JOHN BERWICK
Like most men whose success in life is largely the whim of fortune, John
Berwick had for years accepted her rulings without protest, and regarded
passing little incidents as signs of her influence.
One night in the December preceding his setting out for the Klondike, he
was lying in his bunk on Judas Creek--one of the innumerable streams in
British Columbia in which colours of gold, otherwise "prospects" could
be found--reading a month old newspaper that a trapper, who had passed
the previous night with him, had brought from the settlement, and in its
columns had found an item of news telling of the recent rich discoveries
in the Yukon. He read the paragraph carefully again and again, striving
to separate exaggeration from truth, and to satisfy himself that there
was truth in it.
By the camp stove sat Joe, the French-Canadian whom he employed,
smoking and gazing at the glow of the fire with stolid and witless eyes.
He would sit thus for hours; to a man of Berwick's temperament he was a
satisfactory companion. On the Claim things had gone none too well.
True, by great effort they had reached bed-rock at thirty feet, and were
beginning to cross-cut in search of a pay-streak. There was certainly
little gold in the gravel on the bed-rock already uncovered, and the
flow of water into the working was very great: indeed, as much time was
taken in keeping the shaft free of water as in all their other works
combined. And up to three days previously rain had been incessant,
though relief was apparently at hand, owing to the frost that had
succeeded. The earth had hardened; Judas Creek was already flowing in
less volume, and the boulders in the stream were becoming massed with
ice.
Berwick had been but a few months on Judas Creek, having essayed to try
his fortune in Canada's most western province. Fortune meant much to
him--for lack of it hindered his marriage with the one necessary girl,
Alice Peel, the only daughter of Surgeon-Major Peel. This was one cause
of his presence on the frontier: another was that he and his religion
had "fallen out" years ago. His father had intended him for the Church,
and here he was....
"The Creek is falling rapidly, we can hardly hear it now," remarked
John.
"Dat's so," was Joe's reply. He was laconic.
John's thoughts went back to his prospects. Much of his small capital
had gone into the works. Joe was not in love--he had no capital save his
strength of body, and his religion was negligible. When first this
French-Canadian had arrived in British Columbia, and started work in a
saw-mill, he had refused to work on Sunday, until the foreman told him
that the devil never crossed the Rocky Mountains--which silenced his
scruples. For sure, the Rocky Mountains were very high!
"I think we should empty the shaft to-morrow with seventy or
seventy-five buckets."
"I guess dat's so."
Again Berwick relapsed into silence, and kept his mind on his many
problems: had he or had he not better throw up his Judas Creek Claim,
and strike out for the scene whence came these wonderful tales?
The volume of the Creek was diminishing with abnormal rapidity. For
three days now frost had been upon the canyon, and the flying spray had
frozen upon the boulders. The rushing, gurgling stream, falling over
rocks and sunken logs, had during that time been sucking down bubbles of
cold air, which sealed the fine ice particles to the river bed. For
miles Judas Creek was lined with anchor ice, encasing the rocks with a
coating, sickly, white, insidious. In the darkness the opaque ice seemed
to shine out in phosphorescence; in fact, it threw back the light of the
stars overhead, which seemed to have lowered themselves in the
heavens--so bright and grand were they.
At a point a mile below the little pool where the nucleus of the mass
now filling the river-bed had formed, a tree was stretched across the
torrent. It had fallen into the stream above, and floated down until it
jammed, holding back the current. The avalanche--as the thickening
stream had now become--found this tree, and swept against it but a
second, when it snapped. Now the flow of the river became a seething
mass of ice and sticks--four feet high--travelling at the rate of
several miles an hour, picking up all that came in its way. It passed
the mouth of several tributaries, which lent it increase of force: still
its speed quickened: the grinding noise increased--logs, sticks, masses
of ice and great roots of trees appeared for an instant on its surface
and sank again. Now the wave was five feet--now six feet
high--broadening out, gaining yet in speed, still more effectually
holding back the river's flow.
The gradual silencing of the river's roar was getting on the nerves of
John Berwick, who was miles down-stream, far below the ice-flow. The
river had tapered into a little rill.
When a certain noise has been a companion for days and days, and is
suddenly stilled, a sense of uneasiness results, as when on a steamer
the throb of the engine ceasing will rouse sleepers from their slumber.
The slowing down of the torrent in Judas Creek made Berwick restless. He
did not at first recognize what it was that worried him.
Joe also seemed as if he were not altogether proof against the spell; at
last, he took his stare from the stove and looked around the cabin.
"I t'ink something pretty soon happen, by gosh!"
John stared at him; for Joe to volunteer a remark was unusual: it
increased his employer's apprehension.
Berwick returned to his newspaper, fascinated by its news. A party of
miners had arrived in San Francisco bringing much gold from some unknown
region of the north. They called it the Klondike.
