As soon as the ice clears the lake we head down the Yukon River, a fine easy trip all the way. I wish Missy had married Pop.
On Sunday morning, 29 May 1898, the thick ice which had held Lake Bennett in its cold embrace for nearly nine months relaxed its hold and started cascading down the narrow river, which, after ninety miles, tumbled first into a high, rockwalled canyon and then over stupendous rapids before it reached the relative calm of the soon-to-be-clear Yukon. Tom, watching the first open lanes of free water appear like jagged daggers across the surface, shouted: 'It's breaking up!' But Missy and Kirby did not hear his cry, because men in all parts of the vast tent city were shouting and firing their guns.
'Lake Bennett is bustin' open!' More than seven thousand homemade boats edged toward the shoreline as if everyone had to be first out of the lake and first to the gold fields of the Klondike. It was an armada such as had never been seen before, with hardly any two of the crazy boats alike, but into the icy waters of the lake they came, pushed and pulled by straining men who wondered why they had built them so big that ordinary men could not launch them. The great scows had to be wedged in; the one-man affairs those that would be turned back before the canyon could be carried down on the back of the solitary owner. But all that Sunday and the days that followed, the boats were launched, the sails were set, and the men floated toward their treacherous rendezvous with the rapids.
Each boat that set forth, regardless of size, had to carry a name, a number and, in the files of the Mounties, a list of all passengers, for during the previous year too many had been lost. When the time came to christen the Venn boat, which would be Number 7023, Sergeant Kirby had several appropriate suggestions for a name, but once more Tom interrupted to establish the fact that this was his boat: 'It's the Aurora. After the northern lights.'
It was not launched during the first mad scramble, since, as Kirby pointed out, 'you're not rushing to get to the gold fields themselves, let the others break their backs.'
And then he said a revealing thing: 'We can drift down at our own speed.'
'Are you coming with us?' Tom asked, part of him hoping that the answer was yes, because he'd heard about the dangers of the canyon and the rapids, part hoping for a no, because he resented Kirby's relationship with Missy.
'I want to be sure you get through the bad parts,' Kirby said, and on the second of June he called for help from three other Mounties stationed at Bennett, and with many cries of encouragement, for Tom's boat was heavy, the Aurora was launched, the foremast was stepped and guyed, the big sail was made ready, and the long sweep which Kirby would operate from the stern was fitted into its slot.
'Good sailing!' Kirby's fellow officers shouted. 'Find yourself a gold mine!'
It was twenty-six miles to the exit from Lake Bennett, and the Aurora, despite her ample sail and the professional steering of Kirby, did not reach that spot before a kind of gentle semidarkness settled like a comforting blanket thrown over the water. Eager to get a fair start in the morning, and loath to tempt the turbulent water ahead in the night, Kirby nosed the Aurora into the right bank and asked Tom to make fast the line which he threw ashore.
They slept on the boat that night, and early next morning left Lake Bennett for the long run to the perilous segment of their voyage, the three-part terror where careless or boastful men without sure knowledge lost their lives. When the June sun was high, thawing snow on the surrounding mountains, Kirby pulled the Aurora into a small stream of melt-water seeping down from the heights, and there he spelled out what lay ahead: 'In the space of two and a half miles, so much happens, and so fast, that you can be forgiven if you lose your courage.'
'What is it?' Missy asked, for she knew that because she was a woman the decision would be left to her.
'First a canyon, deep and very swift. Water piles up six feet higher in the middle than on the sides. You catch your breath. Then a pair of rocky rapids.'
'Then what?'
'Then a peaceful sail downriver to Dawson.'
'Have you ever taken a boat through?'
'I have.'
'Then let's go!' Tom cried, but Kirby said: 'No. You can make this decision only after you've seen for yourself.'
'And if we turn coward?' Missy asked, and he whipped about as if he had been struck:
'Dammit, ma'am! Some of the bravest men in Canada and America take one look at that canyon and say "No, thanks."It's not because they're cowards. It's because they have the good sense to realize they don't know a damn thing about boats.' He glared at Tom: 'Do you know anything about boats?' And Missy replied: 'We don't, but you do.'
