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THE WESTERN AVERNUS 
 
THE 
 
 WESTERN AVERNUS 
 
 OR TOIL AND TRAVEL IN 
 FURTHER NORTH ^AMERICA 
 
 BY MORLEY ROBERTS 
 
 New Edition 
 Illustrated by A. D. M c CORMICK 
 
 and from Photographs 
 
 1 
 
 ARCHIBALD CONSTABLE AND CO. 
 
 1896 
 
 All rights reserved 
 
<' 
 
 Edinburgh : T. and A. Constable, Printers to Her Majesty 
 
TO MY FRIENDS 
 
 GEORGE GISSING 
 
 AND 
 
 W. H. HUDSON 
 
A MAP OF THE AUTHOR'S ROUTE 
 
 Long. 115° W.of Gi 
 
 London Stamford!* GeogVxiolf. 
 
 SO O SO lOO 160 200 260 UOO 
 
 london: Archibald Constable & Co. 
 
PREFACE 
 
 On re-issuing this book, which was originally pub- 
 lished in 1887, I may perhaps be excused for making 
 some remarks as to its character and reception. In the 
 first place, I would have it understood that what was 
 true, let us say, of Winnipeg in 1884, needs now to be 
 mentally revised by the reader. For things Transatlantic 
 change marvellously even in a few short months, and 
 since the completion of the Canadian Pacific Railroad, 
 on which I myself worked when it was still unfinished, 
 the cities within its influence have altered beyond 
 recognition. But this is only true of inhabited places, 
 for not even a railroad can harm the infinite beauty of 
 the mountains in British Columbia. 
 
 Though this volume is usually spoken of as a book of 
 travel, I myself prefer to regard it as autobiography, 
 seeing that it contains few references to spots not now 
 well within the range of the mere tourist. It is primarily 
 the story of peculiar personal experience, which many 
 have endured but few recorded ; and if it have any value 
 
 vii 
 
Preface 
 
 it is that of the experience rather than that of any 
 impression of any place. 
 
 Since my return, having been led to wander in the 
 Avernus of literature, where I was received by the 
 Shades not without courtesy, certain, who occupy the 
 position of censors, have, in season and out of season, 
 suggested that my later work by no means reached the 
 level of this. In some ways I cannot but agree with 
 them, for it is the record of actual striving which in its 
 essence has a positive value denied to the impersonal 
 narrative or to a work of the imagination. I lived and 
 did some necessary work in the world's rougher service. 
 The rest is no more than a by-product ; I do not plume 
 myself on it, nor do I greatly regret the lack of keener 
 appreciation. 
 
 But I have been urged again and again to repeat 
 the experiment of going berserk in some far-off and 
 savage country ; it has been suggested, openly and by 
 implication, that misery, hardship, and starvation were 
 needed before I brought forth the best fruits ; and 
 many have endeavoured to persuade me to leave the 
 difficult, if by no means giddy, height to which I have 
 climbed with so much labour, for the purpose of 
 affording them sport in the arena. I am reminded of 
 Tertullian, who, in his treatise De Spectaculis, promised 
 
 viii 
 
Preface 
 
 the elect a rarer joy than the earth affords when, 
 looking from the golden bar of heaven, they watch 
 their enemies frying in the pit. But now, as a man no 
 longer altogether young, and with youthful endurance 
 passed from me, I object to be butchered to make a 
 critic's holiday. It is sufficient for me if this volume 
 renews its youth for a season, and more than sufficient 
 if its record warn the unwary who are solicitous of 
 adventure, but ignorant of the calls that will be made 
 upon them. It may discourage some, but those whom it 
 renders fearful are not of the brotherhood of wanderers, 
 nor truly of the race which should inherit the earth. 
 
 MORLEY ROBERTS. 
 
 1X 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 CHAP. 
 
 i. In Texas 
 
 ii. Bull-Punching 
 
 in. Iowa and Minnesota 
 
 iv. In St. Paul 
 
 v. To Manitoba and the Rockies 
 
 vi. The Kicking Horse Pass . 
 vii. The Railroad Camps 
 viii. The Columbia Crossing 
 
 ix. The Trail across the Selkirks 
 x. The Golden Range and the Shushwap 
 
 xi. Round Kamloops .... 
 
 xn. Through the Fraser Canon 
 xiii. Down Stream to the Coast 
 xiv. New Westminster .... 
 
 xv. Back Tracks to Eagle Pass 
 xvi. To Vancouver Island and Victoria 
 xvii. Mount Tacoma Overhead 
 xviii. Oregon Underfoot .... 
 xix. Across the Coast Range 
 
 xx. In San Francisco .... 
 
 Lakes 
 
 PAGE 
 I 
 
 17 
 
 24 
 
 34 
 47 
 57 
 67 
 86 
 93 
 "3 
 125 
 
 138 
 154 
 161 
 180 
 203 
 209 
 223 
 
 235 
 256 
 
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 Portrait of the Author, by A. D. McCormick 
 
 Mexicans Gambling 
 
 Bull-Punching 
 
 On the Canadian Pacific . 
 
 A Trestle Bridge on the C.P.R. 
 
 The Chancellor, Leanchoil 
 
 Mount Burgess, Emerald Lake 
 
 The Kicking-Horse River . 
 
 The Easiest Way Down 
 
 Mount Lefroy 
 
 A Glacier in the Selkirks 
 
 Wreck from a Snow-Slide 
 
 A British Columbian Lake 
 
 Mountains at Canmore 
 
 Ross Peak . 
 
 The Three Sisters, Canmore 
 
 In the Snow .... 
 
 A Ferry on the Eagle River 
 
 Stowing Lumber . 
 
 Mount Hood, Oregon 
 
 A Mountain River 
 
 Mount Shasta, California. 
 
 Shooting Hogs 
 
 Frontispiece 
 
 
 
 at page 
 
 12 
 
 
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 256 
 
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 275 ■ 
 
THE WESTERN AVERNUS 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 IN TEXAS 
 
 The wide prairie of North-west Texas, with Nature's 
 sweet breath bearing faint odours of spring flowers, 
 was around me ; a plain of few scant trees or smaller 
 brush, with here and there a rounded hill that em- 
 phasised the breadth of level land, and again the 
 general surface broken, by quiet creeks and winter rain, 
 into hollow canons beneath me, and beyond them once 
 more the gentle roll of grassy prairie, and hills again. 
 I looked around me and I was alone ; and yet not 
 wholly solitary, for about me strayed a band of sheep, 
 grazing the sweet grasses that were so green when near, 
 and showed a faint tinge of purple or delicate blue 
 afar off. I was a Texas sheep-herder. A month before 
 I had walked the crowded desolation of unnatural 
 London. 
 
 My life had been one of many changes. From the 
 North of England to the wide brown plains of sunburnt 
 Australia ; from her again to the furrows of the ocean 
 for many months of seaman's toil and danger ; then 
 England's greatest city and life, irksome and delightful 
 by turns in her maze and prison ; then ill-health, with 
 A I 
 
The Western Avernus 
 
 all its melancholy train, and sudden feverish resolution 
 to shake from myself the chains I began to loathe. 
 
 And it was thus I came to Texas, the land of 
 revolution and rude romance, and pistol arbitration, 
 whither my brother had long preceded me — a land of 
 horses, cattle, and sheep, of cotton and corn, a land 
 of refuge for many crimes, and for those tired and 
 weary even as I was. So outward civilisation was gone, 
 and it was with strange feelings of delight that I entered 
 a new country to commence a new career, although I 
 was aware that there would inevitably be much labour 
 and perhaps much suffering for me. 
 
 I came into a Texas town by no means greatly 
 different from other American towns that I had seen 
 and passed through in my swift flight south and west 
 from the Atlantic seaboard, save that all around it was 
 open unfenced prairie, with no fertile farms or houses to 
 indicate that a town was near at hand. But I found, 
 to my surprise, that Colorado City was cold on that 
 spring morning of 1884, and I was unprepared for it, 
 for I thought myself far enough south to demand as 
 my right perpetual warmth and sunshine ; and it was 
 only when I learnt that I stood on a plateau two 
 thousand feet above the sea-level that the cold did not 
 seem unnatural. My impressions of the town and its 
 people were favourable. There were many men walking 
 round the streets dressed in wide-brimmed hats, leather 
 leggings with fringe adornments, and long boots with 
 large spurs rattling as they went. They were mostly 
 tall and strong, and I noticed with interest the look 
 of calm assurance about many of them, as if they had 
 
 2 
 
In Texas 
 
 said to themselves : ' I am a man, distinctly a man, 
 nobody dares insult me ; if any one does, there will be a 
 funeral — and not mine.' 
 
 Then the ordinary citizens of the place seemed 
 ordinary citizens, in nowise remarkable, and, as far as I 
 could see, neither they nor the others, who were, as I 
 soon discovered, the much-talked-of cow-boys, wore 
 knives or revolvers. 
 
 In fact my impressions were exactly what they 
 should not have been, according to Bret Harte. From 
 him I had taken my notions of Western America, 
 and I had constructed an ideal in the air, in which 
 red-shirted miners, pistolling cow-boys, reckless stage- 
 drivers, gentlemanly gamblers, and self-sacrificing 
 women figured in a kind of kaleidoscopic harlequinade, 
 ending up in a snow-storm or the smoke of a gun- 
 powder massacre. And I was disappointed ; but I 
 must not be unjust to a favourite author of mine, for 
 I owed it to my own imagination. 
 
 My brother was living in this town, and it was with 
 very little difficulty that I discovered him. We shook 
 hands and sat down, running through our different 
 experiences. I detailed my disgust of London and the 
 life I had led there. He gave discouraging accounts of 
 Texas, averring that the water was vile, that ' fever and 
 ague ' were common, that it was too hot in summer and 
 too cold in winter. I learnt from him that almost 
 everybody in town carried revolvers concealed under 
 his coat-tails or inside his waistcoat, and that people 
 were occasionally shot in spite of the peaceful look of 
 the place. Nevertheless, there was little danger for a 
 
 3 
 
The Western Avernus 
 
 man who was in the habit of minding his own business, 
 who was not a drinker and quarrelsome, and did not 
 frequent gambling-houses and saloons. I vowed I 
 would go into none of them, and promptly broke it 
 when I went down town with my brother to get clothes 
 such as Texans wear, for he himself took me into one 
 and introduced me to a gentlemanly gambler, who 
 might have stepped bodily out of the story of ' Poker 
 Flat ' — a Georgian dark and slim, with long hair, dressed 
 in black, amiable-looking, and a quiet desperado if need 
 were. 
 
 I changed my apparel under Cecil's advice and 
 appeared in the streets in a very wide-brimmed grey 
 felt hat and long boots reaching to my knees, and then, 
 when I was ' civilised,' as he declared, we went to his 
 boarding-house, and he introduced me to a circle of 
 Texan working men. I made myself at home, and sat 
 quietly listening to the talk about the war — a subject 
 the Southerner is never weary of — of desperadoes, of 
 cattle, and of sheep. Cecil and I held a council of two 
 as to what was to be done. I wanted to work on a 
 sheep or cattle ranche, as I had learnt the ways of these 
 in Australia, and, although he had not ever followed 
 that business himself, he agreed to go with me if we 
 could obtain such work. A few days afterwards we left 
 the city in the waggon of a sheep owner, hired to do 
 the work of herders for 25 dols., or about £$, a month. 
 
 So I once more dwelt under canvas, living a pastoral 
 life, cooking rude meals in the open air on the open 
 prairies, forty long miles to the northward of the town. 
 And we went to work, building sheep ' corrals ' or pens 
 
 4 
 
In Texas 
 
 of heaped, thorny mesquite brush, bringing in firewood, 
 cutting it, putting up tents — for my part glad to be so 
 far from men in that sweet fresh air, for I began to feel 
 alive, volitional, not dead and most basely mechanical 
 as at home in England. 
 
 We were in camp on the border of the creek that ran 
 by us with sluggish flow, as if it lacked the energy to go 
 straight forward. In front of us, to the south, was a 
 semicircle of bluffs, up which one had to climb to gain 
 the open prairie, that stretched out green and grey as 
 far as eye could reach. Beneath the bluffs was a level 
 with thin mesquite trees, and on the banks of the creek 
 a few cotton woods, and beyond it another level with 
 thicker brush, and then a mass of broken, watercut 
 land, formed into small fantastic canons that bit deep 
 into the red earth, and clay, and gravel, that lay 
 beneath. 
 
 I led a busy life — up before sunrise, in after sundown. 
 Then we sat round the camp-fire, smoking and talking. 
 Our boss was an Englishman, one Jones, fair and 
 pleasant ; with him another fatter, ruddier Englishman, 
 young, bumptious, and green withal, but no bad com- 
 panion. Beside them a Mexican, long-haired, with 
 glittering dark eyes under the shade of his big sombrero, 
 small and active, taciturn for want of English. I could 
 have warranted him a talker had we known his own 
 sweet tongue. But my Spanish was limited to a few 
 oaths — Caramba ! — with some others terrible to be 
 translated, and Don Quixote in the original has yet to 
 be mastered. Then another herder, myself, and Cecil. 
 Decidedly, England was in the ascendant, and our 
 
 5 
 
The Western Avernus 
 
 Spaniard looked on dumbly in contemplation, as his 
 lithe fingers rolled cigarettes one after another in the 
 yellow Mexican paper, dipping into his little linen bag 
 for the dry tobacco. 
 
 At daylight breakfast, after a wash in the creek. 
 Bacon and bread and coffee, morning, noon, and night, 
 with rare mutton and beans, red and white, cooked 
 with grease and greasy. Then I went to the corrals 
 and let out my sheep and their lambs, the oldest 
 skipping merrily and the little new-born ones tottering 
 weakly and baaing piteously, while the anxious mothers 
 watched their offspring, turning round to lick them, 
 looking at me suspiciously the while. 
 
 With them I spent day after day on the prairie in 
 almost utter solitude, save for the gentle animals I held 
 in charge. These would scatter out and fleck the 
 green prairie with white of wool, browsing on brush 
 and sweet grass, while the lambs played round them, 
 taking tentative doubtful bites at the grass, as if not 
 yet assured that anything but milk was good for them, 
 or stood sucking or lay asleep ; sometimes waking 
 suddenly with a loud baa of surprise to find themselves 
 in such a strange wide world, and then rushing mother- 
 wards for milk, butting with persistence the patient 
 ewes, who moved along gently after other uncropped 
 grasses. And at ten o'clock, when the sun grew fierce, 
 they would take their noon-time's siesta, lying down 
 under the scant shade of mesquites or the few rocks 
 at the end of the bluffs that ran down to the creek. 
 They slept and woke, got up one at a time, walking 
 round, and then lay down again. And I picked a 
 
 6 
 
In Texas 
 
 shady tree myself, taking all the shade, not through 
 selfishness, but they yielded it to me for fear. I ate 
 my little lunch, and drank water from the round tin 
 flask encased in canvas that I bore over my shoulder, 
 and smoked a peaceful pipe, and read a book I had 
 brought out with me, or dreamed of things that had 
 been, and of things not yet to be. And birds came 
 round, perching on the woolly backs of sheep — birds of 
 blue and birds of red, some with sweet songs. And 
 from the shelter of low thick brush or tufts of heavier 
 grass peeped a silvery-skinned snake with beady eyes, 
 drawing back on seeing me. Or a little soft-furred 
 cotton-tail rabbit whisked from one bush to another, 
 throwing up his tuft of a tail and showing the white 
 patch of under-fur that gives him his name, gleaming 
 like cotton from the bursting pod, And that yonder ? 
 It was a jack-rabbit, a hare, long-legged, quick-running ; 
 but then he went slowly, and sat up and looked at me 
 as if he were a prairie dog of yonder town of quaint, 
 brown, sleek-furred marmots, whose cry is like that of 
 chattering angry birds. But Mr. Jack Rabbit swerved 
 aside suddenly. The sheep would not frighten him, 
 and I was as quiet as the windless tree I sat under. It 
 was a snake, not silver, but brown and diamonded that 
 scared him. But he saw me, and slipped under the 
 rock, and lay there, making a strange noise, new to me 
 but unmistakable. He was a rattlesnake. Then maybe 
 I would go a little way from my herd and see an 
 antelope on the distant prairie, and between me and 
 the deer, a sly, slinking coyote, swift-footed and cunning, 
 a howler at nights, making a whole chorus by himself ; 
 
 7 
 
The Western Avernus 
 
 by quick change of key persuading the awakened shep- 
 herd that there was a band of them on the bluff in the 
 moonlight looking down hungrily on the corralled and 
 guarded sheep. 
 
 Day by day this pastoral life went on, not all as sweet 
 as an idyll, yet with some content. But my brother 
 fell ill, and went back to town, and I was left to my 
 own experience, which grew by contact with my Texan 
 neighbours, with whom I got along pleasantly, as I was 
 fast relapsing into primitive barbarism. I read little, 
 and the noon I spent in contemplation, or observation 
 of the denizens of the prairie, and at night the hour 
 before sleep was spent in smoking and chatter, and 
 grumbling at the sameness of the cookery. 
 
 I herded through all April, but in the beginning of 
 May I began to grow very weary of the work, and 
 begged Jones to give me something else to do, no 
 matter what, so that I was not compelled to act dog to 
 his sheep any more. I was evidently unfit for a herder, 
 for the task grew harder instead of easier. At last my 
 ' boss ' went into town and brought out another man, 
 and released me. I went to corral-building, and wood- 
 chopping, and to preparations for shearing, which would 
 soon be ; and as I then had Sunday free, I used to go 
 fishing for cat-fish in the creek, and caught more often 
 demoniacal mud turtles, which I unhooked with much 
 fear of their snappish jaws. And one Sunday I slew a 
 great rattlesnake nearly five feet long, as thick as my 
 fore-arm. At the end of his tail, as he lay half coiled 
 up, was a cloud — strange, undiscernible — the loud rattles 
 in fierce, quick vibration. I went into a state of in- 
 
 8 
 
In Texas 
 
 stinctive animal fury, and killed him with a branch 
 wrenched from a mesquite, regardless of the sharp 
 thorns that made my hands bleed. 
 
 Our days and nights now grew warmer with ad- 
 vancing summer, which passed across the prairie and 
 left it barer and brown, and doubtless made the dull 
 sheep remember, if remember they can, past shearings 
 of other years' fleeces and quick coolness. And shearing- 
 time came on apace, for there were no more sudden 
 ' northers ' that came from the frozen north, that knows 
 no early spring, to make us shiver in our sleep and 
 awake in early morning cursing the climate. 
 
 So, when our preparations were complete, the wool- 
 table set up in the corral, the wool-boxes for tying the 
 soft fleeces ready, the posts and cross pieces erected for 
 the canvas shelter to keep the glaring noon sun from 
 the backs and bared necks of the stooping shearers, 
 Jones went round and summoned the ' boys ' to start 
 to work. And our camp took a livelier aspect with its 
 Texan youngsters. The English element was in the 
 minority. Then the ' boss ' went to town for more 
 shearers, and came back with a band of Mexicans, who 
 looked at the white men sulkily, thinking, no doubt, 
 that there would not be so much money to be made, 
 as they were not to have ' las boregas ' to themselves. 
 Among them was an Indian, a dark-skinned Chickasaw, 
 who spoke a little English, and confided to me that he 
 thought very little of the Mexicans. These were finer 
 men, though, than my little wizened Indian — tall, some 
 of them, with easy motion, dark eyes, dark hair, over 
 which the inevitable sombrero of wide shade, with vast 
 
 9 
 
The Western Averxus 
 
 complications of plaited adornments around it, making 
 it look heavy and cumbersome. 
 
 Next day shearing began. The sheep huddled to- 
 gether in the corral bleating for their lambs, or ran to 
 and fro for those left outside. Under the rude festoons 
 and curves of canvas, the wooden platform, with a few 
 sheep in front, and on the board itself seven Mexicans, 
 and the Chickasaw, and four Texan boys bending over 
 the sheep. The sharp click-click of the moving, 
 devouring shears of sharp steel, and the fair fleece, 
 white and pure, falling back over the outer unclean 
 wool yet unshorn. The last cut, and the loosed fleece- 
 bearer, uncloaked and naked, runs shaking itself into 
 the crowding others, wondering ' if it be I,' and another 
 is dragged unwillingly by the hind leg from its com- 
 panions, while the parted fleece goes in a bundle of 
 softness to the table, to be tied and tossed to the man 
 who treads down the wool in the suspended woolsack, 
 for we are primitive here and have no press. The clean 
 new boards underneath us grow black, and every splinter 
 has its lock of wool. There is wool everywhere, and 
 the taste and smell of it ; we are greasy with the grease 
 of it, and hurt fingers smart with it, some little revenge 
 for the pain the sheep have for careless cuts, that run 
 red blood on the divided fleece. 
 
 And night-time came, and the sheep stood in the 
 corral hungry, wishing the vile yearly business ^was 
 over. And when we got up next morning there was 
 not a Mexican to be seen. They had disappeared in 
 the night, doubtless angry that there were white men to 
 divide the profits with them. Jones ' cavorted ' round 
 
 10 
 
I n Texas 
 
 somewhat, abusing Mexicans generally, swore he would 
 have no more to do with them, and went for more white 
 men. I sheared among these in order to learn this 
 noble pastoral art, as I wished to learn everything else, 
 for no man knows when his knowledge may be useful 
 and even necessary to him. So we had none of ' los 
 Mexicanos,' with their fearful oaths, among us, and no 
 Chickasaws or Choctaws. And for two days the 
 shearing went well ; then came a cold day, congealing 
 the grease in the wool until it clogged the shears. One 
 man, the boaster of the crowd, left, as he said, because 
 the sheep were too hard to shear ; as we said, because 
 he was irritated that a boy sheared eighty while he got 
 through no more than fifty. Then, as Jones was away, 
 my fat ruddy young countryman had charge, and, being 
 unaccustomed to authority and lacking tact, quarrelled 
 with one, which led to all the rest leaving. So the 
 patient sheep were not yet shorn. Jones came back to 
 find things at a standstill, and being a good-tempered 
 man, only swore a little at white men. But the shearing 
 had to be done, and the vow about Mexicans had 
 to be recanted. The wagon went into town, and in 
 two days eleven more Mexicans came out, better men 
 and better shearers than our first band. The captain — 
 el capitan — was a broad-shouldered, lithe-waisted man, 
 quick, keen, black, and comely ; with him a one-armed 
 shearer, a great surprise to me, whose first movements 
 on the board I watched with interest. He and the 
 captain sheared in company, and between them made 
 more money than any other two — made it shearing and 
 gambling as well, for the maimed man was an adept at 
 
 ii 
 
The Western Avernus 
 
 the cards, handling them with a rapidity and dexterity 
 many of his two-handed companions envied and suffered 
 from. I still sheared with them, but not regularly, for 
 sometimes I tied wool, and sometimes pressed it, and 
 even occasionally herded again. I found them friendly, 
 and at night they sang melancholy Mexican love-songs 
 or gambled with the light of a solitary candle, crowding 
 together in one small tent, while I sat amongst them, 
 rolling up cigarettes, as they did, catching a few words 
 of their talk ; or I left them and sat by the fire with 
 Jones and the other herders, and perhaps a stray cow- 
 boy who came to sleep at our camp, or some of the 
 young sons of our near neighbours ; and in their 
 conversation I got the relish of a new dish that tickled 
 my civilised palate strangely. The flash of humour, 
 the ready rough repartee that permitted no answer, 
 tumbling one to the ground like a sudden tightening 
 lasso dropped over head and shoulders, were like 
 single-stick play after rapier and dagger, hard but 
 harmless. 
 
 And at last shearing was over, and my Mexican 
 friends took their money, doubtless resolving to get 
 drunk and gamble in town, and make up for the labour 
 through which they had gone ; and I began to think of 
 going too, for I had heard from my brother in far 
 northern Minnesota, and he asked me to come if it were 
 possible. I was ready enough to go, for it did not seem 
 to me that I was as well as I should be. Perhaps the 
 alkali water was doing me no good, and I should feel 
 better doubtless in the more bracing northern air, 
 drinking the purer streams that ran from Minnesota's 
 
 12 
 
MEXICANS GAMBLING. 
 
 [to face p. 12. 
 
In Texas 
 
 lakes and sweet-scented pine-woods. I would leave 
 Texas behind me, and the open prairie and its sheep 
 and bands of long-horned cattle, its chattering prairie 
 dogs and howling coyotes, and prowling cougars, and 
 try another country. 
 
 But before I could get away there were many things 
 to do, and some things to suffer — notably a storm one 
 night, a surprise to me, for it seemed that the wind blew 
 calmly on the high plateau, using its energy in ceaseless 
 breezes, not in sudden destructive cyclonic convulsion. 
 But one day the breeze failed. The clouds came up 
 from all quarters, opening and shutting, closing in the 
 blue, dark and thunderous with pallid leaden edges. 
 We sat in our camp, not thinking greatly about the 
 matter, for so many threatened storms had blown over. 
 But presently Jones got up, and went across the creek 
 to the house, remarking that he thought we should have 
 rain. The young Englishman soon followed, leaving 
 me with Alexander, a Californian herder, and Bill, 
 a Missourian. 
 
 Presently we heard thunder, and a few heavy drops 
 of rain fell. We left the fire, and went into the big tent 
 and sat down. Then there was a low roar of wind, and 
 the rush of rain came with the wind and struck the 
 tent, that bellied in and strained like a sail at sea. One 
 moment of suspense, and, before we could move, the 
 tent was fiat on top of us, and the howl of the gale 
 and the pattering of rain so tremendous that we could 
 not hear ourselves shouting. One by one we crawled 
 out, and in a moment were drenched to the skin. Our 
 oilskins were under the tent ; it was utterly impossible 
 
 13 
 
The Western Avernus 
 
 to get them. The force of the wind was so great that I 
 could not stand upright, and the rain, coming level on 
 it, blinded me if I tried to look to windward. The 
 lightning, too, was fearful, and the thunder seemed 
 right over and round me. In the dark I got separated 
 from my companions, and crawled on my hands and 
 knees to a small mesquite and held on to it, while 
 every blast bent it down right over me. After a while 
 I grew tired of staying there, and in a little lull I made 
 a bolt for the end of the corral, which was a stone wall. 
 Here I got some shelter, though I was afraid that the 
 whole wall might blow over on me. As it was, some of 
 the top stones were dislodged. So I stood up and 
 leaned on it, with my face towards the wind and my 
 broad-brimmed hat over my eyes to keep the sharp 
 sting of the rain off. In front of me were the sheep, 
 and leaning over the wall I could touch them ; yet such 
 was the darkness that I could see nothing till the 
 lightning came, and then they stood out before me a 
 mass of white wool, with the lightning glistening on 
 their eyeballs for a momentary space. Then darkness. 
 In one flash I could see Alexander under one mesquite, 
 and, twenty yards from him, Bill under another. I 
 shouted to them, but the wind carried my voice away. 
 Here I stayed for two hours. Then the wind began 
 to lull and the lightning to grow more distant ; so, 
 plucking up courage, and waiting for lightning to give 
 me my direction, I walked over to Alexander, and then 
 all three got together again. I wanted them to come 
 over to the house, for we could go round by the road 
 without crossing the creek, which here ran in a horse- 
 
 H 
 
I n Texas 
 
 shoe. Alexander said he would come, for he did not 
 want to be wet all night without any sleep, but we 
 could not persuade Bill. No, he wasn't going to get 
 lost on the prairie such a night as that ; he knew where 
 he was, and that was something. So we left him. It 
 took us more than an hour to go less than a mile, for 
 it was still blowing and raining hard, and the lightning 
 was even yet vivid enough to blind us. Once we got 
 off the road, but I managed to find it again, and about 
 one o'clock we came to the house, where Jones and 
 Harris laughed at the wretched figures we cut. How- 
 ever, we got out blankets, and, throwing off our wet 
 clothes, we soon forgot the storm. Next morning the 
 creek was full to its banks, and rising yet. We found 
 Bill at the camp, still wet through, though he had 
 managed to find some dry matches and light a fire. 
 Both tents were down. The provisions in the smaller 
 one were all wet and much damage done. Still it was 
 well nothing worse happened. I do not think I shall 
 ever forget that night in Texas. 
 
 Three days afterwards, when Jones began to haul his 
 wool to town, I went in with him and Colonel Taylor, 
 his next neighbour, who was hauling for him. It took 
 a day and a half to get to Colorado, and during the first 
 day I killed seven rattlesnakes and two others. 
 
 On getting near to town we began to see signs of the 
 damage done by the storm. We were on the banks of 
 the Lone Wolf Creek, that runs into the Colorado 
 River. The waters had run out on the prairie on both 
 sides and swept the grass fiat. Against every tree was 
 a bunch of drifted bush and grasses, while here and 
 
 15 
 
The Western Avernus 
 
 there I saw a poor little prairie owl or prairie dog, or a 
 snake, strangled by the water or struck by blown 
 branches. In town, houses had been washed away 
 bodily, going down the creek, and others had been 
 turned round on the wooden blocks beneath them. The 
 whole place wore a dishevelled, disarranged look, as if 
 some mischievous giant had been through it, making 
 sport for himself. It was the severest gale ever known 
 in North-west Texas. 
 
 16 
 
CHAPTER II 
 
 BULL-PUNCHING 
 
 I WAS in Colorado City again, with resources only 
 forty-five dollars, or about nine pounds English, and 
 had to go north to Minnesota, find my brother and 
 support myself, until I got employment again, on 
 that small sum. It was quite evident that I should 
 be unable to pay my fare to St. Paul, Minnesota, and 
 I had to decide now what was to be done. Problem : 
 twelve or thirteen hundred miles to be overpassed with- 
 out paying one's fare over the rails. This would have 
 been an easy task to many, and some months later it 
 would have scarcely caused me so much anxious 
 thought, but I was then inexperienced and somewhat 
 green in the matter of passes, which are often to be 
 obtained by a plausible man of good address, and in 
 the methods of 'beating the road,' or, more literally, 
 cheating the company. 
 
 My brother had told me that it was frequently 
 possible to go long distances with men who had charge 
 of cattle for the great meat-markets of St. Louis and 
 Chicago, and had, with an eye to the future, introduced 
 me to a rough-looking young fellow, who was an 
 Englishman, but whose greatest pleasure consisted in 
 being mistaken for a native Texan. He followed the 
 B 17 
 
The Western Avernus 
 
 profession of a ' bull-puncher,' that is, he went in charge 
 of the cattle destined for slaughter and canning in the 
 distant North, and made money at it, being steady and 
 trustworthy and no drinker. 
 
 Jones and I had come to town on Saturday, and on 
 Sunday morning I went to the stockyards to look about 
 me, to watch them putting the cattle in the cars, and to 
 see if I might find my friend. I found him too quickly, 
 for no sooner did I come to the yard than I met him. 
 He asked me if I wanted to go to Chicago, and offered 
 to take me at once, as the train was ready to ' pull out.' 
 I was in a dilemma. My clothes and blankets were at 
 the boarding-house, my money was in the bank. I told 
 him this, and he settled it quickly. 
 
 ' Leave word for my brother Fred to bring along 
 your things ; I will cash your order on the bank.' 
 
 I went with him to the office, signed my name on the 
 drover's pass after his, and in five minutes was running 
 at twenty miles an hour over the wide prairie, leaving 
 Colorado City behind in the sand dunes in the hollow 
 by the river that gives it a name. 
 
 We had seven cars of cattle to look after. The poor 
 wretches had a weary journey before them, and their 
 release would be a sudden death. It was a cruel change 
 from the grassy plains with a limitless extent of sweet 
 grass, to be shut in cars and jolted for more than a 
 thousand miles with but short intervals of rest and 
 release, for they remain in the cars twenty-four hours 
 at a time. 
 
