew one man who lived for months by\ngoing down to the iron-working places and machine\nshops in Mission Street, and asking the men who\nwere lucky enough to have work to ^ive him what\nwas left when they finished their dinners. Another\nlived on a friend who used to bring twice as much\nas he could eat to work with him. '. Then some were\nwithout food for two days at a time. For my own\npart, Scott helped me considerably, and at last I\nfound out a charitable organisation from whom I\ngot much help, promising to repay them when I got\nmy money from England, and I did so. The secretary was a fine, kind old fellow, and used to get me\nto clean the office windows, giving me a dollar for\ntwo or three hours' work, finding me a job at gardening sometimes.\nHe knew I was an educated man, and, in spite of IN SAN FRANCISCO\n295\nmy appearance and poverty, treated me as an equal-\nThen at last I had quite a stroke of luck. I met in\nClay Street, one day, John Anderssen, the Swede\nwho had worked with me at the mill in New Westminster, and who had been with me on that terrible\nwinter's walk. He took me down to a schooner and\ngot me a job helping to discharge her. The work\nwas fearfully heavy, and I had to run all day long\ndragging heavy planks ; but the pay was good\u2014\nfour dols., or 16s. Sd., for nine hours. It is one ofthe\nhardest things a man can do, and there are thousands\nof working men who are unable to do it. Yet I stuck\nto it for a day and a half, when the work was done,\nand made six dols. This was quite a windfall, and\nI lived for two weeks on it, having a bed again, after\nthree weeks on bare boards. It was now the beginning of 1886. But I hoped to get my money from\nEngland early in February, and then things would\nbe better. Meantime I spent my time in walking\nround the city, with which I got thoroughly acquainted,\nand in reading in the library. Scott I saw at frequent\nintervals, and when I was in good spirits we used to\nrenew our old discussions about religion, and he used\nto make me read the letters I wrote home, for he had a\ngreat admiration for my epistolary style, and considered\nme a complete letter-writer of a very high order.\nThen at nights he used to take me off to some revival\nmeeting, which would be more comic to me than any\ntheatre, as the way such affairs were carried on was new --ii -wri-\n.\u00ab.\u2014~^a**C4***^*^\u2014 in * *\n296\nTHE   WESTERN A VERNUS\nto me, for I had never been to any before. I think\nScott had a dim hope in his mind that I should be\nconverted to active religion, but he was doomed to\ndisappointment, as my sense of humour was too great\nfor me to forget the rank absurdities of speech and\ndemeanour of these apostles. It surprised me, however, to see with what fluency even manifestly uneducated people could tell their experiences, until at\nlast I discovered that their method of talking, when\nthey got stuck, was to interject a stream of 'Praise\nthe. Lords' until they thought of something else,\nfinally attaining a rapidity of utterance in some cases\nworthy of the main demi-god of the platform, round\nwhom would be sitting a circle of devout hysterical\ngirls.\nDuring these weeks of comparative ease, owing to\nmy six dols., I never ceased trying to get work, but it\nwas no use, and finally I got so disgusted that I left off\ntrying, leaving things in the hands of Destiny. The\nnumber of men in town seemed, if anything, to increase,\nand the employment offices were fairly besieged by\napplicants. Some poor fellows actually committed\nsuicide, and I saw more than one in the morgue who\nwould have been alive, I doubted not, if work had been\nobtainable. I used sometimes to go to this morgue,\nnot, I think, out of morbid curiosity, but simply from\nsheer ennui, when I felt incapable of reading. And\nit had generally an occupant or two, for San Francisco\nis fertile in violent deaths, and in five months I know IN SAN FRANCISCO\n297\nthere were ten murders at least. Murders I call them,\nthough a corrupt bench and jury usually bring it in\nanything but that, and acquit the guilty person if he\nor she have sufficient money or influence.