Subdued by the seriousness of what they were about to encounter, the three people in the Aurora moved swiftly downriver toward the entrance to Miles Canyon, first of the tests, but as they neared it, a group of men gathered on the right bank shouted to them:
'Better not try the canyon in a boat like that. You'll sink sure.'
Tom, who was steering through the easier water, headed for the shore, and the men, seeing a woman aboard, tried to frighten her: 'Ma'am, I sure wouldn't try that canyon in that there boat.' Kirby, aware that these men condemned all boats about to enter the canyon, called: 'What do you suggest?'
'We're practiced hands. We'll guide you through, safe and sound.'
'How much?'
'Only a hundred dollars.'
'Too much,' Tom cried, and the men yelled back: 'Then portage around. Indians' do it for two hundred.'
'Thanks,' Kirby shouted. 'But we may risk it.'
'Ma'am, before you do, please go to the other bank, rest your boat, and climb up that little hill to see what awaits you in the canyon. Then come back and pay us ninety dollars, and we'll see you through, safe and sound, like we say.'
Kirby took over the sweep, and when they were well out from shore, he headed directly toward the other bank, as the men had suggested: 'I planned to do this anyway. You must see what faces you.'
When they were atop the cliff and looking down into the turbulent canyon, even Tom, who had been eager to try it, grew afraid, for below them rushed the icy waters flooding out from the lakes, and as they roared in they turned and twisted and threw white spume.
'Oh!' Missy cried, and when the others looked to where she was pointing, they saw at the exit a series of jagged rocks, barely above the waterline, onto which three or four small craft had foundered. All goods had been lost in the swift current, but it looked as if the passengers had saved themselves by clinging to the rocks.
Suddenly Missy and Tom lost much of their desire to test this canyon, but now a boat much like theirs came down the approach, manned by two bearded prospectors whose faces could not be clearly seen. They might have been in their twenties, but they could also be tested older hands in their forties. The would-be pilots on the bank hailed them, there was the same discussion, and the same rejection of the hundred-dollar offer. The two men would venture into the canyon relying upon their own skills.
They had no rear sweep, but they did appear to be powerful paddlers, and as their craft leaped toward the swirling waters where the canyon narrowed and the rushing water increased its speed, they paddled with fury and dexterity. Tom had never before seen skilled men handle a boat, and he was thrilled when the craft headed directly at a menacing cliff, then swung safely past as the men paddled heroically. In less than a minute and a half the boat shot out the far end, and Tom cheered.
But now the boat must clear the rocks on which former attempts had come to grief, and instinctively Torn shouted: 'Watch out!' As if obedient to his warning, the men paddled even faster than before and scraped by the rocks to which the marooned prospectors held. Their heavy boat dipped and darted, more like a bird skimming the calm waters of a lake than a small craft caught in big turbulence. It was a masterful performance, and both Tom and Missy were willing to try duplicating it.
'You ready?' Kirby asked, and Missy asked him: 'Can we do as well?' and Kirby said:
'That's why I've come along.'
Then, to Tom: 'You're captain. It's your boat.'
'Let's go!'
'And if we make it, which I believe we can, do you want to head right into the other rapids?'
'Yes.' The boy felt certain that his father, had he lived, would have made the same choices.
So the three climbed down from their perch, returned to the boat, and pushed off as the men on the opposite shore shouted: 'Good luck! Hope you make it!'
The passage of the Aurora was almost a duplicate of the one made by the two skilled paddlers. Kirby stayed aft to work the sweep, Missy and Tom perched forward with paddles, but they had been in the canyon only a few yards when a rock, not visible before, threatened them from Tom's side, and instinctively he thrust out his paddle and shoved it against the rock. As he did, the paddle bent, and Missy screamed: 'Tom!' but he pulled away and no damage was done.
There was another variation. As the Aurora shot out of the canyon and neared the rocks on which the castaways were huddled, Sergeant Kirby, in line of duty, headed almost straight for them, cocking his sweep just so, and when he was abreast of the terrified people, but moving so fast that any rescue was impossible, he shouted: 'We'll be back to get you. Mounted Police.'