 I found this bull-punching a very wearisome and 
 dangerous business. It is too frequently the custom 
 
 18 
 
Bull-Punching 
 
 with cattle-men to crowd the poor beasts, and put 
 perhaps twenty-two where there is only comfortable 
 room for eighteen or twenty. When a steer lies down 
 he often gets rolled over, and is stretched out flat with- 
 out power to move, as the others stand upon him. It 
 is the duty of the 'bull-puncher' to see that this does 
 not occur, or to make him get up. For this purpose he 
 carries a pole, ten or twelve feet long, usually of 
 hickory, and in the end of this a nail is driven, the head 
 of which is filed off in order to get a sharp point of half 
 or three-quarters of an inch long, which is used for 
 ' jobbing ' the unfortunate animal to rouse him to exert 
 himself, and to make those who are standing on him 
 crowd themselves together to give their comrade a 
 chance. If this point does not effect the desired object, 
 the ' twisters ' are used. These are small tacks driven 
 into the pole at and round the end, but not on the flat 
 top, where the sharp point is. By means of these tacks 
 the pole catches in the hair of the steer's tail, and it can 
 be twisted to any desired extent. This method is 
 effectual but very cruel, for I have seen the tail twisted 
 until it was broken and limp ; but, as a general rule, as 
 soon as the twisting begins the steer gives a bellow and 
 makes a gigantic effort to rise, which, if the other 
 animals can be kept away, is mostly successful. If other 
 means fail the train is run alongside the first cattle- 
 yards, the car emptied, the steer then having no trouble 
 in getting up, unless seriously injured. But I have 
 found them with nearly all their ribs broken on the 
 upper side, and occasionally they die in the car. If the 
 man in charge is conscientious, he will be all over the 
 
 19 
 
The Western Avernus 
 
 train whenever it stops, day or night, but very frequently 
 he sleeps all night and pays no attention to them. The 
 man I was with did most of the work at night, leaving 
 me the day. If he needed help he called me, and I 
 served him the same in the day. He was perfectly 
 reckless in what he did, and would do what many will 
 not attempt. He would foolishly risk his life by 
 entering the cars if he found it impossible to make a 
 bullock rouse himself, and as I stood outside holding 
 the lantern for him I was sick with apprehension, seeing 
 him hanging to the iron rails above the sharp long 
 horns that might have run him through like a bayonet. 
 Their eyes glittered in the light I held, and they 
 bellowed with fear and anger. Had he fallen the 
 chances were a thousand to one against his life ; he 
 would have been crushed to death between them or 
 trodden out of the shape of humanity under their hoofs. 
 Sometimes he succeeded, but sometimes all this danger 
 was encountered in vain, and the steer he tried to save 
 would be dead at last. 
 
 It was dangerous work clambering round the cars and 
 walking over them when the train was in motion. 
 Dangerous enough at any time, but in the night, when 
 I carried a long pole and a lantern with me, I often 
 thought I should come to a sudden end beneath the 
 wheels. I had to jump on the train, too, when in motion, 
 or be left behind, and, at junctions such as Denison, 
 was forced to walk among shunting cars and trains 
 and loose engines, whose strong head-lights blinded me, 
 hindering sight of some dark, stealthy, unlighted cars 
 running silently on the next rails. 
 
 20 
 
BULL.PUNCHING. 
 
 [to/ace p. 20, 
 
Bull-Punching 
 
 We fed the cattle at Fort Worth, a bustling busy 
 town, the western capital of Texas, the scene of great 
 railroad riots since then, and at Muskogee, a quiet dull 
 place in the Indian Territory, reserved for Indians — 
 Chickasaws, Choctaws, Cherokees, and others with less 
 familiar names. I saw but few of these, and the men 
 who loafed and idled round the stations through which 
 we passed on the Missouri, Kansas, and Texas railroad 
 were for the most part whites, armed with six-shooters, 
 for it is not forbidden to carry them. It seemed strange 
 to see little boys, eleven or twelve years old, strutting 
 round with revolvers hung in their belts. Little des- 
 peradoes in training, I thought. 
 
 This country was sweet and green, and very pleasant, 
 with great stretches of wood and then open pastures, 
 and good streams and pools of bright water. 
 
 We ran through the Territory, through part of Kansas 
 and into Missouri, staying a few hours in Sedalia. 
 
 I began now to weary of this endless journey, to 
 weary of the prairie that would never cease, and to long 
 for busy Chicago and well-farmed Illinois. It was time, 
 indeed, for me to reach somewhere, for I had never 
 taken off my clothes since leaving Colorado City, and 
 I slept in snatches, rarely slumbering more than three 
 hours at a time. 
 
 We crossed the rapid Missouri at Franklin, and came 
 to Hannibal, on the famous Mississippi. We stayed 
 some hours outside the town to feed the cattle, and 
 then ran through a tunnel hewn out of solid rock on 
 to the long slender bridge across the mighty river. I 
 sat on the top of the cars, watching the immense flood 
 
 21 
 
The Western Avernus 
 
 of waters that had come from Montana and had yet 
 to go through many a State to New Orleans and the 
 Gulf of Mexico. Here and there were beautiful islands 
 with plentiful trees, green and peaceful, separated from 
 the busier banks on either hand. The town was almost 
 hidden behind the hill under which we had come, 
 and only its smoke, curling overhead, pointed out the 
 the spot of many habitations ; and some way down 
 stream on the right was, aided by the thin haze and 
 hill shadows, an old picturesque building that I fanci- 
 fully converted into an ancient ruined castle. It gave 
 the touch of golden romance and age that one so misses 
 in that new land. 
 
 We ran through Illinois and came to the great city of 
 Chicago early on Sunday morning, and we gave up 
 charge of the cattle, which would be almost instantly 
 slaughtered. Then I had to make up my mind as to 
 what I was to do. I went to the post-office and found 
 no letters from my brother, although I had asked him 
 to give me directions there how to find him. Perhaps 
 he had written to Colorado City, and I had just missed 
 his letter ; perhaps he had left St. Paul, and had missed 
 mine. I was in a dilemma. I knew not whether to go 
 to Minnesota or not. I asked my friend, and he advised 
 me to return to Texas, promising to obtain me work with 
 cattle there, and ' at any rate,' said he, ' you can come 
 up with me again when you want to.' This determined 
 me, and I returned to Colorado City once more. 
 
 I spent an idle, careless, novel-reading time for some 
 weeks, for I could find no one prepared to give me 
 cattle to take North, as trade was slack and prices low. 
 
 22 
 
Bull-Punching 
 
 I got a note from my brother at last, saying now he 
 was near St. Paul still, and would wait for me. But I 
 could not get away again, and perforce went to amusing 
 myself, making acquaintances in town, mostly people 
 my brother had known. I read and smoked, and went 
 into the gambling saloons, though, fortunately, I have 
 no taste for gambling. Then I met one of my Mexican 
 friends, and he shook hands with me warmly, explaining 
 in broken English that all the others were in the 
 'calabosa,' or jail, for being drunk and disorderly. 
 And soon afterwards I met them going to work on the 
 road in charge of a warder armed with a long six- 
 shooter. They shouted to me and waved their hands, 
 looking not unhappy, and doubtless thinking it was 
 destiny, and not to be made matter of too much thought. 
 I waved my hat to them and saw them no more. 
 
 At last I determined to leave the town. I was sick 
 of it, and not well besides, for the water affected me 
 very injuriously. I began to make energetic inquiries, 
 and at last found a man who took me with him. It 
 was time for me to get away ; my money was fairly 
 exhausted, and I did not want to go to work in Texas 
 any more. I left town on July 7th and arrived in 
 Chicago on the 16th; and but one thing of all the 
 journey remains in my mind, and that is the figure 
 of Ray Kern, who had once been a cow-boy in Texas, 
 but was leaving it on account of ill-health, for he was 
 to be a companion to me afterwards in some of my 
 other trials and journeys yet to come. 
 
 When I bade farewell to my friends, Ray among 
 them, I had but five dollars left, or £1 English. 
 
 23 
 
CHAPTER III 
 
 IOWA AND MINNESOTA 
 
 I WONDER if it be possible of any one who has never 
 been away from his own country and his friends, who 
 has always been in comfort and reasonable prosperity, 
 to imagine my feelings when I suddenly found myself 
 alone and almost penniless in Chicago? I think it 
 impossible. My desolation was in a way unbounded, 
 for every person I saw of the thousands in that great 
 city, wherein I knew not a soul, save those I had left 
 never to see again, made me feel even more and more 
 lonely. I walked the crowded streets for hours, hardly 
 knowing in what direction I was going nor in what 
 direction I should go. My thoughts turned first 
 towards my brother, who was, in the state of my 
 finances, impossibly far away, and from him to my 
 friends at home. To these I was now a shadow, for 
 they were busy, and one from the many of a life-circle 
 is but little. To me they were the only realities, and 
 I was walking among shadows who were nothing, and 
 could be nothing, to me, whose habits and thoughts and 
 modes of life had become, after four years in London, 
 intensely, even morbidly subjective. I had lived those 
 years in a state of intellectual progress, which had 
 culminated in a form of pessimism only permitting me 
 
 24 
 
Iowa and Minnesota 
 
 to see beauty in art — in pictures of Turner, in music 
 of Beethoven, in the poetry of the modern ; and now I 
 was thrown on the sharpest rocks of realism, and the 
 awakening was strange and bitter. 
 
 On the second day in the city I was even more 
 melancholy, and it was an almost impossible task for 
 me to seek work. But the necessity of so doing became 
 more and more urgent as my resources became less 
 and less, and I made some efforts to obtain employment 
 on the schooners of Lake Michigan. For I had in the 
 days of my more careless boyhood made a voyage at 
 sea, and along with the memory of storm and calm, of 
 channel and open ocean, retained some of the rough 
 practical knowledge of a sailor's work. But I had lost 
 the calm buoyant confidence and energy of those days, 
 and with the decay of health had come a degree of 
 diffidence which then made it difficult for me to push 
 myself among a crowd of rude and ignorant men, even 
 though I had enough plasticity of outward character 
 to make me, to their careless glance, one of their own 
 class. And the dulness of trade in Chicago that 
 summer added to my troubles, and made me un- 
 successful. 
 
 That night I thought I should try to save money 
 by sleeping somewhere without paying for a lodging. 
 I had heard in London of boys and men sleeping in 
 Covent Garden Market, and under the arches of the 
 bridges. And now I was about to add this to my 
 own experiences. I had been told that in the large 
 cities of America it was very commonly the custom 
 for the homeless to sleep in ' box-cars,' which I believe 
 
 25 
 
The Western Avernus 
 
 would be called ' goods trucks ' in England, and I 
 found at last, late in the evening, a spot where many 
 were standing on the rails in a dark corner not far 
 from Randolph Street. After some little search I 
 discovered an open one, and after entering it and 
 closing the sliding door, I lay down on the bare wooden 
 floor, and with my head on my arms fell asleep. I 
 must have slept about two hours when I was awakened 
 by finding my habitation in motion. I was very little 
 concerned as to where it was going, as I was in no 
 place likely to be worse off than in Chicago, and I 
 might very easily have been better. I left the matter 
 in the hands of destiny, and turning over fell asleep 
 again. But I was again awakened in a few minutes by 
 the car stopping, apparently in some building from the 
 difference of sound. The door was opened, and a man 
 entering the car saw me and said, ' Hallo, partner, have 
 you had a good sleep ? ' ' Pretty fair,' I said, ' but I 
 guess it 's over now.' And I got up to go. The 
 intruder was a kind-hearted fellow, however, and as I 
 went out he told me there were plenty of cars outside 
 that would not be disturbed that night, and directed me 
 where to find them. I thanked him, but soon found 
 myself regarded suspiciously by a man who was the 
 night watchman, who finally ordered me to get out of 
 the yard, which I was obliged to do, as under the 
 circumstances I had no alternative, although I confess 
 to feeling very much inclined to resent his doing his 
 duty. I went out into the streets once more. It was 
 now after midnight, and I had little desire to walk 
 about all night. So after all my trouble I had a 
 
 26 
 
Iowa and Minnesota 
 
 night's lodging, for which I paid 25 cents, and was 
 accommodated in a room villainous enough looking to 
 be the scene of one of Poe's midnight murder tales. 
 
 Next morning I was still despondent, and walked 
 about aimlessly enough until I came to the Chicago, 
 Milwaukee, and St. Paul Railroad station. I went in 
 and sat down to rest and to think. My thinking 
 discovered me no hope, but my prolonged stay there 
 was the cause of my again meeting with my travelling 
 companion, Ray Kern. He came in looking miserable 
 enough and pale and ill, but when he saw me he 
 brightened up as I had done, and we, who were but 
 of a day or two's acquaintance, grasped each other's 
 hands as if we had been brothers. Poor Ray was in 
 the same condition as myself, though he had a dollar 
 or two more to balance his being worse in health 
 than I was. We had a long talk of ways and means 
 and aims, and his experience helped us out of Chicago. 
 In all American cities there are employment offices, 
 which, on payment of a fee, furnish work, if any is to 
 be obtained, to suitable applicants. They frequently 
 send labourers long distances on the cars for very 
 trifling sums to work for the railroads, which furnish 
 passes for the number they need. Ray and I went 
 across the road to one of these offices, and found that 
 men were wanted to go to a little town near Bancroft, 
 in North-west Iowa, Kosciusko County, to work on 
 the railroad. The fee required by the office was 2 dols., 
 but all I had now was 1 dol. 50 cents, and I was 
 rather hopeless of getting away, when Ray offered 
 the manager 3 dollars 25 cents to send us both out. 
 
 27 
 
The Western Avernus 
 
 After some chaffering this was agreed to, and we 
 were furnished with office tickets, which would be 
 changed at the station for passes. I was now without 
 any money at all — not even a cent. But Ray, whose 
 kindness to me I shall never forget, helped me through 
 the day, and in the evening we started with about 
 twenty others for our destination, 600 miles away. 
 This system of sending labourers to distant points on 
 free passes is naturally taken advantage of by persons 
 who wish to go in the direction of the place where 
 the help is needed or beyond it, and very frequently 
 it happens that on reaching the end of the journey 
 there is scarcely one left of those who started. And 
 it was so in this instance. Of the twenty who left 
 Chicago, Ray and I were the only ones who got out 
 at Bancroft, for the others had quietly disappeared at 
 various stations on the way. We had been about 
 thirty-six hours on the journey, and during this time 
 we had passed through a farming country, which was 
 for the most part uninteresting, and, in the northern 
 part of Iowa, to my eye positively ugly. It there 
 consisted of level plains with no colour or trees to 
 relieve their dead monotony, save an occasional grove 
 of planted trees near a farm, placed to the north of 
 the buildings to make some shelter from the howling 
 ' blizzards,' or winter storms, that rage for days on 
 the bleak and open prairie. And the natural melan- 
 choly of the scene was magnified for me by the 
 hunger, which increased as we travelled, for we were 
 both without money save a solitary half-dollar, which 
 Ray was preserving for emergencies. 
 
 28 
 
Iowa and Minnesota 
 
 When we at last reached our objective point we 
 were not encouraged by what we saw. On a side 
 track, a little way from town, stood three cars, one 
 fitted up as an eating-room with rough tables and 
 benches, and the others as sleeping-rooms with bunks 
 in them. We put our blankets down and went in 
 to get dinner, which consisted of huge chunks of 
 tough, badly cooked beef with bread, and potatoes 
 boiled in their skins. The plates were tin, the cups 
 of the same material, the knives rusty and dirty and 
 blunt. Our companions were of all nationalities, they 
 ate like hogs, and their combined odour was distinctly 
 simian. It was with difficulty Ray and I ate our 
 dinners, hungry as we were, for one had to be energetic 
 to obtain anything at all, and the noise and smell and 
 close quarters made both of us, who were by no means 
 in rude health, feel sick and miserable. 
 
 After dinner, if I can call it such, we went out and 
 walked in silence up the line. Presently I burst out, 
 in unconscious imitation of the famous Edinburgh 
 Reviewer, ' This will never do.' 
 
 Ray looked up and said shortly, ' Charlie, I agree 
 with you.' 
 
 We continued walking, and presently came to a 
 little ' section house.' These are built at intervals 
 along all the lines in America. In them live a 'section 
 boss ' and a small gang of men, who look after a certain 
 section of the line, seeing that it is kept in repair. 
 They raise the ' ties ' or sleepers if they settle down, 
 renew them when they rot, see that the joints are 
 perfect and the rails in line. Outside the house we 
 
 29 
 
The Western Avernus 
 
 met the ' section boss,' who asked us if we had come 
 up to work with the ' gravel-train gang.' We said yes, 
 we had come there with that intention, but didn't much 
 like the look of things, and would prefer not doing it if 
 anything else were possible. He seemed to be in no 
 way surprised at that, and said if we cared to come to 
 him we could go to work in the morning, promising 
 us good accommodation and board, the wages being, 
 however, only 81.25 a day — twenty-five cents less than 
 that of the other job. The cost of board, however, was 
 to be somewhat less. We engaged at once with him, 
 and went back for our blankets, paying our last half- 
 dollar for our miserable mid-day meal. 
 
 Our 'boss' was named Breeze, and we found him 
 and his wife very pleasant and intelligent and kind. 
 The others in the gang were Swedes, who could not 
 talk much English, and Ray and I had very little to do 
 with them during the short time we stayed there. For 
 Ray seemed too weak to work, and using the pick and 
 shovel was so new to me that I made twice the labour 
 of it that the others did ; and, moreover, my foot got so 
 sore that I found some difficulty in working with any 
 degree of complacency. After three days we determined 
 to leave and go north to St. Paul, if it could be managed. 
 But we had great difficulty in getting any money, as 
 the men on sections are only paid once a month, when 
 the travelling car of the R.R. Paymaster comes round. 
 But we signed orders for Breeze to receive our money, 
 and got seventy-five cents apiece, one dollar and a half 
 in all, which constituted our sole resources. Mrs. Breeze 
 made us up a parcel of food, and I gave her a little 
 
 30 
 
Iowa and Minnesota 
 
 volume of Emerson's Essays, which I had brought from 
 England with me. And thus we started north again. 
 
 Of all the melancholy days' walks I ever had, that 
 was the most doleful. Around us lay a miserable, flat, 
 most dreary prairie ; ahead of us stretched the long line 
 of endless rails, fading in the distance to nothing, and 
 overhead the July sun glared piteously on two dis- 
 heartened tramps, who were most decidedly out of 
 place, wishing themselves anywhere — anywhere out of 
 that world. Had Ray been well and cheerful, I should 
 have been more dispirited than I was, for in his state of 
 health and mind I had to keep him up by cracking 
 jokes and singing songs when I felt more like making 
 lamentations or taking to sulky silence. But he was so 
 weak that we had to rest, and if I had not kept him 
 going we should have been there now. At noon we 
 camped by a waterhole, or small swamp, and ate a little 
 and had a smoke, and,' feeling hot and dust-grimed and 
 wayworn, I stripped off and had a bathe, while Ray 
 looked on in silence. By dint of hard and painful 
 walking we reached a farm in the evening. We went 
 up and asked for work. The superintendent was a 
 Swede, a nice enough fellow. He gave us supper, and 
 next morning set me shocking barley after a reaping 
 and binding machine, while Ray went out hay-making. 
 Our wages were to be a dollar a day and board. On 
 the evening of the second day the owner of the farm, 
 a Congressman named Cooke, came home, and, in 
 American parlance, ' fairly made things hum.' In fact, 
 we had to work too hard altogether, considering that 
 we began at sunrise an4 worked till it was dark. Ray 
 
 31 
 
The Western Avernus 
 
 by no means improved in health, and on that evening 
 we agreed to leave the next day and make another 
 stage to St. Paul. I do not think Cooke minded our 
 going much, as he thought we were unaccustomed to 
 hard work. He came in to give us the three dollars 
 each as I was rolling up my blankets, and noticing that 
 I had a book he asked to see it. It was Sartor 
 Resartus. Turning it over and over, he looked at it 
 and then at me, and finally said, 'Do you read it?' I 
 answered by another question, ' Do you suppose I carry 
 it just for the sake of carrying it? ' ' Well,' said he, ' I 
 am surprised at a man, who can read a book such as 
 this seems to be, tramping in Iowa.' ' So am I, Mr. 
 Cooke,' I replied, and, bidding him good-day, Ray and 
 I marched off, a little better in spirits, as we now had 
 seven dollars and a half between us. 
 
 That night we crossed the northern boundary of Iowa 
 and came into Minnesota at Elmore. We had supper at 
 the hotel, and found out that there was a train going to 
 St. Paul soon after midnight. After supper we went out, 
 and finding an empty box-car we lay down to get some 
 sleep. But the cold and mosquitoes combined made it 
 almost impossible. On no other occasion have I ever 
 found mosquitoes so active in such a low temperature. 
 
 At midnight Ray got up, and went over to the con- 
 ductor of the train and made a bargain with him to 
 take us to Kasota (which was as far as he went with 
 the train) for I dol. 50 cents each, which was much 
 under the regular fare. This is very commonly done in 
 the States by the conductors, who put the money in 
 their own pockets. Next day we were in Kasota, a 
 
 32 
 
Iowa and Minnesota 
 
 very pretty little place with lots of timber; indeed, 
 Southern and Central Minnesota seem generally well 
 wooded. We found there was a freight train leaving 
 this town at one o'clock, and I went over to find the 
 conductor. I asked him what he would take two of us 
 to St. Paul for. He said, ' Two dollars each.' Now we 
 had by this time only three dollars and three-quarters 
 left, so I told him that wouldn't do, stating how our 
 finances were, and offering him three and a half dollars. 
 After refusing several times, finally he said, ' Very well, 
 you can come along, though I expect you will shake a 
 fifty dollar bill at me when you get to St. Paul.' How 
 devoutly I wished it had been in my power ! We 
 jumped into the caboose, and at eleven o'clock that 
 night we arrived in St. Paul. We had then 25 cents 
 between us, which was very encouraging to think of. 
 Five cents of this we gave to the brakeman of our train 
 to show us a car to sleep in. We found one half filled 
 with sawed lumber, crawled into it, spread our blankets, 
 and lay down while our friend held the lantern. His 
 last words were : ' Mind you get out before four o'clock, 
 or you will go down south again.' After about three 
 hours' sleep we were wakened by the yardmen switching 
 or shunting the car, and making up our bundles we 
 dropped them out and followed them when the car 
 next stopped. Near at hand we found a little platform 
 about eight feet square, by a house right in the middle 
 of the railroad yard. On this we spread our blankets, 
 and only woke to find it broad daylight, seven o'clock, 
 and men working all round us. We rolled up again, 
 and in silence went up into the town. 
 . C 33 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 IN ST. PAUL 
 
 We placed our blankets and valises in a small restaurant 
 and walked to the post-office. I asked four men the 
 way to this building, and of these only the last could 
 speak intelligible English, such are the numbers of Ger- 
 mans and Scandinavians in some parts of the States. I 
 found two post-cards from my brother ; one of which 
 stated he was working near the town, giving me an 
 address, and the other, dated two weeks later, gave me 
 to understand that he had been unable to remain in St. 
 Paul owing to scarcity of work, and that he had left the 
 city for New Orleans by the river steamboats. This 
 was not very satisfactory for me, for I had cherished 
 some little hope that he might have been either in a 
 position to help me to work or to repay me some 
 money which I lent him at Ennis Creek. Now I and 
 my partner were truly on our ' beam-ends,' and twenty 
 cents alone stood between us and absolute bankruptcy. 
 We walked from the post-office round the corner and 
 sat down on a seat in the public park. As considera- 
 tion, however, was in no way likely to appease our 
 hunger, which was now beginning to be inconveniently 
 perceptible, I left Ray and went to see what could be 
 got for our cash remainder in the shape of breakfast. 
 
 34 
 
In St. Paul 
 
 After tramping a while I bought a loaf for ten cents 
 and butter for the rest, and we were now ' dead broke.' 
 Ray was sitting in the same position as I had left 
 him in, having no energy to move, poor fellow, and it 
 was with difficulty I got him out of the seat to come and 
 look for a quiet place in which to consume the luxuries 
 with which I was laden. A neighbouring lumber-yard 
 seemed suitable, and we found a convenient plank on 
 which I put the paper of salty butter, while I divided 
 the loaf with my knife. 
 
 This was a nice meal for two hungry men, but we 
 were glad enough to get it under the circumstances, 
 and since then a loaf would at times have been a very 
 godsend even without the butter. I was sorrier for Ray 
 than for myself, for a cup of coffee or tea with his meal 
 would have done him good, and it was as unattainable 
 as champagne or oysters and chablis. When we had 
 finished the bread I wrapped up the remains of the 
 butter and hid it between two planks in a dark corner 
 of the lumber pile, for I thought it possible that we 
 might want it, though there seemed little likelihood of 
 our having bread with it. As we still had tobacco, we 
 lighted our pipes and walked slowly along the street, 
 wondering where the next meal was to come from. 
 Perhaps, if I were placed in the same situation again, I 
 should not, in the light of far bitterer experience, regard 
 it as so dismal, and my increased knowledge and savoir 
 /aire in things American would show me ways out 
 where I then saw, as it were, ' No thoroughfare ' plainly 
 written. 
 
 Ray was really too ill to ' rush round,' and he was 
 
 35 
 
The Western Avernus 
 
 quite a deadweight on me, for he was hopeless. In 
 ordinary circumstances his knowledge would have 
 helped me, but all it did now was to recall pessimistic- 
 ally the blackest side of his former experience. He 
 thought it almost worse than useless to go to an em- 
 ployment office without money, and so it seemed to 
 me. But when I left him on the park-seat, and began 
 to look around without the dear fellow's most dismal 
 croaking to dishearten me, I plucked up courage, after 
 making vain inquiries in various quarters, to try an 
 Employment Agency whose chalked board outside 
 gave evidence of labour needed in many different lines 
 of business. There were fifty men wanted to work on 
 the streets. This I considered was very probable, con- 
 sidering the state they were in. There were more 
 wanted for the waterworks. This, too, would be no 
 work of supererogation. There were teamsters, dairy- 
 men, and various others whose services were desired. 
 I walked in and spoke to the manager, who, finding I 
 professed not to be a teamster, though I could drive 
 reasonably well, nor a milkman, for lack of practice, 
 offered me the less lucrative and probably more toilsome 
 job of labourer at the waterworks for the moderate fee 
 of one dollar. Never had the great American dollar 
 assumed such a gigantic size to me. Never had it 
 seemed so far away. Liberty in her cap was fairly 
 invisible, and the imagined scream of the bold eagle on 
 the reverse was ' faint and far.' 
 
 ' Well, mister,' said I, ' I have not got a dollar.' 
 ' What have you got ? ' was his answer, thinking, I 
 suppose, that I might have 99 cents. I surprised him. 
 
 36 
 
In St. Paul 
 
 ' I 've got a partner.' 
 
 ' Has he any money ! ' 
 
 1 might have answered in the language of Artemus 
 Ward — ' nary cent,' but it did not occur to me. 
 
 ' He's got as much as I have, and that's nix' (corrupt 
 German for ' nichts '). 
 
 My friend looked at me, having no further remarks to 
 make. I felt a crisis had come. 
 
 ' Suppose you send us both out and ask the boss to 
 stop two dollars from our wages on your account. 
 Won't this do ! You see we want work ; we 've got to 
 have it. That 's a fact' 
 
 The manager walked to his big desk, wrote a note, 
 sealed it, gave it to me, and said, ' Come here at two 
 o'clock, and you can go out to the works with the 
 provision wagon.' I thanked him very quietly and 
 walked out. 
 
 Ray was as I left him. I composed my countenance 
 to sombre dolorousness, and sat down beside him, 
 grunting out ' Got any tobacco ? ' No, the last was 
 gone. He seemed so miserable that I thought it cruel 
 to deceive him by my looks any longer, and laughed 
 till I woke him fairly up, and he saw by the twinkle 
 in my eyes that I had been in luck. ' So you 've got 
 work?' 'Yes,' said I, 'and you too; we go out this 
 afternoon to the waterworks.' 
 
 How hard must be one's lot when the news that it 
 is possible to earn a dollar and three-quarters a day, 
 by ten hours of hard manual labour, acts like a very 
 tonic and braces up the whole man ! Ray was for the 
 rest of the day quite a new being, in spite of his hunger, 
 
 37 
 
The Western Avernus 
 
 which half a small loaf in the morning had not gone 
 far to appease. As for myself, I laughed and joked, 
 and, thinking I should be quite happy if I had some 
 tobacco, I managed to get into conversation with a 
 man near us, borrowed a pipeful, and smoked in calm 
 content. 
 
 At two o'clock we found the wagon at the office, 
 put our blankets in it, and set out on our walk, which 
 was seven miles, to the works. After a while, finding 
 the wagon move but slowly and the road plain before 
 us, we walked on ahead, and when we had made about 
 two-thirds of the way we came on three teamsters who 
 were having dinner. They gave us a friendly hail, and, 
 whether they fancied we looked hungry or not, kindly 
 asked us to sit down with them and 'pile in/ which 
 being interpreted signifies, ' Pitch in and eat.' Under 
 the circumstances such an invitation was by no means 
 to be despised, and accordingly we consumed all there 
 was, yea, even unto the last crust, taking an occasional 
 drink at a very convenient spring, our companions 
 chatting merrily the while and laughing at my semi- 
 tragical, semi-comic account of our adventures since 
 leaving Chicago. These were three good fellows. 
 
 After another mile or two's walk we came in sight 
 of the camp, which consisted of two huge tents on the 
 flat and two more on the side of the hill. We could 
 see a great trench or sewer cut in the ground with 
 derricks swinging up large iron buckets of dirt, and 
 men busily employed digging lower down, breaking the 
 ground on the line laid out for excavation, while some 
 were laying beams in the cut to prevent the sides from 
 
 38 
 
In St. Paul 
 
 caving in. So down we went and presented our letter. 
 The boss asked if we had had dinner, and as we said 
 ' No,' — thinking it still possible to eat more — he told the 
 cook to give us some, which we had little trouble in 
 getting rid of. And then we went to work with a gang 
 whose boss was called Weed, one of the nicest and most 
 kindly men I ever worked under. 
 
 However, what he first set me to do very nearly 
 finished me. I had to take a big unwieldy maul, or 
 mallet, and drive down boards into the mud and ooze 
 at one side of the ditch, as they were then cutting 
 through a kind of quicksand. The last week had not 
 made me very much stronger, as may be imagined, and 
 it was only sheer necessity which made me stick to it. 
 But I had to do something, and this was all that 
 seemed to offer itself. Next day was even worse, for I 
 had a big Irishman with me, and as we had to strike 
 one after the other, he made it as hard as he could by 
 working too fast. I had some difficulty in refraining 
 from making a mistake and striking him. However, 
 that evening I made a friend of Weed by offering to 
 splice the rope into the big bucket. This had been 
 done so execrably by another man that, when I turned 
 out a neat and creditable job, he made things as 
 pleasant as he could for me. 
 
 We were working with as rough and as mixed a 
 crowd as it has ever been my lot to come in contact 
 with. There were Americans from most of the various 
 States and Territories, there were some Englishmen, 
 and a promiscuous crew of Canadian and European 
 French, Germans, Swedes, Norwegians, Danes, Finns, 
 
 39 
 
The Western Avernus 
 
 Polanders, Austrians, Italians, and one or two 
 Mexicans. I didn't see a Turk, but I wouldn't like to 
 say there was none. 
 
 We slept in a big tent with about fifty men in it. 
 There were upper and lower bunks, each holding two 
 men. Ray and I secured a top one, and had for our 
 left-hand companions two Swedes, while on our right 
 was an Irishman and an American named Jack Dunn. 
 I do not know what State he was from. This man 
 was feared by every one in the tent. He was to all 
 appearance exceedingly powerful, and, when in a bad 
 temper, ferocious and ready to quarrel ' at the drop of 
 a hat,' as the American saying goes. At first he 
 seemed to dislike me, and made some remarks about 
 Englishmen in general which I declined in such 
 company to make any cause for a disturbance. In a 
 day or two, however, he distinguished me by honour- 
 ing me with his friendship, and we would talk for 
 hours while lying in our bunks, none of the rest 
 caring to object, even if they wanted to sleep. 
 
 He had not been two weeks out of jail when I saw 
 him, and he gave me accounts of how he got in and 
 how he got out. And both showed him to be a des- 
 perate man, and most uncommonly courageous. 
 
 It appeared he had been firing in a Mississippi steam- 
 boat, and while he was in the stokehold one of the 
 negroes came past him with a box and struck him on 
 
 the elbow. ' I cussed the black ,' said Jack, ' and 
 
 he answered me back. I never could stand sass from 
 a nigger, and I picked up a lump of coal and threw it 
 at him. He didn't give me any more talk. He died 
 
 40 
 
In St. Paul 
 
 by the time we made the next landing, and you bet I 
 just lighted out in the dark. They were after me, but 
 it was more than a month before they took me. So I 
 got eighteen months' hard labour for manslaughter. 
 I thought of escaping, but couldn't see a chance, and 
 had been there nine months when another chap escaped. 
 I was just mad to think that one man had the grit in 
 him to skip, while I lay in the thundering hole still, but 
 when it came out how he tried, I didn't care for that 
 way. You see his partner four days after told how it 
 was. He had crawled down a drain. The warder got to 
 hear of it and of course off he goes to the governor. The 
 governor just said, " If he went that way, he's in there 
 yet." For you see there was a grating or bars across 
 the drain 1 20 feet down it. Down they goes to see it, 
 and sure enough there was a mighty bad smell came 
 out there. 'Twould pretty nigh knock you down. The 
 governor he gets us all out and tells us this : " Now, 
 boys," sez he, " I want No. 20 out of there, and if I 
 break down to him it will take days and days, for it 's all 
 solid stone and concrete over where he is ; and, besides, 
 it will cost a pile o' money. Now, if there 's anybody 
 here with a sentence of less than two years, I '11 see that 
 he shall get half of the full term remitted, if he '11 go 
 down that pipe and fetch him out." 
 
