Ballads of a Cheechako Part 9

Then there were days of drifting, breezes soft as a sigh; Night trailed her robe of jewels over the floor of the sky.

The moonlit stream was a python, silver, sinuous, vast, That writhed on a shroud of velvet--well, it was done at last.

There were the tents of Dawson, there the scar of the slide; Swiftly we poled o'er the shallows, swiftly leapt o'er the side.

Fires fringed the mouth of Bonanza; sunset gilded the dome; The test of the trail was over--thank G.o.d, thank G.o.d, we were Home!

The Ballad of Gum-Boot Ben

_He was an old prospector with a vision bleared and dim.

He asked me for a grubstake, and the same I gave to him.

He hinted of a hidden trove, and when I made so bold To question his veracity, this is the tale he told._

"I do not seek the copper streak, nor yet the yellow dust; I am not fain for sake of gain to irk the frozen crust; Let fellows gross find gilded dross, far other is my mark; Oh, gentle youth, this is the truth--I go to seek the Ark.

"I prospected the Pelly bed, I prospected the White; The Nordenscold for love of gold I piked from morn till night; Afar and near for many a year I led the wild stampede, Until I guessed that all my quest was vanity and greed.

"Then came I to a land I knew no man had ever seen, A haggard land, forlornly spanned by mountains lank and lean; The nitchies said 'twas full of dread, of smoke and fiery breath, And no man dare put foot in there for fear of pain and death.

"But I was made all unafraid, so, careless and alone, Day after day I made my way into that land unknown; Night after night by camp-fire light I crouched in lonely thought; Oh, gentle youth, this is the truth--I knew not what I sought.

"I rose at dawn; I wandered on. 'Tis somewhat fine and grand To be alone and hold your own in G.o.d's vast awesome land; Come woe or weal, 'tis fine to feel a hundred miles between The trails you dare and pathways where the feet of men have been.

"And so it fell on me a spell of wander-l.u.s.t was cast.

The land was still and strange and chill, and cavernous and vast; And sad and dead, and dull as lead, the valleys sought the snows; And far and wide on every side the ashen peaks arose.

"The moon was like a silent spike that pierced the sky right through; The small stars popped and winked and hopped in vast.i.tudes of blue; And unto me for company came creatures of the shade, And formed in rings and whispered things that made me half afraid.

"And strange though be, 'twas borne on me that land had lived of old, And men had crept and slain and slept where now they toiled for gold; Through jungles dim the mammoth grim had sought the oozy fen, And on his track, all bent of back, had crawled the hairy men.

"And furthermore, strange deeds of yore in this dead place were done.

They haunted me, as wild and free I roamed from sun to sun; Until I came where sudden flame uplit a terraced height, A regnant peak that seemed to seek the coronal of night.

"I scaled the peak; my heart was weak, yet on and on I pressed.

Skyward I strained until I gained its dazzling silver crest; And there I found, with all around a world supine and stark, Swept clean of snow, a flat plateau, and on it lay--the Ark.

"Yes, there, I knew, by two and two the beasts did disembark, And so in haste I ran and traced in letters on the Ark My human name--Ben Smith's the same. And now I want to float A syndicate to haul and freight to town that n.o.ble boat."

_I met him later in a bar and made a gay remark Anent an ancient miner and an option on the Ark.

He gazed at me reproachfully, as only topers can; But what he said I can't repeat--he was a bad old man._

Clancy of the Mounted Police

In the little Crimson Manual it's written plain and clear That who would wear the scarlet coat shall say good-bye to fear; Shall be a guardian of the right, a sleuth-hound of the trail-- In the little Crimson Manual there's no such word as "fail"-- Shall follow on though heavens fall, or h.e.l.l's top-turrets freeze, Half round the world, if need there be, on bleeding hands and knees.

It's duty, duty, first and last, the Crimson Manual saith; The Scarlet Rider makes reply: "It's duty--to the death."

And so they sweep the solitudes, free men from all the earth; And so they sentinel the woods, the wilds that know their worth; And so they scour the startled plains and mock at hurt and pain, And read their Crimson Manual, and find their duty plain.

Knights of the lists of unrenown, born of the frontier's need, Disdainful of the spoken word, exultant in the deed; Unconscious heroes of the waste, proud players of the game, Props of the power behind the throne, upholders of the name: For thus the Great White Chief hath said, "In all my lands be peace", And to maintain his word he gave his West the Scarlet Police.

Livid-lipped was the valley, still as the grave of G.o.d; Misty shadows of mountain thinned into mists of cloud; Corpselike and stark was the land, with a quiet that crushed and awed, And the stars of the weird sub-arctic glimmered over its shroud.

