Authors: Robert W Service
"No, Jim," I protested, "they will be all right once they get ashore."
"Right nothin'! They're a pack of fools. They think they've got a bulge on
fortune. Hear them a-howlin' now. They're all millionaires in their minds.
There's no doubt with them. It's a cinch. They're spendin' it right now. You
mark my words, young feller, for I'll never live to see them fulfilledthere's
ninety in a hundred of all them fellers that's goin' to this here Klondike will
never make good, an' of the other ten, nine won't
do
no good."
"One per cent. that
will keep their stakesthat's absurd, Jim."
"Well, you'll see. An' as for me, I feel as sure as God's above us guidin' us
through the mazes of the night, I'll never live to make the trip back. I've got
a hunch. Old Jim's on his last stampede."
He sighed, then said sharply:
"Did you see that feller that passed us?"
It was Mosher, the gambler and ex-preacher.
"That man's a skunk, a renegade sky-pilot. I'm keepin' tabs on that man.
Maybe him an' me's got a score to settle one of them days. Maybe."
He went off abruptly, leaving me to ponder long over his gloomy words.
We were now three days out. The weather was fine, and nearly every one was on
deck in the sunshine. Even Bullhammer, Marks and Mosher had deserted the
card-room for a time. The Bank clerk and the Wood-carver talked earnestly,
planned and dreamed. The Professor was busy expounding a theory of the gold
origin to a party of young men from Minnesota. Silent and watchful the athletic
Mervin smoked his big cigar, while, patient and imperturbable, the iron Hewson
chewed stolidly. The twins were playing checkers. The Winklesteins were making
themselves solid with the music-hall clique. In and out among the different
groups darted the Prodigal, as volatile as a society reporter at a church
bazaar. And besides these, always alone, austerely aloof as if framed in a
picture by themselves,
a
picture of dignity and sweetness, were the Jewish maid and her aged
grandfather.
Although he was my room-mate I had seen but little of him. He was abed before
I retired and I was up and out ere he awoke. For the rest I avoided the two
because of their obvious connection with the Winklesteins. Surely, thought I,
she cannot be mixed up with those two and be everything that's all right. Yet
there was something in the girl's clear eyes, and in the old man's fine face,
that reproached me for my doubt.
It was while I was thus debating, and covertly studying the pair, that
something occurred.
Bullhammer and Marks were standing by me, and across the deck came the
acridly nasal tones of the dance-hall girls. I saw the libertine eyes of
Bullhammer rove incontinently from one unlovely demirep to another, till at last
they rested on the slender girl standing by the side of her white-haired
grandfather. Appreciatively he licked his lips.
"Say, Monkey, who's the kid with old Whiskers there?"
"Search me, Pete," said Marks; "want a knockdown?"
"Betcher! Seems kind-a standoffish, though, don't she?"
"Standoffish be darned! Never yet saw the little bit of all right that could
stand off Sam Marks. I'm a winner, I am, an' don' you forget it. Just watch my
splash."
I must say the man was expensively dressed in
a flashy way. His oily, pimple-garnished face wreathed
itself in a smirk of patronising familiarity, and with the bow of a dancing
master he advanced. I saw her give a quick start, bite her lip and shrink back.
"Good for you, little girl," I thought. But the man was in no way put out.
"Say, Sis, it's all right. Just want to interdooce you to a gentleman fren'
o' mine."
The girl gazed at him, and her dilated eyes were eloquent of fear and
distrust. It minded me of the panic of a fawn run down by the hunter, so that I
found myself trembling in sympathy. A startled moment she gazed; then swiftly
she turned her back.
This was too much for Marks. He flushed angrily.
"Say! what's the matter with you? Come off the perch there. Ain't we good
enough to associate with you? Who the devil are you, anyhow?"
His face was growing red and aggressive. He closed in on her. He laid a rough
hand on her shoulder. Thinking the thing had gone far enough I stepped forward
to interfere, when the unexpected happened.
Suddenly the old man had risen to his feet, and it was a surprise to me how
tall he was. Into his face there had come the ghost of ancient power and
command. His eyes blazed with wrath, and his clenched fist was raised high in
anathema. Then it came swiftly down on the head of Marks, crushing his stiff hat
tightly over his eyes.