 1 Well, we all just looked at each other ; some seemed 
 as if they 'd speak, some turned red and pale. I thought 
 my heart was a-bursting, I heard it go thump, thump. 
 At first I couldn't speak too, but I thought if another 
 chap speaks afore me I 'd just kill him as I did the 
 nigger. I holds up my hand, and when the governor 
 
 41 
 
The Western Avernus 
 
 looked at me I says in a kind of queer voice, as seemed 
 to belong to somebody else, " I'll do it, sir." The other 
 chaps looked at me. Mebbe they thought I was as 
 good as dead too. Some looked glad, as if I 'd kind o' 
 took the 'sponsibility off 'em. And how did I feel ? I 
 guess I felt all right in less than a minute. You see I 
 was tired of the stone walls, and I seemed to see the 
 river outside, and feel the wind coming right through 
 the solid jail, so I kind of freshened up. 
 
 1 Well, the boss he dismissed the other men, and him 
 and me and two or three of the warders goes down to 
 the pipe. I can't tell you just what size it was. It was 
 just big enough for me to squeeze into. There was a 
 coil of rope, about as thick as my thumb, and after 
 taking off all my clothes but a flannel shirt and drawers 
 and socks, I coils a yard or two round my shoulders, 
 catches hold with my hand, and got in, with the rope 
 tied round my heels so they could drag me and him out. 
 
 ' They told me I wasn't in more than twenty minutes. 
 Dunno. Seems to me I served nine months in there ; 
 the stink was just terrible, and the farther I got in the 
 worse it was. And breathing ! Jehosaphat ! I panted 
 like a tired dog, and I thought I would burst. Some- 
 times I seemed to kind o' swell up, and I couldn't move. 
 And then dark as it was, I seemed to see fire and 
 sparks, and my eyes were hot, and I thought they was 
 a-dropping out. One time I think I got insensible, but 
 I suppose I kept on crawlin', for the warder that paid 
 out the rope sez I never stopped till I got him. Oh yes, 
 I got him, after crawlin' through all the narrow drains 
 in America, drawin miles of rope that got so heavy and 
 
 42 
 
In St. Paul 
 
 hard to drag that every inch seemed the last I could go. 
 Christ, I wouldn't do it for the world again ! Before I 
 knew it I touched something cold and clammy with my 
 burning hands, and I shrunk up as if I'd touched a 
 jelly-fish swimming in muddy water. I got a hitch 
 over his heels, and they tightened up the rope ; as I 
 told 'em to do if I stopped and gave it a pull. And 
 I don't remember anything more till I found myself 
 outside in the air, with something lying near me covered 
 with a tarpaulin. The doctor was bending over me, 
 washing the blood off my face, for draggin' me out 
 insensible I got scratched in the face on the pipe-joints, 
 you see. I lay in the hospital two days, and every time 
 I went to sleep I dreamt I was in there with No. 20. 
 Then they let me out, and I came here. Good-night, 
 partner.' 
 
 There was also in the same tent a man named Gunn, 
 a very fine-looking young fellow, from Maine, who had 
 been three years in British Columbia, where, according 
 to his own account, he had earned a great deal of money 
 by making ' ties ' or sleepers for the Canadian Pacific 
 Railroad. This he had spent in seeing his friends. 
 And he was now trying to make a ' stake,' or a sum 
 sufficient to take him back there. We had a great deal 
 of conversation about that country, and I was infected 
 with the desire of seeing it. It used to seem to me in 
 England that it was almost the farthest place from 
 anywhere in the world, and this had some effect in 
 forming my plans, as I was too adventurous to remain 
 satisfied in such a well-known, near-at-hand spot as 
 Minnesota. 
 
 43 
 
The Western Avernus 
 
 I stayed at the works twelve days, during which time 
 I worked with the pick and shovel, rigged derricks, 
 spliced ropes, and mixed mortar for the bricklayers, 
 as the water was to run through a brick tunnel instead 
 of iron pipes, where the quicksand was. On one 
 occasion the man I was working with irritated me, and 
 I went over to Weed and asked him to give me my 
 ' time ' — i.e. to make up what time I had worked there 
 in order that I might get my money. He said, ' Oh, 
 nonsense, what 's the matter with you ? I think you 're 
 a little bad-tempered this morning. / don't want you 
 to go away, so go back to work.' I went back and 
 stayed four more days, but so anxious was I to get 
 away from such detestable work and companions that I 
 made all the overtime that I could. At last I worked 
 one day ten hours in the ditch, went to supper at six, 
 at seven came back, and with a little German for 
 partner, pumped all night till six in the morning, then 
 had breakfast, slept two and a half hours, worked from 
 9.30 till six in the evening, and after supper again went 
 out pumping till midnight. At a quarter to twelve I 
 lay down on a pile of loose bricks, as we were pumping 
 turn and turn about, and fell asleep. At midnight two 
 others came to relieve us, and it was with difficulty 
 they woke me up. 
 
 Next morning I got what money was coming to 
 me and went into town. Ray would not come, so 
 I shook hands with him, bidding him farewell. I 
 now had a new partner, who was not so much to my 
 mind as Ray, and of entirely different character. Pat 
 M'Cormick was an American Irishman who had lived 
 
 44 
 

 
 
In St. Paul 
 
 mostly in Michigan and Wisconsin, working in the 
 pine-woods and ' driving ' on the rivers. This driving 
 is taking the logs, which are sledded to the rivers from 
 where they are cut, down into the lakes, and is a 
 hazardous and laborious employment. The drivers 
 are wet for weeks together, and mostly up to their 
 middles in icy water ; they stand on the logs going 
 down rapids which would destroy a boat, they ease 
 them over the shoals, and break 'jams' that occur 
 when some logs get caught and those floating behind 
 them are stopped by them. Pat was a great drinker, 
 which unfortunately I did not find out till too late, 
 and besides, utterly reckless, though good-tempered to 
 an extreme when sober. 
 
 We walked into town, creating some little amuse- 
 ment in the more respectable streets by our appearance. 
 I had still my big-brimmed Texas hat on me, which 
 at the camp had earned me the title of ' Texas,' under 
 which sobriquet I went for many months, as it was 
 passed on from one acquaintance of mine to another. 
 Our boots were long knee-boots, and of course un- 
 cleaned, and our blankets looked as if we had just come 
 off the tramp. 
 
 We walked round a little, and presently came to an 
 employment office. Outside was a large notice : 
 
 CANADIAN PACIFIC RAILROAD 
 
 In British Columbia and the Rocky Mountains 
 
 iooo Labourers wanted at good wages. 
 ioo Tie-makers wanted by the day, or by the piece. 
 Steady work guaranteed for two years. 
 
 45 
 
The Western Avernus 
 
 Perhaps, if I had not spoken with Gunn at the 
 camp, I might have passed this by, but his eulogistic 
 account of British Columbia had made me rather 
 anxious to go there. Besides, the natural tendency 
 of every one seems to be to go west in America. In 
 Australia I had found it impossible to avoid getting 
 farther and farther into the heart of the country, and 
 it is possible that, if I had not made at last a deter- 
 mined effort to get back to Melbourne, I should in 
 time have come out at the Gulf of Carpentaria. Here 
 I had to go west, under the direction of destiny, 
 epitomised in Horace Greely's ' Go west, young man, 
 and grow up with the country.' 
 
 We went in, and found that the fee required was 
 8 J dols., or about 35s., for which we were to be carried 
 1600 miles through Canada to the Rocky Mountains. 
 As M'Cormick had insufficient money, I did for him 
 what Ray Kern had done for me in Chicago — paid the 
 extra amount, and, having bought provisions with the 
 balance of our money, we went off to spend the day 
 as best we could, for we were not to start till the 
 following morning. That night we crossed the river, 
 and finding a pile of hay in front of an unfinished 
 house we crawled into it and slept very well there. 
 Next morning we found ourselves on our way with 
 about one hundred companions, some of whom were in 
 various stages of intoxication, while others were in the 
 deepest dumps consequent on such a state. 
 
 46 
 
CHAPTER V 
 
 TO MANITOBA AND THE ROCKIES 
 
 It was the morning of August 7th that I left St. Paul. 
 With our last money, as I said, we had bought pro- 
 visions, which consisted of a couple of loaves, some 
 cheese, and a long sausage, with a few onions and two 
 or three green peppers. After buying this I had twenty- 
 five cents left. 
 
 All the 7th was consumed in running north from 
 St. Paul to the Canadian line, which from the Lake 
 of the Woods to the Gulf of Georgia follows the forty- 
 ninth parallel of latitude. After getting clear of the 
 Minnesota forests we ran into the Red River Valley, 
 which to the eye seems a perfectly level plain, green 
 and grassy, but absolutely treeless. At nightfall we 
 were at Glyndon, a few miles from the Dakota line 
 and Fargo. At midnight we passed the Dominion 
 line at St. Vincent and were in Manitoba, through 
 the whole extent of which the same character of the 
 country prevails as in Northern Minnesota. We 
 reached Winnipeg that morning, and I devoted an 
 hour to seeing what I could of the town, which seemed 
 to me to be an entirely execrable, flourishing and 
 detestable business town, flat and ugly and new. 
 The climate is said to be two months black flies, two 
 
 47 
 
The Western Avernus 
 
 months dust, and the remainder of the year mud and 
 snow. The temperature in winter goes down some- 
 times to sixty degrees below zero, which the inhabi- 
 tants will often tell you is not disagreeable ; ' if you 
 are well wrapped up, as the Polar bear said when he 
 practised his skating,' I thought. 
 
 My partner, M'Cormick, came to me a few minutes 
 before the train started and asked if I had any money. 
 
 ' What for ? ' said I. 
 
 Pat was ready with his answer. ' If you have, it 
 won't be any good after leaving here, and I want some 
 whisky.' 
 
 ' Well, Mac, if I give it you, you '11 get drunk.' 
 
 ' Drunk ! I never was drunk in my life. Come, 
 Texas, you may as well. What 's the good of money 
 if. you don't spend it?' 
 
 ' If I do,' I answered, ' you '11 repent it before long, 
 you bet your life ; and as to your never being drunk, 
 why, you 're drunk now.' And so he was, for some 
 of the others had been passing the bottle round freely. 
 But it wasn't any use trying to put him off, so, for 
 the sake of peace and quietness, I let him have the 
 last twenty-five cents I had, and he got a small flask 
 of whisky. 
 
 As I refused to drink any he drank most of it himself, 
 with the result that he began quarrelling with one of a 
 bridge-gang who boarded the train at Winnipeg. The 
 altercation would have been amusing if Mac hadn't 
 kept on appealing to me, trying to drag me into his 
 troubles. He called the bridgeman a very opprobrious 
 name, and for a moment there was great danger of a 
 
 48 
 
To Manitoba and the Rockies 
 
 ' rough house ' out of hand. Mac wanted him to get 
 off the train when it stopped to have it out, but the 
 other man, though not very peaceable by any means, 
 was not so drunk as my partner, and had sense enough 
 not to get left on the prairie for the sake of a fight. So 
 they sat opposite each other wrangling for hours, while 
 I expected their coming to blows every moment. 
 Presently Mac came over to me. 
 
 ' Texas, give me your six-shooter.' 
 
 ' I haven't got one.' 
 
 ' Oh yes, you have ; I know it 's in your blankets. I 
 want it.' 
 
 ' Well, Mac,' I said, getting a little mad, ' in the 
 blankets or not, you won't get it.' 
 
 Mac went off, muttering that I was a pretty partner 
 not to help him. Presently the bridgeman came over 
 and sat down by my side. He began with drunken 
 courtesy : 
 
 ' Sir, I thank you for not giving him your gun. 
 Perhaps you saved my life.' Then getting ferocious : 
 ' Not that I 'm scared of him.' Then a short silence, 
 and glaring fiercely at me : ' Nor of you either. I 've 
 seen cow-boys, bigger men than you, and with bigger 
 hats too, but they didn't tire me. No, they didn't tire 
 me any.' 
 
 ' That 's good, pard,' said I ; ' don't get tired on my 
 account. I 'm a quiet man, and don't often kill any- 
 body.' 
 
 He looked at me for a while, muttering, and got up 
 to go, saying, ' Oh no, he can't scare this chicken, bet 
 your life.' 
 
 D 49 
 
The Western Avernus 
 
 A great many kept taking me for a regular cow-boy 
 who had got out of his latitude, especially as Mac 
 would always call me Texas. And to illustrate the 
 absurd ideas so prevalent about the cow-boy, I may 
 mention that when we were about to approach Moose 
 Jaw, in the North-west Provinces, which are Prohibition 
 Territories where whisky is forbidden, I went into the 
 next car to ours for a drink of water. There was a 
 little boy, about ten years old, there with his father and 
 mother, and it is evident he had heard them speaking 
 about it being forbidden to introduce spirits into 
 Assiniboia and Alberta. So after he had taken a 
 furtive and somewhat awe-stricken look at my hat, 
 which, I am bound to say, was of extremely formidable 
 brim, with the leather gear on it so much affected by 
 Southern cow-boys, he turned to his father, saying, ' Pa, 
 if the police knew a cow-boy had whisky, do you think 
 they would search him ? ' Of course the little fellow 
 thought the hat a sure sign of a desperate character, 
 whose belt was certainly full of six-shooters and bowie- 
 knives, and whose mind ran on murder and scalping. 
 
 At Moose Jaw, where we remained for some few 
 minutes, there were a number of Cree Indians, bucks 
 and squaws, some of whom came begging to us. These 
 were the reddest, most bronzy Indians I ever saw. 
 They used, I believe, to be constantly at war with the 
 Blackfeet, who live nearer the Rockies. 
 
 I paid but very little attention to the scenery as we 
 passed through the North-west Provinces, though it is 
 not so wearisome as the Manitoban dead-levels, on 
 account of the prairie being somewhat rolling, with 
 
 50 
 
To Manitoba and the Rockies 
 
 numerous lakes upon it, the haunt of flocks of wild- 
 fowl. But the country is uninhabited. It seems to me 
 that we passed over nearly 600 miles of plain without 
 seeing a town or any habitation save a few small 
 houses of the section gangs. Of the millions of buffaloes 
 that used to be on these prairies there are no signs save 
 bones to be seen. In the United States they have 
 about 300 head in the Yellowstone Park, and it is said 
 there are a few on the Llano Estacado, or Staked 
 Plain, in Texas and New Mexico. Some exist, too, in 
 Northern Montana and Southern British Columbia, in 
 the most inaccessible ranges, for the process of hunting 
 selection has destroyed all on the prairie and given rise 
 to a mountain variety. I confess, for my own part, 
 that I have never seen one wild in all my wanderings. 
 
 At Gleichen we were told we could see the Rockies, 
 and I was so eager to get beyond the vile monotony of 
 the prairie that I had my head out of the window all 
 the while for hours before we got there. And I and 
 Mac were now rather in straits. Our food-supply gave 
 out after two days, and this was the middle of the 
 third. I had foolishly given a meal to a man who had 
 nothing with him at all, and we were now suffering 
 ourselves, staying our increasing appetites with tobacco. 
 It does not, I imagine, predispose one to revel in heroic 
 scenery for one's baser mechanism to go in pain and 
 hollowness ; but perhaps I had arrived at a stage of 
 ascetic ecstasy, for I hardly thought of such needs the 
 whole of that day, and was content in hunger until 
 night blinded my vision and brought my soaring spirit 
 back to its more material casing. 
 
 51 
 
The Western Avernus 
 
 At Gleichen I could just discern the first faint line 
 of the far Rocky Mountains, hung like a bodiless cloud 
 in the air over the level plain. As we ran farther west 
 it grew by slow gradations more and more distinct, 
 until at last the sharp, fine, jagged outline stood out 
 clear against the blue. Yet underneath that line was 
 nothing, not even the ghost of the huge solidity of 
 mountain walls. It was still thin, impalpable as faint 
 motionless smoke, yet by the steadfastness of peak and 
 pinnacle a recognised awful and threatening barrier. 
 
 We came to Calgary, a flourishing and well-known 
 town. Here numerous Blackfeet had their teepees, or 
 wigwams. I shook hands with two of this tribe, the 
 most noble of the Indians. Two tall old men they 
 were, one with smooth, tight skin and glittering eyes, 
 calm, steadfast, and majestic ; the other cut and carved 
 by a million wrinkles, but strong and upright, with a 
 kindly smile. Ye two of the Indians who pass away, I 
 salute you ! Vos morituros saluto ! 
 
 Before Calgary we had crossed the Bow River, swift 
 and blue, and heavenly and crystal, born of the moun- 
 tains and fresh from snowfield and glacier. As we left 
 the town we ran on the right bank, and being now 
 among the first of the lower hills which buttress up the 
 mountains from the plain, we went more slowly up 
 grade, looking down into the stream far below. The 
 sun was shining, the air clear and warm, the flowers 
 blooming on every earthy spot, and the grass yet green. 
 
 In a few hours we ran up to the real entrance of the 
 Bow Pass. Tired of straining my neck out of window, 
 I left the passenger-car and climbed upon one of the 
 
 52 
 
To Manitoba and the Rockies 
 
 freight-cars in front, and, spite of choking smoke, cinder 
 and ash, I kept my place till we ran into the heart of 
 the mountains and night as well, for I wished to be 
 alone with the hills. 
 
 It was the first time in my life that I had seen 
 mountains. I had been in Cumberland, it is true, and 
 seen Skiddaw ; I had climbed Cader Idris, and had 
 lain there for hours, watching the vast stretch of sea 
 and river and mountain ; I had been on the Devon hills 
 and on Derbyshire's peak. But these are not mountains 
 of snow and fire perpetual. They are, it may be, 
 haunted with ancient legend, but their newer garments 
 of story and fable have clothed their primaeval naked- 
 ness. We love them, but have no awe of them. They 
 have no divinity. But the untouched virgin peaks of 
 snow, the rocky pinnacles where eagles sun themselves 
 in swift and icy air, the dim and scented pine-woods, 
 the haunt of bears, the gorges of glaciers, and the 
 birthplace of rivers, these are sacred. 
 
 We are thousands of feet above the plain. Look 
 back, and look your last on the vast and hazy prairie 
 beneath you ! In a moment you shall have passed the 
 barrier and be among the hills, you shall be within the 
 labyrinth and maze. Here is a vast gorge, now broad 
 with sloping bastions of opposing fortresses on either 
 hand, now narrow with steepest walls and impending 
 rocks threatening the calm lakes that catch their 
 shadows and receive their reflections. Even as you 
 look do they not nod with possible thunderous ava- 
 lanche, or is it the play only of shadow from opposite 
 peak and pinnacle ? How these are cut and scarped to 
 
 53 
 
The Western Avernus 
 
 all conceivable fantasy of art and inconceivable majesty 
 of nature, how they are castled and upheld with arch 
 and bridge and flying buttress ! This is the aisle of 
 the Great Cathedral of the Gods ; this is the cave of 
 JEolus, the home of the hurricane ; this is the lofty spot 
 most beloved by the sunlight, for here come the first of 
 the day beams, and here they linger last on rosy snow 
 covering the rock whose massy base lies in the under 
 shadow. 
 
 I was in a land of phantasm, and the memory remains 
 with me as a broken dream of wonder. As I write I 
 catch from that past day shifting pictures, and, half seen, 
 one dissolves into the next, to give way in turn in the 
 kaleidoscope to some other symbol of the seen. For 
 memories of such a pageant as a man sees only once in 
 a lifetime are but as conventional signs and symbols 
 for the painting of the unpaintable, of the foam and 
 thunder of the stormy seas, of the golden sunset, of the 
 fleece of floating cloud. So we ran on into the night 
 and I slept, with eyes and imagination jaded, at the end 
 of our journey on the western slope of the Great Divide 
 of the Continent, where the waters flow towards the set 
 of sun. 
 
 It is almost as painful to me as I write to come back 
 again to the more solid facts of my journey as it was to 
 be hungry. The troubles we pass through vanish from 
 our memories and the pleasures remain, as the gold is 
 caught in the sluice-box while the earth and mud run 
 out in turbid rush of water. Now I love to think only of 
 the beauty I saw, and the pain drops away from me as I 
 dream my toils over again. But the pain was real then. 
 
 54 
 
To Manitoba and the Rockies 
 
 On the morning when we woke in the Rockies we 
 found ourselves at the end of the track. We had come 
 nearly as far as the rails were laid, and quite as far as 
 the passenger-cars were allowed to run. Round me I 
 saw the primaeval forest torn down, cut and hewed and 
 hacked, pine and cedar and hemlock. Here and there 
 lay piles of ties, and near them, closely stacked, thousands 
 of rails. The brute power of man's organised civilisation 
 had fought with Nature and had for the time vanquished 
 her. Here lay the trophies of the battle. 
 
 The morning was clear and glorious, the air chill and 
 keen, and through it one could see with marvellous 
 distinctness the farthest peaks and the slender pines 
 cresting the shoulders of the hills 3000 feet above us. 
 Before us stood the visible iron symbol of Power 
 Triumphant — the American locomotive. She was ready 
 to run a train of cars with stores of all kinds ten 
 miles farther on, and now her whistle screamed. Echo 
 after echo rang from the hills as the sound was thrown 
 from one to the other, from side to side in the close 
 valley, until it died like the horns of Elfland. We were 
 to go with her, and all clambered in. Some sat on the 
 top, some got in empty cars, with the side doors open. 
 I was in one with about twenty others. I sat down by 
 the door, opened my blankets and put them round me, 
 for the cold grew more intense as we moved through 
 the air, and watched the panorama. 
 
 By this time I was absolutely starving, as it was now 
 the third day since I had had a really satisfactory meal, 
 and from Calgary to the Summit Mac and I had eaten 
 nothing. So we were glad when our train stopped and 
 
 55 
 
The Western Avernus 
 
 let us alight. We were received by a man who acted 
 as a sort of agent for the company. He got us in group 
 and read over the list of names furnished him by the 
 conductor of the train, to which about a hundred 
 answered. He then told us we were to go much farther 
 down the pass, that we should have to walk about 
 forty miles, and that we could get breakfast where we 
 then were for twenty-five cents. It was about time to 
 speak, and, as nobody else did, although I well knew 
 there were dozens with no money in the crowd, I 
 stepped up and wanted to know what those were to do 
 who had no money, adding that I and my partner were 
 ' dead broke.' And after this open confession of mine 
 the rest opened their mouths too, until at last it appeared 
 that the moneyed members of the gang were in a 
 very small minority. Our friend agreed that we 
 couldn't be expected to go without food, and we had 
 our meals on the understanding that the cost was to 
 be deducted from our first pay. We had breakfast and 
 set out on our forty miles tramp down the Kicking 
 Horse Pass. 
 
 56 
 
[-1 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 
 THE KICKING HORSE PASS 
 
 I HAVE said there were about a hundred of us, and soon 
 we were all strung out in a long line, each man carrying 
 blankets and a valise, and some of us both. I had 
 had in earlier days much experience in travelling, and 
 took care not to overburden myself, as so many of the 
 others did, who were on their first tramp ; for the 
 ease with which it was made possible to leave the 
 crowded cities of the East, combined with the hard 
 times, had brought a miscellaneous throng of men to 
 British Columbia, many of whom had never worked in 
 the open air, but only in stores and shops, whilst there 
 were many who had never worked at all. It was quite 
 pitiful to see some little fellow, hardly more than a boy, 
 who had hitherto had his lines cast in pleasant places, 
 bearing the burden of two valises or portmanteaus, 
 doubtless filled with good store of clothes made by his 
 mother and sisters, while the sweat rolled off him as 
 he tramped along bent nearly double. Perhaps next to 
 him there would be some huge, raw-boned labourer 
 whose belongings were tied up in a red handkerchief 
 and suspended to a stick. I had a light pair of blankets 
 and a small valise, which Mac carried for me, as he had 
 nothing of his own. My blankets I made up into a loop 
 
 57 
 
The Western Averxus 
 
 through which I put my head, letting the upper part 
 rest on my left shoulder, the lower part fitting just 
 above my hips on the right side. This is by far the 
 most comfortable and easy way of carrying them, save 
 in very hot weather. 
 
 We tramped along, Mac and I, cheerfully enough, 
 very nearly at the tail of the whole gang, as we were in 
 no hurry, and were yet somewhat weak. Presently 
 Mac picked up with another companion, leaving me 
 free to look about me without answering his irresponsible 
 chatter or applauding his adventures in Wisconsin, 
 where it appears he had very nearly killed some one 
 for nothing at all while he was drunk, as usual when 
 not working. 
 
 I am fain to confess that my memories of the next 
 two days are so confused that, whether Tunnel Moun- 
 tains came before the Kicking Horse Lake or whether 
 it didn't, whether we crossed one, two, or three rivers 
 before we got to Porcupine Creek, whether it was one 
 mountain fire we saw, or two or more, I can hardly say 
 with any certainty. All was so new and wonderful 
 to me that one thing drove the other out of my head, 
 and when I think it was so while I was walking slowly, 
 I am lost in astonishment to see so many fluently 
 describe mountain passes they have traversed in the 
 train. I am afraid the guide-books must be a great aid 
 to them. 
 
 Tunnel Mountain was more like a gigantic cliff than 
 a mountain. One could see the vast rock run up 
 perpendicularly till it passed above the lower clouds. 
 High from where I stood, perhaps 3000 feet above me, 
 
 5S 
 
The Kicking Horse Pass 
 
 was a thin white line, which I was told was a glacier 
 300 feet thick. A thousand feet above us, small and 
 hard to be distinguished against the grey-brown rock, 
 were men working with ropes round them at a vein of 
 silver ore. How they had gained such a position I 
 cannot think, and how they maintained it, working with 
 chisel and mallet in the keen air and frost of that 
 elevation, is a greater puzzle. They must have looked 
 down and seen us crawling on the ground like ants. 
 The roar of the river, though at places it almost deafened 
 us, must have been like a bee's murmur, and when the 
 crash of a big blast hurled the rocks into the stream 
 the report would come to them as a distant smothered 
 roar. 
 
 The short tunnel ran through the outside of this cliff, 
 and, just beyond, a roaring tributary of the Kicking 
 Horse River made a bridge necessary. This was not 
 finished then, but it had to be crossed, for there was no 
 other way. It was sufficiently perilous. Along the 
 cross-pieces of the bridge lay the stringers, pieces of 
 timber 8 inches by 12 inches by 16 feet ; these were set 
 on their 8-inch side, two together on each side of the 
 bridge, each couple at varying distances, sometimes 
 close together and sometimes running so far apart one 
 could scarcely straddle them. And these were not 
 bolted down, but were loose and trembling. This was 
 the path across ! Had one fallen, nothing could save 
 him, especially if heavily burdened, for there were but 
 the large lower timbers to catch hold of, and underneath, 
 fifty feet below, sharp rocks and a roaring stream of 
 water. 
 
 59 
 
The Western Avernus 
 
 At one place we came to a river or large creek 
 running over a flat with a very swift current, but still 
 not boisterously or with any huge rocks in it. As the 
 road ran into it on one side and emerged on the other, 
 we could see it was fordable. But still no one seemed 
 to like the prospect of wading through a stream whose 
 current might be strong enough to carry a man off 
 his legs and the water of which was icy cold. One 
 by one the stragglers came up, until nearly our full 
 crowd was congregated on the river bank. We looked 
 for some wagons to come by, but could see none. At 
 last, after trying in vain to persuade some of the others 
 to venture in, I took off my trousers, boots, and socks, 
 and with these hung round my neck I waded into the 
 water. It was bitterly cold, especially as it was now a 
 warm day with pleasant air and sun, and the stream 
 washed against me so that I had to lean up against the 
 current. The others stood watching me, giving me an 
 occasional word of encouragement or a yell of delight 
 at my strange appearance. After a considerable struggle 
 I emerged on the farther bank in a red glow. But my 
 luck in another way was bad. Just as I got out a wagon 
 came round the corner to meet me, and in it was a 
 woman — about the only one we had seen since we had 
 left the summit or the end of the track. She burst into 
 laughter at the ridiculous cranelike figure I cut, standing 
 with my garments and long boots hung about me. I 
 turned and sat down in the grass and made myself 
 decent as soon as possible. In the meantime, much to 
 my disgust, some wagons came up and carried the other 
 men across. I had all my trouble for nothing, and my 
 
 60 
 
The Kicking Horse Pass 
 
 glorious example was lost on the crowd. After going 
 another couple of hundred yards we came again to a 
 wide stream, and this time I was myself carried over. 
 And then we had a long tramp along the verge of a big 
 mountain fire, which was crackling and smouldering 
 from the banks of the river to the mountain tops. 
 
 At nightfall, or rather just before it, we came to the 
 Porcupine Creek, another furious tributary of the main 
 river, and here we had supper at one of the railroad 
 camps. Afterwards we set about lighting fires for our 
 camping-ground, for we had but the shelter of the pines 
 that night. We dragged brush and sticks together, and 
 borrowing some axes from the camp we cut up some 
 of the trees that had been thrown down by the wind 
 in the winter or felled by the men who made ties. 
 Four fires soon lighted up our forest, and blue and 
 purple flames shot up, singeing the pines and sending 
 up sparks into the blackness overhead, where their 
 branches touched each other a hundred feet above. I 
 think those fires of mountain wood upon the mountain 
 always burn with far more beautiful colours than those 
 on plains and lowlands, for here only, in the heart of the 
 fire, can one see the fiery red, and over are blue and 
 purple interlacings and shootings of purest colour stand- 
 ing out against the dark background of balsam and 
 hemlock, while the curling smoke runs from violet to 
 grey and shadow. 
 
 For an hour some of us flitted about in the darkness 
 gathering in the firewood, and the rest lay down and 
 smoked, or propped themselves quietly against the tree 
 trunks, dreaming over the fire. It promised to be a 
 
 61 
 
The Western Avernus 
 
 chilly night. The crescent moon hung over a peak 
 of snow, faint and new ; but the stars were jubilant and 
 strong, like glittering sword-points in the deep trans- 
 parent sky. Already behind the trees, where the 
 shadows from the fires threw umbra and penumbra on 
 the grass, were varying degrees of silvery frost, glittering 
 brightly on the darkest umbral cone in the moonglow, 
 and in the lighter shadow only chilling and stiffening 
 the slender, infrequent grasses and the matted bundles 
 of sharp pine needles. Close at hand, on the border of 
 the pines, the creek ran over a bed of rounded boulders, 
 here and there broken by a higher rock that threw a jet 
 of foam in air. It ran rapidly and hurriedly by, with 
 its shriller song all but overpowered in the deep strong 
 bass of the distant river of roaring cataract. Beyond 
 the creek, in its own shadow, for the moon's peak of 
 silver snow showed above the barrier, was the sombre 
 forest, at first a wall of solid blackness but breaking 
 gradually with prolonged sight into lighter brush and 
 black trunks below, with grey shadows and hollows 
 over them, and above again lighter and lighter shades 
 which ran to slender twigs against the blue, with here 
 and there one star glittering through an oriel window 
 of branches. 
 
 I woke at midnight and found it sharp frost. The 
 fires had burnt to embers. Round about me in every 
 direction lay my companions sleeping, save one or two 
 unfortunates without blankets, who kept their backs 
 against the trunks of the pines and their heads and arms 
 upon their knees, crouching in a heap to retain what 
 heat they could in them, as they looked into the fires 
 
 62 
 
MOUNT BURGESS. EMERALD LAKE. 
 
 \toface p. 62. 
 
The Kicking Horse Pass 
 
 and wished for day. I walked out of the shadows of the 
 forest to the banks of the creek. The moon was sunk 
 deep below the sloping shoulders of her peak, and her 
 pale fires had died from the snow and ice. The stars 
 glittered more radiantly in a darker blue, and pine-wood 
 and mountain shadow melted into one upon the distant 
 slopes. Looking down the valley was vague darkness, 
 and when I walked a few yards from the rushing creek 
 I could hear plainly the wavering roar of the river 
 palpitating musically through the calm cold air. Save 
 that, there was no sound ; everything was sleeping ; and 
 when I turned away from the look of the red eyes of 
 fire that gleamed through the brush from our camping- 
 ground, I might fancy myself alone, with the voiceless 
 spirit of the mountains brooding over me, one with 
 the night. 
 
 But the romance of the time fell from me as I felt 
 the air more and more chilly, and I went to sleep again 
 with my commonplace partner Mac, whose ideal was, I 
 doubt not, a whisky bottle and nothing to do. 
 