Would his Judas Creek Claim ever pay him for his efforts? What were his
chances of fortune? Masses of gold or mountains of dust? He was in
search of fortune--with a big "F."
His thoughts naturally drifted to the girl he wanted to marry. She was
the daughter of luxury and wealth. He was just a prospector, no more in
the eyes of Dame Fortune than the sturdy natural by the stove: in fact,
experience had led him to believe that in the mining enterprise Fortune
had a partiality for such men as Joe.
Berwick had been five years at the mining game. He had drifted from one
camp to another: over America, to Australia, back to America. He had
possibly become something of a cynic; certainly his mind had hardened
with his muscles. He dreamed dreams. What would his lady say if she
received a letter, saying he was again pulling stakes, and had left
Judas Creek in order to avoid being defeated? He whistled, and shrugged
his strong shoulders. He did not know!
He put some practical thoughts together. The Klondike was evidently in
the North, far inland, in Canada. Could he withstand great cold? Yes, he
could; he could endure and do anything as any other normal strong man
could; and could go anywhere that was practicable to humanity. This was
not vanity, not conceit, but just healthy self-confidence.
Should he pull up stakes and leave his Judas Creek Claim to the coyotes?
As this question once more came to his mind, he was aware of the
complete silence now outside, and letting his paper fall, bent his head
to listen. Joe was listening also. Judas Creek was absolutely still.
Joe arose and opened the cabin door. His employer joined him there.
There was no sound from the Creek; there was no Creek.
"By gosh! dat's funnee t'ing," Joe exclaimed.
"I certainly do not know how to account for it," said Berwick. He felt
apprehensive.
They returned from the cabin door: Joe going to his seat by the stove,
Berwick putting his bed in order for the night, when Joe jumped up and
ran to the door again. A dull distant roar was heard.
"By gosh! By gosh! I got it! He's a river snow-slide what's coming.
Quick, boss--quick! Get for hell out of dis! Pretty soon no more
cabin--no windlass--no, no bucket, only water! No not'ing--all gone!"
The man began hurriedly putting on his boots, and instinctively his
master followed his example, inquiring as he did so,
"What's that?"
"He's a river snow-slide, dat's all I know for to call him. A havalanche
on wheels, all turn over--over--over! Him carry away everything, bridge,
tree, dam--all sort of thing--everything go."
And as the sullen roar coming from the valley continued to increase, the
appreciation of approaching danger spread from the one to the other.
Berwick made haste and scrambled into his winter garb. Joe bundled
together his personal effects, and some of the more valuable of the
supplies in the cabin. Berwick did the same; out of the door they sprang
into the night, and up the hillside, under which their cabin was built.
Joe gave a sign when he considered they were out of danger. At once they
threw down their loads and rushed back to the cabin. Grabbing another
load they again sought the higher ground.
Meanwhile, the flood had broken from the canyon at the head of their
little valley. The timber there had been largely cut, and over the
rugged stumps the rolling mass spread, grinding, tearing up the weaker
roots.
Berwick and his companion sat and watched their home going to
destruction. Deliberately, it seemed, the mass of ice and water fell
upon their workings. There was a loud crack as the windlass went down;
and then the fury of water poured into their shaft. It was but for an
instant. The flood tore against their cabin. Would the cabin endure the
shock?
The answer soon came. There was a rending of timber; the cabin was
pushed before the ice; and then it seemed to melt away, swallowed up by
the flood. The lights went out. Lower and lower it sank, till the roof
was touched by the surging ice. Then that, too, went under, and nothing
but a fractured log or pole was left of the little home. John shivered.
The flood fell almost as quickly as it had risen, now that its work was
proved effectual. Berwick turned to look at his man. Joe was already
hard at work with an axe on a fallen tree, from which the chips flew.
There was no doubt about it now. The Judas Creek venture was a failure:
he could write it down as such. He had known many miners on whom Fortune
had smiled; drunken swine, many of them, to whom money appealed only as
a means to dissipation.
And he, to whom money--the price of his future home-happiness--meant so
much!
Joe struck a match, applied it to a handful of birch-bark, and the flame
sprang up.
By all the canons of his life, Berwick should have jumped into the fray
and helped Joe make their camp; but, after all, it was only a little
past nine o'clock.
Yes. Now he must throw up Judas Creek!
Joe laid twigs on top of the birch-bark and soon had a fire, to which he
added larger sticks and logs. Then he cut down a fir-tree and made a
bed, over which he spread the canvas of a tent and blankets. The night
was perfectly clear, they would be warm and snug enough beside the
fire.
Joe cut several more logs of wood and piled them near, after which he
sat down upon the blankets, took off his boots and coat, rolled this
into a pillow, and soon was asleep.
Berwick, sitting by the fire, watched far into the night. His fancy
played about the flames, calling up scenes of his youth, and conceiving
all manner of pictures of the miner's life in the sub-Arctic Klondike
that was to be.