\nIn that same morgue I one night saw a woman\nlying dead\u2014a woman with a most beautiful, calm face,\nsplendid hair and delicate skin; a woman of a common\nhistory and the old perpetual tragedy of our life and\nsociety. Young and lovely, with a beautiful voice, she\nleft her husband's home, God knows by what drawn or\ndriven, and was for years an outcast in the streets of\nSan Francisco, and yet, in spite of disease and want\nand drink, her fatal beauty remained with her scarcely\ndiminished, and the touch of sudden death purified her\nand made her saintlike\u2014to me at any rate, though I\ndoubt if the group of ghouls around her thought so,\nthough another wretched woman, her companion for\nyears in the polluting and polluted ways of that vile city,\n^sat by and wept.bitterly with her face in her hands,\nand her hair dishevelled like the locks of an Eastern\nmourner.\nFor three months San Francisco was a city of sorrow\nand despair to me, of laborious occupation or worse,\nof none at all, of poverty, of starvation, of discomfort.\nWhen   I   think  of those miserable nights  on  bare\nft\nplanks, in vile smell of tobacco, I shiver. It is a nightmare to think of myself standing outside in the dreary\nstreet, with my equally unlucky companions, looking\nup at the windows of the sitting-room, to which Jim i-* *\u25a0-     n  _\n1):\n298\nTHE   WESTERN AVERNUS\nwould only allow us to come when the lights were\nremoved, as sign that the rest had gone to bed. And\nthe uneasy sleep and the dreams of better things, and\nthe awakening to misery and starvation\u2014it was bitter.\nThe walk in Oregon, bad as it was, and the Selkirk\ntrail are nothing, in my memory, to these most evil\ndays in that city, when it seemed little indeed that\nkept me at times from the tables of the morgue. And\neven when brighter days came at last, and my long-\nexpected money came from England, I could not help\nseeing the misery of others, which was so patent to\nme who had gone through it myself.    In those days I\nCD \u00ab0 <-\/ J\nwas an Anarchist, a very Nihilist and the sight of rich\n-' *o\nprosperity filled me with fury, and a millionaire was a\nloathsome object, a vampire, a bloodsucker. Even\nnow I shiver to think of the horror of that time, when\nit seemed as if every avenue of hope was closed, and\nblack necessity drove me slowly backward to the\nwaters of suicide. It was at times vain to try to read; I\nonlysaw my own history in the pages, and the headings\nMisery and Starvation. It was vain to try to think of\nthings past when I was bound to the wheel of the\npresent, crushed and maimed. I had no patience, no\nhope, no charity. I was tortured by the lack of all\nhuman feelings in me. I was at times a brute and\ncarnivorous. Then I grew sad and melancholy, no\nmore savage and wild, and I sat clown by myself\"\nin silence, and would have wept for sheer misery and\nutter loneliness had not my tears been dried up.    