 Next day another twenty miles through the great gap 
 torn in the forests for the right of way of the railroad. 
 The trees were hewed down, sawed and hacked in 
 pieces, and piled on either side, dragged by horses or 
 cattle. Cedar, white and red, fragrant balsam, dark 
 hemlock, the sheltering spruce — all the pride of the 
 forest — went down before axe and saw for man's triumph. 
 Grey and red squirrels came peeping to see what was 
 being done to their troubled homes, and the striped 
 chipmunks ran and darted here and there quicker than 
 birds. We left the broad track and took the road, 
 
 63 
 
The Western Avernus 
 
 narrow and dark. Here one wagon could travel, but 
 another could not pass it. It was a way hewn out of 
 the primaeval forest ; it was full of stumps and holes, 
 with pools of water here and there, and sloughs of mud 
 enough to engulf a horse. Ruts were a foot or two 
 deep. When a wagon met me I would climb on a log 
 or squeeze into the brush while it went plunging by, 
 threatening to drop to pieces with every shock, creaking 
 and complaining as for want of oil. Yet the loads were 
 not heavy, and the horses, for the most part, good and 
 well cared for. On this ' toat ' or freight-road the 
 wagons went east during one part of the day and west 
 during the other. 
 
 At noon on this second day we came to the ' Island,' 
 a kind of flat just above the river, and far below where 
 the track ran. The work here was of a severe character, 
 as they made a ' fill ' or embankment eighty feet high, I 
 should think, or possibly much more. We scrambled 
 down the end of this and went to get dinner at the 
 camp on the Island. Up to this time they had always 
 given us our meals in the tents with knives and forks 
 and plates, but here the cooks brought out a huge can 
 of soup, some potatoes, great lumps of boiled beef, 
 and a pile of plates and a bucket of knives and forks. 
 A chorus of growls rose up on all sides. A cry was 
 raised for our friend the agent, who came out to view 
 the scene. Some of us pointed out that, if we were 
 to pay for our meals, we expected to be treated in a 
 reasonable manner, and not like hogs. Some of the 
 ' boys ' said it was a regular ' hand out,' and that we 
 looked like a crowd of old ' bummers.' 
 
 64 
 
The Kicking Horse Pass 
 
 ' Bummers ' is American for beggars, and a ' hand out ' 
 is a portion of food handed out to a bummer or a tramp 
 at the door when he is not asked inside. The agent 
 looked as if he would like to say it was good enough 
 for us, but the crowd was too big, and too ugly in 
 temper, to play tricks with, and he temporised, calming 
 us down ; and finally, finding that we were not to be 
 appeased, said we need not pay for it, if we ate it or not. 
 We were hungry, however, and, finding it impossible to 
 get a spread, we had to make the best of it ; and soon 
 all of us were fighting for knives and plates and spoons 
 and soup. We sat round in groups, growling and eating 
 like a lot of bears. 
 
 After dinner we started out again, passing a railroad 
 camp every half-mile or so ; and now we began to leave 
 at each place some of our number, whenever any of the 
 contractors were in need of more men. Mac and I 
 were told with some others to stay at Ross and 
 M'Dermott's camps ; but when we got there, for some 
 reason or another we did not like the look of the place, 
 and concluded that we would take things into our own 
 hands and go farther on. After leaving this camp we 
 came to Robinson and Early's, and next to the large 
 camp at Corey's, where they were making a tunnel 
 through blue clay. This was called the Mud Tunnel. 
 We passed on a little farther, and came to a sub- 
 contractor's. At this point we met the agent, who had 
 gone ahead of us on horseback. He reined up and said : 
 
 ' Didn't I tell you fellows to stay at Ross and 
 M'Dermott's ? ' 
 
 ' Yes,' answered Mac. 
 
 E 65 
 
The Western Avernus 
 
 ' Well, why didn't you ? ' 
 
 ' Oh, we didn't care about that place.' 
 
 ' What do you want then ? If you go on any farther 
 I can't give you any more meals.' 
 
 I myself did not care about going any farther, and 
 said so. 
 
 1 Then you can work at Corey's if you like.' 
 
 I turned to Mac and said, ' Come, Mac, what 's the 
 good of fooling ; come with me.' 
 
 ' No back tracks, Texas. I '11 stay here.' 
 
 It was settled finally that he should stay and work 
 with the sub-contractor, and I went back to Corey's 
 with the agent. When I got there it was dark, and 
 supper was over. I had a little to eat, and slept that 
 night in one of the dining-tents, under the table, while 
 above me slept a New Brunswicker named Scott, who 
 was to be my greatest friend hereafter both in British 
 Columbia and California. He has often told me since 
 that my last words that night were : ' I go to sleep 
 to-night lulled to slumber by the music of the Kicking 
 Horse.' 
 
 66 
 
THE KICKING HORSE RIVER. 
 
 [to face p. 67. 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 
 THE RAILROAD CAMPS 
 
 OUR camp was right on the banks of the river, which 
 ran in a sharp curve round the base of the hill through 
 which the tunnel was being cut. The Kicking Horse 
 was furious as usual there, rushing at the rocks which 
 impeded its course and breaking about them in foam, 
 or leaping with a swing and a dive over the lower and 
 more rounded boulders. Beyond it, on the other bank, 
 was a thick wall of pine and fir, and overhead the vast 
 slope of mountain. Our side was decorated with a 
 medley of various-shaped tents, round and square and 
 oblong, so that it was difficult at night for a stranger to 
 avoid tripping himself up with the pegs and ropes, or 
 half strangling himself with the stays carried from the 
 ridge-poles to the trees growing about all the encamp- 
 ment. Besides the tents there were two large log-huts 
 or shanties, built out of half-squared timbers with the 
 bark only partly removed, and up a little slope, on the 
 other side of the road which ran through the camp, 
 stood a little log-house and kitchen for the accommo- 
 dation of some of the ' bosses ' and the head contractors. 
 Beyond this the hill ran up gradually into a maze of 
 fallen timber, with one little melancholy cleared space, 
 where a simple and rude grave held the body of an 
 
 67 
 
The Western Avernus 
 
 unknown and friendless man who had been killed some 
 short time before I came. And still farther on was the 
 summit of the low hill under which the tunnel was to 
 be, and above again mountain piled on mountain. 
 
 There must have been a hundred or more men 
 employed at this work, which was of a hazardous and 
 dangerous character. The hill was being attacked on 
 both sides at once, and at the west end, down stream, 
 the tunnel was advanced to some distance, but at the 
 east end, though there, too, the hole had been run into 
 the hill, the work was to do over again, owing to the 
 tunnel having ' caved ' in, in spite of the huge timbers. 
 The hill was composed of gravel on the top, then a 
 thick stratum of extremely tenacious blue clay, and 
 beneath that a bed of solid concrete which required 
 blasting. My new friend Scott and I went to work at 
 the east end with a large number of others. We had 
 to remove the immense mass of clay and gravel which 
 had come down when the ' cave ' had occurred, and to 
 cut back into the hill some distance until it appeared 
 solid enough for the new tunnel to be commenced. As 
 the cut into the hill was now very deep, we worked on 
 three ' benches.' The lowest and farthest out from the 
 crest of the hill attacked the clay at the bottom ; the 
 next, twenty or thirty feet above us, cut into the loose 
 gravel, taking it in barrows to each side ; and the 
 highest gang above that again wheeled away the sand 
 at the top and cleared out the stumps as they came to 
 them. The highest gang worked in comparative safety ; 
 the next in some peril, as they had to look out for the 
 rocks that might fall in their own bench and for those 
 
 68 
 
The Railroad Camps 
 
 from the upper bench as well ; but the lowest gang 
 were in danger of their lives all the time, as from 
 both benches above them came continually what rocks 
 escaped the vigilance of those working over their heads. 
 I worked here myself, and without any exaggeration 
 I can say I never felt safe, for every minute or so would 
 come the cry, ' Look out below ! ' or ' Stand from 
 under ! ' and a heavy stone or rock would come 
 thundering down the slope right among us. When I 
 had been working three days, a rock about a foot 
 through, weighing perhaps 80 lb., rolled over without 
 any one crying out till very late. It came down and 
 seemed to be about to drop right where I stood, so I 
 made a prodigious jump on the instant, without having 
 time to see where I was going, and struck my right 
 knee under the cap on the end of a wheelbarrow handle 
 just as the stone buried itself in the ground where I 
 had been standing. The pain was so intense that I 
 had to sit down for ten minutes or more, and when I 
 got up I found I could scarcely walk, as the swelling 
 was so great. It was with difficulty I got to the 
 camp, and for five days I was unable to work. There 
 was a doctor, paid I suppose by the company, who 
 came along on horseback at intervals, and he gave me 
 some liniment and told me to rest. During these days 
 I used to eat and sleep and read what I could get, 
 which was very little, so I was thrown back on my old 
 friend Sartor Resartus. Sometimes another man who 
 was too ill to work would come and talk with me, and at 
 times I would go to the banks of the river and watch 
 the stream as it ran past in such a fury and haste to 
 
 69 
 
The Western Avernus 
 
 get to the Columbia. I was not now lodged in the 
 tent, but in a curious kind of gipsy arrangement which 
 had been built by another man before I came. It was 
 made of hooped sticks set in the ground, and over these 
 were spread pieces of old canvas and a big uncured 
 bullock hide, which indeed served admirably to keep 
 out the rain, but stank most abominably when it was 
 hot. Here I used to lie, as it did not permit one to 
 stand or indeed to do much more than crawl into it, 
 and look out, having good vantage-ground to view both 
 the river and the road. At night I would make a fire, 
 and six or a dozen men would come round and spin 
 yarns, dry their clothes, and rake out embers for their 
 pipes. After a few days I felt well enough to make 
 an attempt at work, but was really unfit for it, and so 
 worked but a part of a day at a time till I felt all right. 
 We were paid two dollars and a quarter for ten hours, 
 and had to pay five dollars a week for board. They 
 did not make us pay for the lodging, as may be 
 imagined. 
 
 On the Sunday after I felt quite well, I and a young 
 Englishman, Tom, who shared my hide tent, went for a 
 climb. We walked a mile up the river, and turned off 
 the road up a creek which ran directly from between 
 two lofty peaks, both of which were above the line of 
 perpetual snow. We walked for a while on the side of 
 the creek, stumbling among fallen timber and brush, 
 until at last it was such a thicket on both sides that it 
 became impossible to advance a step, and we took to 
 the water, stumbling on the slippery stones, sometimes 
 getting into holes up to our knees. It was a steep 
 
 70 
 
The Railroad Camps 
 
 climb. After making our way up about a thousand 
 feet we came to an impossible-looking place. The 
 creek had cut deeply into a slatey bed, and the sides 
 were so steep and slippery that our first attempts were 
 unsuccessful. We tried to go round, but the tangle of 
 brush was so dense that it would have taken an hour's 
 work with the axe. Back we went to the foot of the 
 little fall, and by scrambling like cats we got up, 
 wondering how we were ever to get down. We still 
 went on, finding it grow steeper and steeper, until at 
 last it was almost like climbing up a cascade. I was in 
 a profuse perspiration, and was kept damp by the spray. 
 At last we came near to the top of the timber-line, 
 where the creek branched into three. On our left hand, 
 seen through the few trees, rose the loftiest peak, cut into 
 pinnacles and deep gorges, and in these lay the glaciers, 
 and on the rocky slopes was a thin covering of new 
 snow that had been rain in the valley beneath us. 
 Right from the highest peak to our feet ran a tre- 
 mendous slope of crumbling fragments of the mountain, 
 a ' rock slide ' 2000 feet high, while on each side was a 
 fringe of lessening pines and scrub that failed at last 
 from the bare rock, which left no foothold. In front 
 was another peak, and on the left another, both bare 
 save for glaciers, and glittering in the sun. 
 
 We turned and went back. My companion ran 
 much faster than I, for I was afraid of hurting my knee, 
 and found it more tender descending than ascending. 
 So in a few moments I was left alone, as he would not 
 wait. When I got to the difficult place I was puzzled. 
 Had I been quite well I could have managed it, but to 
 
 71 
 
The Western Avernus 
 
 make anything of a jump was impossible, and I could 
 not get down without jumping. 1 should have been in 
 a nice position if I had sprained my knee. I might 
 have been eaten by bears before Tom would have 
 thought of getting any one to look for me. So I sat 
 down and considered. There was lying in the middle 
 of the verge of the fall a pine, from which branch and 
 bark had long been stripped. Its lower extremity was 
 about sixty feet away beyond the rocky pool where the 
 water fell. The whole trunk was slimy and slippery 
 with green water moss, as the spray kept it always wet. 
 At first I did not think it possible to go down it, but 
 the more I looked at the way I had come up the more 
 feasible the tree seemed, until at last I concluded I must 
 try it, hit or miss. I waded into the water, straddled 
 my tree, and backed over the edge of the fall. The 
 spray flew up and nearly blinded me, and my slide was 
 such a slippery one that it took all the grip in my legs 
 to keep me from going down at breakneck speed. I 
 put the brakes on with my hands too, and gradually 
 crossed the boiling pool, until finally the trunk got too 
 big for me to hold on to, and I slid the last ten or 
 twenty feet with a rush that landed me on my back in 
 the shallow water. I had cleaned off the weed on the 
 tree, but I had to get a stick to scrape myself down 
 with. The rest of the walk home was easy after that. 
 
 Scott, whom I mentioned at the end of the last 
 chapter, had meantime been discharged by one of the 
 foremen, who considered he did not do enough work. 
 He went to work for Robinson and Early, who were 
 near at hand. It was now nearly time for me to go. 
 
 72 
 
THE EASIEST WAY DOWN. 
 
 [to/ace p. 72. 
 
The Railroad Camps 
 
 On this my last day at Corey's I was working on the 
 top bench with five or six others, who were some of the 
 laziest men I ever saw. The foreman was not with us 
 all the time, having to look after the men below, and 
 when he turned his back, down would go a wheelbarrow 
 and one would sit on it, while another would lie in the 
 gravel. So, perhaps, only two or three would be doing 
 anything. This day, however, as we were working 
 right at the top of the slope, grubbing out stumps, it 
 was impossible for all of them to hide at once. So 
 they made up for this by doing as little as they could 
 while pretending to do a great deal. I am not praising 
 myself when I assert that I was really doing more work 
 at that time than any one of the others, yet I was the 
 one picked out for censure by the same foreman who 
 discharged Scott. I was angry at this, of course, and 
 left work at 9.30, having worked a quarter of the day. 
 
 This camp was not a very nice one to work at. For 
 one thing, there were too many men, and it was so 
 broken up with day and night shifts that one never 
 knew where any one else was working, and scarcely 
 where he himself would work next day. Then the 
 accommodation was so bad, and the cooks so pressed 
 that they found it impossible to give the men their 
 ' pie.' This piece of daily pastry is a source of wonderful 
 content to many working men. Without it, let the 
 other food be ever so good, he feels he is being de- 
 frauded, and with it, though it be only of dried apple 
 and sodden paste, he will put up with no potatoes and 
 bad beef, or even none at times. However, just before 
 I left, the camp was split in two and two sets of 
 
 73 
 
The Western Avernus 
 
 cooks appointed, with the result that ours fairly gorged 
 his men with pie. Instead of the usual solitary quarter, 
 which one had to eye jealously or transfer at once to 
 his own custody from the rusty tin plate, to keep some 
 greedy man from getting two shares, whole pies were 
 at the disposal of every one, and there was great 
 gorging and contentment. 
 
 On the whole, I was not sorry to leave ; and that 
 afternoon I walked to Robinson and Early's, where 
 Scott was, and was told by Early I could come up 
 at once and go to work in the morning. So I packed 
 my blankets, and walked up that evening in the dark. 
 This camp was divided into two parts by the ' grade ' 
 or embankment where the rails would be laid. On 
 one side were the dinner and cook's tents, the store 
 tent, where one could get clothes and tobacco, the 
 bosses' tent, and a big composite log and canvas 
 building with bunks in it. On the other side were four 
 neat little log-huts. I walked along the ' dump ' or 
 grade till I came to a fire where four or five men were 
 sitting, and went down and joined them. Scott was 
 not there. I did not know any of these men, but, of 
 course, in a country such as this was, that would be no 
 obstacle to my joining in the conversation. I soon 
 found out that I should have to sleep in the big tent 
 with a crowd of Finns and Italians. They told me 
 that the ' grub ' was good, that the bosses were not 
 bad, though they made their men work hard. The 
 wages were the same as I had been getting at Corey's. 
 
 I took my blankets and camped on a pile of balsam 
 boughs in the lower bunks of the big tent. ' Bunk ' is 
 
 74 
 
The Railroad Camps 
 
 here but a euphemism for the ground, as bunk was 
 divided from bunk by a six-inch log, with the bark and 
 some of the smaller branches on, being nailed or tied 
 against the uprights which supported the top tier. I 
 made my bed in the dark and slept, covering my face 
 over to keep the dust and dirt off that dropped through 
 from the top bunk when the men in it gave a roll in 
 their sleep. 
 
 Next morning I went to work ' picking on a slope,' 
 that is, smoothing off the sides of the hill above the 
 grade, as one sees it done in England when going 
 through a railroad cutting. Scott was working near 
 the camp among the rocks, where blasting was going 
 on. 
 
 Surely the life I led for the next month was a strange 
 one. I was working in the same glorious mountain 
 scenery that had roused in me a fervour of artistic 
 appreciation that had resulted in a curious state of 
 forgetful ecstasy, blind and deaf to the actual around 
 me. But now, while working, I became mechanical 
 and base, the mountain opposite was painful, and I 
 longed for a change of scene, an hour with the plain 
 and prairie. Partly, no doubt, this change resulted from 
 the strain put upon my imagination by the perpetual 
 contemplation of the most magnificent scenery — a 
 state of mind of which Ruskin speaks in the Modem 
 Painters when writing of the psychological effects of 
 the various aspects of Nature — and partly from the 
 manual labour, in its physiological effect of robbing the 
 brain of the blood that ran to the active and strained 
 muscles of perpetual effort. Perhaps it was also partly 
 
The Western Avernus 
 
 owing to the mental analysis and introspection which 
 irksome toil forced me to, when I chanced to work 
 alone or in circumstances which compelled my com- 
 panions to silence. Long suffering from bodily ail- 
 ments in London had induced, as it were, a morbid 
 melancholy of mind, which remained even when the 
 troubles of indigestion and bile were partially removed 
 by the keen mountain air, and the sense of unfitness for 
 my surroundings threw me back, when alone, into the 
 morbid introspective lines of thought that had been my 
 pain and solace in the solitary times of indifferent 
 companionship at home. I would repeat to myself as 
 I worked snatches of our melancholy modern poetry 
 that I knew so well. The indictment of life in the 
 Lotus Eaters came before the Grand Jury of my 
 passions and desires, and I found it a true bill. I smiled 
 bitterly to myself to think of the gods, 'where they 
 smile in secret,' and as I laboured I sang softly : 
 
 ' Hateful is the dark blue sky, Vaulted o'er the dark blue sea ; 
 Death is the end of life. Ah, why Should life all labour be ? ' 
 
 Yet, with the strange contradictions of man's nature, 
 when I was with the others I was the merriest of all. 
 There were some six or seven of us, English or American, 
 who came together in one of the little log-huts, and we 
 sang our songs and chatted and joked round the pine- 
 wood fire that roared up the rude chimney, as if labour 
 were but a dream, or, if real, a delight. There was 
 Scott, little, with keen grey eyes, a reddish beard and 
 moustache, light brown hair over a broad forehead that 
 betokened untrained intellect, and a mouth which 
 
 ?6 
 
The Railroad Camps 
 
 showed much possibility of emotion. He was not, in 
 the ordinary sense of the term, educated, and was 
 indeed ignorant in many ways, but he had that desire 
 for knowledge which in so many goes further than 
 compulsory culture towards the attainment of mental 
 height. After him in my mind comes Davidson, a 
 Canadian also, a bricklayer by trade, but by no means 
 to be judged by the standard of an English artisan of 
 that grade. He had read a great deal in a desultory 
 way, and was a man of kindliness and keenness of 
 thought, though without possibility of culture such as 
 Scott possessed. Then comes Hank, a rude, rough 
 block of a man, uneducated, powerful, with sensual lips 
 and mouth and rough shock of hair. He played an 
 execrable fiddle most execrably, but his love for it and 
 tolerance and gentleness forced forgiveness from me, 
 even when the tortured strings drove me outside. 
 
 Another of our evening company was a pleasant 
 Canadian, who also played on the violin, not so badly 
 as Hank. He was somewhat melancholy, and I 
 thought at times that some woman was at the bottom 
 of his troubles. His name has slipped my memory, 
 but I think it was Mitchell. There was also a German, 
 Fritz, whom I shall speak of in the next chapter, as 
 he was my companion in the journey towards the coast. 
 
 We were a strange gathering at night-time, and not 
 without elements of the picturesque, I fancy, in our 
 strange interior of log-hut and its confused forms on 
 blocks of wood before the fire, which burnt brightly and 
 threw a glare on the darkness through the entrance, 
 that did not boast a door, but only a rude portiere of 
 
 77 
 
The Western Avernus 
 
 sewed sacks. We sang at times strange melancholy 
 unknown ditties of love in the forests, songs of Michigan 
 or Wisconsin, redolent of pine odour and sassafras, or 
 German Liede, for we were more cosmopolitan than a 
 crowd of Englishmen would be at home, and did not 
 insist only on what we could understand. I myself 
 often sang to them both English and German and 
 Italian songs, and it seems strange to me now to think 
 that those forests heard from me the strains of Mozart's 
 ' L'Addio,' sung doubtless out of time, as it was also out 
 of place perhaps, and the vigorous tune of ' La donna e 
 mobile.' But even songs like these were appreciated, 
 and often called for, with ' Tom Bowling ' or some other 
 English sea-songs. Then we would tell each other 
 stories or yarns, and I would repeat some of my travels 
 in Australia for them, or explain how large London 
 was, or tell those who had never seen the ocean stories 
 of my own and my brother's voyages, or those of the 
 great English sea-captains. 
 
 Such evenings came to be a recognised institution, 
 and if I felt melancholy or savage one or another of 
 these men would come to the little tent I now had all 
 to myself, and say they wanted me to settle for them 
 some point in dispute. For now, by virtue of my 
 education, which was apparent to them, they made me 
 ' Arbiter elegantiarum,' umpire and referee as to pro- 
 nunciation, and encyclopaedia, so that I was often hard 
 put to it by a dozen different questions, which only a 
 visit to a library could settle. I wrote for them a song 
 which was very much admired as the culmination of 
 genius. It was a song of the C. P. R., or Canadian 
 
 78 
 
The Railroad Camps 
 
 Pacific Railroad, and all I remember is the chorus, 
 which was — 
 
 For some of us are bums, for whom work has no charms, 
 And some of us are farmers, a- working for our farms, 
 But all are jolly fellows, who come from near and far, 
 To work up in the Rockies on the C. P. R. 
 
 From which specimen the reader will not estimate 
 my poetical powers so highly as the simple railroad 
 men. 
 
 Perhaps the most surprising incident to me during 
 the month I worked at this camp was the unlooked-for 
 appreciation of some lines which few ordinary educated 
 people at home really like, through lack of finer insight. 
 It happened one Sunday afternoon that Scott, David- 
 son, Hank, Mitchell, and I were in one of the 
 ' shacks,' or huts, and they were idly listening to me 
 while I was inveighing against the injustice in life, its 
 vanity and uselessness. Nobody but Scott was paying 
 much attention, as I thought, and turning to him I 
 repeated Rossetti's last sonnet in the House of Life, 
 the ' One Hope.' To my surprise Mitchell asked me to 
 say it again, and then made me copy out the first 
 quatrain : 
 
 ' When vain desire at last and vain regret 
 Go hand in hand to death, and all is vain, 
 What shall assuage the unforgotten pain, 
 And teach the unforgetful to forget ? ' 
 
 Surely it was a strange enough thing for Rossetti to 
 come to my memory in this beautiful desolation, but it 
 was stranger still that his sorrow should find an echo in 
 the heart of a poor labourer, to whom we so usually 
 
 79 
 
The Western Avernus 
 
 deny the power of real suffering, or the spirit of apprecia- 
 tion of subtle rhythms and obscurer imagery. 
 
 Often after that I spoke to this man, feeling that to 
 him had been given great power of suffering, or he 
 could never have understood. I believe if the poets 
 learn in suffering what they teach in song, that we also 
 must suffer greatly before we can learn of them. 
 
 Meanwhile, in the daytime there was the usual labour, 
 such as drilling holes in the rock to blast it with 
 powder, whose explosion sometimes threw the heavy 
 stones a hundred yards into the torrent of the foaming 
 river. We would dodge behind trees and get into 
 all sheltered places till the shot was fired, then come 
 out again and take away the debris, hammering the 
 larger blocks to pieces and shovelling up the smaller 
 into the carts. Then there were slopes to make smooth 
 and round rocks and stones to be picked up from 
 the borders of the Kicking Horse, to make a ' rip- 
 rap' or stone wall at the bottom of the embankment, 
 where the river would chafe it when swollen with melted 
 snow. It was often laborious and wearisome, and I 
 never looked at the scenery except, perhaps, when 
 clouds gathered overhead, and rain-mist crawled along 
 the ramparts of the hills, filling the valley, until a shower 
 would come upon us suddenly and as suddenly depart ; 
 for then, when the mountain wind rolled up cloud and 
 mist, the sun shone bright upon the hills above, dazzling 
 our eyes with a sheet of new snow that had fallen on us 
 below as rain. Or sometimes at evening, especially on 
 Sunday, which in our camp was an idle day, I would 
 walk up the grade to the turn of the river, and see, 
 
 80 
 
The Railroad Camps 
 
 perhaps, the most exquisite picture that remains in my 
 memory. At my feet ran the tumultuous current of the 
 river, swinging quickly with a loud murmur to my left, 
 covered with short crisp waves, with here and there a 
 hurrying swirl and breaking foam that declared a 
 hidden rock. It came towards me for three hundred 
 yards, it may be, showing a swift declivity from the 
 mass of argent foam as it turned the bend where stood 
 a knoll of noble pines. Across the stream from where 
 I sat were larch and pine on a spur shouldering rapidly 
 from the river to the mass of the main mountain. Its 
 side was cut away steeply by the wash of water, and 
 showed bands of coloured clay, and here and there was 
 a solitary tree marking its lofty line against the mass 
 of the hill, emphasising by its sombre foliage the red and 
 yellow ground against which it rose and from which it 
 sprang. And in front was the mountain itself rising 
 from a shadowy base, where the thick forest of green 
 marked its foot against the foam of the rapid, to loftier 
 height on height, whence the trees showed less and less, 
 until they were at last but a faint fringe and sparse 
 adornment of the line sharp against the sky, and higher 
 still a peak of solitary snow, rosy in the sunlight that 
 had left me in shadow for an hour. 
 
 If I walked but half a mile up the road I came upon 
 another beautiful sight, for there the valley pass was 
 broader, and had a long, almost level space, beyond 
 which was one of the queen peaks of the Rockies, whose 
 presence dominated many miles of the valley. 
 
 It was after one of these evenings spent alone with 
 the mountains that I had a long talk with my com- 
 F 81 
 
The Western Avernus 
 
 panions as to what they proposed to do. Some intended 
 staying on the railroad work until it was finished, and 
 some thought of leaving it soon, and making their way 
 into lower British Columbia over the intervening ranges 
 of mountains. This had been my intention since leaving 
 Corey's. It was quite impossible for me to stay at such 
 irksome labour much longer, and I had tried to obtain 
 what information I could as to the route. This was 
 very sparse. There were vague reports as to the 
 immense difficulties and dangers awaiting any one rash 
 enough to attempt it, and had I been very timid I 
 should have been scared into staying in the Rockies 
 for the winter. This I hated to think of, as the snow- 
 fall would be tremendous and the cold very severe at 
 that elevation and latitude. There were four possible 
 ways out. One was to go back through the North-west 
 Provinces and Manitoba. This could not be thought 
 of. For one thing, I hate going back at any time, and 
 in America ' Forward ' was always my motto. Another 
 objection was that one would have in all probability 
 to walk great part of a thousand miles to Winnipeg, as 
 it was reported that the train men had very strict orders 
 to let no one ' beat ' his way on the trains, and of course 
 I had insufficient money to pay my fare, even if I had 
 desired to do it. There was another exit from the 
 mountains which commended itself to my imagination 
 if not to my prudence. That was to make a raft and 
 go down the Columbia to Portland, Oregon, or rather 
 to Kalama, W.T., first, and then up the Willammette 
 to Portland. A German at Corey's had told me that 
 this was feasible. He swore that the Columbia was 
 
 82 
 
The Railroad Camps 
 
 ' smooth wie a looking-glass,' and that there was no 
 danger at all. Others, however, told me of the great 
 falls of the Columbia and the rapids, and asserted there 
 were so many terrible gorges and canons and whirl- 
 pools to be passed through that the river took a 
 Dantean and Infernal colour in my mind. And, worst 
 of all, it was utterly impossible to get a good map. So 
 this was laid aside as impracticable. The next way 
 was to go down to the Columbia and take the ' trail ' 
 to Sand Point, on the Northern Pacific Railroad in 
 Montana, a journey of 300 miles, which would take 
 from fifteen to twenty days and require one to pack a 
 large quantity of food on his back to provide for all 
 possible accidents and delays. The remaining route 
 was to follow the railroad line. This would lead me 
 to the Columbia, then over the Selkirk Range by 
 Roger's Pass, and over the Columbia again. As far as 
 I could gather we should then be in some kind of 
 civilisation. But this, as will be seen, was far from the 
 truth. The fact of the matter is that I could find no 
 one who had been the journey, and the reports about it 
 were so contradictory that in the Kicking Horse Pass 
 it was impossible to find out how far it was across the 
 Selkirk Range, whether it was 60 or 120 miles or 
 even more. Th~re was a halo of romance thrown over 
 the whole place west of us, and when we passed in 
 imagination the Columbia for the second time all 
 beyond was as truly conjectural as El Dorado or 
 Lyonesse. But this was the route I determined to 
 take at the end of September, when I proposed leaving 
 the camp. But my departure was hastened by the 
 . 83 
 
The Western Avernus 
 
 following circumstance. I and some Finns and another 
 Englishman had been set to work in a very wet and 
 nasty place, from which we had to run the dirt in 
 wheelbarrows over planks, and as the nature of the 
 place necessitated our getting wet none of us liked it. 
 About ten in the morning Robinson, one of the con- 
 tractors, came down to take a look at us, and while 
 standing on the bank spoke sharply to my English 
 companion, who answered him back with no less sharp- 
 ness. Next time he ran the barrow out it capsized. 
 He laughed, which infuriated Robinson, who ordered 
 him peremptorily to take his barrow out of the way. 
 The young fellow said, ' I don't have to, Mr. Robinson.' 
 This made Robinson worse. He jumped down, grabbed 
 hold of him, and, being a very powerful man, shook 
 him to and fro as a terrier shakes a rat, at the same 
 time threatening to strike him. This, however, he 
 refrained from doing, and finally he ordered him to go 
 to the camp and get his money. Of course this had 
 nothing to do with me, but still I did not care to work 
 for a man who had so little control over himself as the 
 contractor showed, fearing that I might myself have a 
 disturbance with him, which would end either in him 
 or me being disabled ; so when noon came I went and 
 got my time made up, and sold the order, which would 
 not be cashed for nearly a month, to Davidson, the 
 bricklayer. I went then to Fritz, the German, and 
 persuaded him to come with me. I should much have 
 preferred Scott or any of the others, but none would 
 leave the work for a while, though some of them had 
 it in their minds to go farther west before the snow 
 
 84 
 
The Railroad Camps 
 
 blockaded them in. So I rolled up my blankets and 
 found a nice tin-pot with a handle, which we should 
 call a 'billy' in Australia, and stole a cup and knife 
 and fork. The cook made us up some food in a 
 parcel, and with our blankets on our backs we set oft 
 down the road. As I passed the men sang out : 
 ' Good-bye, Texas, take care of yourself.' I shook 
 hands with my particular friends as I met them at 
 intervals on the mile of work taken by Robinson and 
 Early, and set off into the unknown country with 18 
 dols., or a little over £4. I saw my friend Scott the 
 last of all as we turned the corner. But we were to 
 meet again. 
 
 85 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 
 THE COLUMBIA CROSSING 
 
 Fritz and I passed through Corey's camp, as it lay in 
 our westward journey, and I was greeted, of course, by 
 some of my old companions, who asked me where . I 
 was bound for. When I told them we were going 
 across the Selkirks, many of them really seemed to 
 think I might as well jump into the Kicking Horse. 
 One said, 'Well, old man, if you really mean going 
 you must have lots of grit, but I '11 bet you a dollar you 
 will soon turn back.' I assured him that I was not 
 going to come back, and that I would die on the trail 
 first. We shook hands and parted. 
 