Deep in the trench of the valley two men stationed the Post, Seymour and Clancy the reckless, fresh from the long patrol; Seymour, the sergeant, and Clancy--Clancy who made his boast He could cinch like a bronco the Northland, and cling to the p.r.o.ngs of the Pole.

Two lone men on detachment, standing for law on the trail; Undismayed in the vastness, wise with the wisdom of old-- Out of the night hailed a half-breed telling a pitiful tale, "White man starving and crazy on the banks of the Nordenscold."

Up sprang the red-haired Clancy, lean and eager of eye; Loaded the long toboggan, strapped each dog at its post; Whirled his lash at the leader; then, with a whoop and a cry, Into the Great White Silence faded away like a ghost.

The clouds were a misty shadow, the hills were a shadowy mist; Sunless, voiceless and pulseless, the day was a dream of woe; Through the ice-rifts the river smoked and bubbled and hissed; Behind was a trail fresh broken, in front the untrodden snow.

Ahead of the dogs ploughed Clancy, haloed by steaming breath; Through peril of open water, through ache of insensate cold; Up rivers wantonly winding in a land affianced to death, Till he came to a cowering cabin on the banks of the Nordenscold.

Then Clancy loosed his revolver, and he strode through the open door; And there was the man he sought for, crouching beside the fire; The hair of his beard was singeing, the frost on his back was h.o.a.r, And ever he crooned and chanted as if he never would tire:--

_"I panned and I panned in the s.h.i.+ny sand, and I sniped on the river bar; But I know, I know, that it's down below that the golden treasures are; So I'll wait and wait till the floods abate, and I'll sink a shaft once more, And I'd like to bet that I'll go home yet with a bra.s.s band playing before."_

He was nigh as thin as a sliver, and he whined like a Moose-hide cur; So Clancy clothed him and nursed him as a mother nurses a child; Lifted him on the toboggan, wrapped him in robes of fur, Then with the dogs sore straining started to face the Wild.

Said the Wild, "I will crush this Clancy, so fearless and insolent; For him will I loose my fury, and blind and buffet and beat; Pile up my snows to stay him; then when his strength is spent, Leap on him from my ambush and crush him under my feet.

"Him will I ring with my silence, compa.s.s him with my cold; Closer and closer clutch him unto mine icy breast; Buffet him with my blizzards, deep in my snows enfold, Claiming his life as my tribute, giving my wolves the rest."

Clancy crawled through the vastness; o'er him the hate of the Wild; Full on his face fell the blizzard; cheering his huskies he ran; Fighting, fierce-hearted and tireless, snows that drifted and piled, With ever and ever behind him singing the crazy man.

_"Sing hey, sing ho, for the ice and snow, And a heart that's ever merry; Let us trim and square with a lover's care (For why should a man be sorry?) A grave deep, deep, with the moon a-peep, A grave in the frozen mould.

Sing hey, sing ho, for the winds that blow, And a grave deep down in the ice and snow, A grave in the land of gold."_

Day after day of darkness, the whirl of the seething snows; Day after day of blindness, the swoop of the stinging blast; On through a blur of fury the swing of staggering blows; On through a world of turmoil, empty, inane and vast.

Night with its writhing storm-whirl, night despairingly black; Night with its hours of terror, numb and endlessly long; Night with its weary waiting, fighting the shadows back, And ever the crouching madman singing his crazy song.

Cold with its creeping terror, cold with its sudden clinch; Cold so utter you wonder if 'twill ever again be warm; Clancy grinned as he shuddered, "Surely it isn't a cinch Being wet-nurse to a looney in the teeth of an arctic storm."

The blizzard pa.s.sed and the dawn broke, knife-edged and crystal clear; The sky was a blue-domed iceberg, suns.h.i.+ne outlawed away; Ever by snowslide and ice-rip haunted and hovered the Fear; Ever the Wild malignant poised and panted to slay.

The lead-dog freezes in harness--cut him out of the team!

The lung of the wheel-dog's bleeding--shoot him and let him lie!

On and on with the others--lash them until they scream!

"Pull for your lives, you devils! On! To halt is to die."

There in the frozen vastness Clancy fought with his foes; The ache of the stiffened fingers, the cut of the snowshoe thong; Cheeks black-raw through the hood-flap, eyes that tingled and closed, And ever to urge and cheer him quavered the madman's song.

Colder it grew and colder, till the last heat left the earth, And there in the great stark stillness the bale fires glinted and gleamed, And the Wild all around exulted and shook with a devilish mirth, And life was far and forgotten, the ghost of a joy once dreamed.