And IN SAN FRANCISCO\n299\nsometimes I gre*vjBalmost delirious, and came into a\nnew world, suffering from a calenture, viewing a mirage;\nand my veins bounded, and I was strong and wise,\nphilosophic, calm and virtuous, and then cast down in\nutter confusion, sweeping like a lost boat over a cataract\nto the whirlpools of a lost soul. Yet at times I was\nmerry, and laughed and joked with my fellows about\nour sufferings, and made light of them, and then went\nout cursing. And all this for lack of work, for lack of\na little money, and because I had known other things,\nand was, it may be, cultured, and in many ways gifted\nbeyond my poor brutish friends.\nIt was thus I learnt the misery of cities and the\nperpetual warfare and bitter fight for life. I have no\nneed to go now to the slums of London in search\nof a new sensation. I will keep away unless I can do\ngood there, for the sight of such misery would come\nback to me with more than a hundred times the effect\nit would have on even some delicate highborn lady,\nwho from motives of compassion and curiosity has\ngone to the dreadful East-end in winter time. Do\nthese not look at the sufferings they see as if the\nsufferers belonged to a lower, different race ? It may\nnot be so, but I fear it is too often.. But I know\nI was even as these\u2014starved, hopeless, miserable,\npassionate, hating, and their sight and memory are\ndreadful.\nAnd how strange the contrast to me with a little\nmoney !   New clothes, and a bath and plentiful meals. o\noo\nTHE   WESTERN AVERNUS\nLo 1 a new man, careless, laughing, and too forgetful.\n\"The change was too sudden, and I changed too much,\nand for a time became callous. I had suffered ; then\nlet others suffer. I had starved ; was I to help others,\nthat I might perhaps the sooner starve again ? Should I\nnot take some luxury, because others lacked necessary\nthings ? I grew selfish and went off reading, or I took\nlong walks to look at the sea breaking on the ocean\nbeach, or the bright bay, to see things while I was in\nthe humour for them. I thrust aside my past sufferings, and with them those of the rest. Yet this was\nbut a reaction, I think. I had been strained almost\nto the breaking-point, and now I was let loose. I\nhad been played up so harshly that more than one\ntuning was wanted to make me tolerable. I was\nweary of seeing evil when all things seemed evil. I\nwas a passive Manichaean, on the whole on the side\nof good, but a non-combatant. Then between Good\nand Evil. There was no Good and Evil. It was\n' thinking made it so.'    Perhaps it was that\n' A little discord makes My music sweet,'\nSaith God upon His throne ; ' so let men beat\nTheir painful breasts and moan.'\nAnd my life ran in calmer channels as I sought\nvaguely for work, knowing that it would ere long be\nnecessary, yet not striving earnestly for very lack of\npower. I passed into the world of books, remaining\nin the library for hours, and I read the' Meditations of\n\u25a0\u2022 7\nMarcus Antoninus' and Blake's' Poems of Innocence * IN SAN FRANCISO\n{OI\nonce and again, understanding much, and, I am fain\nto say, looking at some as a child might at Sanskrit\nin the Devanagari character\u2014as  something  occult,\nO O 7\nmystic, hieroglyphic, and secret. In some other cities\nI should have spent much of my leisure in picture\ngalleries\u2014in Melbourne, for instance\u2014but in this city*\nof outer barbarians there is no such thing, and little art\nand few artists. Chromos and oleographs such as\none sees in London are infinitely ahead of much water\nand oil painting in San Francisco ; and to look at the\nmany villanous daubs that hang there, even in good\nshops, was extremely painful to me, who at any rate\nhad seen, and seen often, the best in London\u2014Turner,\nDanby, Gainsborough and Reynolds, and Rossetti's*\nmarvellous morbid work, and all the old schools,\nItalian and Venetian, and Lionardo da Vinci, and\nhad sat and dreamed vague dreams unexpressed anywhere or by anybody, except by Pater's words on\nLa Gioconda, and who had read Ruskin over and\nover again. Then even etchings and engravings were\nfrom old worn-out European plates, and were ghastly.