No words along the Yukon trail could have been more reassuring, and as the Aurora sped past, the abandoned men waved and shouted, for now they knew they were to be saved.
WHEN KIRBY GUIDED THEM THROUGH THE LAST SET OF breathtaking rapids, spume high at the prow and wrecked boats leering at them as if to warn: 'One false move of that sweep and you join us!' the Mountie headed the tested boat toward a point in the direction of Lake Laberge where he must leave them. As they pulled the nose of the Aurora onto dry land, he said approvingly: 'Tom, you built yourself a fine boat.'
'I was scared,' the boy said. 'Not in the canyon. You keep to the middle where the water bulges up, you make it. And it's all so swift. All you need there is courage.
But in those rapids, there you have to know something. I couldn't have done that.'
'Well now,' Kirby said. 'Maybe you've said the wisest thing on this trip. Courage for the canyon. Knowledge for the rapids.' He stopped, winked at this, boy who gave such promise of becoming a fine man, and said: 'Which is the important factor? What do you think, Missy?'
'I don't think you ever gain real knowledge unless you have courage to begin with.'
Tom had other ideas: 'Anybody can have courage. Just grit your teeth. But to handle a boat, or a gun, or someone like Soapy Smith ... that takes knowing.'
'Let's not make this too serious,' Kirby said. 'Lots of men get through that canyon and the rapids.'
'And lots don't,' Tom said, remembering the wrecks.
The boy hoped that he could retain contact with this excellent man who knew how to meet contingencies. When they crashed through the final rapids with the Aurora almost vertical in the air, Kirby had calmly brought her around, then shouted to two Mounties who were checking the numbers of the boats that made it: 'Exit from the canyon. Men marooned. Send heavy boat through from the other side.' No heroics, no speeches. Find a heavy boat and get started. Tom could visualize how the rescue would be handled, the boat drifting past the rocks, the rope thrown, the kept end led ashore lower down, both ends fastened tight, the people working their way ashore while grasping the rope.
'It would be fun being a pilot through those waters,' Tom said, and Kirby replied:
'Three years ago not six canoes a year came through. Three years from now there won't be seven.'
'Won't the Klondike produce forever?'
'Nothing does.'
Tom sensed that Kirby's parting from Missy was going to be a painful affair, so he left the boat and walked along the shore while they said farewell. The sergeant told Missy of his son in Manitoba and of his wife. He reminded her of what an exceptional boy Tom was and he almost commanded her to look out for his welfare. He said that in some ways Dawson City was rougher than Skagway, but that Superintendent Steele could always be counted on. And he challenged her to find sensible employment: 'I'll be in Dawson one of these days. I don't want to see you down on your heels in mud.'
Then he said that he loved her, and he was heartsick that she had lost Buck Venn, who seemed one of the best men to come over the Chilkoot, and he wished her well.
He hoped that her dreams would come true, whatever they were, and he ended with a statement she would cherish: 'You're strong. You're like the ravens.'
'What does that mean?' she asked, and he said: 'They survive. Even in the goddamnedest parts of the arctic, they survive.' And he said no more, moving away quickly to avoid the necessity of speaking with Tom again.
AT LAST THEY COULD RELAX. IN CHICAGO THEY HAD been afraid of Tom's mother's lawyers, and in Seattle they were always looking over their shoulders lest her detectives track them down. In Skagway they feared Soapy Smith, and on the Chilkoot they had feared everything. Then death came and the horrors of the whipsaw, and then the canyon and the rapids. Now, by damn, they were drifting down the placid ice-free Yukon in just about the best boat on the river, and they took it easy.
Tom found special delight in being alone with Missy, as if the real voyage to the gold fields was back on target, and one afternoon as they drifted past the mouth of the Pelly, a large river coming in from the east, he asked abruptly: 'Did you know that Sergeant Kirby has a boy back in Manitoba?' and she replied: 'Yes, and a wife too, if that's what's bothering you.'
