The Pine Cone Stories
By WILLIS BOYD ALLEN
6 Volumes, 12mo, cloth, $1.00 each
PINE CONES
THE NORTHERN CROSS
CLOUD AND CLIFF
SILVER RAGS
KELP
GULF AND GLACIER
D. LOTHROP COMPANY,
364-366 Washington Street, Boston
[Illustration: ON HE CAME, CRASHING THROUGH THE BOUGHS. _Page 130._]
GULF AND GLACIER
OR
_THE PERCIVALS IN ALASKA_
BY
WILLIS BOYD ALLEN
Author of the "Lion City of Africa," "Pine Cones," "Silver Rags," "The
Northern Cross," "Kelp," "Cloud and Cliff," "John
Brownlow's Folks," etc., etc.
BOSTON
D. LOTHROP COMPANY
WASHINGTON STREET OPPOSITE BROMFIELD
COPYRIGHT, 1892,
BY
D. LOTHROP COMPANY.
TO
The Little Captain
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
NORTHWARD BOUND 7
CHAPTER II.
FOREST AND PRAIRIE 21
CHAPTER III.
A HOME LETTER 40
CHAPTER IV.
THE GLACIER AND THE BEAR 46
CHAPTER V.
A KING'S DAUGHTER IN A FREIGHT CAR 59
CHAPTER VI.
VICTORIA AND "THE QUEEN" 68
CHAPTER VII.
SOLOMON BARANOV 93
CHAPTER VIII.
ALIVE OR DEAD? 110
CHAPTER IX.
THE SILVER-TIP 119
CHAPTER X.
ON THE MUIR GLACIER 135
CHAPTER XI.
FAIR SITKA 150
CHAPTER XII.
THE "CHICHAGOFF DECADE" 160
CHAPTER XIII.
HOMEWARD BOUND 200
CHAPTER XIV.
WONDERLAND 210
CHAPTER XV.
WHITE LILIES 228
CHAPTER XVI.
CONCLUSION 239
GULF AND GLACIER.
CHAPTER I.
NORTHERN BOUND.
"All aboard!"
It was a bright July morning, and its gladness was reflected in
the faces of the throng that hurried to and fro, like an army of
particularly busy ants, in the Boston and Lowell Depot.
Way trains puffed in and out, discharging their loads of out-of-town
people, who poured through the doorway in an almost continuous stream,
carrying baskets of lunch, bunches of pond lilies and the small parcels
that tell of every-day trips to the city.
On the opposite side of the station stood a Canadian Pacific train. The
massive trucks and heavy English build of the tawny cars distinguished
them from the stock required for local traffic. This was the train
which was to take a hundred or more passengers, without change, across
the broad American Continent. From the windows of those very cars,
the travelers were to look out upon the rolling Western prairies, the
ravines and snowy summits of the Rocky Mountains, and at last, the
blue waters of the Pacific. No wonder the people on this side of the
station, those departing, as well as those to be left behind, wore a
more serious and anxious look upon their faces than the light-hearted
suburbans who chatted gaily on their brief daily trip of a dozen miles.
How curiously the hundred tourists looked into one another's eyes?
"Will he prove a delightful companion, I wonder?" they said to
themselves. "Is she to be a life-long friend, dating from this moment
when our paths meet for the first time?"
"All aboard!" shouts the conductor again.
It has been well said that a railway station is a fit emblem of human
life, with its brief merriment and grief, its greetings and good-bys,
its clamor of coming and going.
Be this as it may, it is probable that of the half a thousand people in
the Lowell Depot that morning, but few abandoned themselves to moral
reflections. Certainly Tom Percival was not occupied with philosophical
meditation, as he stood on the lowest step of the car "Kamloops,"
looking out eagerly over the crowd that surged to and fro on the
platform beside the train.
"Halloo, Ran!" he shouted suddenly, waving his hat and beckoning to a
young man of about his own age, who was making his way toward the car,
valise in hand.
"All right, Tom," responded the other. "Come along, Fred," he added to
a companion at his side. "Here's the 'old cabin home' for the next week
or so, I suppose."
The three young fellows--or boys, as it is easier to call them, once
for all--shook hands all round, and then, standing on the car platform,
turned to the crowd again as the train started and slowly moved out of
the station.
"Good-by! good-by!"
"Be sure to write!"
"Bring me a totem pole from Alaska!"
"Hurrah! hurrah!"
And amid a medley of shouts and frantic wavings of handkerchiefs the
long train rumbled away, northward bound.
Randolph Burton made his way into the car, followed by his cousin Tom
and their chum Fred Seacomb. Randolph had just passed his Sophomore
examination successfully at Harvard, while Tom was rejoicing over his
admission to the Freshman class, with only one condition. Fred was a
pupil in a scientific school at Philadelphia. He was as dignified and
scrupulously neat as ever, and his eyeglasses twinkled as of old.
"Where are the girls?" inquired Randolph, turning to Tom.
The car was filled with passengers, all talking at once, and besieging
the porter with questions.