\nSo I was forced back to Nature again, and yet went\nwillingly, and sat for hours on a rock on the ocean\nbeach and heard the sea thunder, and saw the white\nfoam lightning on the dark blue of the turbulent\nwaters, taking good care to turn my back to the cliffs\nthat soulless, enterprising Americans had placarded\nwith advertisements of champagnes and brandies\nunknown  to  European   merchants,  such  as   Piper-\ni ^mdM9*~-x. .  m.\nA\n02\nTHE- WESTERN AVERNUS\nII\nHeidsieck. Or I went up Telegraph Hill, above the\nbay, and saw the huge ferry boats running to Oakland,\nAlameda, San Rafael or Saucelito with foam tracks\nbehind them, and the merchant ships lying at anchor\nwith delicate tracery of rope and spar against the\ncalm water, or the opposing hills, above which rose\nthe winter-crowned crest of Mount Diablo or Tamal-\npais, and heard the near current of humanity on the\nwharves and the roar of traffic and handling of far-\nbrought merchandise.\nAt last it was undoubtedly time for me to be at\nwork, for living even in dreamland costs money, and\nthe veriest Buddha has to live on victuals and drink.\nIn the middle of April I received an offer of work\non a ranche in Lake County, to the north of San\nFrancisco, on the condition that I should engage\nmyself for a year. Having still some money left, I\ndeclined to put myself in such fetters and shackles,\nknowing that the very fact of its being impossible for\nme to leave would inevitably make me anxious to do\nit But in the beginning of May I began to feel very\nanxious, for my hoarded dollars decreased one by\none. I went to a great bookseller's in town and undertook the work of a ' book agent.' I had to wander\nround the city with a large sample atlas under my\narm, going into every place I thought might offer me\na chance to dispose of one, and suffered during some\ndays the misery of trying to induce a man who manifestly was not in need of my book to nevertheless buy it IN SAN FRANCISCO\n3\u00b03\nThe successful book agent is a man who can read\n4XJ>\ncharacter, who is pliable, ready, quick-witted, and not\nto be repulsed. He must have brains, but cheek, impudence, or what is often called 'gall ' in America, is\nfar more necessary, and it was most decidedly in this\nthat I was lacking. I sold a few and made 40 per\n\u2022cent, on my sales, but 80,or 100 per cent, would\nnot have compensated me for the shame and diffidence I experienced in entering house after house\nfor a whole day, with perhaps only one success to be\nscored to me, and only too often I worked hard and\nmade nothing at all. Finally, after three days, which\nwere absolutely blank, I sold my sample copy at a\nsacrifice, and renounced a business for which I was\n\u2022evidently unfit.\nIn the second week of May my luck began to\nturn. I had come down at last to five dollars, then\nfour, three, two, one, and then I had none at all. I\nwas dead broke again, and without prospects. Up\nto this time I had dwelt in a fool's paradise, and was\na kind of dreamy Micawber, but the rude shock of\nfinding myself again without cash awoke me like a\ncold douche, and I set to work ' rustling' for a job.\nAnd as it was spring there was some likelihood of\nmy being able to find it, even if I had to put my old\nblankets on my back once more and go out into the\nvast Californian country on speculation. But by a\nhappy chance this was spared me, and I was glad,\nfor it would have been most extremely bitter for me ..