THE PEELS' HOSPITAL
Alice Peel and her father, the Surgeon-Major, arrived in Dawson by one
of the first steamers from St. Michael's. It was late in the evening
when they docked, so they arranged to stay on board all night. This made
it possible for them to see some of the sights ere they retired. They
landed and mingled with the crowds preparatory to finding lodgings.
Alice suggested they should ascertain the whereabouts of the Rector. Her
father did so; and when he thanked the man of whom he inquired, added,
"I'll look him up to-morrow."
"Might as well do so right away, quick; he's always hangin' round
there."
"But it's eleven o'clock."
"Don't make no difference in Dawson."
Alice and her father, thereupon, picked their way towards the Police
Barracks, where, on the banks of the "slough," rested the little log
church. It was shut off from the street by a rustic fence--a peaceful
sight. Alice and her father were standing regarding it, and had almost
made up their minds to enter, to see if any one was about, when their
attention was attracted by a man in a boat mooring his craft beside the
church grounds. He landed his bundle of blankets, and was spreading them
under the church window, when a slight figure with bared head stepped
out of the door and stood looking at the intruder.
The man folded up his coat that it might serve as a pillow, and was
placing it in the prescribed position, when the Rector spoke.
"You'll have to get out of this."
The man looked up and stared.
"Say! Parson, are you any relation to the Good Samaritan?"
This was rather a poser; a suitable reply was evidently not ready on the
moment.
"No, I'm not, I'm sorry to say--but what's the matter with you?"
"Just broke! Besides, if I wasn't, I don't see why I need pay a dollar
for a bed when I have my own blanket. What are you--High Church or Low
Church?"
"I'm anything you like; but you'll have to get out of this. If you sleep
there you'll roll over and crush my flowers. But what are you?"
"Everything you don't like, I guess."
"No, that you're not. But the thing is, if I let one of you fellows
camp here, I'll have a hundred in no time."
"All right! I don't mind sleeping inside the church, if you don't want
the other fellows to see me!"
What could be done with such a man?
"But I'm going to have service at twelve o'clock for any of the boys
coming in from the creeks."
"I don't mind the services: singing won't keep me awake; and as for
sermons!..."
"It looks as if I can't get rid of you. I suppose I'll have to stand for
it! Roll up your blankets; you can sleep inside after service."
As the clergyman turned to re-enter the building he noticed Alice and
her father regarding him and his guest with some amusement. He advanced
to them, and held out his hand.
"We arrived this evening, and thought we should like to look you up and
gain some knowledge of Dawson, and the manners and customs of its
people," said Alice.
"You have evidently been enjoying an exhibition of them. Come in and see
our church."
They entered the yard and walked towards the door, watching the intruder
wrestle with his bedding. They passed into the church, and to Alice it
seemed fitting that this should be the first log building she had ever
entered, the first roof to cover her in the New World. Being a thorough
Churchwoman it was to her a matter of satisfaction and sentiment.
As they stood before the altar others entered, whereupon their host
looked at his watch.
"It is almost time," he said.
"May we stay?" asked Alice.
"Assuredly."
The night was cloudy outside, and the church too dark for reading, so
the clergyman brought out and placed two candles upon the altar. The
father and daughter each noted the candlesticks were bottles. "How
incongruous!" thought the Surgeon-Major. The one had evidently held gin,
the other whisky.
The service was short, just a lesson and a hymn. Only half-a-dozen were
present. When it came to the hymn the clergyman beckoned to Alice and
her father. Each accepted from the clerk's hand a bottle and a candle,
and he motioned them to stand on either side of him. This they did, he
holding the hymn-book. They sang, "I need Thee every hour."
After the service the new-comers waited for the clergyman, and the three
passed down towards the door. The intruder was already making his bed.
"Say! Parson, that wasn't bad," he said.
"What wasn't bad?"
"That there tune; but I never thought you'd confess it."
"Confess what?"
"That you needed it every hour. Isn't that what you meant by having the
chechachoes hold the bottles?"
"No, it wasn't!" The Parson was annoyed. "You get out of here in the
morning, or I'll throw you into the slough."
"All right, Pard."
"Your friend seems somewhat facetious," remarked Surgeon-Major Peel.
"Yes, they are all friends of mine. They all know me: if they don't,
their friends do. This man is a type of what I have to deal with."
Then they settled down to the business on which the Peels had called.
"If you have the necessary supplies," said the Parson, "a private
hospital is the thing. There is a great deal of sickness now. The
typhoid is getting bad; too many living in the manner of our friend at
the church. Food poor and badly-cooked, general uncleanness; hard trails
and stampedes."
The Parson conducted the new-comers to their boat, and left them
satisfied and almost contented. Alice asked him, as he was taking his
leave, if he knew John Berwick; but had for answer, No. She wanted to
inquire at the post-office; but could not get near enough on account of
the long lines of men standing before the wickets, postal affairs being
in a state of chaos. It was evidently more than possible that John had
not received her letters, or, at any rate, the communication which told
of her coming.
On the morrow the Peels, giving fulfilment to their intentions, secured
a building in Dawson; and so St. George's Private Hospital came into
being.
It was a matter of much detail. Help and assistance of every kind was
enormously dear. They had changed their money into gold dust, and each
carried a "poke." Alice was astounded when she reckoned the equivalent
of the charge made by the man who brought their heavy luggage. Half an
ounce of dust meant thirty shillings. There were no idle hands in
Dawson; it was the hum of industry, except with the loungers at the
water front.
Alice worked hard, and her work brought distraction. Now she was near
John Berwick--at least, she ought to be, but had heard of so many cases
of drowning, deaths by fever and scurvy in that terrible country, that
she could only fear possibilities, and eagerly scan every face she met.
She stared into the faces of men of uncouth beards and matted greasy
hair; and, as was the custom of the country, her gaze was returned. All
seeing her, wondered what had brought this fragrant, gentle English girl
to Dawson. She was so different from the women of the underworld,
hitherto the only representatives with one or two exceptions of
womanhood in that place. Her fresh complexion contrasted with their
painted cheeks; her simple grace with their brazenness and vulgarity.
"Oh, it was pitiful!"
In the shops--wherever she went--she asked about John Berwick. Only once
was she in some measure successful.
"I think there was a fellow by that name bought a bill of goods and said
he would be back for them later, one day, not long ago. He must be
living near Dawson," said the man.
"Why do you say that?" eagerly asked Alice.
"Because the grub he bought weren't the kind of grub men takes with them
on long trips; besides, he didn't buy enough to last him long."
She thanked him; and left her name and address in Dawson.
Alice was possessed of the faith that only death can kill, and that
faith gave her patience. She buckled to her work, and was content. Had
she been less industrious she might have found the trails up the
Dome--and to John; but no sooner had the hospital opened than patients
came pouring in. Nurses of experience were impossible to obtain. She and
her father had to struggle with the help of only one woman and three
men. All were untrained and inexperienced.