The climax was ludicrous in a way. There was
a roar of laughter, and hearing it Marks spluttered as
he freed himself. With a curse of rage he would have rushed the old man, but a
great hand seized him by the shoulder. It was the grim, taciturn Hewson, and
judging by the way his captive squirmed, his grip must have been peculiarly
vise-like. The old man was pale as death, the girl crying, the passengers
crowding round. Every one was gabbling and curious, so feeling I could do no
good, I went below.
What was there about this slip of a girl that interested me so? Ever and anon
I found myself thinking of her. Was it the conversation I had overheard? Was it
the mystery that seemed to surround her? Was it the irrepressible instinct of my
heart for the romance of life? With the old man, despite our stateroom
propinquity, I had made no advances. With the girl I had passed no further
words.
But the Gods of destiny act in whimsical ways. Doubtless the voyage would
have finished without the betterment of our acquaintance; doubtless our paths
would have parted, nevermore to cross; doubtless our lives would have been lived
out to their fulness and this story never have been toldhad it not been for the
luckless fatality of the Box of Grapes.
Puget Sound was behind us and we had entered on that great sea that stretched
northward to the Arctic barrens. Misty and wet was the wind, and cold with the
kiss of many icebergs. Under a grey sky, glooming to purple, the gelid water
writhed nakedly. Spectral islands elbowed each other, to peer at us as we
flitted past. Still more wraithlike the mainland, fringed to the sea foam with
saturnine pine, faded away into fastnesses of impregnable desolation. There was
a sense of deathlike passivity in the land, of overwhelming vastitude, of
unconquerable loneliness. It was as if I had felt for the first time the Spirit
of the Wild; the Wild where God broods amid His silence; the Wild, His infinite
solace and His sanctuary.
As we forged through the vague sea lanes, we were like a glittering trinket
on the bosom of the night. Our mad merriment scarce ever abated. We were a blare
of revelry and a blaze of light. Excitement mounted to fever heat. In the midst
of it the women with the enamelled cheeks reaped a bountiful harvest. I marvel
now that, with all the besotted recklessness of those that were our pilots, we
met with no serious mishap.
"Don't mind you much of a Sunday-school picnic, does it?" commented the
Prodigal. "It's
fierce the
way the girls are prying some of these crazy jays loose from their wads. They're
all plumb batty. I'm tired trying to wise them up. 'Go and chase yourself,' they
say; 'we're all right. Don't matter if we do loosen up a bit now, there's all
kinds of easy money waiting for us up there.' Then they talk of what they're
going to do when they've got the dough. One gazebo wants to buy a castle in the
old country; another wants a racing stable; another a steam yacht. Oh, they're a
hot bunch of sports. They're all planning to have a purple time in the sweet
by-and-bye. I don't hear any of them speak of endowing a home for decrepit
wash-ladies or pensioning off their aged grandmothers. They make me sick.
There's a cold juicy awakening coming."
He was right. In their visionary leaps to affluence they soared to giddy
heights. They strutted and bragged as if the millions were already theirs. To
hear them, you would think they had an exclusive option on the treasure-troves
of the Klondike. Yet, before and behind us, were dozens of similar vessels,
bearing just as eager a mob of fortune-hunters, all drawn irresistibly northward
by the Golden Magnet.
Nevertheless, it was hard not to be affected by the prevailing spirit of
optimism. For myself the gold had but little attraction, but the adventure was
very dear to my heart. Once more the clarion call of Romance rang in my ears,
and I leapt to its summons. And indeed, I reflected, it was a wonderful
kaleidoscope of a world,
wherein I, but a half-year back cooling my heels in a highland burn, should be
now part and parcel of this great Argonaut army. Already my native uncouthness
was a thing of the past, and the quaint mannerisms of my Scots tongue were
yielding to the racy slang of the frontier. More to the purpose, too, I was
growing in strength and wiry endurance. As I looked around me I realised that
there were many less fitted for the trail than I, and there was none with such a
store of glowing health. You may picture me at this time, a tallish young man,
with a fine colour in my cheeks, black hair that curled crisply, and dark eyes
that were either alight with eagerness or agloom with dreams.
I have said that we were all more or less in a ferment of excitement, but to
this I must make a reservation. One there was who, amid all our unrest, remained
cold, distant and alienthe Jewish girl, Berna. Even in the old man the gold
fever betrayed itself in a visionary eye and a tremor of the lips; but the girl
was a statue of patient resignation, a living reproof to our febrile and
purblind imaginings.
