On a certain evening, about eleven o’clock, when the sun was setting
reluctantly over the western end of the defile, a lone stranger came
into the line of vision of MacCaskill and myself, an elderly man,
thin and grizzled, sweating under the weight of a heavy pack. Once he
stopped to shade his eyes and peer about, then, having probably caught
sight of the log buildings, he tramped on and approached us as we sat
outside our shanty. MacCaskill had been grumbling, because he had not
yet grown accustomed to ten-cent pans.
“I want to pick it up in lumps,” he growled, pinching his little
buckskin bag, which was rapidly becoming fat. Then he, too, caught
sight of the stranger, who came up to us, as though to greet old
friends. “See there!” exclaimed the factor hoarsely, “here comes
another! Another damned sooner!”
The elderly man let down his pack, and nodded very gravely.
“How are ye?” he said, in a high nasal voice, proceeding to mop his
face with a dirty shirt-sleeve. “How do I come, eh? One of the first,
I guess. No big crowd ben before me, eh?” he said, mouthing each word
slowly. “What’s yer population, pard?”
MacCaskill enlightened him. The grizzled man appeared to be incapable
of smiling, but he gave me the impression of being satisfied.
“Well,” he said, “I’m always right on time. That’s me, pards! If I
don’t come in wi’ the first, I don’t come in at all. I’m Moccasin Bill,
pards. That’s me. What are ye callin’ the place?”
“Hanafin City,” I replied, as MacCaskill was relighting his stone pipe.
“Well, an’ a vurry nice city,” said Moccasin Bill, allowing his eye
to roam along the defile, where the shadows were beginning to gather.
“Pards, I’ll jest set right down, an’ get some supper acrost me. Ain’t
got a saloon here yet?”
“We’re only startin’,” admitted MacCaskill.
The old man opened his pack, and produced some fat bacon and a fry-pan.
“Tell ye,” he said profoundly, “the hull world’ll be on a buzz be now,
I guess. The Noo York papers, an’ the London papers, an’ the whole
durned rest uv ’em will be jest runnin’ over ’bout this place.”
MacCaskill growled out his anger.
“How the Jerusalem have they come to know?”
Grizzled Bill’s bacon began to hiss in the pan. He turned his solemn
face towards us.
“Ye ain’t reg’lars. No offence, pards. Can see ye ain’t. What’s the use
o’ tryin’ to explain things what can’t be explained?”
“If it hadn’t been for me, this place wouldn’t ever a-been discovered,”
boasted MacCaskill falsely.
The new-comer was as cool as ice.
“Listen-a-here.” He turned his bacon, and sniffed hungrily at the
greasy steam. “I ben in South Africa a-minin’, an’ I ben in West
Australy a-minin’, and I ben in Californy a-minin’.” He paused, then
added: “Now I come here a-minin’. I’m a lone hand. I allus have been a
lone hand.”
“Ain’t ye got any relations?” asked MacCaskill, when the miner stopped.
“The world’s a-crawlin’ wi’ ’em. I was a-goin’ to say this, pard, jest
this: I’ve packed along one time wi’ me ole ox, or me ole hoss, an’
maybe I’d see a pesky vulture a-comin’ away off, just like a bug en the
sky, an’ then another, an’ then another, an’ lots uv ’em, all like bits
o’ bugs. They’d be coming my way, see, an’ I’d say to meself, ‘There’s
a funeral.’ Me ole ox, or me ole hoss, would pack along right as right,
good an’ strong; but the bugs would get bigger, an’ turn inter big
bugs, and the big bugs would get bigger yet, and black, an’ they’d come
around, a-flappin’, an’ a-callin’, an’ a-rubber-neckin’ wi’ their ugly
bare necks. Then down would go me ole ox or me ole hoss, wi’ staggers,
or fly, or pissen-grass, an’ then the vultures would sorter chuckle,
jest like, ‘Told ye there was a blow-out a-comin’ to us.’ An’ down
they’d come, an’ I’d know that the ole pack-ox or the ole pack-hoss
would have to go. I can’t tell ye how them vultures knew, ’cause I
wouldn’t know meself, that the ole beast was a-goin’ to break. But I
says this to ye, that if a pesky bird can do that, a worldful o’ pesky
men oughter be able to do as good.