He thought about this for some minutes, then said: 'You know, Missy, if you keep going with men who have wives, you're never going to get married.'
'Tom, what's getting into you?'
'I was thinking how good it would be for all of us if you could marry Sergeant Kirby.'
When she made no comment, he added: 'Then the three of us could stay together.'
Only then did she realize that Tom was disturbed about what they would do when they reached Dawson, and she confessed to him: 'Tom, I don't know what we'll do in Dawson.
I'm as worried as you are. You remember this. We're a team. We won't be separated.'
'We better not be.'
'So you look after me, Tom, and I'll look after you.'
'Shake hands on that?' They shook hands, and she said: 'What's more, we'll seal it with a kiss,' and she leaned across the drifting boat and kissed him on the forehead.
In the last warming days of spring, when ice had left the rivers, they passed that series of streams whose waters joined to build the mighty Yukon: the White, the Stewart, the Sixty mile, and when Tom visualized the vast hinterland that had to be drained to form such rivers, he appreciated what an immense land this part of Canada was. America had seemed big when he and Buck and Missy crossed it by train, but it was broken into manageable units by the little towns and big cities along the way. From Dyea, which was nothing, to Dawson City, which hadn't existed at all three years ago, there was nothing, not a town, nor a train, nor even a road.
Some nights they dragged their boat onto the right bank of the Yukon and pitched a tent, especially if they wanted to do some cooking, but on others they simply drifted in the silvery light, for always as they moved farther north the nights became shorter and the twilights so extended that sometimes there seemed to be no night at all, only deepened shadows through which the ever-present ravens flew.
As they lazed along they were sometimes passed by other boats whose passengers, hungry for the Klondike, were rowing through the arctic haze. 'Where you from?' a voice would hail, and Tom would shout back: 'Chicago,' and the voice would respond: 'Minnesota,' and somehow this simple recitation of names signified a great deal to the travelers.
At last the Aurora, showing almost no leakage, turned a bend in the river, and its owners saw ahead on the right the formless outlines of a tent city, much smaller than Dawson had been reported to be, and they were disappointed, but then Tom consulted the sketch the Kernel had provided: 'That's got to be Lousetown. And here's the Klondike coming in, and Dawson City will be dead ahead.'
&n
bsp; And there it was, this fabulous place with more than a thousand boats occupying its riverfront and outlining the site. It was a dream city, composed of nothing, a nightmare city, perhaps, with more than twenty thousand residents now and another five thousand out on the diggings, and both Missy and Tom felt their hearts beat faster as the Aurora neared the end of its journey. They were excited not only by the imminence of the decision they would soon have to make but also by the limitless possibilities, and as Tom edged their boat toward the shore and then elbowed his way to a landing spot, Missy suddenly cried: 'Tom, we've made it! Tomorrow we'll find Superintendent Steele and be on our way!' She betrayed no doubt as to the success of their adventure.
It was three hectic days before they found Steele's headquarters, and then they learned that he was downriver at Circle, more than two hundred miles away. But a woman at the Mounted Police headquarters assured Missy that yes, the superintendent had alerted her that Miss Peckham would be stopping by, and yes, her money was safe. The superintendent would deliver it as soon as he returned.
In the waiting days Missy and Tom had ample opportunity to explore Dawson, but ten minutes would have sufficed to learn all that was needed. The streets were incredibly muddy, and peopled by men in beards and heavy dark clothing. Material of every description had been utilized in the making of huge white signs proclaiming all the services usually found in an ordinary town plus those unusual additional ones necessary in a mining boomtown. Dawson, it seemed to Missy, was a place in which thousands of men stood around doing nothing and in which everything was for sale. Six different emporiums announced WE SELL OUTFITS and four others announced that they bought them.
Each night Missy and Tom returned to the riverfront and the tent they had wedged in among a hundred others, and after the third aimless day of wandering these crowded, meaningless streets, they took serious counsel. Missy said: 'Tom, you and I will never find a place in the gold fields. That's for men who know what they're doing.'