The more I studied her, the more out of place she seemed in my picture, and,
almost unconsciously, I found myself weaving about her a fabric of romance. I
endowed her with a mystery that piqued and fascinated me, yet without it I have
no doubt I would have been attracted to her. I longed to know her uncommon well,
to win her regard, to do something
for her that should make her eyes rest very kindly on me. In
short, as is the way of young men, I was beginning to grope blindly for that
affection and sympathy which are the forerunners of passion and love.
The land was wintry and the wind shrilled so that the attendant gulls flapped
their wings hard in the face of it. The wolf-pack of the sea were snarling
whitely as they ran. The decks were deserted, and so many of the brawlers were
sick and lay like dead folk that it almost seemed as if a Sabbath quiet lay on
the ship. That day I had missed the old man, and on going below, found him lying
as one sore stricken. A withered hand lay on his brow, and from his lips, which
were almost purple, thin moans issued.
"Poor old beggar," I thought; "I wonder if I cannot do anything for him." And
while I was thus debating, a timid knock came to the door. I opened it, and
there was the girl, Berna.
There was a nervous anxiety in her manner, and a mute interrogation in her
grey eyes.
"I'm afraid he's a little sick to-day," I said gently; "but come in, won't
you, and see him?"
"Thank you." Pity, tenderness and love seemed to struggle in her face as she
softly brushed past me. With some words of endearment, she fell on her knees
beside him, and her small white hand sought his thin gnarled one. As if
galvanised into life, the old man turned gratefully to her.
"Maybe he would care
for some coffee," I said. "I think I could rustle him some."
She gave me a queer, sad look of thanks.
"If you could," she answered.
When I returned she had the old man propped up with pillows. She took the
coffee from me, and held the cup to his lips; but after a few sips he turned
away wearily.
"I'm afraid he doesn't care for that," I said.
"No, I'm afraid he won't take it."
She was like an anxious nurse hovering over a patient. She thought a
while.
"Oh, if I only had some fruit!"
Then it was I bethought me of the box of grapes. I had bought them just
before leaving, thinking they would be a grateful surprise to my companions.
Obviously I had been inspired, and now I produced them in triumph, big, plump,
glossy fellows, buried in the fragrant cedar dust. I shook clear a large bunch,
and once more we tried the old man. It seemed as if we had hit on the one thing
needful, for he ate eagerly. She watched him for a while with a growing sense of
relief, and when he had finished and was resting quietly, she turned to me.
"I don't know how I can thank you, sir, for your kindness."
"Very easily," I said quickly; "if you will yourself accept some of the
fruit, I shall be more than repaid."
She gave me a dubious look; then such a bright, merry light flashed into her
eyes that she was radiant
in my sight. It was as if half a dozen years had fallen from
her, revealing a heart capable of infinite joy and happiness.
"If you will share them with me," she said simply.
So, for the lack of chairs, we squatted on the narrow stateroom floor, under
the old man's kindly eye. The fruit minded us of sunlit vines, and the careless
rapture of the South. To me the situation was one of rare charm. She ate
daintily, and as we talked, I studied her face as if I would etch it on my
memory forever.
In particular I noticed the wistful contour of her cheek, her sensitive
mouth, and the fine modelling of her chin. She had clear, candid eyes and
sweeping lashes, too. Her ears were shell-like, and her hair soft, wavy and
warm. These things I marked minutely, thinking she was more than beautifulshe
was even pretty. I was in a state of extraordinary elation, like a man that has
found a jewel in the mire.
It must be remembered, lest I appear to be taking a too eager interest in the
girl, that up till now the world of woman had been
terra incognita
to me;
that I had lived a singularly cloistered life, and that first and last I was an
idealist. This girl had distinction, mystery and charm, and it is not to be
wondered at that I found a joy in her presence. I proved myself a perfect
artesian well of conversation, talking freely of the ship, of our
fellow-passengers and of the chances of the venture. I found her
wonderfully quick in the uptake. Her
mind seemed nimbly to outrun mine, and she divined my words ere I had them
uttered. Yet she never spoke of herself, and when I left them together I was
full of uneasy questioning.