“If a man gets to find gold, he ain’t a-goin’ to keep it to hisself.
No, sir! ’Tain’t in nature. Other men are a-comin’ up to have their
bite. They smells it en the air. They feels it en their innards. The
wind whistles uv it, an’ off they start, a-sniffin’ to find the place,
like half a million dogs. They’ll be comin’ in be scores every day. I
passed quite a few on me way. They’re comin’ in be boat mostly, an’ I
come in be land. Me ole pack-hoss played out yesterday, an’ I come on
wi’ me own trotters. Moccasin Bill ain’t never a-goin’ to get left. Not
him!”
The professional miner spoke deliberately, pausing often to find the
word he wanted. When he had done this lengthy speech he started upon
his supper. After the arrival of Moccasin Bill an endless stream of
miners, and those who live upon them, came in; one week of such an
inrush caused the very characteristics of the place to change. Log
buildings sprang up with inconceivable rapidity along both sides of
the defile, making Hanafin City a fact as well as a name. A large
store became under course of erection, and across its unfinished front
suspended a huge canvas, bearing the inscription, “The Bonanza Trading
and Supply Association.” Bales and boxes of such supplies were packed
by oxen over the Bad Lands from Lake Peace. The men of the Association
drew the _Carillon_ off the mud-flats, patched her up, and steamed
her away south, to report how they had discovered her, wrecked and
deserted. Lennie and his men kept their own counsel. Two saloons were
erected. One roulette table had already arrived, and was working day
and night. A branch of one of the leading banks had been established. A
detachment of police arrived, and a Government representative to assume
the functions of Gold Commissioner.
The Government were hard at work defining that portion of the
north-west territory which we had named Bonanza, and great power
was given to Inspector Hanafin to adjust the mining law, and to
administer the same. He was instructed to meet any difficulties that
might occur by the exercise of his own judgment, without waiting for
authority. He assumed the local rank of Commissioner, and later a post
from Ottawa awarded this rank to him absolutely. A mail service into
the interior was inaugurated, police stations were established, and
patrols traversed the country. Quite at the end of August the flag of
the Hudson Bay Company went up, and Fort Hanafin became marked upon
the map. By that date a theatre had been built upon Front Street,
and performances, known as variety shows, were given nightly. After
supper the city was alive with lights and singing, with drunkenness and
gambling, and there were women in the place.
Mosquito Pass had been blown up, and a great rent appeared in the
cliffs where the miners passed to and from Bonanza. The spruce bluff
had vanished, the trees having been cut down for use, and the graves
of Joe Fagge and Leblanc, his murderer, had been trampled out. The
opening of the cliffs made the canyon far less of a blow-pipe, and I
missed the wild music, which only became sonorous in times of storm.
Along both sides of the Akshelah numbers of tents showed, with heaps
of dump, scores of rockers and sluice boxes, shining picks and spades,
and clumsy barrows, and all around figures of men, running, stooping,
shovelling, washing out, apparently never at rest. “MacCaskill” and
“Petrie” creeks were staked out for miles back. River claims and hill
claims were also staked out, every alternate ten claims being reserved
for the Government. A royalty of ten per cent. was levied by the Gold
Commissioner, and collected, in spite of loud grumblings from the
miners, on the gross output of every claim.
Number One MacCaskill was my claim; Number Two was occupied by the
“Athabasca Mining Syndicate, Limited”; Number Three was leased to
MacCaskill; Numbers Four to Eight to Lennie and Company; Number Nine to
Moccasin Bill; Number Ten to one Jake Peterssen; while Numbers Eleven
to Twenty, both inclusive, belonged to the Dominion Government.
It will be remembered that Hanafin had staked out a claim under
the style of Mr. John Smith, because, owing to something he called
“red-tape,” his position debarred him from working as a miner, or
holding a claim. When he had made me shift my stakes, after the
ejection of Olaffson, he had himself come into Number Two, and had
recorded this claim to the Athabasca Mining Syndicate, which was
himself. He hired two Swedes, who had come in, like so many, without
supplies, to work the claim for him as agent of the company, at a
remuneration of five dollars and food per day. When these assistants
had made sufficient money they started mining on their own account, and
then Hanafin simply hired two more improvident hands, and thus the work
of the Company proceeded.