 From Corey's tunnel we had about fourteen miles to 
 traverse before coming to the Columbia Valley and 
 Golden City, which was at the mouth of the Kicking 
 Horse Pass. Our way lay along the main and only 
 road, first on the left and then on the right side of the 
 river going down. Beautiful as the upper part of the 
 pass is, I think that this last fourteen miles is in some 
 ways even more delightful. We went for some miles 
 by the side of the river, which foamed and thundered 
 over huge rocks, and rushed through narrow openings 
 to broaden out into foaming rapids. Then we began 
 to ascend, as it had been impossible to take the road 
 
 SO 
 
The Columbia Crossing 
 
 on a level without encountering the engineering diffi- 
 culties of tunnel and rock cut, which made the rail- 
 road in this lower pass so costly. We went up and up 
 the side of the hills, until at last we were probably a 
 thousand feet above the river and the railroad track. 
 Below us the stream was at times calm and blue and 
 then instantly torn and fretted into foam. The road 
 we were walking on was sufficiently wide for one 
 wagon, and there was scarcely at any one place more 
 than a foot or two to spare, and sometimes there was 
 so little room that I had to scramble up the hill out of 
 the way, or stand on the lower slope of crumbling stone, 
 while a vehicle passed. Sometimes I saw that a horse- 
 man had to turn back for a hundred yards or more 
 before he could make his way beyond the wagon ; 
 and the declivities were of such a steep character 
 that, had the brakes given way at many places, horses, 
 driver and wagon would have rolled a thousand feet 
 below. 
 
 At last we began to go down, and came finally in 
 sight of the valley of the Columbia. We could see the 
 Kicking Horse quietly making its way across the long 
 flat to the main river, and some miles away, under the 
 heights of the Selkirk Range, we could catch a glimpse 
 of the blue broad waters into which it ran. We turned 
 from the road, taking a footpath which led us steeply 
 down to Golden City. It was now evening. 
 
 Golden City is a beautiful and alluring name, but I 
 scarcely think that its most ardent supporter would 
 allow that it really deserved such an adjective. It con- 
 sisted, when I saw it, of some log-huts and a few tents. 
 
 87 
 
The Western Avernus 
 
 There were two or three stores, where goods of all kinds 
 were sold ; there were also several places in which 
 spirits could be obtained, I should imagine, if one could 
 judge by the amount of noise issuing from some of 
 the habitations. There was also a blacksmith's shop, 
 and a blacksmith who was fairly busy. It was at this 
 town we proposed to buy our provisions for the journey, 
 and here we made more inquiries in order to find out 
 how far it really was across the Selkirks. At the black- 
 smith's we found the very man to make them of, as he 
 was in the habit of going across the range sometimes, 
 and was now getting ready for another trip. He tried 
 to scare us into going with him, offering to take us for 
 10 dols. apiece, but finding that we meant going by 
 ourselves he gave us what advice he could, and told us 
 that the journey from Columbia to Columbia across the 
 Big Bend was not more than seventy-five miles, and 
 that we had yet to go eighteen miles to the north of 
 where we were then before we came to the first crossing 
 of the Columbia. 
 
 We went into a store and bought our provisions. Here 
 is the list : — 
 
 Flour, 
 
 . 10 lb. 
 
 Boston biscuit, . 
 
 • 5 lb- 
 
 Bacon, 
 
 • 6 ,, 
 
 Baking soda, 
 
 2 OZ 
 
 Tea, . 
 
 • ij „ 
 
 Prunes, 
 
 . 2 lb. 
 
 Hard biscuit, 
 
 ■ io „ 
 
 Butter, 
 
 • I » 
 
 Of course we paid extraordinary prices, but I have 
 lost my note of them. I think the bacon was twenty 
 pence a pound, and, in such a place, of course it was not 
 of very fine quality. For reasonably good tea we paid 
 3s. gd. a pound. 
 
 88 
 
The Columbia Crossing 
 
 We walked three miles north, and camped a few 
 yards above the road in a pine wood. Fritz, who was 
 the more active member of the two, did the cooking, 
 though I made and attended to the fire. I have 
 often noticed when travelling how one's companion 
 alters one's-self. In Iowa and Minnesota, when with 
 Ray Kern, I did everything and was most active. Now, 
 with Fritz, I was the lazy member of the firm. We, 
 however, did not do much cooking that night, beyond 
 making tea, for we had cooked provisions with us from 
 the camp. After supper I lay back against a pine, 
 smoking dreamily and looking out across the valley at 
 the great barrier of the Selkirks, which rose like a wall 
 beyond the river. In the advancing shadow of the 
 evening the lower hills were dark, for the sun was 
 setting behind them. In this darkness the black solidity 
 seemed perpendicular, but above, the indentations of 
 the valleys could be seen, and over these were the snow- 
 capped summits piled one on another. As far as one 
 could see on either hand this wall extended, and just 
 half-way from sunwhite crest to shadowy base hung long 
 white cloud-wreaths, motionless and sullen, just catching 
 on their upper sides a faint glow from the sunlight that 
 yet remained on the peaks. And as I lay the light 
 faded, the hills took deep violet and purple hues, and 
 they were deep and transparent as the darkest amethyst. 
 
 I think that hour I spent watching the changes of 
 light and shadow on those unchanging hills was the 
 most peaceful of all my life. There seemed then in 
 life nothing more of sorrow than gentle melancholy, 
 nothing more of passion than lives in kindliest memory, 
 
 39 
 
The Western Avernus 
 
 and no more pain at all. Then, if ever for one hour in 
 my restless life, I was at rest. 
 
 I slept that night the sleep of the righteous, on a spot 
 where the turf seemed soft and dry, from which I re- 
 moved the little sticks and branches of decaying wood 
 that dropped from the trees above me. The scent of 
 the pine-smoke of our dying fire mingled with the sweet 
 native odours of the place, making a pleasant incense 
 smell. In the morning I woke when the first grey dawn 
 was on the opposite hills, and as I rolled over and put 
 my head out of the blankets I saw a little red squirrel 
 sitting with his brush over his head gnawing a crust of 
 bread. It was, may be, his first taste of that civilisation 
 whose last word to such is shooting and skinning, or 
 a cage after blithe woodland freedom. Here and there 
 a bird or two chattered overhead or in the lower brush, 
 preparing for flight, and down the valley came sounds 
 of other life awakening — the neigh of a pack-pony or 
 the bray of a mule from the corrals of the Golden City. 
 From the river light wreaths of mist arose and gathered 
 with advancing day upon the hills, from whose crests the 
 rapid sunbeams ran to their bases, discovering the huge 
 gaps and gorges hidden from sight the evening before. 
 For it was day now, and time for breakfast. 
 
 Our simple meal over, and the embers of our relighted 
 fire extinguished or but smouldering, we made up our 
 burdens. It was decided that I should carry both sets 
 of blankets, which would weigh about 16 lb., and the 
 10 lb. of flour, and Fritz took the remaining provisions. 
 We were then almost equally burdened, each carrying 
 about 26 lb., which was no small handicap, considering 
 
 90 
 
The Columbia Crossing 
 
 the country we had to travel over. We both had plenty 
 of matches, and I, for additional precaution, took a 
 small medicine-bottle with me filled with lucifers and 
 tightly corked. I had experienced in Australia the 
 misery of camping out without a fire, and I had no 
 desire to make perhaps a week or ten days' journey on 
 raw bacon and flour if an accidental swim in a river 
 or a heavy fall of continuous rain should deprive us of 
 the power of making one. 
 
 Our way now ran north, still following the line of 
 railroad work, to where it was to cross the Columbia, 
 eighteen miles from the Golden City. The grading was 
 here of an easy character, as it was a low embankment 
 that could be made of the recent sands and clays of the 
 valley alluvium ; consequently it was let out in great 
 measure by contract to small parties of working men, 
 or ' station men,' as they are called, who were paid by 
 the piece and not by the day. The only difficulty here 
 was the number of little bridges that would have to be 
 built, owing to the swamps and back-washes from the 
 Columbia, for this part of the valley was absolutely flat. 
 For part of the time we walked along the road, and then 
 along the grade if it seemed easier and more direct. 
 About half-way to the Columbia, however, we found 
 ourselves in rather an awkward place. The grade 
 ceased abruptly on the edge of a deep sheet of water 
 that had previously run alongside of it, on our right 
 hand, between us and the road for a mile or more. It 
 was necessary either to get across or go back. We 
 searched for some time before we found a place that 
 seemed fordable, and that was rather doubtful. Hovv- 
 
 9i 
 
The Western Avernus 
 
 ever, anything seemed preferable to going back, and I 
 stripped myself nearly to a state of nature and waded 
 in, holding clothes and blankets and flour above my 
 head. At the deepest it was only breast high, so I 
 arrived without mishap at the other bank, and was 
 presently joined by Fritz. 
 
 Early in the afternoon we came to the Columbia 
 Crossing, where there was a rather lively canvas town, 
 consisting of numerous stores and saloons and gambling- 
 houses. We passed through it and went down to the 
 river, which was here of no great breadth, though strong 
 and deep. We were ferried over for twenty-five cents 
 apiece, and in a few minutes stood on the rude road in 
 the thick forest. We were at the foot of the Selkirks. 
 
 92 
 
^ 
 
CHAPTER IX 
 
 THE TRAIL ACROSS THE SELKIRKS 
 
 We were still on the wagon road, if road it can be 
 called, which was all stumps and rocks and hollows, 
 swampy and thick with mud. It ran steeply enough up 
 the mountain, through pine, balsam, hemlock and birch, 
 past a few railroad camps, for the first work on this side 
 of the river had been commenced some time. As we 
 walked we could hear below us the thunder of the 
 blasting, and could catch now and then sight of a 
 wreath of powder-smoke among the trees as it eddied 
 upwards. We came out at last, after a hard climb, to a 
 spot whence it was possible to get a view of the river 
 and Death Rapids. We were almost above it, and as 
 we looked down we could see the high walls of rock on 
 either side and the dark blue water before it broke. 
 This canon has some dangerous whirlpools in it, and I 
 was told of many accidents which occurred to men at- 
 tempting to raft it. Two young fellows on a raft were 
 drawn into a whirlpool, both were sucked under, one 
 never to reappear, while the other was thrown up 
 before he became insensible, and, grasping a floating 
 pine trunk, he was saved. Once the railroad men 
 were going to raft some dump cars down the 
 rapids ; the raft broke away from them and ran the 
 
 93 
 
The Western Avernus 
 
 gauntlet of the rocks, and was brought to shore eleven 
 miles below. 
 
 It was now getting towards nightfall, and it behoved 
 us to seek out a camping-ground. About three miles 
 from the river crossing we came to a sharp bend in the 
 road and a little gorge or canon, down which leapt a 
 creek that ran across the road and plunged into the 
 valley. We saw a little clear space of velvet lawn ten 
 yards from the road, and scrambling across a pool upon 
 a fallen tree, we laid our packs down and built a fire. 
 We were in absolute darkness in a few minutes, for 
 lofty rocks were round us and thick growth of pine and 
 brush above. The spray from the fall leapt almost to 
 where we made our beds, and the damp air and seclu- 
 sion gave good growth to the ferns about us. It was 
 with some trouble that we made a fire, as we had no 
 axe with us. We cooked some bacon, boiled some tea, 
 and with biscuit made a comfortable meal. Fritz's last 
 words to me that night were : ' If you wake early call 
 me ; I must steal an axe in the morning, for this is 
 our last chance of getting one, as far as I can see.' 
 
 I called him at early dawn : ' Fritz, how about that 
 axe ? ' And I turned over and went to sleep again. 
 When I awoke once more Fritz was making tea. I 
 asked if he had got the axe. He pointed to my side, 
 where it lay in the grass. He said : ' I went down this 
 creek till I came to the camp, but I couldn't see one, so 
 I walked right through to where they were working 
 and picked this one up. It is a good one, but wants 
 grinding. Now we must look for a grindstone.' 
 
 Of course I know the morality of this axe business 
 
 94 
 
The Trail across the Selkirks 
 
 seems rather questionable, but I lay all the responsi- 
 bility on Fritz. He suggested it, and he stole it. It 
 is true I had the benefit of it, but I couldn't help that. 
 
 We rolled up the blankets and set off" as soon as 
 possible. This day we passed the last contractors and 
 entered on the loneliest part of the road. At a surveyor's 
 camp we ground the axe and made it a useful weapon 
 — in fact, improved it so much that we considered now 
 that we had at least a part title to it. This day was 
 the last day of comfort for me. The inevitable hard- 
 ships of the journey I thought little of; but, un- 
 fortunately, my boots began to chafe me, and gradually 
 I wore a raw place on both heels, so that I walked 
 more than 130 miles, every moment in positive pain 
 and anguish. I have at times in England considered a 
 blister a thing intolerable, but when the blister gives 
 way to a raw bleeding place about the size of a florin I 
 think there is not much doubt that the former is prefer- 
 able. In the evening we came to the Beaver Creek 
 and crossed it, and following the road about a mile, 
 after having had a talk with the hunter who had his 
 camp at the crossing, we made ours under a thick 
 balsam tree, cutting down another small one to make 
 our bed of the branches. We were in tolerable loneli- 
 ness. While Fritz made the supper, I, still being lazy 
 partner, went to the banks of the creek and bathed my 
 sore and aching feet in the cool running water, watching 
 the sun set on the peaks by which the Beaver ran. We 
 had a fine supper that night. We had bought fifty 
 cents' worth from the cook of the last surveyor's camp 
 we had passed, and for our money we got biscuits, 
 
 95 
 
The Western Avernus 
 
 cakes, deermeat, bread, and some fruit pie. So we 
 made merry, and smoked the pipe of peace and content- 
 ment ; while I put away from me the thoughts of the 
 misery I should endure in the morning when I put re- 
 boots on again. 
 
 But the morning came, and the misery had to be 
 endured, although I put it off as long as possible, 
 walking round barefoot till we were nearly ready to 
 start. This is a bad plan, however, and in future I 
 washed my feet, dried them, warmed the boots at the 
 fire, and put them on the first thing. In this way they 
 get supple, and are not so harsh and hard when one 
 has to make a move. We started again, and walked 
 through the thick forest on a reasonably level road that 
 did not entail much climbing, until we came at last to 
 the road-maker's camp. Here we saw a party of 
 hunters, with black and grizzly bears' skins hung up, 
 and I began to think there were other dangers, perhaps, 
 to be encountered than those we had reckoned on. Our 
 chief fear had been lest we should run out of provisions, 
 not lest we ourselves should make provisions for a 
 hungry grizzly ; and we were badly armed, having 
 nothing but the axe and my bowie-knife. However, it 
 could not be helped ; it was to be done. 
 
 After walking a mile we came finally to the end of 
 the road, such as it was, and entered on the trail. 
 
 There were now three of us, for on this day at noon 
 we came upon a man camped in a little bark ' lean-to ' 
 all by himself. He was suffering from an access of 
 bile and blues, brought on by drinking heavily in 
 Columbia City, and had dragged himself so far with 
 
 96 
 
The Trail across the Selkirks 
 
 the greatest difficulty. When we came by he had been 
 there two days, and as it was time to make dinner, we 
 stayed with him and used his fire. We had a talk with 
 him, and finding him to all appearance a good possible 
 partner, we asked him to come with us. This he was 
 glad enough to do, as it was not by any means a nice 
 walk for a man by himself. His name was Bill. 
 
 The trail upon which we were now walking was a 
 narrow foot or bridle path cut years before through the 
 forest. It had received very little attention since it 
 was first made, and was blocked every now and again 
 by trees that had fallen either by natural decay or by 
 force of wind. At times it was full of large stones, 
 requiring some circumspection in walking to avoid 
 spraining one's ankle, or of masses of mud in which one 
 sank a foot deep. The brush, heavy with rain and dew, 
 dropped its moisture on us as we passed, and the 
 prickly devils' clubs made things unpleasant for us as 
 well. 
 
 At noon, or a little later, we passed through some 
 hundreds of yards of swamp, in which I had to walk 
 quickly and carefully to avoid getting ' bogged down,' 
 and, in spite of all my care, when half across it I fell 
 on my face and hands in the sticky mud, through my 
 foot getting caught in a slender branch of willow 
 trodden into it. I was a most melancholy-looking 
 object, and Bill and Fritz exploded with laughter at 
 my appearance, which was remarkable, no doubt, as on 
 arriving on firm ground I had to scrape myself down 
 with a knife and wash the mud out of my nose, ears, 
 and eyes at the first creek. 
 
 G 97 
 
The Western Avernus 
 
 Towards evening we were overtaken by a bright, 
 smart-looking young fellow, who was well dressed, 
 carrying an overcoat and no blankets. He was walking 
 rapidly, and would have passed us had it not been near 
 camping-time. After going a mile or two more, we 
 found a splendid place among a few trees in a fork of 
 the creek, along the banks of which the trail ran, and 
 right under a magnificent peak or crowd of peaks, 
 which crowned an almost perpendicular wall of rock 
 three or four thousand feet high. Under the trees we 
 found a few sheets of bark, leaning against a horizontal 
 supported by two sticks, which would serve us as a 
 shelter from any rain or dew. It was now getting a 
 little dusk. Fritz set to work making a fire, Bill and 
 our new friend sat talking, and I went down to the 
 creek with the flour and baking powder to make some 
 bread. It was necessary to get a mixing and kneading 
 place. I suppose a civilised cook would find some 
 trouble in bread-making under such circumstances, but 
 I was equal to the emergency, and mixed my dough in 
 the hollowed top of a rock, and kneaded it on another 
 fiat stone. By this time the fire was roaring, and I 
 soon found enough ashes to bake it in. In Australia, 
 under similar circumstances, we used to cut a square 
 piece of bark out of a tree and mix the bread on that. 
 
 We cooked some bacon, making neat frying-pans of 
 our tin plates, having cut sticks that were slightly bent 
 at one end, which we split to insert the edges of the 
 plates ; and we boiled the tea as usual. Fritz and I at 
 Golden City had had an argument as to whether it was 
 best to take tea or coffee. He wanted coffee and I tea. 
 
 98 
 
The Trail across the Selkirks 
 
 He had not travelled so much as I had, and I knew 
 from my life in the Australian bush that tea was the 
 best drink in the world when one was roughing it. It 
 was not long before Fritz acknowledged I was right, 
 and he was as eager as I to light the fire and ' boil the 
 billy ' whenever we stopped during the day. 
 
 That night was the last of pleasant times, and it was 
 the best. On the morrow my sufferings were to com- 
 mence in earnest. But here everything was delightful 
 — the well-situated camp, the shelter, the trees, water 
 brawling on either side ; on the left the enormous wall 
 of mountain with old glaciers here and there, and drifts 
 of ancient snow, and snow bridges, under which ran the 
 decreasing waters of approaching winter ; on the right 
 three sister peaks of lofty snow, and beneath them and 
 all around the quiet yet murmuring forest. So we sat 
 about the roaring camp fire, on which we piled all 
 available logs, smoking and chatting and joking until 
 the blaze shone its brightest in the full darkness of 
 night, and threw faint shadows and glows across the 
 creeks into the forest on one side and the mountain on 
 the other. Our new friend was a curious individual, 
 who told us a number of stories calculated to make us 
 respect his personal courage if they were true, and his 
 powers of invention if they were false. For my part, I 
 preserved my usual attitude in such cases — I believed 
 as much as I could, rejecting the rest. In this way I 
 obtain much more enjoyment from yarns than the cold, 
 incredulous critic. My own opinion is that he was now 
 in a hurry to get to a place where he was unknown. I 
 fancied that the police on the railroad line might have 
 
 99 
 
The Western Avernus 
 
 a fancy to interview him. If I am wrong, I beg his 
 pardon, for he afforded me much entertainment by one 
 story, the point of which consisted in his luck in stealing 
 ten horses in succession, at each fresh capture leaving 
 the horse he had wearied out as an exchange, without 
 being captured until in the act of taking the tenth, 
 when he was compelled to surrender to a loaded gun 
 held by a man who turned out to be his brother-in-law ! 
 This story and another one about his throwing a British 
 Columbia sheriff into the Fraser River, how he was 
 captured, sentenced, imprisoned, and how he escaped, 
 kept us well amused until it was time to turn in. 
 
 In the morning, after breakfast, he left us, as he 
 could walk much faster than we, owing to his being 
 unencumbered with blankets and much food. So we 
 bade him farewell. This day we came across a splendid 
 patch of huckleberries and blueberries, and putting our 
 blankets down, we all three ate solidly for about an 
 hour. These huckleberries are, in my opinion, the 
 nicest wild fruit I have ever tasted, and bears are of 
 the same opinion, being extremely fond of them. 
 
 My feet were now in a horrible condition, and the 
 pain every step caused me was exquisite. I picked up 
 a pair of boots that had been thrown away, and tried to 
 wear them, but found them even worse than my own. 
 It was impossible to walk barefoot in such a country, 
 or I would have tried it. It was simply a case for 
 endurance, and I had to support myself with the know- 
 ledge that it could not last for ever. This day we 
 passed the summit or highest point in the pass, which 
 was a meadow of natural grass, and rather swampy. 
 
 ioo 
 
The Trail across the Selkirks 
 
 Just after passing it, and coming to the streams that 
 ran west, we found a poor pack-pony lying in a swamp 
 unable to get up. He had been left behind as useless, 
 I suppose ; but it seemed a cruelty to let him die of 
 starvation, so we pulled him out and put him on his 
 feet, hoping he would manage to pick up a living. It 
 was no infrequent thing now for us to find these ponies 
 dead alongside the trail ; and if what we heard was true, 
 one at least had been the means of saving the lives 
 of some men who had attempted to cross the trail 
 with insufficient provisions, for they had eaten part 
 of it. 
 
 As I stumbled painfully along the trail, now the last 
 of the three who was wont to be first, I overtook an old 
 blear-eyed individual carrying an enormous pack nearly 
 as big as himself. He was short and thick, with boots 
 up to his hips, and a cap down to his eyes. In his boot 
 he carried a knife, and in his belt an old muzzle-loading 
 revolver. His weather-beaten and hairy countenance 
 was devoid of joy or sorrow, and it seemed to me that 
 his mind was a trifle weak. He camped with us that 
 night. 
 
 It had been raining since the early morning, and we 
 were sufficiently wet and miserable. If my feet had 
 been sound, such a trifle as rain would never have 
 disturbed me ; but when one is in positive anguish, a 
 little additional discomfort is sometimes the last straw. 
 If it had been dry, it would have been of no consequence 
 where we camped, provided only that there were wood 
 and water, and there are few places where there is not 
 enough of one and too much of the other in this 
 
 IOI 
 
The Western Avernus 
 
 mountain range. But as it was raining, it was positively 
 necessary to find some shelter, and we walked for an 
 hour after dark, stumbling and cursing, looking for a 
 good tree. At last, just when we were about to give 
 up and camp anywhere, rain or no rain, we came on a 
 delightfully thick spruce fir close to the trail. This 
 tree is perhaps the best shelter-tree in the world. In 
 appearance it is something like a lofty pagoda, and the 
 thick needles and downward slope of the branches 
 throw off all rain, even if it be wet for weeks. We 
 put our blankets underneath, cut off some of the lower 
 branches of it, and were in a dry circular tent, with 
 a big pole in the middle to be sure, but a plentiful soft 
 bed of generations of soft shed needles. Outside we 
 soon had a roaring fire, throwing a red light into the 
 murky air, and diffusing a pleasant warmth on all 
 around, though the heavy rain quenched the outer 
 embers and caught the floating sparks before they 
 could rise a yard from the blaze. 
 
 I slept magnificently that night, 'forgetting my 
 miseries, and remembering my sorrows no more.' But 
 in the morning we had an unpleasant surprise. It 
 seemed very bright when I opened my eyes, although 
 I knew it must be still early by my sleepy sensations, 
 and when I looked round I found it had been snowing 
 heavily during the night, with the result that there were 
 six inches of snow on the ground. The trail was 
 covered by it, and it seemed as if we were in for a 
 detention. However, it thawed rapidly, and most 
 quickly on the bare trail, so that we were able to find 
 our way with but little difficulty. 
 
 I02 
 
The Trail across the Selkirks 
 
 We were, as I have said, now well on the western 
 slope, but instead of there being less climbing, there 
 was more. The path ran up one side of a mountain 
 and plunged down again on the other, and this was 
 the way with it all that day. The rain again com- 
 menced to fall, and the snow dropped from the trees 
 on my head and down my neck, so that I was wet 
 through in half an hour, and yet perspiring, toiling up 
 the steep slopes. And while going up my heels were 
 torture to me, and when going down my boots, being 
 now thoroughly wet, gave me blisters on the toes. The 
 trail, too, was at times almost impassable for wind- 
 fallen trees, as it is no light thing, when one is wet, 
 weary, and heavily burdened, to climb over a dozen 
 trees, three feet through, every hundred yards. And 
 now, to add to our troubles, we came to a river which 
 had to be crossed — the Illecilliwet. If we had come 
 there a day or two before, it might have been possible 
 to wade it ; but now, swollen with two days' rain and 
 melted snow, on the side nearest to us it was five or 
 six feet deep, and the current running eight or ten 
 miles an hour made it impossible to attempt it. The 
 only thing to be done was to fell a lofty tree and to 
 trust to its lodging in the shallow water on the other 
 side, so that we could go over it as a bridge. We put 
 our burdens down, and selecting a tree, felled it in 
 about three-quarters of an hour. It fell with a tre- 
 mendous splash into the river, and we raised a shout 
 of joy, seeing that it reached well across. But, alas ! 
 our joy was short-lived. Before we could get on to it, 
 the rapid current took hold of it, and slowly first, and 
 
 103 
 
The Western Avernus 
 
 then more quickly, it swung right down stream and lay 
 along the bank on which we stood. There was nothing 
 to do but to fell another. This time we selected a 
 loftier red pine, and in another hour it crashed into the 
 water, with its slender top lying on the dry stones of 
 the farther side. I seized my blankets and the axe and 
 ran out on the tree, and after me came Bill and Fritz. 
 I scrambled through the branches half-way across, with 
 them close behind me, and then slowly, but surely, the 
 tree began to move and swing. I scrambled a yard or 
 two more on the trunk, that was here in the water, and 
 then made a jump into the stream on the upper side, 
 the water coming over my long boots. It was icy cold, 
 and it ran so strongly that it was impossible to go 
 straight across, so I was forced to go down stream, with 
 difficulty preserving my balance on the boulders of the 
 river bed. As I got ashore, with Bill and Fritz a 
 moment later, the stream took possession of our bridge 
 and swung it alongside the first tree. We had got 
 over, and that was all. 
 
 We had left the old man behind, and I don't know 
 how he got across, although I know he managed it, as 
 I heard of him afterwards in Lower British Columbia. 
 I met some time after this a man who, recognising him 
 from my description, told me that he was known as 
 ' the man-eater,' through his having eaten part of his 
 companion, who, having been caught in the snow with 
 him on the eastern slope of the Selkirks, had died from 
 starvation and exposure. 
 
 We camped, soon after crossing this river, in a 
 gloomy cedar forest. This is the worst shelter-tree in 
 
 104 
 
The Trail across the Selkirks 
 
 existence, I believe. Its scanty foliage and infrequent 
 boughs make it little better than nothing at all, and 
 indeed sometimes worse, as one may select uncon- 
 sciously a spot to camp in where the branches deliver 
 a concentrated stream of water and allow the rain to 
 come in as well. But we found here another little 
 bark lean-to, and of course stayed there, as we were all 
 tired out, although we had scarcely done ten miles the 
 whole of the day. We soon had a good fire lighted, 
 and began our cooking. Bill and I suggested pancakes, 
 so I mixed up a lot of batter in the cups, and, having 
 cut handles for our frying-pans, we began cooking. 
 Now, my notion of a pancake was, and is, that it 
 should be large and thick and puffy, but Bill thought 
 they should be small, thin, and brown. Consequently, 
 when I had my first one well under way, Bill said, 
 ' What do you call that ? ' This was very contemptu- 
 ously. I was nettled. 'Why, a pancake. What do 
 you call it ? ' ' Oh, I call it a pudding. You wait till 
 I get my pan fixed, I'll show you what a pancake is.' 
 When he had his first one nearly done, I said, ' Bill, 
 what 's that you 're cooking ? ' ' Why, a pancake. 
 D — n it, can't you see ? ' ' That 's not a pancake, that 's 
 a miserable little hotcake. It's only a wafer. These 
 are pancakes, Bill ; see them, something to eat' Bill 
 nearly dropped his in the fire. ' Don't you think I 
 know what a pancake is ? I 've made 'em all over 
 America ; and you — why, you 're only an Englishman ; 
 what do you know, anyhow ? ' ' That 's your ignor- 
 ance,' said I ; ' I 've cooked them in England, in 
 Australia, in the States, and now I 'm cooking them on 
 
 105 
 
The Western Avernus 
 
 the Selkirk Trail. You 're only an American. Why 
 don't you travel and learn something ? ' Bill got per- 
 fectly furious, and if I had chaffed him any more, it 
 would have ended in a fight over those miserable cakes. 
 ' Well, well, Bill, call yours pancakes. They are pan- 
 cakes, Bill ; mine are only flapjacks.' Then there was 
 peace in the camp, and the mollified Bill condescended 
 to eat a flapjack and say it was good, while I took one 
 of his, saying it was the best hotcake — no ! pancake — 
 I had ever eaten. 
 
 So we smoked the pipe of peace and lay down, while 
 the rain came through the cracks above us, and the 
 melancholy wind howled among the dark and gloomy 
 cedars. 
 
 During the night the snow again fell, covering the 
 ground to the depth of four or five inches, and making 
 us as uncomfortable as three poor tramps could be. 
 Still even so, I was able, in spite of the pain and incon- 
 venience I suffered, to observe, in the bright sunshine 
 that happily broke through and mastered the clouds, 
 the beautiful effects of the snow on the near and far 
 landscape. On the long arms of the cedars lay bright 
 patches of snow, and bush and fallen trunks, and jagged 
 stumps, whence the wind had smitten the top of branch 
 and foliage, had their adornment. And in the distance, 
 on the slopes and shoulders of the hills, the snow on 
 the green forest showed thicker and more and more 
 yet as the eye passed upward, until the green gave 
 way in the overpowering mass of white on the laden 
 limbs, frozen- fast in the lofty height, and then the snow 
 of the forest joined the snow on the untimbered slopes, 
 
 1 06 
 
^ 
 
The Trail across the Selkirks 
 
 running at last into the never-failing frost of the peaks 
 of the range. 
 
 It was well I could look at so much, for, indeed, 
 underfoot things were not so pleasant, and rock and 
 mud and morass made it almost impossible walking ; 
 and when, on one occasion, we came to a roaring creek 
 which had to be crossed on a fallen tree, I nearly put 
 a sudden end to my adventures by slipping on the 
 round wet trunk, although I was fortunate enough to 
 recover my balance. That night we camped again in 
 a cedar forest in a sharp rain, which had come upon us 
 suddenly in the late afternoon. 
 
 In the morning, when we came out of our damp 
 shelter into the wet grass and brush, we found that it 
 had ceased raining, though the water still dropped 
 from the heavy branches as they swayed in the wind, 
 and there was some blue sky to be seen among the 
 white clouds above the mountain-tops. This day was 
 a repetition of the yesterday, tramping and climbing, 
 getting wet in the brush and drying again in the open, 
 when we came to a clear space below some mountain 
 peak which had been cleared of brush and timber, 
 from summit to base, by a gigantic avalanche or snow 
 slide. Below us at times we could see a confused 
 and hideous pile of jagged tree-trunks — fir, pine, cedar, 
 balsam, spruce, and hemlock — piled one above the 
 other, and mixed with rocks and earth, in utter and 
 violent confusion ; while, looking up, we could see the 
 ice and snow above the way cleared through the 
 standing forest. 
 
 My own condition was, of course, no better, for 
 
 107 
 
The Western Avernus 
 
 nothing but rest could do my feet any good, and under 
 the circumstances rest was impossible, so I had to plod 
 along, trying to be as Mark Tapleyish as might be, 
 though I confess I doubt even his serenity in such a 
 state of things. But my burden was now growing 
 lighter, for the food was rapidly diminishing, and we 
 knew we could not be very far from the second cross- 
 ing of the Columbia. 
 