-A.,..\nI*******\n304\n7W2\"   WESTERN AVERNUS\nto have made another tramp like my British Columbia\nor Oregon journeys, perhaps in starvation and suffering,\nonce more.    I had met a certain English merchant in\nSan Francisco, a man of wealth and many ranches.\nTo him I applied for employment.    He could give-\nme none, and sent me away disconsolate, but the day\nafter I received a message from him, and the next\nmorning found me on my way to Sonoma County,,\nto work upon a vineyard and stock and grain ranche-\nThe wages were but small\u201420 dols. a month\u2014and I\nfound the work sufficiently arduous, but I made up-\nmy mind to stay there in spite of everything until I\nhad enough money to take me back to England, for\nafter being out in the cold so long I desired to feel\nthe warm air of civilisation on my cheeks once more.\nThe situation of the ranche was beautiful.    At\nthe back of the farm buildings rose  a precipitous\nmountain clothed on its lower slopes -with fir and\nbirch and pine, while above the trees ran rocky peaks-\nthat  shone  rosy red  in the summer's  setting sun.\nAcross the valley rose another chain of hills more\nbare of timber, and the lands between us and this-\nfarther range were green with vines and golden with,\nwheat and corn and barley.    From the higher peaks\nof the mountain I saw the waters of San Francisco's\nbay, and at times the haze and smoke of the city\nitself, while nearer lay mapped out beneath me farm\nafter farm and vine plot after vine plot, verdant and\nflourishing. IN SAN FRANCISCO\n305\nMy work was very various, and required a man\nwho had some knowledge of many things, and certainly I think my experience had so far fitted me\nfor it. I was stableman for one thing, and in that\ncapacity sometimes had charge of as many as a dozen\nhorses. Then I harnessed and ' hitched up' all the\nbuggies and carriages, and had to keep them and the\nharness clean. I was milkman, milking four cows,\ntaking charge of their calves and feeding them on\nhay and grass, and occasional apples and pears in the\nseason. My spare time in the summer was devoted\nto picking and drying apricots, plums, greengages,\nmagnum bonums, and peaches, and when the summer\nstill further advanced I had to see that our fifty\nhorses came up to water at the ranche, for the heat\ndried up the pools and springs in the pastures. There\nwere 300 sheep, and these I looked after during\nlambing and brought to water also. Half the day\nI was on horseback, for the most part riding a black\nCalifornian ' broncho,' who threw me twice ' buck-\njumping\/ and on the first occasion nearly killed me.\nBut before I had done with him I made him kind and\ntractable, teaching him some school tricks, such as\nbacking and going sideways, and he learnt to follow\nme when I went on foot.\nMy companions were for the most part Italians,\nwho swore most diabolical and blasphemous oaths,\nbut who were kind and pleasant, hard workers too\nand  steady.     My particular partner was a Swede,\nx ! \u00bb    ifc\n306\nTHE   WESTERN A VERNUS\n' Andy\/ who was a sailor, and had been a passenger\non the ill-fated ' Atlantic\/ and he and I got along\nextremely well, sleeping in the same room, an apartment decorated with illustrations from the English\n' Graphic ' and ' Illustrated.'