Claim Number Ten was worked by my former opponent, Jake Peterssen. The
tidings of Bonanza had quickly reached Gull in that inexplicable manner
which Hanafin named “wireless telegraphy,” and many of the men threw
up their work upon the lumber and “came in,” Peterssen among them. He
told me that I had spoilt his right arm, and that he was no good for
lumbering; but when he gripped my hand in greeting, I felt glad that I
should never be called upon to stand up to him again.
By the end of August all these things had come to pass, and still
people were flocking in every day, despite the fact that the night
began to threaten, and that winter was near. To show how the camp was
governed by Hanafin, I narrate the following incident:--
A gang of bullies arrived, with no intention of mining or doing honest
trade, but simply bent upon ruling the place by fear, and living by
means of terrorism. These foul-mouthed beast-men, as Akshelah rightly
named them, spent most of the day in the principal saloon, drinking at
the expense of others, and when satisfied for the time, came out upon
Front Street, and, having captured a certain honest little character,
Jimmy Carruthers by name, proceeded to haze him in front of the saloon.
The little man, who had come into town to purchase supplies, took the
treatment good-naturedly at first, but presently one of the bullies
ordered him to dance for their edification. When he did not come up to
expectation, the brute poked at his ribs with a pointed stake, thereby
reaching the limits of Jim’s endurance. He refused to gratify his
tormentors further, thereupon the chief bully pulled out a revolver,
and shouted:
“Dance, ye little cuss, or I’ll make a hole through ye!”
Hanafin proceeded up the street with Norman at his side, but the
disturbers of the city’s peace did not see them. I noticed that the
Commissioner quickened his walk. Jimmy Carruthers was blenching from
the revolver, because it was obvious that the half-drunken bully was no
respecter of life, and was calling out for mercy, when Hanafin pushed
him aside.
“Norman!” exclaimed the Commissioner, “arrest that man.”
The bully went dark with anger.
“Arrest me, ye skunk! Arrest me--”
There he stopped, threw up his arms, coughed once, choked, and fell
forward. An angry little curl of smoke floated away down Front Street,
to the accompaniment of a few sharp echoes among the cliffs. The bully
had drawn upon Norman, and the Commissioner shot him dead at once.
Then he rounded upon the others, who snarled menacingly, and advanced
in a half-circle, brave because of their numbers. The Commissioner
whipped out his long sword, and the bullies stopped, more, I fancy,
because of the cold light in Hanafin’s eyes than for fear of the cold
steel.
“Put up your hands,” said the Commissioner quietly, “else I’ll have
the crowd of you hanged before supper. This mining camp is in British
territory, I’ll make you remember, and I am the representative of the
Queen.”
He removed his little forage cap, and Norman followed the example of
his chief. The bullies weakened, and obeyed with surly oaths. Norman
was ordered to search each one, and the majority were found to be
carrying secret weapons. These were marched off to the barracks, and
sentenced to one month’s imprisonment. That same evening a proclamation
was issued and posted about the city.
After the date of that proclamation, any man found carrying hidden
weapons, either in the town or about Bonanza, would be fined one
hundred and fifty dollars for a first offence. For a second, he would
be deprived of all miner’s privileges, and be dismissed from the
district. The miners read, and realised what sort of a representative
they had over them.
Hanafin City became the capital of the most law-abiding mining country
that the world has ever seen; so said the old miners. Yet when I went
to visit the man who had done this, I found him soaking his hands in
hot water, to prevent his fingers from losing their delicate shape
and whiteness. I am never likely to know whether Hanafin, who was
a combination of cleverness, coolness, courage, and conceit, was a
typical Englishman, but I like to think he was. I would have done
anything for that man.
“Commissioner,” I said, on the night following the affair with the
bullies, but he interrupted me--“My name is Hanafin.” This was merely
one out of many instances in which he tried to set me at my ease.
“You called yourself to-day the representative of the Queen,” I went
on. “An old man, who found me when Redpath put me away to starve off
the coast of Gull, sang ‘God save the Queen.’ Who is this Queen?”