 Since we had crossed the Illecilliwet river we had 
 been on its left bank going down ; that is, we had been 
 somewhere to the left of it, though how far we did not 
 know. I fancy we were close to it on one occasion, for 
 this day we came to a narrow gorge or canon, and on 
 crawling to the edge and looking down I saw a furious 
 stream at the bottom hundreds of feet beneath me. 
 But we knew that we had to cross this river again 
 before we reached the Columbia, and we speculated 
 anxiously as to how it was to be crossed, whether by 
 raft or swimming, for there was very little likelihood of 
 its being fordable at the second crossing if we could 
 not ford it at the first. But our doubts were solved 
 about noon, when, turning sharply round a turn in the 
 trail, we came upon a broad and rapid stream. We did 
 not know whether this was our river or not, but follow- 
 ing the trail for a while, we heard the ring of an axe at 
 some distance. There was evidently a man there- 
 abouts, and we should be able to make some inquiries. 
 A little farther along the trail we came to a small 
 clearing, and the first logs of a log-cabin. Under a 
 tree was a rude table, made of a slab of split pine on 
 stakes driven into the ground. There was a log-bench 
 
 10S 
 
The Trail across the Selkirks 
 
 permanently fixed, so that one could sit down. Under 
 another tree was a smouldering fire with a camp oven 
 or skillet, a kettle, and some dirty pans lying in the 
 mud and ashes. Near at hand was a little tent with 
 blankets and a small pile of provisions, flour and 
 biscuit, with some bacon lying on the flour sack. On 
 a big tree close to the trail was this notice : — 
 
 ' ILLECILLIWET RESTAURANT. 
 
 Meals at all hours.' 1 
 
 This was then the Second Crossing, and looking 
 round, we could see where the trail ended abruptly in 
 the river. 
 
 Presently the sound of the axe ceased, and a man 
 dressed in long boots, blue trousers of dungaree, with a 
 broad-brimmed hat, came out of the forest. He was 
 brown and bearded and unkempt. His hands were 
 brown, hard, and exceedingly dirty, his face the same. 
 We saluted him in a friendly manner, and he gave us 
 separately a ' Morning, pard ; on the trail, eh ? ' Then 
 he asked us whether we wanted meals, stating that his 
 prices were 75 cents a meal ; that is, in English money, 
 3 j. \\d. Fritz and I declined to eat at such terms ; but 
 Bill, who had more money than the two of us put 
 together, thought he would have something to eat with- 
 out cooking it himself, and our new acquaintance 
 prepared him some bacon, boiled some villainous coffee, 
 and heated him up a mass of greasy-looking beans. The 
 bread was certainly solid and satisfying, judging solely 
 from appearances. While the process of preparation was 
 being gone through with deliberation, we asked him how 
 
 109 
 
The Western Avernus 
 
 we were to get over the river, and were told that he had 
 a boat and would take us across for fifty cents each. In 
 order that we might not attempt to raft it, he gave us 
 an account of how three or four men had fared before 
 he came there. They had, it appears, made a raft on 
 which they put their blankets and saddles, previously 
 making their ponies swim across, and when it was in 
 mid stream the raft capsized. With difficulty they 
 escaped with their lives, and their money, to the amount 
 of about 600 dols., which they had carelessly left in 
 their baggage, was lost. 
 
 After Bill had finished eating, we went down to view 
 the boat. This was an extraordinary structure, made 
 of unpainted fir boards an inch thick. It was shaped 
 like a punt, fiat-bowed and fiat-sterned, and looked as 
 crazy and cranky a craft as could well be imagined for 
 crossing a rapid and turbulent mountain river. How- 
 ever, there was nothing else for it, and we determined 
 to venture it, bargaining that we were not to pay if we 
 were upset and had to swim for our lives. It was only 
 possible for two at a time to cross, so Fritz and the 
 ferryman went over first. I watched them with a great 
 deal of interest as the river swept them down while 
 they both paddled furiously. But there was no accident. 
 The ferryman hauled his boat up stream along the 
 bank until he got well above where we were on the 
 opposite side, and came across again. Then Bill went 
 over, leaving me till the last. When it came to my 
 turn, I could not help thinking of the proverb about the 
 pitcher going often to the well and getting broken at 
 last, considering that the third time might be unlucky. 
 
 1 10 
 
The Trail across the Selkirks 
 
 So I took some extra precautions, throwing my coat 
 and long boots off. However, things went very well, 
 and I, too, joined the others, and, having paid my fifty 
 cents, we started off on the last portion of the trail, as 
 we were that evening to come to the Columbia. 
 
 Bad as the trail had been before, I think that last 
 piece of eight or ten miles was really, in many ways, 
 the worst. There was, perhaps, not such hard climbing ; 
 it was not so muddy ; there were not so many rocks and 
 stones; but the fallen trees lay upon it in numbers 
 innumerable. There would sometimes be two or three 
 close together, and twenty or thirty in a hundred yards. 
 We were crawling over them nearly the whole day, 
 until we were fairly wearied out, and cursed the trees 
 and the whole trail from the bottom of our hearts. 
 But the end of the trail was now nearly at hand. We 
 came at last to where it forked, and on the tree was 
 a notice of some one's ferry over the Columbia, which 
 was declared undeniably the best ; on the other hand, 
 there were other notices equally commending another 
 ferry. We took the right-hand fork and went down 
 and down through the forest, on a trail which was now 
 infinitely better and clearer, with ways chopped through 
 the fallen trees. We were in high spirits — that is, the 
 other two were. For my part, nothing but rest could 
 make me ' feel good,' and there was no prospect of that 
 as far as I could see ; and, speaking from experience, I 
 defy any one to be happy when there is a goodly 
 portion of skin wanting from his feet, and he has never- 
 theless to walk, and to walk hard, and to carry a bundle 
 weighing ten or twenty pounds. 
 
 ill 
 
The Western Avernus 
 
 But still it was getting towards evening, and a stage 
 in our journey of unknown length was nearly completed, 
 and there would be the respite of camping-time. And 
 presently we saw the forest thinning as the trail 
 descended ; in front, above the tree-tops, were other 
 mountains, and soon below we saw the gleam of blue 
 waters and a stretch of sand beyond. We were at the 
 ferry, we paid our money, and in a few moments stood 
 on the other side of the Columbia. Standing silently, 
 I looked back, and between two snow-clad mountains 
 I saw the great gap through which we had toiled. The 
 Columbia was behind us, and the Selkirk Range and 
 the Selkirk Trail. 
 
 112 
 
CHAPTER X 
 
 THE GOLDEN RANGE AND THE SHUSHWAP LAKES 
 
 I HAVE seen some rivers in my life in England, in 
 Australia, and in America. There are many most 
 beautiful streams in our own country — the upper Thames 
 with its gentle scenery and placid quietude ; the brawl- 
 ing Dove ; the splendid Mawddach in Merioneth, 
 between the mountains of Cader Idris and Diphwys ; 
 the rapid Eden at Carlisle ; and the turbid Severn. In 
 Australia I have seen the bright Murray when it comes 
 from the hills, the sluggish Murrumbidgee, and the 
 Lachlan ; in America I have been across the Missouri, 
 the Mississippi, the Brazos, the Colorado, the Ohio, and 
 the Alleghany ; but never have I seen a more beautiful 
 and magnificent stream than the Columbia River, at the 
 spot where we had just crossed it. It was bright, blue, 
 deep and calm and strong ; not a speck of foam was on 
 its bosom, not a break or a wave marred its mirror, save 
 where a breath of wind touched it lightly as a swallow's 
 wing. Yet it was so strong and earnest, and so bent 
 on doing its work in silence. In the late spring and 
 early summer it is, doubtless, turbid and swollen with 
 the rush of melting snow, but now beauty, majesty, and 
 strength were equally joined — the beauty of the lake 
 with its colour, the majesty of a stream hurrying to the 
 H 113 
 
The Western Avernus 
 
 verge of a cataract, the strength of a power that the 
 beaten-down barriers of the mountains had proved. 
 
 And before me lay a scene that I felt was worth the 
 toil and pain and endurance that had brought me there 
 to see it. There was no sunlight in the air, for the sky- 
 was veiled with a sullen stretch of unbroken cloud, and 
 the wind was calm and quiet. Before me was a stretch 
 of white sand and shingle, over which the waters had 
 been running in the spring, and beyond it, on the flat, a 
 few pines and firs lifted their heads above the lower 
 brush, from which rose the blue smoke of some hidden 
 habitations ; and far above this the mountains again, 
 opening into three great and gloomy passes, south and 
 west and north. On the loftiest peaks, the sentinels 
 guarding the ways, lay the snow, and low down the 
 bosoms of the hills were fair garlands of mist and cloud. 
 From the northern pass the river ran, sweeping round 
 the bend to be lost to sight in the southern ways that 
 brought it at last to the Pacific. Through the western 
 pass, a grand and narrow canon, lay our road over the 
 Golden Range. 
 
 We had been speculating all this day as to whether 
 we should be able to get a somewhat civilised meal, for 
 the constant repetition of bacon and bread was begin- 
 ning to pall upon us. But if we had really hoped for 
 anything, we were doomed to disappointment, and all 
 inquiries after a place to get a meal only obtained us 
 the information that we could buy flour and bacon at 
 such and such a canvas tent, which was a store. 
 
 In making these inquiries, I spoke to a pleasant-looking 
 little man, who turned out to be the contractor who had 
 
 114 
 
^ 
 
Golden Range and Shushwap Lakes 
 
 constructed the wagon road through the Eagle Pass, 
 upon which we were to make our way west. He asked 
 me where I was going, and offered me work, which I 
 declined, as I wanted to get to the coast. His name 
 was Gus Wright, a man who is very well known in 
 British Columbia. Him I met again in many different 
 places. 
 
 As we could not get any one to feed us for love or 
 money, we bought some more bacon and set off down 
 the road in the dark, for it was now late evening, hoping 
 to find a good camping-ground. To make things plea- 
 sant for us, it began to rain, so that by the time we came 
 to an extremely well-ventilated bark-shelter we were 
 nearly wet through, and before we had a fire alight we 
 were soaking. 
 
 We were camped in a swamp, with a few dead trees 
 around us and a rocky bluff overhead. The wind rose 
 in the night, we heard a tree fall in the gale now and 
 then, and the driving rain came in upon us as we lay, 
 dropping through the miserable roof, and making the 
 ground soft and muddy, and our blankets of little avail. 
 In the morning we crawled out before it was dawn, and 
 kindled the fire afresh to boil the tea, sitting mean- 
 while on a log in front of it with our blankets round us, 
 smoking the first pipe. 
 
 At noon we came to a camp at a river, and got a good 
 meal for fifty cents, and by four o'clock in the afternoon 
 we crossed the Divide after passing three lakes, the 
 last of which was the Summit. At the camp here we 
 had another meal, and walking four miles farther, came 
 at dark to the best camping-place we had found yet, as 
 
 115 
 
The Western Avernus 
 
 it was absolutely rainproof on the three sides and the 
 roof. Fritz and I were alone by this time, as Bill had 
 insisted on camping at the last lake. Having had 
 dinner so late, or supper so early, we thought it un- 
 necessary to eat again, and devoted our energies to 
 building a glorious fire to dry ourselves and our 
 blankets. We made it of cedar bark, which burns 
 furiously and throws out tremendous heat. We were 
 soon comfortable, and slept magnificently. As we made 
 a late start, Bill caught us up, and we tramped along as 
 usual. Our objective point was now the Shushwap 
 Lakes, which lay at the end of the road. On these we 
 were told we should find steamers, by which we could 
 get down to the inhabited parts of British Columbia and 
 comparative civilisation. In the Rocky Mountains 
 these steamers had given rise to much discussion, and at 
 first we thought they ran somewhere down the Columbia 
 to the Arrow Lake, and it was only at the ' Ulecilliwet 
 Restaurant ' that we heard positively in what direction 
 we had to go. On leaving Columbia City, or the Second 
 Crossing, we were told the day on which the next 
 steamer was to leave, and now we found we had to 
 make the Lakes this evening, or we should have to wait 
 for the next one. So we pushed on, and it was a 
 terrible day for me. Of course, the road was much 
 better than the trail had been, but we made up for 
 that by walking faster, and my feet were getting worse 
 all the while, being so bad at times that I thought I 
 should really be laid up, and perhaps entirely incapaci- 
 tated. We hardly stayed at noon to make tea, and 
 walked along doggedly, without any means of knowing 
 
 116 
 
Golden Range and Shushwap Lakes 
 
 how far we had come, hoping that we should find the 
 distance shorter than we had been told. But it came to 
 night-time and a renewal of rain, and still there was no 
 end. We camped at last, for a while, close to the road 
 by a pool of water, and ate some supper, and then 
 started out wearily in the dark, without saying anything 
 to each other. It was a case of walking against time, 
 and I felt sure that he would get the best of us. I 
 began to get tired in addition to the pain, though I said 
 nothing. I could see Fritz on ahead of me, plodding 
 along, and behind me I heard Bill splash, splash through 
 the water on the roads, with an occasional curse as he 
 stumbled against a stone. We were now in a thick 
 dark forest, and began to be a little alarmed, as 
 occasionally we heard noises in the brush which might 
 be caused by bears. Afterwards I found out that they 
 were quite numerous along here. I had no wish to 
 stumble up against one in the dark without any weapon 
 save a knife, so I called to Fritz and asked him if he 
 would camp. No, he was going to the Steamboat 
 Landing. Bill wanted to go on too, so I gave in, and 
 we walked another mile. Then Bill called me, and I 
 called Fritz. Bill was going to camp anyhow, so he 
 said, but still Fritz was inexorable ; and as I thought 
 that we really could not be far, I determined to walk on 
 as well. But after the next hundred yards I began to 
 feel as if it was more than I could do to lift my legs up. 
 My boots seemed as heavy as lead, and my head began 
 to swim, and I almost fell asleep while walking. At 
 last I stopped : ' Fritz, I'm going to camp right here.' 
 ' Very well, I'm going on.' So he left me. But presently 
 
 117 
 
The Western Avernus 
 
 I heard him call, and thinking something might have 
 happened, I got up, and walking a hundred yards, I came 
 to my valiant Teuton, who had ' caved in ' at last. He 
 could go no farther, so we cut down a balsam, made a 
 bed, and slept as if we were never going to wake. The 
 bears might have eaten one of us without waking the 
 other, I believe, and it is fortunate they did not try. 
 
 In the morning we made breakfast and set out on our 
 last stage, which was about four miles. As we knew we 
 had missed the steamer, we did not hurry, and only got 
 to the Landing about two o'clock in the afternoon. We 
 found Bill there, for he had passed us as we slept in the 
 brush without noticing where we lay. By this time he 
 was nearly drunk, as it was possible to get spirits to 
 drink here. 
 
 On making inquiries, we found that the ' Peerless ' 
 steamer would come up next day and leave soon after 
 for the towns of Kamloops and Savona's Ferry, so I 
 had time to look after my miserable feet, which were 
 now in a condition to entitle me to go into a hospital. 
 However, by bathing them and doing nothing, they 
 began to feel a little more comfortable, and the sores 
 dried up, and the new skin began to form. 
 
 We were not now in a town, or anything resembling 
 one ; it was merely a store and whisky saloon, kept by 
 two partners, Murdoch and Hill. Opposite the house, 
 which then consisted of a big bar-room with shelves in 
 it for liquors and dry goods, and a room for eating, was 
 the stable with some hay in it. Besides this there was 
 a log-hut some distance away. This constituted the 
 whole settlement, at that time, of Eagle Pass Landing. 
 
 118 
 
Golden Range and Shushwap Lakes 
 
 It was on the borders of the Great Shushwap (pro- 
 nounced Su-swop) Lake, which was here nine or ten 
 miles across, and surrounded by mountains, which are 
 high enough certainly, but to me they looked mere 
 hillocks after the giants of the Rockies and the Selkirks. 
 The Eagle River, which came down the pass we had 
 followed, ran into the lake about a mile from the house, 
 and behind the hill which bounded our view of the lake 
 in front was the Salmon Arm, into which ran the Sal- 
 mon River. At the junction of the Eagle with the lake 
 waters was another river, of which I knew nothing at 
 this time. It was called the Spallumcheen or Spullama- 
 cheen, and came down past an agricultural valley, as I 
 was told, though it was hard to believe that there was 
 any land in British Columbia level enough for farming, 
 if I could judge from what I had seen. Behind the 
 house were steep mountains covered with pine, fir, and 
 birch, but there was no snow on them. 
 
 It was a curious enough sight to sit in Murdoch's and 
 see the little gathering of men there. Murdoch himself 
 was a short, strong-looking man with a good-natured 
 face and agreeable manners, though rather rough, and 
 getting a little grizzled in the beard. Hill, his partner, 
 was a small, boyish-looking fellow, who looked slightly 
 out of place in these wild regions, in a decent suit of 
 black and a good felt hat. Then there was a man 
 named Fairweather, I believe, who talked in a loud and 
 boisterous, bullying tone, as if anxious to make men 
 believe he was a dangerous person, who must be treated 
 with consideration. One or two others, who were 
 waiting, like ourselves, for the boat, completed the 
 
 119 
 
The Western Avernus 
 
 company. At times the door would be pushed stealth- 
 ily open, and an Indian with a soft felt hat over long 
 greasy hair would slide in and show us a pair of well- 
 worn moccasins on flat feet, and ragged trousers and 
 coat to match. He would bring a skin or two — a 
 marten or a beaver, or perhaps a fox — and would argue 
 with Murdoch or Hill about the price in a language of 
 which I then knew nothing, and supposed to be Indian, 
 but which I afterwards discovered to be Chinook, a 
 barbarous trading jargon made of English, Indian, and 
 French. Then, perhaps, a squaw with her papoose, both 
 a little dirtier than the man, would enter and stare round. 
 They would consult in their own tongue, and then make 
 a bargain, or go out without trading, to give way in turn 
 to some other Indians with fish or deer-meat. 
 
 Altogether I found plenty to amuse me without 
 walking or falling back on my solitary book, Sartor 
 Resartus, and when I got bored, or too lazy even to 
 smoke, I retired into a corner and put my head on my 
 blankets and slept for a while. 
 
 In the evening, after supper was over, we gathered 
 round the stove and talked about the railroad, and we 
 who had come from the other side had to give accounts 
 of the progress made there. And then some one from 
 Kamloops or lower down would tell us in return how 
 the road was progressing under Onderdonk, the con- 
 tractor who had the main British Columbia portion 
 of the C. P. R. under contract. Then followed yarns 
 and jests, and presently we pulled out the blankets, 
 spread them on the floor where there was least tobacco- 
 juice, and soon all were sleeping and snoring. 
 
 120 
 
Golden Range and Shushwap Lakes 
 
 On the evening of the second day the steamer came 
 round the point and blew her whistle, which echoed 
 again and again among the mountains, and presently 
 she ran gently on the gravelly beach and let half-a- 
 dozen passengers ashore, who came straight up to 
 Murdoch's. One young fellow rushed in, insisted on 
 standing drinks to the whole crowd, and, seizing a box 
 of cigars, went round inviting every one to take a smoke. 
 Meantime I inquired as to when the steamer was to go, 
 and, finding it would not be before morning, I came 
 back to get my share of the fun, if there was to be any. 
 However, there was little, save a few glasses of whisky 
 and a loud gabbling of voices, though some of us 
 amused ourselves by trying to set beaver-traps. These 
 are made of steel, with immensely strong springs, and 
 it is quite a trick to set one. Few can do it without 
 treading on both sides, and it was delightful to see a 
 very light man trying in vain. I could manage it after 
 a few trials. There was only one among us who could 
 set it by hand simply, without treading it, and he was an 
 old trapper. Bear-traps, which are, of course, much more 
 powerful than these, can only be set by using a lever. 
 
 In the morning we paid up what we owed, and I got 
 a dollar's worth of bread and deer-meat from Murdoch, 
 for my cash was now necessarily getting very low. In 
 fact, when I went on board and paid my seven dollars 
 to go to Savona's Ferry, which was as far as the 
 steamer went, I was again penniless, which seemed 
 then my normal condition. So it was impossible for 
 me to pay fifty cents a meal on the boat and the same 
 for a bed. 
 
 121 
 
The Western Averxus 
 
 The boat was of the usual American 
 lower and hurricane decks, and was a stern-wheeler, 
 such as, I belie ive lately been introduced :: 
 
 Nile navigation. She was capable of doing tv 
 knots or more an hour, and it was certainly nece- 
 that she should be able to make good headway, as : '.".. 
 current in the rivers between the lakes is at times 
 tremenc : i 
 
 We had reckoned on being in Savon as Ferry, about a 
 hundred miles a t he next day, but we were doomed to 
 
 oointment ; for, instead of going direct to Kamloops 
 and then on to Savona, the boat turned to the right 
 ad of the left, and picked up a big ' boom of logs,' 
 which ls to tow down to the saw-mil] a: Kamloops. 
 
 »e were logs cut and thrown into the lake, and 
 then collected into the boom, which consists of logs 
 connected with a chain, making a 'pen,' as it we: 
 keep them together. So, instead of going down :" 
 we had to crawl along, doing about three miles an hour. 
 The scenery was pleasant enough, and at times grand, 
 sometimes heavily timbered, and sometimes bare, with 
 the hills terraced re. The lake water was 
 
 and dark, and cold to those who were not used to 
 mountain water, but to me it seemed absolutely warm. 
 
 When we left the Great Shushwap Lake, and ran 
 through the connecting river, which was part of the 
 south fork of the Thompson, I had my first view of the 
 Pacific salmon. Standing on the bows, and looking 
 down into the clear, transparent water, I could see 
 hundreds of large fish, from ten to thirty pounds, 
 g about in even- direction. There were E 
 1:2 
 
Goldex Range and Shushwap Lakes 
 
 tens of thousands of them. At intervals along the 
 banks there were camps of the Shushwap Indians, 
 living in little bark shanties, along the front of which 
 were hung hundreds of split salmon drying in the sun. 
 The little brown children, some of them naked as they 
 were born, came out and stared at us, and their dogs 
 yelped and dashed a little way into the water. Out in 
 the stream there were a few canoes with a squaw 
 paddling in the stern, while the ' buck ' stood up forward 
 with a long spear watching for the passing fish. 
 
 My life on board those three days was commonplace 
 and quiet. I slept and smoked and ate my bread and 
 deer-meat, and at times talked with some of the deck 
 hands, who were full Indians or half-breeds. Some 
 of the latter were fairly good-looking, and one was 
 positively handsome, while the former were for the 
 most part as ugly as possible. 
 
 I read a little, too, in Carlyle, and fancied myself 
 Teufelsdroch on his travels, though mine were certainly 
 of a different character from those celebrated wanderings. 
 And perhaps I borrowed a scrap of a newspaper, which 
 would set me speculating on what the country was like 
 down stream. And sometimes I wondered whether I 
 should get work, and if so what work, and if not what I 
 should do, and so on. Consequently I had no sense of 
 ennui on me, and if Fritz or anybody bored me I could 
 easily take refuge in sleep or in the scenery. 
 
 So we slowly got down the river, coming more and 
 more into land which looked possible at least for 
 grazing stock, and in places fit for farming, and soon 
 we began to pass stock-farms. We could see bands of 
 
 123 
 
The Western Avernus 
 
 cattle and horses, and here and there a house on the 
 river-banks, back from which the country had now all 
 along the curious terraced appearance I had noticed 
 occasionally higher up. The timber got less and less, 
 and the appearance of the country was drier. I was 
 told that we had now passed out of the up-country Wet 
 Belt, and were in the Dry Belt, where rain did not fall 
 all the year round. 
 
 At last, after a journey which would not have seemed 
 long if I had not known how much faster we might 
 have travelled had it not been for the logs behind us, 
 we began to come near to Kamloops. I had deter- 
 mined to go no farther than this on the boat ; and on 
 representing the matter in the proper light to the 
 captain, he returned me the extra fare I had paid to 
 Savona's Ferry. This two dollars was now all my 
 capital. 
 
 Late in the evening of the third day, on coming 
 round a bend in the river, we saw the lights of a town, 
 and a quarter of an hour after the steamship had blown 
 her whistle we were moored alongside the wharf at the 
 Flour Mill, and taking my blankets on my back, I went 
 ashore after bidding Fritz farewell. I was in Kamloops 
 at last. 
 
 124 
 
*S 
 
CHAPTER XI 
 
 ROUND RAM LOO PS 
 
 After asking where I could find a hotel, I walked 
 from the wharf across a bed of sawdust which was 
 wheeled from the sawmill adjoining, and came to the 
 street of which Kamloops consists. In a few minutes 
 my blankets were lying on a pile of rugs and valises, 
 and I sat down by the stove to get warm in the bar-room 
 of Ned Cannell, the best known and most popular 
 hotel-keeper in the town. There were fifteen or twenty 
 men in the room, most of us smoking or chewing ; a 
 few were in the boisterous stage of incipient intoxica- 
 tion, and some two or three were lying helplessly on 
 the floor. I could hear snatches of conversation. 
 ' Come, step us, boys, what's your liquor ? ' ' Take a 
 smile ; ' ' Oh now, don't give us taffy ; ' ■ What's this 
 you 're telling me ? ' or, ' Say, Jack, got a chew o' 
 terbacker? hand us your plug.' Then there was talk 
 of the railroad, which, of course, was the all-absorbing 
 topic, some prophesying prosperity, and some universal 
 ruin and desolation as its result. ' See now, pard, 
 Montana was a good country before the Northern 
 Pacific was put through, and what is it now? Why, 
 a few years ago cow-boys were getting 45 and 50 dols. 
 a month, and now wages is down to 25 or 30.' Every- 
 
 125 
 
The Western Avernus 
 
 body judged solely from his own experience, as men 
 mostly do in matters which affect the pocket. 
 
 I found there was no work to be done except 
 railroad work, and of that I had had a sickener ; and 
 when I found that white men's wages here were only 
 175 dol. for such work, and that there were hordes of 
 Chinamen introduced into the country to compete with 
 our race, I began to think I had come to a curious 
 country. But I lay back taking it as easy as possible, 
 and, under the narcotic influence of much nicotine, sank 
 into a lethargic state of indifference ; in fact, I chewed 
 myself into a state of coma, like Dickens's Elijah 
 Pogram. About a quarter to twelve some of the 
 company began to go, and, as all the beds in the house 
 were full, about a dozen of us slept in our blankets all 
 about the bar-room, and in an alcove where stood 
 a diminutive billiard-table. 
 
 In the morning I was out early and took a look at 
 the town. It consisted then of a long straight street of 
 wooden houses, some of them quite handsome structures, 
 especially when I compared them with the log-shacks I 
 had been living in. This street, on both sides of which 
 were houses, runs at some little elevation above the 
 river, which is here the Thompson with its full waters, 
 as the South Fork, down which I had come the day 
 before, is joined by the North Fork, the junction taking 
 place right in front of the town. Across the river, in 
 the corner of land washed by the two rivers, was the 
 Reservation for the Kamloops Indians, with their dirty 
 little town of miserable huts, and behind this a steep, 
 barren, and treeless mountain, which had the peculiarity 
 
 126 
 
Round K am loops 
 
 to me of always looking as if it was partly in shade and 
 partly in light, owing to differences in colours of the 
 mass. In fact, it gave me somewhat the same impres- 
 sion in that respect as St. Paul's in London does when 
 one sees the clean and discoloured portions of the 
 stones in contrast. 
 
 On the opposite side of the South Fork was a stretch 
 of flat country running gradually up in the background 
 to hill and mountains and a confusion of peaks. These 
 mountains are but sparsely wooded in comparison with 
 the ranges in the upper country. 
 
 My object was now to get work if I could, so I went 
 to the saw-mill and the flour-mill, but was unsuccessful 
 there, and I found nothing in the rest of the town. 
 When I was thoroughly satisfied that it was useless to 
 trouble myself any more in this place, I met Bill, 
 who was in an advanced state of intoxication. He 
 rushed out of Edward's hotel, clawed hold of me to keep 
 himself up, saying, ' Come and have a drink, Texas.' I 
 would much rather have left it and him alone, but there 
 was no denying him, and I had to take something. 
 Then it was, ' Take another,' but I refused firmly. 
 
 ' Well, anyhow, you'll come and have dinner with me, 
 Texas ; I know you can't have much money.' Now 
 this was very kind, and I did have dinner with him, 
 though he worried me all the time by behaving as if he 
 was in camp under a cedar, glaring round wildly, 
 clawing at things unsteadily, and capsizing his tea 
 on the table. Still, it is nothing uncommon in that 
 country for a few men at table to be drunk, and nobody 
 marks them if they are not quarrelsome. 
 
 127 
 
The Western Avernus 
 
 After dinner I thought it was time to get out of town. 
 It was no use staying there with I dol., which was now 
 all I had, and I thought there might be a chance of 
 getting work in the country, as I was told that there were 
 many cattle-ranches in this part of British Columbia. 
 So I slung my blankets on my back and set off, consol- 
 ing myself with the thought that, if I was unsuccessful, 
 at any rate I was going west, and might reckon on 
 reaching the Pacific in time if 1 did not starve on the 
 way. I set off on the road which led to Savona Ferry, 
 and walked steadily in spite of my feet, which soon 
 began to hurt me again, although they had been better 
 during the last few days of comparative rest. For three 
 miles or so my way lay uphill through a dry, barren- 
 looking country, with here and there the efflorescence of 
 alkali showing among the coarse grass and whitening 
 the baked mud at the bottom of the dried water-holes. 
 The trees were bull-pines with red scaly trunks of a 
 foot or two in diameter for the most part, with now 
 and again a fir, or occasionally a tree that looked like a 
 dwarf cotton-wood. Here and there were a few horses, 
 that lifted their heads to look at me, and then went on 
 grazing assiduously. Then I would come upon a band 
 of cattle. These would start a little, then run into a 
 cluster, and stand staring with the boldest in front, 
 perhaps pawing the dusty ground or bellowing. They 
 would stand so until I got out of sight, and then some 
 would come to the next rise to have another look at 
 my departing figure. Four miles from town I came 
 to a woodcutters' camp, and stayed a while to talk with 
 the one man there, who was from Missouri, but had not 
 
 128 
 
Round Kam loops 
 
 been home for twenty years. From him I learnt there 
 was a ranche about seven or eight miles farther on, and 
 I bade him farewell and tramped along, making nearly 
 four miles an hour. As I came round a curve in the 
 road, past a dried alkali lake which was white as snow, 
 I saw a little house on a rise with farm buildings near 
 at hand, and on the side nearest to me a man was 
 working with two horses, driving them round and round 
 in a ring, while he stood in the middle holding the 
 reins, or lines, as they call them in America. There 
 was a woman with him who was using a hay fork. On 
 coming closer I found they were thrashing out grain in 
 this primitive manner, something in the way they must 
 have done in the ancient days spoken of in the Old 
 Testament, when it was forbidden to muzzle the oxen 
 that tread out the corn. I climbed over the fence and 
 went down towards them. As I came up the man 
 stopped his horses. He was a hard, wiry-looking 
 individual, with keen eyes, scanty beard and moustache, 
 weather-beaten skin, and a good mouth. He wore 
 long boots, into which an ancient pair of blue trousers 
 were tucked, a waistcoat unbuttoned showing a white 
 shirt, and no coat. His hands were hard and muscular, 
 with the glazed appearance on the backs one so often 
 sees in old seamen. In spite of this rig-out, I saw at 
 once he was not an ordinary British Columbian, but 
 was probably an educated man, and possibly an 
 Englishman. I was more puzzled by the woman, who 
 was an Indian I could see, short and strong-looking, 
 with strongly-marked features, and such a look of 
 intelligence and such a smile on her face, that I almost 
 I 129 
 
The Western Avernus 
 
 doubted my first impression as to her race. I spoke to 
 him, ' Good-afternoon, sir : are you the boss here ? ' 
 He smiled : ' Well, I guess I am, unless she is,' he said, 
 pointing to the woman, who smiled, and then laughed 
 genially, but said nothing. ' You're an Englishman ? ' 
 I confessed to my nationality, and he said, ' So am I. 
 Are you travelling ? ' I explained that I was looking 
 for work, and asked if he could help me to get any. 
 ' I'm too poor to hire any one just now, and I must get 
 on as I can by myself/ said he, ' but you can go up to the 
 house if you would like a cup of tea ; my wife will give 
 you some.' I thanked him and went up to the house, 
 and sat down in the kitchen, where I was soon drinking 
 tea and eating corned beef. Presently my host came up 
 and sat down to talk. He told me that his name was 
 Hughes, that he was an Englishman, that he had been 
 a sailor in the East India trade, had left the company, 
 and taken to running opium into China. After this he 
 came to California soon after the days of '49, and mined 
 for fourteen years in that State without much success, 
 and since that time he had been in British Columbia 
 working for Gus Wright, the man I had met up at the 
 second crossing of the Columbia, and mining on his 
 own account, and that now he was in the cattle-raising 
 business. In return for this confidence, I told him my 
 history, how I had been in Australia and at sea, speaking 
 of my life in London and my adventures since then. 
 Finally, it grew so late while we were talking, that he 
 asked me to stay there all night and make a fresh start 
 in the morning. 
 