\nI stayed there through haymaking and harvest\nand thrashing, until the vintage. There were 300\nacres of vines\u2014Mission, Zinfundel and Berger, and\nmany others\u2014for it was the largest vineyard in Sonoma\nValley, and during this time I used to go down the\nvineyard on horseback, carrying a rifle to shoot the\nhalf-wild hogs who broke in to get the sweet, plentiful\ngrapes. And ere the end of the vintage I left. The\nwork was not in every way suited to me, and it grew\nmore and more irksome as my small stock of money\nincreased, for when I saw an avenue open for escape\nto England and civilisation, converse with uneducated\nmen grew intolerable, and I longed for the society of\nthose whose interests were not merely bucolical and\npecuniary, whose talk was not of bullocks, \u2022 for how\ncan such get wisdom ?'\nSo at last I bade farewell to my companions, sang\n' L'Addio' to my Italian friends, and went down to\nSan Francisco, and next day took the overland train\nfor New York. It was a glad release for me, that\nswift flight overland, that triumphant progress through\nthe long sunburnt plains of Southern California, the\nhigh plateaux of sweet-breath'd Arizona, the land of\nthe beautiful maiden, through New Mexico of cattle IN SAN FRANCISCO\n307\nand sheep and brown adobes, down the long descent\nof Kansas plains, through Missouri and the eastern\nStates to the Atlantic seaboard and the roar and rush\nof New York City, and finally over the furrows of the\nocean, blue and wonderful, the very sea that ran in\nceaseless currents to the island of my birth, and\nEngland at last.\nPRINTED   BY\nSPOTTISWOODE   AND CO.,   NEW-STREET   SQUARE\nLONDON  SMITH, ELDER, & CO.'S PUBLICATIONS.\nPARLEYINGS WITH CERTAIN PEOPLE OF IMPORTANCE\nIN THEIR DAY.' To wit: Bernard de Mandeville. Daniel Bartoli, Christopher\nSmart, George Bubb Dodington, Francis Furini, Gerard de Lairesse, and Charles\nAvison. Introduced by a Dialogue between Apollo and the Fates. Concluded\nby another between John Fust and his Friends. By Robert Browning. Fcp.\n8vo. ys.\nLIFE OF HENRY FAWCETT.    By Leslie Stephen, Author of \u25a0 A\nHistory of English Thought in the Eighteenth Century,'' Hours in a Library,' &c.\nFourth Edition.    Large crown 8vo.   With 2 Steel Portraits.\n12 s\n6d.\nA JOURNAL KEPT BY DICK DOYLE in the year 1840. Illustrated\nby several hundred Sketches by the Author. With an Introduction by J.\nHungerford Pollen, and a Portrait.    Second Edition.    Demy <j.to. 21s.\n*::;.* The Journal has been reproduced in facsimile, and is printed on fine paper.    It\nis handsomely bound in cloth, and forms a very elegant gift-book.\nLIFE OF FRANK BUCKLAND.    By his Brother-in-Law, George\nG Bompas, Editor of 'Notes and Jottings from Animal Life.'   With a Portrait.\nNew and Cheaper Edition.   Crown 8vo. 5s. ; or, gilt edges, 6s.\nNOTES AND JOTTINGS FROM ANIMAL LIFE. By the late\nFrank Buckland. New and Cheaper Edition. With Illustrations. 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New, Revised, and Cheaper Edition, being the Sixth Edition.   2 vols, large\n\u2022 crown 8vo. with 2 Portraits and 2 Maps, 21s.\nLIFE OF SIR HENRY LAWRENCE. By Major-General Sir Herbert Benjamin Edwardes, K.C.B., K.C.S.I., and Herman Merivale, C.B.\nWith Two Portraits.    8vo. 12s.\nLIFE OF LIEUT.-GENERAL SIR JAMES OU\/TRAM. By Major-\nGeneral Sir Frederic J. Goldsmid, C.B., K.C.S.I. Second Edition. 2 vols,\ndemy 8vo. 32s.\nMOHAMMED AND MOHAMMEDANISM : Lectures delivered at\nthe Royal Institution of Great Britain in February and March 1874. By R.\nBosworth Smith, M.A. Second Edition, Revised, with considerable Additions.\nCrown 8vo. 8s. 6d.\nTHE MERV OASIS : Travels and Adventures East of the Caspian\nduring the Years 1879-80-81, including Five Months' Residence among the Tekkes\nof Merv. By Edmond O'Donovan, Special Correspondent of the Daily News.\nIn 2 vols, demy 8vo., with Portrait, Maps, and Facsimiles of State Documents, 36.?.