NO SURRENDER
Berwick's muster had been fifteen hundred strong on the Friday at noon.
Of discipline there was little or none, and Berwick knew better than to
attempt to enforce any. They had chosen him as their leader, and up to
the present had not disputed his authority.
His directions were that the men should hold the Dome, retire to their
camps in the forest to cook their food, but be ever-ready promptly to
regain their position.
At noon he stood upon a boulder, and read to his followers the summons
to surrender he had dispatched to Smoothbore. To the present--nine
o'clock in the evening--no answer had been received, the summons to
surrender was being received with contempt. He felt the responsibility
upon him greater than ever; its weight increased as the time for the use
of force approached. The twenty-four hours' notice before striking had
nearly expired. He loathed the prospect of taking life, and prayed that
the police would submit! If only they would see the hopelessness of
resistance and send a pacific answer! Would that answer never come?
As he sat in meditation Berwick observed a restlessness among some men
who were grouped, talking, gazing down the river. He looked in the same
direction, and noticed a column of smoke. Then the hulk of a river
steamer hove in sight. This visibly affected the men, who began to leave
their posts and scramble down the hill to the town.
The arrival of a steamer in Dawson in the summer of 1898 was a matter of
moment. An idea came to Berwick at the sight of her and the procession
of people hurrying to meet her. He would go to the town. Everybody there
would be keen to attend the docking of the steamer, making it
practically certain that his visit to the Barracks would not be noticed.
So to the Barracks he went.
"I wish to see the Officer commanding," he said to the sentry.
"Name?"
"John Berwick."
The man gulped, and stared at the visitor. He knocked at the door, and
announced,
"A man to see you, sir, by name of John Berwick."
Hi-u Bill was again in the office, had just read the ultimatum, the
discussion of which had been interrupted by the entrance of the man. He
opened his eyes wide at the mention of the rebel's name.
"Show him in!"
Had the usual happy accident come to pass? flashed through Smoothbore's
mind as he gazed with eyes of curiosity at the pseudo-President of the
Klondike Free State that was to be.
Berwick entered, and stood facing the two chief executive officers of
the Government. He at once picked out the Police Commandant, and
returned his gaze without flinching.
"What can I do for you?" he was asked.
"I've come in the hopes of saving life. I have come to plead with you to
comply with our request and surrender to our forces."
Smoothbore was struck by the transparent candour of the man and his
quixotism. "British garrisons are not in the habit of surrendering at
the call of rebels," he answered stiffly.
The word "rebel" roused Berwick. It stung. "I do not come to you from
any cowardice, or through fear of death, or defeat. I come in the spirit
of humanity."
"A very worthy mission! Then why not disband your forces?"
Berwick brushed the suggestion aside. "I have ten men for every one of
yours, and my position commands these buildings. My men are in earnest,
and there is justice in our cause, even to warrant the shedding of
blood. This you must recognize."
"I recognize nothing but that I am here to uphold the law of the land."
"You must know--you must recognize--that great dishonesty exists within
the Civil Service, and that we have met to protest and put an end to
it!"
"Officially, I know nothing of that. It is my duty to maintain the Union
Jack flying in the land."
"We can fire your buildings----"
"You may be able to fire our buildings; you may be able to kill us all;
and then you may lower the flag. I tell you I intend to sink with my
ship. When you have burned us out, those men of mine--who wish to--may
take to the river. That is all. You have my answer."
Berwick's eyes filled; a lump was in his throat. He gulped, and with a
husky "Good-evening!" staggered into the open. He bent his head that the
sentry might not see his emotion, and so gained the street by the
Yukon's bank.
"He does not look much like a traitor," remarked Hi-u Bill.
"He is a man of evident ability. I fancy in England, in other days, he
would have been a Whig. He has too little philosophy, or too much. Well,
Commissioner," he said to Hi-u Bill, "are you going to stay with me, or
run your chances in the town?"
"Me! I really think I'd better stay in my cabin. You see I am really not
in this, and there are a lot of papers and records I had better bury
somewhere."
On leaving the Barracks Berwick had been in somewhat of a daze. He was
still in that condition when he found himself at the dock. The steamer
_Susan_ was tying to the wharf; the swift current had made docking
difficult, so that he was in time to witness the landing of the
passengers.
The crowd on the steamer was much as he had expected; but there was one
man coming down the gang-plank who attracted his attention, and that of
the onlookers generally; his hair fell to his shoulders; he had a great
beard; his clothes were covered with grease, and he was very dirty.
He had a small pack strapped to his back; it was a very small pack--not
much larger than a turnip; yet the figure that carried it bent under the
load.