 That evening, after supper, we had a long talk about 
 130 
 
Round K am loops 
 
 things in general — about emigration, about English 
 politics, in which he still took an interest, being an 
 ardent Conservative. This is, I find, very often the case 
 with Englishmen living abroad, though I found their 
 adherence to Conservatism was, for the most part, based 
 on the belief that that party is the most consistent in 
 foreign politics and pledged to an Imperial policy. On 
 the other hand, the Liberalism which would allow the 
 Colonies to go their own way is thought contemptible 
 and narrow-minded and selfish. I may take this oppor- 
 tunity of saying that I have found the Colonies generally 
 more devoted to the mother country than she is to 
 them, although the affection of the human parent for 
 the child is, as a rule, greater than that of child for 
 parent. 
 
 From politics we ran into philosophy and religion, 
 and we chatted for hours on agnosticism and atheism, 
 on religion as it is and as it should be, and diverged 
 into literature. I found him a very well-informed man, 
 considering everything, and by no means bigoted. 
 
 He told me, however, in confidence that he was not 
 beloved by his neighbours, and I found this to be true ; 
 but, considering their general ignorance, that was a 
 compliment to him. 
 
 Before going to bed, he told me that I might possibly 
 find work at the next ranche, belonging to a Mr. Roper, 
 who was a good boss, he said. If I was unsuccessful 
 there I could go over to the Lake, about three miles 
 from Roper's, where the railroad was being made, and 
 try there. Finally, if I was unsuccessful at both places, 
 I might come back to him, and he would give me a 
 
 131 
 
The Western Avernus 
 
 week or two's work at a dollar a day. So I thanked 
 him, and went to sleep on a pile of rugs in the corner of 
 the room. 
 
 In the morning I had breakfast, shook hands with 
 him, in case I should not come back, and set off down 
 the road. I saw Mr. Roper, but could get no work 
 there, so I went over to Ferguson's on the Lake, where 
 two tunnels were being made. 
 
 I found Mr. Ferguson, but he, too, had no work for 
 me unless I could drill. As I was unable to tackle this 
 job on account of inexperience, I walked down the 
 grade, finding large gangs of Chinamen at work at 
 different places, in charge of a white man, who was 
 called the ' herder.' This job is not always a happy one, 
 although it is well paid, for the Chinamen who work on 
 railroads are the very scum of China, ' wharf rats ' from 
 Hong Kong, and are often evil and desperate. Conse- 
 quently it is no uncommon thing for a ' herder ' to get 
 killed or badly beaten by them if anything goes wrong, 
 and sometimes in protecting himself he will have to 
 shoot several of them when they run at him with picks 
 and shovels. 
 
 After walking some distance, I came to the boss of 
 part of the work, who gave me directions how to get 
 back to Hughes's Ranche without retracing my steps. 
 I had to climb up a terribly steep hill, and then walk 
 two or three miles through open timber, finally coming 
 out just at the spot I had aimed at. I went down to 
 the ranche and shook hands with Hughes. That even- 
 ing I bathed my feet, which had broken out again in 
 sores and blisters, and Mrs. Hughes gave me a pair of 
 
 132 
 
Round K am loops 
 
 buckskin moccasins, in which it was a perfect delight to 
 walk after going about in my big boots. I stayed at 
 this ranche two weeks, and was kindly treated in every 
 way. We had good food and plenty of it, and did not 
 work long hours. I gathered rocks for a stone wall, and 
 drove a scraper team to fill up holes round the near 
 farm buildings. Sometimes I dug potatoes or gathered 
 beans, and at night we had long conversations about all 
 possible things, or I read the English illustrated papers 
 or wrote letters. My health here was better than it had 
 been at any time since I had left home, for the air was 
 magnificent. The scenery was not grand, but beautiful 
 and quiet. Below the house was a stretch of flat 
 meadow, beyond it birch and cottonwood, over these 
 ranges of grass with a few bull pines, and above and 
 beyond these the spurs of the range which divided us 
 from the Nicola Valley. 
 
 At last one night Hughes told me that he had no 
 more need of help, and that we must part on the morrow. 
 I was more than sorry to go, but at any rate this 
 comparative rest had done me much good. My feet 
 were thoroughly healed, and I had fifteen dollars in my 
 pocket. In the morning I set out alone, this time 
 determined not to stop or stay until I reached the 
 coast. I promised to write to Hughes, and he promised 
 to answer. 
 
 That evening I reached Savona's Ferry at the west 
 end of Kamloops Lake, and stayed in a hotel kept by 
 Adam Ferguson, one of the handsomest men I ever saw 
 in British Columbia. 
 
 I was now in the Alkali Dry Belt, where the rain is 
 133 
 
The Western Avernus 
 
 very scanty, and the ground brown and the grass parched 
 and burnt. The water is often very bad and unfit for 
 drinking. My next day's solitary walk was over a high, 
 almost level plain on a good road, with a few climbs 
 when it plunged into a canon and came up again on the 
 other side. The scenery was desolate but beautiful, the 
 hills were rounded but in the distance lofty, and here 
 and there the country was cut up into mounds or buttes 
 and bluffs, with now and again terrace rising above 
 terrace. The hillsides were cut sometimes like irregular 
 channelling in an Ionic column, and the few trees gave 
 the place a more solitary look than if it had been bare. 
 As I had crossed the Thompson River at Savona it was 
 now on my left hand, and it ran turbulently over rock 
 and rapid far below me, in its calmer intervals bright 
 and blue, while the noise of the rapids was like the roar 
 of the breakers when one hears them from a long 
 distance. At times the winding road took me far from 
 the river back towards the hills, and sometimes I was in 
 the middle of a plain, the only sign of life on it. I had 
 dinner at the Eight Mile House, so called on the lucus 
 a non hicendo principle, for it was thirteen miles from 
 Savona and twelve from Cache Creek. Here I found 
 three teamsters at dinner, who were bound the same 
 way as myself, with empty wagons. I remember one 
 went by the extraordinary nickname of ' Hog Hollow 
 Bill,' which I found out afterwards was given him be- 
 cause he came from a place of that name in Missouri. 
 I started to walk before they had their teams hitched 
 up. While I was getting ready to go, the woman who 
 kept the house went outside to see one of the men tie 
 
 134 
 
Round K a m loops 
 
 a kettle to the tail of an unfortunate cur who had made 
 his home there. Her child began to cry aloud about 
 something, and she ran in, caught it up, saying : ' There, 
 duckie, don't cry ; come and see Jim tie a kettle to the 
 doggie's tail.' I was happy to see that the instrument 
 of torture parted company with the dog after the first 
 hundred yards, while this mother was giving her child 
 a first lesson in cruelty to animals. After walking a 
 mile the wagons caught me up, and I was invited to 
 take a ride on one of them, and by this means I got 
 into Cache Creek before dark. This place consists of 
 two or three houses, a hotel, a store, and an express 
 office. The Buonaparte Creek comes down this way, 
 and it is here that the wagon-road turns off to Cariboo, 
 the great mining-place in British Columbia, I got vile 
 food and viler accommodation, and all the bar-room 
 talk was about the extortionate charges on the rail- 
 road. They told me about a horse, which was worth 
 40 dols., for which the owner was asked 75 dols. for 
 transportation. He told the railroad men to keep 
 the horse. 
 
 In the morning I continued the journey on the wagon 
 with my friendly teamster, and after going through 
 much the same country, came at noon to ' Oregon 
 Jack's.' Oregon Jack had been in British Columbia 
 more than twenty years, and had never been sober since 
 he entered the country. It is not known how many 
 years he had been drunk in Oregon, but testimony from 
 all sides averred that his intoxication had been constant 
 on the north side of the 49th parallel. He was a little 
 bald-headed man, with red face and leering, satyr- 
 
 135 
 
The Western Avernus 
 
 like eyes, and he certainly was drunk when I saw him, 
 though able to talk fluently about being perfectly 
 sober, ' though I was drunk when you were last here, 
 Bill.' 
 
 We afterwards passed Cornwall's, the hotel kept by 
 the Governor of British Columbia. This was the quietest, 
 most comfortable hotel on the road, with lots of English 
 papers lying round the rooms. In the evening we 
 came to Eighty-nine — that is, eighty-nine miles from 
 Yale, and stayed at French Pete's. There were a 
 dozen wagons here, going up and down, and the team- 
 sters made things so lively that soon after supper, 
 which was cooked by French Pete's Indian wife, I took 
 my blankets outside and got into my teamster's wagon, 
 and slept there comfortably, although it was a rather 
 frosty night. The hills on both sides of the river were 
 now drawing closer together, and the character of the 
 country was changing, as if we were approaching moun- 
 tains again. I asked the teamster about this, and he said 
 we were coming now to the Cascade Range, and that we 
 should enter the canon at Cook's Ferry. Accordingly 
 a little afterwards I began to see larger hills and 
 mountains, while the river ran more rapidly over rocks, 
 breaking in foam down long rapids, and when unbroken 
 running round the bends with a quiet velocity even 
 more impressive than the noisy rush of the broken 
 waters. 
 
 Soon after noon we crossed the bridge at the ferry 
 and passed to the left side of the stream. This was 
 the end of the track in this direction. 
 
 Since leaving the summit of the Rocky Mountains, 
 
 136 
 
Round K am loops 
 
 where I had last heard the whistle of the eastern loco- 
 motives, I had traversed mountains, lakes, and plains 
 on foot, by steamer, and by wagon, and had come 360 
 miles to hear them again. And I had yet 180 miles to 
 pass before I should reach the coast. 
 
 137 
 
CHAPTER XII 
 
 THROUGH THE FRASER CANON 
 
 Up to the moment of my leaving Cook's Ferry, I had 
 deluded myself with the thought that I was coming at 
 last to some beautiful evidences of civilisation. After 
 passing each comfortable ranche, and seeing the pros- 
 perity of fat cattle and plentiful horses, I said to myself, 
 ' I shall soon be in El Dorado, where, perhaps, there is 
 a library with books to be read ; perhaps there may be 
 men who are civilised and educated, even so far the 
 delightful victims of our pleasures as to be acquainted 
 with chess. Then, instead of playing draughts on a 
 tree stump, rudely marked out with a burnt stick, in the 
 primaeval forest, I may sit by a fire, with a cup of 
 coffee near at hand and a pipe of good tobacco, and 
 astonish my opponent with a crafty Muzio or a well- 
 played Evans. Or I may play mild bumblepuppy, or 
 even whist, instead of fierce poker, or insidious euchre, 
 or assassinating cut-throat' But now it seemed that 
 my airy visions and dream-castles were to be shocked 
 and shaken down. My library of books eager to be 
 read, my chess-table with opponent waiting, my smoking 
 cup of coffee, vanished from my imagination when once 
 more a tremendous barrier of rock and mountain, thrust 
 high into the black clouds above, came before me and 
 
 138 
 
Through the Fraser Canon 
 
 shut me for a time, immeasurable until passed through, 
 from level land, if such there were, and from coast and 
 Pacific, whose imagined roar was driven from my ears 
 by sound of wind and river. 
 
 For the Cascades were in front of me, frowning, and 
 the Thompson ran mockingly past, while I toiled 
 slowly up the road into the labyrinth of hills. 
 
 And yet I was light-hearted, for my feet were whole 
 and sound, and I heard again in my pocket the jingle 
 of pleasant silver. The road, if steep at times, was at 
 any rate well made, and the change from the cloudless 
 blue of the Dry Belt to the broken harmony of cloud 
 and clear sky, mist and rain, and green of tree or grass, 
 was sweet. So as I climbed I watched the fretting 
 river that had worn its way through these hills for 
 thousands of years — for a geologic age perchance, and 
 when I rested I sat on a fallen tree, under which, when 
 in its first youth and glory, perhaps the pioneer Indian 
 who found the pass had come, and upon whose fallen 
 trunk had rested, it might also be, the most adventurous 
 of the white trappers when the Hudson Bay Company 
 were sovereign in these solitudes. And when I wandered 
 from the road and sat down by the river, or lay by a 
 little brawling creek to rest, I was, as it were, the first 
 myself in this realm of nature. The white trapper was 
 yet unborn in the home of his fathers, and the Indian a 
 little deeper still in the unknown, while his tribe are on 
 the plains of the east or among the timber of the coast. 
 Or the abode of his fathers is more distant yet, even 
 beyond Alaska — yea, even beyond Behring's Straits, in 
 the mystic land of Asia, mother of nations, fertile and 
 
 139 
 
The Western Avernus 
 
 not yet past childbearing, though a Sarah among the 
 younger lands. 
 
 But no ! am I dreaming or awake ? For there is my 
 Indian coming down the pass ; verily an Indian, and a 
 dirty one, with his long greasy locks and the moccasins. 
 This is no pioneer. No ; but here is the white man's 
 pioneer. I hear a shriek and a rush and a roar, and as 
 I look up, staring across the foam to yon shelf of rock, 
 on it there sweeps, like an embodied hurricane, the 
 Engine and the Train, the Power and the Deed. And 
 my pioneer of Indians looks not up ; his thoughts are 
 far away, perhaps to the times before the white man 
 was ; or, perhaps, they are but dreams stomachic as to 
 where the next dinner may be begged. For so has the 
 Indian fallen ! 
 
 Have the elder races halted? 
 Do they droop and end their lesson . . . 
 We take up the task eternal, and the burden and the lesson, 
 Pioneers ! O Pioneers ! 
 
 So went that day's walk in the canon or valley of the 
 Thompson, so soon to lose its name and be mingled 
 with the waters of the greater and longer river, the 
 Fraser. And as the evening came on the sky got 
 sullen and drooped wearily, until it rested on the moun- 
 tains, and a chill, sharp wind came from the gorges, 
 keen and hard and piercing, like the ranked spear- 
 points of an invisible host or the close flight of unseen 
 magic arrows. And I walked quicker and quicker, for 
 I was but thinly clad — nay, almost unclad, against such 
 ice breezes from the north — and still in solitude. But 
 I came round a corner and saw four Indians — two 
 
 140 
 
Through the Fraser Canon 
 
 women, one old and one young, and two children, a 
 boy and a girl. The older woman was of any age, but 
 surely nearly ready for her rest in those quaint, fantastic 
 graveyards in which the Indians put their dead, adorning 
 the guardian railing with globes, spikes, and strange 
 painted figures of carven cocks, and figure dummies on 
 the graves under tents to keep off the snow and hail 
 and biting wind. Yet she was heavily burdened with 
 a large roll of blankets or rugs, in the middle of which 
 was perhaps a package of evilly smelling salmon, 
 supported by a broad pack - strap on her forehead. 
 And the poor little children were bearing packs bigger 
 than themselves. It was happy that the wind was 
 behind them, or how else could they toil up that slope, 
 although so much better a road than their old ancient 
 trail, which at times came in sight as the white man's 
 broad way crossed and supplanted it, leaving the briers 
 and brush and weeds to encumber and choke it up ? 
 The old woman greeted me : ' Clahya.' ' Clahya,' said 
 I, and passed on, melancholy for myself, but sadder yet 
 for them. 
 
 And but another step, and I see the earliest lights of 
 Lytton stretched along a little flat ; I see the Fraser, 
 turbid and swollen, bursting from its northern hills ; 
 and I see the Thompson's blue beauty overpowered 
 in the whitened stream, like a bluebell smitten down 
 by discoloured snow. But still it shows, as might 
 a petal, along the nearer shore a thin diminishing 
 band of light amethyst against the broad colour of 
 grey jade. 
 
 And now I come down to men's habitations, where 
 
 141 
 
The Western Avernus 
 
 Indians and whites dwell together. I walked into the 
 bar-room of Bailey's Hotel, and found my white host as 
 drunk as an Indian might be, yet good-tempered and 
 smiling and amorous of his fiddle, which he embraced 
 lovingly. It was there I stayed that night, amid some 
 noise and disorder, while outside the rain and sleet 
 drove down from the hills. 
 
 In the early morning, after breakfast, I set out again 
 on another solitary stage ; and now the Jackass Moun- 
 tain was to be climbed. I know not why Jackass, 
 unless it be that none but a jackass could or would 
 climb it. Be that as it may, it was a long and steady 
 pull against that height, and I was tired and nigh 
 breathless when I paused on the summit, where a 
 bridge hung against the wall of rock above, and I 
 could look down eleven hundred feet of almost sheer 
 depth to the Fraser that was silent beneath me. The 
 rain had ceased in the morning, but the air was damp 
 and chill. The clouds capped the pine-clad heights 
 and drooped in long streamers down the slopes, 
 touching bold rock and precipice into faint mystery, 
 and leaving dew or unshed rain on fir and pine. The 
 swift river crawled slowly below, like a train that seems 
 to fly when we are in it, and to lag dismally when we 
 behold it in the far background, and its roar was hidden 
 in the faint murmur of the wind or the startling chirp 
 of bird or squirrel. And even now, as I write, from 
 that bridge could one see the river, for it crawls by as 
 it has crawled for ages that are an eternity to us. And 
 I saw it for an unspeakable moment, and passed down 
 the steep and precipitous road, above whose verge 
 
 142 
 
Through the Fraser Canon 
 
 trees, that sprang from roots clutched round rocks two 
 hundred feet below, showed their slender waving crowns 
 and spire of branches. 
 
 From my mind now all trace of the picturing vision 
 of the day or two ago had passed, and books, or chess, 
 or men of converse were far removed from my mind ; 
 and yet the vision had been no deceitful one, nor had 
 a lying spirit lied to me. I was nearer to civilisation, 
 to a pioneer camp of civilisation, than I knew, and the 
 next house was the spot I should have dreamed of. 
 I came to it. It had all the semblance of a hotel — 
 verandah and benches outside, big front door to let the 
 weary or thirsty traveller in, or to drag the intoxicated 
 one out for refreshment and sobering. I went up, took 
 hold of the handle, muttering to myself, ' It is surely 
 dinner-time. I smell something.' Had I been he who 
 said, ' Fee-fo-fum,' I should have smelt the blood of an 
 Englishman. 
 
 The handle turned, but the door was locked. It 
 was strange but explicable. Perhaps every one inside 
 was asleep — and drunk. Perhaps they had stayed up 
 till morning playing poker, and were tired. So round 
 I went to the back-door. Yes, there was somebody 
 there ; for dinners don't cook themselves, except as 
 in Lamb's story of Roast Pig, and this savour in the 
 air was not porcine. Another step brought me to 
 the door. I peeped in, and fell back more than 
 surprised. I was surely dreaming. I looked again. 
 I saw an individual in a cassock — long and black ! 
 He turned and saw me. What he saw I know not 
 exactly — a tall ruffian, with red curly beard, long 
 
 143 
 
The Western Avernus 
 
 moustache, brown hair, long and nearly to his shoulders, 
 brown eyes, and a big broad-brimmed hat, my dear old 
 Texas hat, now much ventilated with holes, and blue 
 trousers tucked, of course, into long and muddy boots. 
 I saw a pleasant, bright, youthful and intelligent 
 English face, and when he spoke I heard my mother 
 tongue spoken as it should be spoken, in a manner 
 which it seemed to me I must have forgotten, for it 
 sounded so strange. 
 
 'Good-morning, sir. Can I get dinner here?' said 
 
 I. ' Come in,' said he, 'and I will ask Mr. S .' I 
 
 went in, and he led me to what had been the bar-room 
 in this old hotel, for such it had been. Heavens ! what 
 an alteration from the days when men lounged and 
 drank and spat here ! For whisky and liquor shelves, 
 books and a bookcase ; for hacked benches, comfortable 
 lounging-chairs ; for floor adornment of saliva and 
 discarded chews and old cigar stumps, neat carpets ; 
 and instead of smoke reek and brandy fume, odour of 
 calf and morocco and vellum ! I sat down stunned 
 and astonished, not able yet to realise what I looked 
 like in such a place, else should I have disappeared 
 through the window, or put my bull head through the 
 panel of the door, and gone off, like Samson bearing 
 the gates of Gaza, a giant through fright. The opposite 
 door opened and another cassock appeared — another 
 mage. But he spoke in a pleasant voice, and held out 
 his hand, and, when he learnt what I wanted, which at 
 first I had forgotten, having to fish round for my stray 
 intention in my surprised, dislocated mind, asked me 
 cordially to join them at dinner if I would excuse the 
 
 144 
 
Through the Fraser Canon 
 
 rough fare, which, he said, could not be much in such a 
 desolate place. 
 
 Fare ! why, what was fare to me if I was to dine with 
 two magicians, two wizards, with, by the by, a third in 
 training? For there was a bright young boy face to 
 be seen too, and another gentle voice. Would not a 
 Barmecide feast satisfy? for then I could talk the 
 freelier, and interchange mind with mind, and be, per- 
 haps, witty or humorous or pathetic, though, Heaven 
 knows, I was a pathetic figure enough to those with 
 eyes to see and hearts to know. 
 
 So we sat down to dinner — salmon, bread, potatoes, 
 with pie to follow. 
 
 We talked. 
 
 'Have you come down from the upper country or 
 are you going up towards Kamloops ? ' asked the elder 
 magician, clean shaven and healthy and bright-eyed. 
 
 ' I 'm just tramping down from near Kamloops, 
 where I was working,' said I, ' and I 'm bound for the 
 coast, to see what can be done down there.' 
 
 1 How did you like Kamloops ? ' 
 
 ' Not much. Too much drunkenness and fighting. 
 I am rough myself, as you. see, but I like quietness and 
 order.' This was a little hypocrisy. 
 
 'You are an Englishman, are you not?' said the 
 younger clergyman. 
 
 ' I am ; everybody finds that out. So are you, both 
 of you. Is it not so ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, we are both from the old country.' 
 
 'Well, it is an extraordinary place to find two 
 clergymen in. I must own I was so surprised that I 
 K 145 
 
The Western Avernus 
 
 felt as if I was dreaming. I thought I was coming to 
 an ordinary hotel, and then to see you here ! ' 
 
 ' That is nothing ; very often men come along and 
 insist this is a hotel. Of course it used to be one. 
 Won't you take some pie ? ' 
 
 'Thank you,' and a piece of very suspicious-look- 
 ing paste was put on my plate. 
 
 The younger man, whose name I found was Edwards, 
 looked very doubtfully at it as he gave it to me, and 
 said, • I made that.' 
 
 ' Indeed ; then it must be good,' said I, courteously! 
 
 ' Oh no ; I never made one before in my life, and 
 the paste seems so hard, and unlike pies that other 
 people make.' 
 
 I tasted it, and it was like a board, solid, unbendable, 
 durable, and waterproof. 
 
 ' Pray, sir, how did you make it ? ' I asked. 
 
 ' Just of flour and water.' 
 
 ' What, no grease or baking soda ? ' 
 
 ' Not a bit.' 
 
 I broke into a peal of laughter. They were so kind 
 and sociable, that I was now at my ease. 
 
 ' Then it is certainly a new kind of pie.' 
 
 Mr. Edwards looked very rueful. 
 
 ' Well, I 'm sure I never thought it was so hard to 
 cook. There 's some flour and water mixed up now in 
 the kitchen, and it won't stick together, but lies in 
 flakes, however much I knead it.' 
 
 I burst out again into a very broad smile. 
 
 ' Put more water in, sir, and see if that will do any good.' 
 
 ' Well,' said he, ' I wish you had come along a little 
 146 
 
Through the Fraser Canon 
 
 earlier, and your advice and assistance would have 
 given us a better dinner.' 
 
 ' A better dinner I don't want. It is far more 
 pleasure to me to talk to two of my countrymen, who are 
 educated, than to eat a dinner that would suit a gourmet. 
 
 ' Well, then, let us go into the book-room and have 
 a smoke.' 
 
 In the library they gave me some good English 
 cigarettes, and we all sat down. But it was impossible 
 for me to be there and not examine the shelves. 
 
 ' Pray, sir,' said I, ' may I look at your books ? ' and 
 without waiting for permission, so eager was I, went to 
 the opposite shelves. They were rather disappointing, 
 however, there, being mostly theological. I ran my 
 fingers along the shelf: Eusebius, Mosheim, Milman, 
 Paley, Butler — familiar enough names, but not in my line 
 at all. When I came to Eusebius I read the name out. 
 
 ' Do you know him ? ' asked Mr. Small, smiling, 
 thinking, doubtless, he was a name only. 
 
 ' Why, no, I don't know him, but I've seen him quoted 
 in Gibbon's Decline and Fall.' 
 
 ' Oh, indeed, have you read that ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, sir, I read it first before I was twelve, and once 
 since then.' 
 
 Then to another shelf. Poets here : Shakespeare, 
 Keats, but no Shelley — too much of an atheist, may be, 
 I thought — and various others. And then the classics 
 — Horace, Virgil, and a huge Corpus Latinorum, and 
 another of the Greek poets and tragedians. I came 
 to Catullus. • I think Catullus is my favourite, sir, 
 among the Romans. What do you think ? ' 
 
 147 
 
The Western Avernus 
 
 ' Well, I am rather surprised. Can you read Latin ? ' 
 
 'A little. I learnt some, and I have managed not 
 to forget it wholly, like most when they leave school or 
 college.' 
 
 ' Then were you at college ? ' 
 
 ' Not at Oxford or Cambridge ; though I know both 
 well. You are of one of these universities ? ' 
 
 ' Cambridge/ said Mr. Small. 
 
 ' And you, sir ? ' said I, turning to the other. 
 
 ' Only from Durham.' 
 
 Then I sat down again, and we had a long and 
 delightful conversation. Mr. Small showed me a 
 beautiful edition of Horace published by Bell and 
 Daldy, illustrated with cuts from coins and medals. 
 He read an ode or two, the ' Fons Bandusiae, splen- 
 didior vitro,' and ' Persicos odi apparatus,' and I read 
 Catullus's ' Lugete, Veneres Cupidinesque,' the most 
 wholly delightful piece of poetry in the whole range of 
 Latin literature ; and finally, getting more enthusiastic, 
 we came to Greek, and Mr. Small read from some of 
 the plays of the dramatists, kindly keeping to those I 
 knew, for my knowledge of Greek was always small, 
 and confined to the dramatists and a little Homer. In 
 fact, I ground my way through Sophocles, ^Eschylus, 
 and some of Euripides with aid of translations, solely 
 for the sake of the poetry. 
 
 Then we ran on into English, and for hours talked of 
 the poets, until it began to grow dark and the wind 
 howled, and a little rain fell, and it was time for me to 
 go, before the fiercer rain began. So I shook hands 
 with both my friends and the younger boy and set out, 
 
 148 
 
Through the Fraser Canon 
 
 as they wished me ' God-speed ' and turned back into 
 the lighted room. And I was in mud and water and 
 forest and mountain, and the shades of Greek and 
 Roman flew before the blast like dried leaves from the 
 tree of knowledge. 
 
 These two gentlemen were High Church English 
 clergymen, who had come out there as missionaries for 
 the Indians. What a terrible sacrifice to make ! It 
 seems to me waste of such lives; but yet what good- 
 ness of heart and strength of conviction must have 
 led these to leave a land of culture and expatriate 
 themselves among these mountains, and men ruder 
 than the mountains ! 
 
 So I thought as I walked along, splashing in the 
 pools made by the rain that had fallen as we had been 
 talking. And as it grew dark I came to some houses. 
 I knocked at the door of one, and was answered in 
 Chinook by a slattern of an Indian woman whom 
 I could see through a crack in the door. I insisted on 
 English, and finally got out of her that there was a 
 hotel farther on. Another mile of tramping and 
 another house. I tried again and found this full of 
 Indians and half-breeds, who told me to go farther yet. 
 Finally, I came to the hotel, after two more miles of 
 tramp in bright moonlight, for the clouds had passed 
 away. And the moon above me threw such strong 
 shadows of blackness under brush and tree, and such 
 silver floods on the open ground, that the alternation of 
 light and shade gave the appearance of snow. 
 
 I stamped at last into the usual bar-room, greeted 
 the owner of the hotel and store,. nodded to a man by 
 
 149 
 
The Western Avernus 
 
 the stove, said ' Clahya ' to an Indian woman with a 
 baby, and sat down to smoke and dry myself. 
 
 And in the morning, clear and fresh, but threatening 
 rain, the road lay before me again. Again miles of 
 solitary walking towards the Elysium that lies beyond 
 the rainbow. At noon I came to Boston Bar, the 
 commencement of the wildest and most terrible part of 
 the Fraser Canon, where the mountain bases lie close 
 and closer together, and the fierce flood of water boils 
 and surges through its deep and narrow chasm, until 
 it breaks its bonds and frees itself at Yale. This 
 Boston Bar is named from the bar of sand and shingle 
 in the river, which was in early days a great mining 
 place, and is even yet worked at times by Chinamen. 
 Just below the Bar is the sullen-looking gorge, fringed 
 with clouds, into which road and river run. And this 
 was my way. 
 
 This canon is other than the canons, passes, and 
 gorges in the Rockies and Selkirks. All are narrow 
 and mountainous, heavily clad with timber, but there 
 is something about this that makes it stranger and 
 wilder and sterner. It may perhaps seem so in my 
 mind, because the days I passed in it were cloudy and 
 sullen, with every now and then a gust of wind and 
 an hour of rain, for it was then nearing winter, and 
 though the snow lay not yet upon the mountains, the 
 air was shrewd and bitter. But the main feature which 
 influenced my mind was the steepness of the lofty 
 precipices, from whose heights fall after fall, cascade 
 after cascade, leapt to the valley a thousand feet at a 
 bound, swayed by the wind like silver ribbons, or 
 
 150 
 
Through the Fraser Canon 
 
 dissipated into foam and spray. And here I noticed 
 how strangely slow the water of a lofty fall appears 
 to come down. There is no swift plunge of mighty 
 waters such as Niagara's, but the slow dropping of 
 the light thin line of the mountain stream, running 
 through a fringe of misty cloud that hangs upon the 
 breast of the hills. 
 
 And all along the road were evidences of the Indians. 
 In the trees were boxes built to keep dried salmon in, 
 secure from thieves and prowling beasts, and here and 
 there were slender stages built out over the terrible 
 stream, on which the Indians stand when the salmon 
 come up the river, holding a net like a magnified 
 racquet-bat, in which they catch the fish as they pass. 
 Graveyards too there were at intervals, each stranger 
 than the last. And I came at evening with a new 
 companion, the man who was at the hotel with me the 
 night before, to another little wayside inn, kept by a 
 Portuguese from the Azores, who gave us the best meal 
 that I had eaten for many a long day. It was necessary, 
 for that fatal pie had given me a terrible attack of 
 indigestion, which lasted three days. 
 
 I spent a pleasant evening in that little house in the 
 lonely canon, while outside the river chafed and roared, 
 and the river of wind over it swept down between the 
 hills, eddying and swirling over the trees. And the rain 
 pattered ceaselessly on the roof, gathering in pools 
 on the road, and running down to add to the turbid 
 volume of the Fraser. 
 
 It was nearly noon next day before we started, and 
 then our start was made in desperation of its clearing 
 
 I5i 
 
The Western Avernus 
 
 up. But, as if to cheer us for our courage, the clouds 
 drifted away before a cold north wind, and the rain 
 ceased. So we came to Hell Gate dry, and could stand 
 with some patience for a while to see the river roar 
 through the pass of ill-omened name. 
 
 Here the river ran at its narrowest, and here it must 
 have been the deepest. The huge rocks jutted out on 
 each side into the boiling current, and were bare and 
 black and jagged. The river looked strange and dan- 
 gerous, alive and struggling like a python in the toils, 
 and at times ran backwards on the surface, while below 
 it was fiercer still, finding its destined way down through 
 cavern and bar, and leaping at last to the, surface to 
 roar above the level of the main stream, curling and 
 coiling and eddying in confusion worse confounded. 
 Here at flood-time, after snow melting in the distant 
 northern home of that river and in the Golden Range, 
 source of the Eagle, and the lakes whence come the 
 Thompson, its tributary, the waters rise in revolt and 
 despair, and storm this Bastille Gate of Rocks, climbing 
 higher and higher, roaring louder and louder still, 
 whirling pine and fir trunks down like straws, to suck 
 them under in a maelstrom that makes the quick eye 
 giddy, finally lifting its foaming crest above the barrier, 
 to scream like a freed eagle and leap rejoicing down 
 the wider ways. And when it passes and the floods 
 are over, where is the road? Washed into the stream, 
 and the bare rock is left. See, as we stand here on the 
 road, many feet above our heads, is a red line painted 
 on the rocks. So high can this river rise, and it may 
 be higher yet. 
 