\nMERV : a Story of Adventures and Captivity. Epitomised from 'The\nMerv Oasis.' By Edmond O'Donovan, Special Correspondent ofthe Daily News.\nWith a Portrait.    Crown 8vo. 6s.\nWALKS  IN FLORENCE AND ITS ENVIRONS.    By Susan and\nJoanna   Horner.     New   Edition,   Revised   and   Enlarged,   with   numerous\nIllustrations.    2 vols, crown 8vo. 21s.\nTHE LIFE OF MAHOMET. With Introductory Chapters on the Original\nSources   for the  Biography of  Mahomet,  and   on   the   Pre-Islamite History  of\nArabia.    By Sir William Muir, LL.D.    4 vols, demy 8vo. 32^.\nTHE   LIFE   OF   MAHOMET.       From  Original   Sources.      By Sir\nWilliam   Muir, LL.D.\nMaps.   8vo. 14s.\nA New and Cheaper Edition, in one volume.     With\nANNALS   OF   THE   EARLY   CALIPHATE.     By   Sir   William\nMuir, K.C.S.I., Author of 'The Life of Mahomet,' &c.    With Map.    8vo. 16s.\nESSAYS   ON  THE   EXTERNAL POLICY   OF   IND.A.    By the\nlate J. W. S. 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Crown 8vo. 5*.\nLondon: SMITH, ELDER, & CO.,  15 Waterloo Place.\n^H       ^^1    I \/7I <\"\":\u2022\nc* *-\n\\  *^[^HF|\n*HB*HBHH\nWmymtVGBMWBaimW&tl&mmm'\nMMMMfcVS-MM  A  MAPjOF    THE    AUTHORS   ROUTE.\n1SE\n120\u00b0\nU\u00a3\n80\u00b0\n75\n70\"\n65\nIT\nTWO,\n\u25a0M2\nmo\n-%\u00ab**? #j\nja\u00bb.\nKoi?.\n(<-*fiiy..\nn\nkri\nk\nm\nMf?<*\n0^*-<m. *-'^^r\n.\"M*-\/\n& *S\n-fad\nS*J.\n^\n1\n&S\n\u201eN,\n*4sg\n^\n!HKt\n^*v^i\nrAf m\nmem\nTi8Z\u00a3\nm\nW~\nW&\nm\nffi\u00a7&\nstift\n\u00a7\u00a3&\u25a0*\nTSiM\nKami>eskc\nJ^ipBp:\n\u00a7i*&\u00a3\nR*C\u00bb\u00ab\n^foiw\nISt^a\n<*\u2022?\nfot\ne*\n\/\u2022sir\nfc\nAr       S?nl\t\ni$7r\u00a3*ji<lJ\u00a7 tew* \/r&IS IJL^^iS\n.jsitim^^,\nM&3$<S.\\  C^da\n\u00a3 E?B-\nenSb-!\nTBethww\n}%.\nnfi\n'Jose\na    \u25a0    <-,\n\"\u2022Hi\nSfe\nOttjs\n\\JEaJci\noiTsia'u\nt'M\"\"1\nIC\u00bbW\n01\n\u00bb\u00bb*\nf*4 '\"-^fe\nJfa\n\u00abs\n\u00bb|\n\u25a0^S^\nV^i\n\u25a0s^\/^\/Y'li'; ?&m\nIf\n.ft-^-sie^J\nM^RTfc\n\u25a0fw****-\nfo\n^\u00a9e\n03^\nt*'.\ni^r\nis ill\/ ? vmlf^-F'\\P'\nfel#>^\ni\u00ab#t<S>'\nI A\nrr\n\/*-\/V*w^@&.\nt-E RX\"C2*yo if^SL'^W^\n\u25a0v>\n[Bo^gyi\n411:\nWo-\n>\nXil\n[TV\n\/\n\/\n\"\u2022-\u00ab\u25a0&\nr^v 1)11-\n \\        -UMA210 Z^\nfe&H-m ;^#te :Wx\t\ntto^fl r\nm\n<, \/^\n^fo-nrf\nLfe fi\n^iSfUM\n\"\"''^\u2022MuA.iS\nJfo.\nSiA-fi-o-AViclisbijri\n*\u00ab&\n*XI   x\n4*it<3\nifefc*f\nM<M)-e\n.10\n120c\n1^1% *nB\n^^*\n)St2f\na^\nJ15\u00b0\nLong nO'Wof G-r.\ntf    SyCTf\"*-***^^    V ^iSe \\\nbiBitEMS .\n*?\u25a0\nV\n30\n85\u00b0\nScale of Miles\nr\\       if\\f\\       -fen       <?\n0   '      50       100       150      200       250      SOO\nLondon: Smith^lder & Co; Waterloo Place.\n80\u00b0\nStanford^, 6 utflstofi1.'Im^rv.","type":"literal","lang":"en"}],"http:\/\/www.europeana.eu\/schemas\/edm\/hasType":[{"value":"Books","type":"literal","lang":"en"}],"http:\/\/purl.org\/dc\/terms\/identifier":[{"value":"F5804_3_R66","type":"literal","lang":"en"}],"http:\/\/www.europeana.eu\/schemas\/edm\/isShownAt":[{"value":"10.14288\/1.0114654","type":"literal","lang":"en"}],"http:\/\/purl.org\/dc\/terms\/language":[{"value":"English","type":"literal","lang":"en"}],"http:\/\/www.europeana.eu\/schemas\/edm\/provider":[{"value":"Vancouver : University of British Columbia Library","type":"literal","lang":"en"}],"http:\/\/purl.org\/dc\/terms\/publisher":[{"value":"London : Smith, Elder & Co.","type":"literal","lang":"en"}],"http:\/\/www.europeana.eu\/schemas\/edm\/currentLocation":[{"value":"Rare Books and Special Collections","type":"literal","lang":"en"}],"http:\/\/purl.org\/dc\/terms\/rights":[{"value":"These images are provided for research and reference use only. 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