"In our 'drawing-room,' at the other end of the car," replied Tom. "You
know father and mother have a jolly little room all to themselves, but
we shall use it as headquarters, the whole way to Vancouver."
"Thomas alludes to Vancouver as if it were East Somerville or
Braintree," remarked Fred, eying that young man calmly. "How many times
did you say you had crossed the Continent?"
"Don't you concern yourself about me," rejoined Tom. "If you'd ground
up on this trip as I have, perhaps you'd feel on familiar terms with
Assiniboia and Saskatchewan and"--
"Oh! here he comes, talking Indian as usual," interrupted a merry
voice. "Randolph and Fred are with him."
"Glad to see you, Miss Sibley!" said Fred, with his most elegant bow.
"Oh! please," laughed the sunny-haired girl, "I'm going to be just
'Pet' on this trip, any way. I sha'n't be seventeen till November, you
know."
The boys seemed relieved at this declaration, and, perching on the arms
of the car seats, entered into lively conversation with Pet, as well as
Tom's sisters, Kittie and Bess.
The whole party, it may now be explained, had started on a journey to
Alaska. The young people had worked hard at their studies during the
winter, and Mr. Percival, being a man of ample means, as well as of
good sense and thoroughly kind heart, had included in his invitation
Pet Sibley and Fred Seacomb, both of whom are familiar to the readers
of the earlier volumes of this series.
They had been undecided where to go for the summer, when a friend of
Mrs. Percival's told her of this grand "Excursion," which was to take
its patrons from sea to sea, up the coast of Alaska, and back by way
of Yellowstone Park, all within the space of seven weeks. Careful
inquiries satisfied Mr. Percival and his wife that this was just the
trip they were looking for; places were secured, and the start was now
fairly made, as we have seen.
"Well, boys," remarked Mr. Percival, coming up at this moment, "have
you found your berths yet?"
"Not yet, father," said Tom, throwing his arm lovingly over the man's
broad shoulder. They were very near to each other, these two, and the
companionship of this long journey was destined to bring them together
more closely than ever before.
"Randolph, you and Tom are next to our drawing-room, on the 'starboard'
side. Fred comes next, taking the upper berth at night. Some gentlemen
in the party will probably occupy the lower one. Kittie and Bess are
directly opposite, and Miss Pet will come next."
"How nice! Then we're all together, right in this end of the car!"
"O, dear! I wish we had Bert and Sue Martin with us this year!"
lamented Kittie. "They would just fill those two odd berths, one on
each side."
"Can't have 'em, Kit," replied her brother. "The whole family have gone
out to Portland, Oregon, with their married sister. You know she and
her husband are going to live there, where he is in business, and that
left Bert and Sue here with only their grandmother."
"We pass through Portland, I believe," added Mr. Percival, "on our
return trip. We'll drop in on them if we can, for a short call."
By this time the train was running at full speed, and the young people
began to explore their surroundings. The country through which they
were passing was so familiar that they found more objects of interest
within the car than without.
There were a dozen other passengers in the "Kamloops," all chattering
briskly and settling themselves into the cosey quarters they were to
call home for the next ten days.
Fred Seacomb, as usual, began making acquaintances at once. Before
they reached Lowell he had raised an obstinate window for one of
his nearest neighbors, had found a missing pair of spectacles for a
sweet-faced old lady not far away, and had pointed out various objects
of interest (though he knew less of them than any other member of his
party) to a bashful boy and girl of about ten and twelve respectively,
in the front seats.
People began to glance to the Percival end of the car, and their faces
relaxed into genial smiles as Tom struck up "Annie Rooney," the rest
chiming in melodiously. Before long their company was increased by
the two occupants of the vacant berths. They introduced themselves as
Rev. Rossiter Selborne and his sister, Miss Adelaide Selborne. The
young clergyman could not have been over thirty; his sister, a tall,
pale, timid girl, was apparently of about Kittie's age. The new-comers
were evidently painfully conscious of the questioning glances with
which they were greeted, and were anxious not to intrude; Adelaide, in
particular, looking very shy and almost ready to cry when she saw what
a large party she and her brother had unintentionally joined, and how
thoroughly the others all knew one another.
Mrs. Percival soon broke the ice, however, by inviting Mr. Selborne
and his sister into her drawing-room for a call, and in another
fifteen minutes they were swept into the current of song. The young
minister proved to have a fine baritone voice, and his sister soon
won popularity by remembering second verses which everybody else had
forgotten.
"Weirs! Weirs!" shouted the conductor. And out flew the young folks to
the platform, only to be hustled back again, barely in time to miss
being left behind. The train was special, and took no passengers beyond
the favored hundred who constituted the Excursion.
The shores of fair Winnepesaukee were soon left behind, and the train
drew up at the Pemigewasset House, in Plymouth.
Up the long flight of steps they scrambled, "Tom leading the way, as
usual," remarked dignified Fred, peering through his eyeglasses at the
other's heels, far in advance.
Down again to the train--how familiar and home-like the old "Kamloops"
looks, already! "All aboard!" Hurrah! Off we go again! Singing once
more--this time the "Soldier's Farewell"; Tom striking it a third too
high, and going all to pieces on the second "Farewell"--on and on and
on, faster and faster and faster, up the beautiful Passumpsic Valley,
along the shores of Memphremagog.
"Look!" cries Bess. "There's a shower on the hills!"
The clouds hang, black and sullen, along the mountain-tops. Dash!
comes the rain in long exclamation points all over the window-panes. A
glittering flash of lightning, trees bowing in the wind, rain pouring
in torrents.
Suddenly a brilliant light strikes again through the windows, resting
on Pet's golden hair--not lightning this time, but the blessed
sunshine, in long, slanting rays from the west. Even the boys catch
their breath with delight and something like awe as they see the clouds
rolling away over the mountains.
At about sunset, the principal "conductor" of the Excursion, whom we
will call Mr. Houghton--a jolly, good-natured gentleman, who won first
the confidence and then the regard of his hundred charges, at the
very outset--came through the car announcing that at about half-past
eight they would be in Montreal, where the train would wait for them
forty-eight hours, the next day being Sunday.
In due time the cars thundered over the long steel bridge between
Caughnawaga and Lachine, the lights of Montreal twinkled out of the
darkness, and our friends were soon on their way to the Windsor, where
they were to spend the next two days.
Sunday was as fair as the most exacting traveler could wish. The large
party scattered during the forenoon, most of them going to church.
Randolph and Tom, with the girls, left the hotel early and walked for a
mile or more through the streets of the city.
There were many French inhabitants, as the shop signs showed. In a
little common, they saw the sign, "_N'allez pas sur le gazon_"--a
polite way of putting our familiar "Keep off the grass." The names of
the streets carried them back to old times, when the whole province was
held by France--"_Ste. Monique_," "_Ste. Genevieve_," etc. Funny little
milk carts went bobbing along over the rough pavements, and funny
little babies toddled along the uneven board sidewalks.
Their walk soon brought them to a lofty granite building with two
square towers--the cathedral of Notre Dame.
People were flocking in at the doors, and the young Americans went with
them.
It was like entering a great, dimly-lighted cavern. All the walls and
pillars and ceiling were glowing with soft, dark crimson and golden
colors. The church was crowded with worshipers, not only on the main
floor, but in two immense galleries, one above the other. At the
further end was the high altar and the figure of the crucified Saviour,
beneath which the priests were conducting the service of the Roman
Catholic Church. One could just hear their deep voices, mingling with
the music of the choir and organ.
In front of the travelers was a swarthy Indian, with long, glossy black
hair. Little children knelt on the marble pavement in the midst of the
crowd. Members of wealthy French families passed down the aisle to
their pews. All around were poor people, many of them following the
service with their prayer-books.
Leaving Notre Dame, the Percivals turned their steps to St. George's
Church near the hotel, where there was an Episcopal service, and a
good sermon by a bluff, hearty Scotchman, one of whose phrases clung to
Tom's memory for many a day.
"If you know of anything you ought to do," said the good rector, "don't
sit down and think about it, but do ut!"
"'Do ut!'" repeated Tom to himself as he left the church with the rest.
"That's a good motto for me, any way. 'Do ut!'"
A quiet drive around Mount Royal--giving them a glorious view of
Montreal--filled the afternoon.
As they looked down on the multitude of roofs and steeps, Mr. Percival
reminded them that it was the chief city of Canada, with a population
about half as large as that of Boston. In 1535 it was a little Indian
village called Hochelaga, which was in that year visited by Jacques
Cartier. Two hundred and fifty years ago, the French established a
trading-post here, and its business has grown, until to-day its docks
are lined with warehouses, its river front shows the black hulls of
great ocean steamers, and railroads converge from east, west and south.
We will close this first chapter with an extract from Kittie's letter
to Susie Martin, written late Monday afternoon.
MONTREAL, _July 21, 18--_.
DEAR SUE:
Bess has written you about our starting away from Boston day
before yesterday, and the splendid ride we had, and the showers,
and everything. We are getting to like that quiet Mr. Selborne
a good deal. His sister is dreadfully afraid of everything, and
keeps saying, "O, Ross!" whenever he does anything out of the
primmest kind of behavior. I guess we girls shock her awfully; but
perhaps she needs electricity treatment; she isn't strong, you
know, poor thing.
This afternoon we all went out to Lachine in a queer little train
of cars, and then went on board a big steamer for the return trip
down the river. Such a scramble for good places! It was really
wonderful, dear, going down those rapids. You felt the great ship
settle under your feet, and once we headed so straight for a rock
in the middle of the river that I said "Ow!" right out loud. The
other passengers didn't laugh much, either, and even Tom, poor
fellow, really looked white.
Well, we have repacked our trunks which we sha'n't open again
until we reach some sort of a queer place called Banff, next
Saturday. We go on board our train again at half-past seven. Bess
and I are expecting lots of fun in our compartment. I do hope we
shall see you in Portland....
Affectionately,
KITTIE M. PERCIVAL.