 152 
 
Through the Fraser Canon 
 
 After watching the Gate for an hour, we passed on 
 and found a bridge below, and crossed thereon to the 
 right bank. Surely we were nearly to Yale. But it 
 seemed impossible. How could a town be put into 
 this canon ? The shelf of rock on which the trains ran 
 in such seeming peril above the terrible waters, had 
 been cut and carved out by huge labour of years. 
 Was it possible a town could be near? It was possible 
 truly, and we were close to it when we turned and saw 
 a vast pool of quiet water, with a long eddy that took 
 a floating log round and round for an hour as we sat 
 smoking in quiet, never letting it approach the verge 
 of the lower rapid. About this pool were tremendous 
 mountains, steep and sheer, but across the water, on 
 a little flat, was a house right under the hills, and on 
 the sand an Indian canoe. On the highest crests of 
 the hills the hand of winter had been laid, for on them 
 there was a gleam of scanty snow, and, save that house 
 which sent up no smoke as sign of habitation, making 
 the scene thus even more desolate than snow and 
 sullen mountain could by themselves, there was no 
 appearance of life. 
 
 So we rose and took up' our blankets, and a hundred 
 yards farther on we came round a corner, and Yale 
 was before us, snugly settled down on a little flat space 
 at the foot of the hills, smoking from many chimneys, 
 while on the beach under the town lay a steamer. We 
 were then on navigable waters. We and the Fraser 
 were free of the hills. I turned, looked up the canon, 
 frowning and stupendous, and walked into the town. 
 
 155 
 
CHAPTER XIII 
 
 DOWN STREAM TO THE COAST 
 
 THAT night I and my partner, who was a little in- 
 significant chap, ' a man of no account,' slept and ate 
 at the nearest hotel, a very refuge for tramps, unde- 
 lightful, dirty, with bad cooking and worse beds. Kept 
 by a semi-intoxicated, wholly disreputable landlord, 
 who kept on giving me good advice with regard to my 
 morality, which he feared would be undermined by the 
 licence and drunkenness among whites and Indian 
 ' klootchmen,' or women, on the coast, it was the haunt 
 and rendezvous for undelectable characters from the 
 other parts of the town. We were first amused by two 
 or three of the Yale demi-monde, who came to Taylor's 
 to get more drink, being at that time rather more 
 merry than wise, and the last drink resulted in a quaint 
 fandango, or semi-cancan, danced first on the floor 
 and then on the counter by a bright little dark-eyed 
 Mexican girl, with brilliant teeth and coils of hair, and 
 a strange dress of purple and reddish colours inter- 
 woven, who, as she danced, sang snatches of Spanish 
 songs and English too, every now and again cursing 
 volubly in both. And late at night there was a 
 ferocious encounter of tongues between our host and 
 his housekeeper, a voluble, vicious, snap-eyed woman, 
 
 154 
 
Down Stream to the Coast 
 
 who stuck out her chin and placed her arms akimbo, 
 the cause of dispute being Taylor's half-bred Indian 
 child, which this virtuous woman, ' far above rubies,' 
 declined to wash or otherwise tend, on account of the 
 luckless infant's illegitimacy. Result, a furious war of 
 tongues, and at times I feared a personal encounter. 
 Both appealed to me. 'Should I wash a dirty little 
 Indian bastard, sir?' said she. 'Don't you think she 
 should, sir?' asked Taylor plaintively, but getting 
 fierce again when talking to her. The end of it was 
 banging of doors and screaming inside, while Taylor 
 himself and an old white-haired Mexican took charge 
 of the little girl, who had been seated on the floor by 
 the stove all this time playing with a rag doll, paying 
 no attention to the raised voices. 
 
 In the morning we started off again to walk to New 
 Westminster, which I here learnt was the largest town 
 on the mainland of British Columbia. We followed 
 the line of railroad, walking along the track, and 
 passing on numberless bridges across streams and 
 sloughs through a flat timbered country. That day 
 we made thirty-six miles, camping at last in a fence- 
 makers' camp, where two white men were superin- 
 tending a large gang of Chinamen engaged in fencing 
 off the line. It was bitterly cold, and very late when 
 we got to the camp, but the two white men gave us 
 some coffee and sat talking with us for some time, 
 though their conversation's tendency was not en- 
 couraging, as they ran down New Westminster, 
 averring that it was unlikely any one would get work 
 in such a dead-looking town. Finally, they went to 
 
 155 
 
The Western Avernus 
 
 their little tent, while I raked up some more wood for 
 the fire and lay down beside it, to wake at intervals 
 through the long night shivering with the cold. My 
 partner made a little shelter of a pile of ties near 
 at hand, shivering there by himself till early dawn, 
 when he came out to me, and seated himself over the 
 fire like an Indian, with the water running out of 
 his rather weak eyes, and making clean channels down 
 his unwashed face. For he did not, I imagine, very 
 often wash. 
 
 This day another long walk over flats, and we came 
 out to the river Fraser, now broad and placid, with 
 islands and bars in it piled with driftwood and brush, 
 and long back- washes half as broad as the river, but 
 shallow and weedy. Then to Harrison River, bright 
 and clear and blue, a Fraser tributary, and dinner at 
 a Chinaman's restaurant, where we had a plentiful and 
 well-cooked meal served by the owner himself, who 
 spoke good English to us, Chinese to his pig-tailed 
 compatriots, and fluent Chinook to his Indian wife, 
 who held in her arms a curious child with the 
 characteristics of Indian and Chinaman stamped un- 
 mistakably upon it. The father admired it immensely, 
 and was, it seemed, very fond of his wife, who, for her 
 part, was stolid and undemonstrative, as most pure-bred 
 Indians are, except when under the influence of liquor. 
 
 Then away again over the long bridge, and that 
 night we stayed with an oldish French farmer, who 
 lived on a swamp in a new wooden house all by him- 
 self, and he served us well, and talked queer French to 
 me and strange English, and made me very comfort- 
 
 156 
 
Down Stream to the Coast 
 
 able, charging next to nothing for it, making our 
 thanks for our night's entertainment hearty, and not 
 merely perfunctory. And at noon we were at the 
 Mission, eighteen miles from New Westminster, and 
 there we determined to wait for the steamer, having 
 had enough walking. So we stayed at a boarding- 
 house for our meals, and slept in an old disused mill, 
 where the wind had free entrance through cracks and 
 joints and warped seams, and the ceilings and ties and 
 joints were covered with long cobwebs, and an in- 
 frequent rat came out squeaking for the flour and grain 
 that were wont to be, but were there no more. And I 
 slept, eking out my thin blankets with dirty old sacks. 
 Next afternoon the ' Gem ' steamer came down stream. 
 Poor little wretched steamer to be so miscalled : ' Coal- 
 scuttle ' or ' Hog-pen ' would have made good names 
 for her. The captain and one more made up the crew 
 — two all told. The captain usually steered, and the 
 other man engineered and fired up, and one or the other 
 would rush out when making a landing to hitch a rope 
 round a stump ; and when wood ran low they would 
 run her ashore near a pile, the noble skipper getting 
 out to throw half a cord on deck. Then they had to 
 take it aft before they could back her off. So we made 
 slow progress, even with the current of the noble river 
 under us, especially as every little while we stopped to 
 take a few squealing pigs on board, or some sacks of 
 potatoes. 
 
 We had a few fellow-passengers, one of whom, a Mr. 
 Turnbull, kept a temperance hotel in New Westminster. 
 I had a talk with him, and finding that he was, to all 
 
 157 
 
The Western Avernus 
 
 appearance, a really good-hearted man, I determined to 
 stay at his place and bestow my last dollar or two on 
 him, for my cash was now nearly run out. 
 
 The scenery on the river was placid but beautiful. 
 The hills were not high as a general rule, but still two 
 or three ranges were in sight that were mountains. 
 And, far above all, in the distance glittered the silver, 
 snowy, truncated, volcanic cone of Mount Baker, solitary 
 and alone, in Washington Territory, for we were now 
 near the southern border of British Columbia. This 
 peak rose above the clouds, towering 10,000 feet and 
 even more. And there were long bright reaches of 
 waters before us, with willows trailing on the banks, and 
 every now and again we saw a stretch of back-water, 
 silent and still, windless, with reflections in its depths, 
 while before and around us the dancing waters of our 
 flowing river threw back the sunlight. And we were 
 now in tidal waters. On the right were the frowning 
 Pitt River Mountains and the entrance to the Pitt 
 River. In front we saw a white building — a cannery for 
 salmon — and, round the bend, the town built on the 
 river front, and running up towards the crest of a hill 
 that showed a gaunt fringe of pines and firs, robbed of 
 their foliage and branches by a forest fire. And beneath 
 them fields of stumps and clearings. 
 
 And we came to the solitary dark wharves, which 
 made one imagine that this had been once a busy town, 
 and was now living on the memory of the past and the 
 hope of the future, like a bear in its winter cavern, 
 supported by its accumulations of summer fatness, and 
 dreaming of the berries of the later year. 
 
 158 
 
Down Stream to the Coast 
 
 And so to the Farmer's Home. Saturday night, and 
 November 2. I was but sixteen miles from the sea, the 
 Gulf of Georgia. In a little over seven months I had 
 come from New York, having journeyed nearly 8000 
 miles in train, on steamer, and on foot ; over prairie, 
 mountain, river, and lake ; in pain and misery, in joy 
 and delight, with Fear and Hope my companions ; and 
 now I could in imagination hear the roar of the breakers 
 of the ancient ocean of the Pacific, and smell the sweet 
 brine odour of its illimitable waters that rolled to 
 Australia and Japan, and between these, as through 
 wide-opened gates, against the dark African continent 
 half a world away. 
 
 I left the wharves and passed up dark Front Street 
 to Main Street, bustling and well lighted, and I was in 
 the Farmers' Home, looking a strange wild man of the 
 woods amongst the well-dressed citizens of the place, 
 who sat round the fire in the smoking-room, discussing 
 with eagerness a murder at the jail, for that day one 
 jailer had shot another. And my first comment would 
 have been a strange one to a civilised ear. I thought, 
 ' What a fuss about a murder ! This is evidently not 
 Texas, and killings are scarce.' And so it is in British 
 Columbia ; murders are comparatively rare, and Judge 
 Begbie is a hanging judge, who is feared by the wilder 
 emigrants and settlers and citizens, whites, English or 
 Canadian or American, the Indians and the Chinese. 
 I sat down among them in silence, but soon found a 
 congenial spirit in a man who had travelled, who spoke 
 up when I ventured to express my surprise at there 
 being so much excitement about a solitary murder, and 
 
 159 
 
The Western Avernus 
 
 we soon found that we were agreed on the point. In 
 the course, of a violent discussion that followed we mis- 
 chievously supported the Texas and Southern method 
 of relying on pistol arbitration. ' At any rate,' said 
 Johnson, my new friend, 'if a man gets into a row in 
 Texas, he won't be kicked and jumped on, and it is 
 better to be shot. And a man there does not rely on 
 his superior brute strength, for a small man is just as 
 likely to be smart with weapons as a giant, or smarter.' 
 Then, as talk began to be rather hot, I turned the con- 
 versation to work, and found out that there was small 
 chance of getting any if it were not on the railroad 
 work at Port Moody or Port Hammond, unless I should 
 happen to be lucky enough to fall into a job at one of 
 the three saw-mills in the town. And then my inquiries 
 elicited that there was a library, in the town. My 
 dreams were true then ! And there were actually chess- 
 players to be found there ! So when I got tired out I 
 went to bed and dreamed I was in the library at the 
 British Museum, and that afterwards I played chess 
 with Zukertort at Simpson's in the Strand and beat 
 him badly. 
 
 1 60 
 
CHAPTER XIV 
 
 NEW WESTMINSTER 
 
 SUNDAY I spent in letter-writing, in. conversation, or 
 sulky sullenness — or, better and more euphemistically 
 — contemplation, retrospect, and forecasting. Prophe- 
 sying unto myself from the past gave little hope of 
 good, so my last mental resource was proverbs, such as 
 ' It 's a long lane that has no turning ' and ' Every cloud 
 has a silver lining/ and so on. Here I was, down again 
 to a dollar and a half, in a strange place, with no friends 
 save my no-account partner from up-country, who had 
 no more money than I. It began to seem to me that I 
 was a very wanderer, a male Io driven by gadflies from 
 plain to mount and mount to sea and strait ; that I was 
 a footless bird, not of Paradise but of an Inferno ; that 
 I was a thistledown on an endless wind, with never a 
 friendly eddy to drop me down to root and grow, 
 though it were but to a thistle. And I bethought my- 
 self that I had consumed eight months in travelling, 
 that I had seen much and suffered much, and rejoiced 
 much as well, and that it was at last time for me to stay 
 for a while and gather in shekels, if it were in any way 
 possible, else it would be perennial seed-sowing by the 
 wayside and never a harvest, and no harvest-home with 
 songs of sweet thanksgiving and return. So I said, ' If 
 L 161 
 
The Western Avernus 
 
 I can but turn my hand to something in this town, 
 however humble and ill-paid it be, here I will stay ; for 
 my health is better, and it is time I fed my mind with 
 something over and beyond scenery of pines and peaks, 
 of cloud and mist and dew, and the wonderful music of 
 the organic winds of the worlds and the Psalm of 
 Nature to the unknown God.' 
 
 Therefore, next day, when my cash amounted to 
 twenty-five cents, I sought and found work in a saw- 
 mill — hard and laborious lifting of timbers, arranging of 
 boards and planks, carting and carrying of saw-dust, 
 flooring boards, headings and scrollings, sashes, doors, 
 what not. Twelve hours a day, minus one half hour 
 for a hurried dinner — 6 A.M. to 6 P.M. ; enough for a 
 giant, enough for me, and at first more than enough. 
 Board and thirty dollars a month for this labour, every 
 cent earned, and more than earned surely, by sweat and 
 fatigue of muscle, and contact with Chinamen — that 
 strange, indomitable, persevering, vile, and wonderful 
 race. 
 
 So to work I went, and was very nearly discharged 
 the first morning by the superintendent, who declared 
 that he knew not what had come over men who came 
 to the coast from the east, for they all wanted a ' soft 
 seat,' a ' soft snap,' which is, being interpreted, a light 
 and easy job. Wrongly enough in my case, however, 
 as he found out when he sent me into the mill to work 
 with a mighty man from Michigan — M'Culloch, one of 
 the finest Americans I ever knew — strong, long and 
 lithe, quick of motion, quick of eye, large-handed and 
 large-limbed, clean-coloured, moustached but otherwise 
 
 162 
 
New Westminster 
 
 shaved, with the pupil of one eye pear-shaped, making 
 him strange as a man with eyes of two colours, like 
 the Hereward of Kingsley's, sharp and lively in speech, 
 kindly of heart, liberal in opinion, atheist, human, and 
 lovable. 
 
 Next I recall a young sawyer, Johnny — little Johnny, 
 as we named him — small and bright, and strong as a 
 young bull when he got hands and knees under a log 
 or ' cant ' of lumber ; a fighter, and a ready one ; 
 pugnacious as a gamecock, and quick as lightning with 
 his small hands, but pleasant and friendly if one who 
 cared not for quarrels watched the glint of his eyes and 
 made an occasional soft answer to this wrathful bantam. 
 
 Then Indians, half-breeds and Chinamen mingled 
 and ever changing, and the chief sawyer beyond, a 
 deceitful man, a speaker behind-backs. Between him 
 and Johnny great enmity existed, as it seemed. 
 
 In such company in the half-open mill, one storey 
 up in air, I passed the days, with the whirr of belts 
 above and below, the scream of the circular saws as 
 they bit the advancing log of pine or spruce or Douglas 
 fir, with the strips of bitten-out wood thrown out in a 
 stream, and clouds of smaller sawdust, with the smiting 
 of mallets on wedges in the cut, and the heavy fall on 
 the greasy skids of the divided tree. And in the pool 
 below stood a long figure with a pole balancing on a 
 round log, pushing it into its place, with his hammer 
 driving in iron clamps or dogs, till the chain, revolving 
 on the drum, drags the ponderous tree to the saw, 
 and then it rolls over and over on to the carriage, and 
 afterwards more saw-screaming and sawdust and wedge- 
 
 163 
 
The Western Avernus 
 
 driving. So hour after hour, till the trees, rude and 
 huge, fall into planks and boards and squared timbers 
 — large for bridges or small for posts or pickets, and 
 the waste cut into laths, and the sawdust burning in 
 the gaping furnaces to drive the saw again. Then 
 sudden whistle-screaming, and hurrying figures, while 
 the saws revolve slower and slower, and all is still, so 
 that one can hear his own voice, and the hum of the 
 saw only lingers in the unaccustomed ear ; then dinner 
 devoured, not eaten, and a smoke, and the whistle, 
 and the saws turn quicker and quicker, and all is to do 
 again till dark and supper and rest. 
 
 So went the life, and the days were quick and 
 laborious. The superintendent spoke to M'Culloch 
 one day : 
 
 ' What kind of a man is that long fellow with the big 
 hat?' 
 
 ' Well, Mr. Gray, he does not know much about saw- 
 mills, but I just tell you he is a rustler. He gets round 
 quicker'n any man in the mill, in spite of his long legs.' 
 
 ' Why, I nearly fired him the first morning ; I must 
 have made a mistake. I thought he wasn't any good.' 
 
 Now, a ' rustler ' is a great Western word, and 
 expresses much. It means a worker, an energetic one, 
 and no slouch can be a rustler. So this was high 
 praise. And ' fired ' means, in that oversea, overland 
 language, being discharged, so Mr. Gray did not mean 
 me any good. But when he saw I could work we were 
 friends, and he did me many a good turn. 
 
 We slept, some four or five of us, over the dining- 
 room, and the rest lived in cabins, or little huts, some 
 
 164 
 
New Westminster 
 
 of them boarding themselves, being married either to 
 white women or Indians, or perhaps not married. My 
 friend in our sleeping-room was a German — Pete — a 
 great character, who had lived many years in California, 
 and had been working at various intervals at the mill 
 and up country at other saw-mills, or at pile-driving or 
 bridge-making, just to make, so he said, 20 dols. and 
 a suit of clothes to go back to California with. But 
 when the 20 dols. were collected he would disappear, 
 and be found sitting in front of a hotel, blandly inviting 
 passers-by to take a drink, and when the money was 
 dissipated he would come back to make it over again, 
 being in deep dumps and very virtuous for the future. 
 He had been seven years trying to make the money 
 and the clothes, but though he was always dressed well 
 enough he could not get that new suit and the dollars 
 both at the same time. Pete was a great favourite of 
 mine. 
 
 The library, of course, I did not leave long unattacked. 
 The third day, after working-time, brought me to it, 
 and there were actually lots of books and some boards 
 and chessmen, and, better still, men playing. I went 
 in, dressed as usual in my working garb, having no 
 other, and sat down to watch a game which was being 
 contested between a man with weak eyes, who had a 
 great grievance, as I afterwards found out, and a man 
 named Collins, with whom I got to be quite friendly. 
 Both played fairly well, but I knew I could beat them. 
 I had been a fourth-class player in London, and had 
 played regularly at Gatti's in the old chess corner, in 
 the Adelaide Gallery, for more than two years, so I 
 
 165 
 
The Western Aver n us 
 
 was probably more than a match for any Western 
 player. When the game was over, and the man with 
 a grievance had aired it for half an hour, talking 
 vehemently because he had been deprived of the 
 librarianship of this very place, I asked his opponent if 
 he would give me a game. He looked at me out of the 
 corners of his eyes, as if wondering whether I could 
 play. And I took the vacant chair. The first game 
 was won in less than twenty minutes. My opponent 
 looked at me as if he thought I had made a great 
 mistake. The next one was played by him more care- 
 fully, and it took me three-quarters of an hour to mate 
 him. Then a look of stern resolution came over his 
 face, and he put his head in his hands and studied 
 every move. But I beat him in an hour. He sighed 
 and looked dazed, but shook hands with me, and said 
 I was the best player in British Columbia. 
 
 To console him, I told him how I had learnt to be a 
 player, and that I had actually, by a fluke, twice beaten 
 a man who had once, by a fluke, beaten Zukertort. 
 He looked greatly relieved. I very often played with 
 him afterwards, and let him win a game now and again 
 to keep him in good temper. 
 
 Then I went through the bookshelves, with the 
 librarian showing me a light, and I saw enough to make 
 me promise to be a subscriber, at the moderate terms 
 of 50 cents, or 2s. id. a month. I brought up the 
 money next evening, and took home Buckle's History 
 of Civilisation, a book I had never read through before. 
 There were two thousand volumes in the library, and 
 during the time I stayed in New Westminster I de- 
 
 166 
 
New Westminster 
 
 voured most of those that were worth reading, for there 
 was a vast amount of engineering and military matter, 
 left by the English troops who were formerly stationed 
 in the locality, which had then no interest for me. 
 
 On Sundays I would take a walk, sometimes with a 
 companion, though usually alone, and sit down on the 
 river bank and look at the stream and the scenery 
 beyond it, or climb the hill at the back of the town, 
 whence I could see Mount Baker's white cone across 
 miles, yes, fifty miles of forest, high and shining ; or, 
 turning towards the west, catch sight of the glitter of 
 the straits, and beyond, the peaks of Vancouver against 
 the blue. East, thirty miles away, stood the Pitt River 
 mountains, snow-covered, beautiful and near in the 
 clear transparent air. But first glance with me at the 
 river on our right, broad and clear and wider than the 
 Thames at Westminster, and across it at these narrow 
 flats, with a few shanties on them scattered here and 
 there, with blue wreaths of smoke above their chimneys, 
 and a long, low, white cannery, reflecting the sun, under 
 the gentle slope of a hill covered with fir and pine. 
 Then see how the river spreads out above this to twice 
 its breadth below, bending away to the right until it 
 takes no reflections, but throws out sparkles from the 
 ripples of a solitary gust of wind and in a moment is 
 lost to sight, while beyond its farther bank rises slope 
 after slope of the hills beyond the Pitt River, until, on 
 the left, the high peaks are snow against the blue 
 heavens, and the long shoulder of the dim range runs 
 down in curve and sudden lower peak to hide the 
 farther fainter hills of Sumass. 
 
 167 
 
The Western Avernus 
 
 Ah, how beautiful it was, even for a discontented 
 being like myself! 
 
 So, working and dreaming, time ran on till well into 
 December, and winter came on us with rush of white 
 wings and icy breath. First the hills covered them- 
 selves with snow, and the north-east wind came down 
 the reaches of the river, blowing into the open mill 
 like the wind of death, making me rush out for increase 
 of clothes, until at last I worked in all the shirts I 
 possessed, and coat and waistcoat too. Then cakes 
 and floes of ice came down stream, and went back 
 again with the flood-tide ; there was grinding of huge 
 blocks against the shore and piling up of jamming floes 
 in mid-water, and perpetual roar for days till the 
 bitterer frost suddenly spanned the stream with cold 
 fingers, fixed it and grew in power of solid dominion 
 up and down, growing thick and strong. And snow 
 came in the streets, drifting over and over ; from the 
 houses depended stalactites and icicles four feet long, 
 and blunt stalagmites grew up below. 
 
 Upon the hilly streets in town, boys and girls were 
 laughing, shouting and screaming, running down hill in 
 sleighs, ' coasting ' as they call it, with swift velocity, 
 sometimes capsizing without much harm done. And 
 we had time enough for play, for the logs were set fast 
 in the thick ice and the ' buzz-saw ' was silent, the fires 
 out, and snow upon the piles of sawed lumber. So we 
 ate and drank and slept, and I read through the library 
 steadily : Gibbon's Rome again, with story of Alaric 
 and the grave of the Busentinus, and Attila the Hun 
 and Mohammed and the Turk, in the slow majestic 
 
 168 
 
New Westminster 
 
 sentence ; Vasari's Lives of the Painters, graphic, 
 inaccurate, delightful ; and reading on without system, 
 or attempt at any, Alison's History and Motley's 
 Netherlands, terrible and picturesque, a favourite of 
 my boyhood, and Buckle's book of destiny and neces- 
 sity, The History of Civilisation. Then a canter among 
 the fields of science : Huxley on the Origin of Species, 
 and Darwin's book itself, the most delightful book of 
 science, that puts all Nature into one's hand; and 
 Carlyle's Essays, and Landor, whose yEsop and 
 Rhodope I learnt by heart almost, with its beautiful 
 pathos and marvellous rhythm of unequalled prose. 
 Then snatches of Nodes Ambrosiance, and Maginn's 
 Miscellanies, and Locke's Human Under 'standing 
 as a cold douche, and Middlemarch, Bleak House, 
 and my favourite novel of novels, the Tale of Two 
 Cities. So I filled up my time, at any rate not to 
 disadvantage, save that the bitter weather and my greed 
 for books kept me indoors without exercise, and this 
 was to be revenged on me afterwards. And then came 
 to me, from England, Virgil and Horace, for which I 
 had sent, and I dipped here and there in these. 
 
 So Christmas came and passed away, and it was the 
 dead of winter. 
 
 During all this fearfully cold weather of ice and 
 snow and bitter wind, we lived in the room above the 
 dining-room without any fire. Gray, the superinten- 
 dent, told us several times that we could get a stove 
 and stove-pipe from the carpenter's shop if we liked to 
 put it up ourselves. But no, we were absolutely too 
 lazy to do it, and used to lie in bed nearly all day, 
 
 169 
 
The Western Avernus 
 
 or stand round the pipe that came through our floor 
 from the room below when that stove was lighted. 
 
 We would walk about with blankets round us, looking 
 like Indians, and sometimes we went in for making a 
 noise — dancing, singing, and fooling, just to keep warm. 
 And we actually went through it all without a stove 
 until a thaw came, and then we got it and made big 
 fires. ' Pete,' said I, ' we are deuced cunning fellows and 
 show lots of foresight. It will be cold next winter.' 
 
 Our room, too, was often a sight to look at, especially 
 when we had a row about whose turn it was to sweep 
 out, with the result of general sulkiness and declarations 
 that ' I won't ' and ' I won't,' until somebody got 
 desperate and hurled a mass of dust and rubbish, chips 
 and rags, down the stairs. So we were tormented with 
 fleas for our folly, and had uncomfortable days and 
 nights through laziness. 
 
 On December 29 some one proposed a walk over to 
 Granville, or Burrard's Inlet. I wish he had been 
 hanged before he suggested it. But I thought a tramp 
 would do me good, as I had been suffering from vile 
 headaches for some days before. So I and Pete, and 
 John Anderssen, a Swede, and Charley, my partner 
 from the upper country, and another Swede set out in 
 the snow after breakfast. It was hard walking, going 
 crunch, crunch in it ; but still the road had been beaten 
 down a little, and one could find reasonably good 
 footing if walking in Indian file. About eleven o'clock 
 we came to Granville, and walked down to the mill, and 
 long wharves, where ships loaded lumber for South 
 America and Australia. Then the wind began to blow, 
 
 I/O 
 
New Westminster 
 
 and it was fearfully chill, searching me through and 
 through as it swept over the Inlet, a kind of fiord, 
 laden with concentrated frost. Some of us ate dinner, 
 though I had little appetite, for my head was nearly 
 splitting, and I rejected all tobacco, sure sign of some- 
 thing very wrong in a man who had used it for ten 
 years. Then we set out homeward at two o'clock. 
 And what a walk it was ! At first we kept close 
 together, talking ; then we plodded along in silence, as 
 the low sun at last disappeared with pale glow of gold, 
 and the gibbous moon stood out half way up the sky 
 before us, brighter, it seemed, than the sun. Yet we 
 had not done half our homeward twelve miles. We 
 began to get thirsty, terribly thirsty, and some took up 
 snow and chewed it ; but I thought it was not good, as 
 I fancied I had read so in some book of travels, and still 
 plodded on with my tongue nearly as dry as it had 
 been on some horrible days of tramping in sunburnt 
 New South Wales. And it grew colder and colder still 
 in this forest. The wind had dropped and it was calm 
 and still, but the frost grew out on the bushes into 
 diamonds glittering before us on twig and pendulous 
 snowy branch, and the unbroken snow on both sides 
 shone with innumerable millions of sharp spicules, keen 
 and crystalline. The moon cast blackened shadows on 
 the white, and her splendour came down on us with 
 such lack of warmth that her light seemed a ghostly 
 cataract of freezing water, and the sharp stars stabbed 
 us with spears of cold when we came out of the shadow 
 of the forest. 
 
 Then a faint shout from behind reached me. Tired 
 
 171 
 
The Western Avernus 
 
 as I was, I turned back. Pete was seated on a log, 
 swearing he was going to die ; Anderssen lay in the 
 middle of the road in snow and moonlight, chewing 
 snow with his head down, talking unintelligible Swedish 
 and mixed English, and cursing. I sat down by the 
 ditch at the side of the road and put some snow to 
 my burning forehead. We must have seemed a queer 
 crowd in that silent forest. 
 
 Presently Pete : ' Charley, I can't get up, I 'm stuck 
 fast to this log. Am I going to stay here and be frozen 
 to a snow image ? ' ' You can if you like,' I said, sulkily 
 and selfishly ; ' I 'm not, if I can rustle through it.' I 
 got up, fell on my knees, and rolled into the snow at 
 the bottom of the ditch. ' Come and pull me out, Pete.' 
 ' Can't get up,' said Pete solemnly. ' You then, John,' 
 to Anderssen. John growled and lay still. ' You hog,' 
 said I, ' quit chewing that snow ; you '11 die there if you 
 don't.' John muttered : ' I die in the road and you in 
 the ditch.' Then the other Swede came across and 
 held his hand to me, and I scrambled out of the brush 
 and snow. I went over to Anderssen and kicked him 
 gently in the ribs : ' Get up, or I '11 knock seven bells 
 out of you. Give me your hand.' I got him up, and 
 we pulled Pete off his log. ' Now,' I said, ' you may lie 
 down and die ; I won't come back any more. Good- 
 bye.' So I and the other Swede set off again, plodding 
 desperately, for I really felt as if I must have a drink 
 or die myself, and I would not touch the snow. 
 Presently we came through a patch of dead timber, and 
 saw the lights of the town two miles away at the bottom 
 of the slope. Half a mile farther brought us to a little 
 
 172 
 
IN THE SNOW. 
 
 [to /ace p. \T2. 
 
New Westminster 
 
 log-house, where two woodcutters lived. In we went, 
 and I drank about a quart of icy water, and out again. 
 I was tired now, and my head was nearly bursting, 
 with my temples throbbing hard. Every step I took 
 seemed as if it was my last, for I thought I was shod 
 with lead, and my legs were heavy and half dead. 
 And the cold grew worse and worse. At last we came 
 down to the flat, and another quarter of a mile brought 
 me to our boarding-house. I stayed and turned off, 
 my partner the Swede said nothing, marching straight 
 ahead up town. I got to the door of the dining-room, 
 turned the handle, and fell inside on my hands and 
 knees, very much surprising two of the bosses, one of 
 whom was Mr. Gray. He said : ' Hullo, got back, eh ? ' 
 I couldn't answer him at first, but I got up, shut the 
 door, and fell on a bench near at hand. He saw I was 
 about done, and he very kindly got me a cup of tea 
 from the kitchen. Then he asked where Pete and the 
 others were. ' Coming along behind if they're not dead 
 yet,' I said, and then I went upstairs, threw my boots 
 off with a great effort, fell into my bed, and drew the 
 blankets over me. In five minutes the blood was 
 running through all my veins like molten lead, and I 
 was in a high fever. I fell asleep and did not wake till 
 morning. Looking up I saw Pete in bed. ' You 're not 
 dead then, Pete?' said I, and he solemnly shook his 
 head. ' Pretty near a go, though.' 
 
 I never felt cold like it in all my life, although it was 
 not really very intense, as the thermometer in town did 
 not quite go down to ten degrees below zero, which is 
 nothing to the temperature at Kamloops and farther 
 
 173 
 
The Western Avernus 
 
 east, where it sometimes goes down to 30 and 40 
 below, or at Winnipeg in Manitoba, where 6o° below is 
 not uncommon in winter. I suppose I suffered more 
 than I should otherwise have done, owing to my being 
 in a very bad state of health at that time. For two 
 weeks after this I was ill, for five days in bed, living on 
 biscuits and milk. Then I recovered somewhat for 
 another week or two, and then went down completely 
 with so-called bilious fever, which was probably malaria 
 and typhoid mixed, and lay nearly dead for three 
 weeks, coming round at last, when I was but a long 
 ghost and a skeleton. 
 
 During this winter, when I was reasonably well, both 
 before and after the fever, I used sometimes to go down 
 to see some of the men who lived in the little cabins 
 close at hand. This was an Indian town as well, and 
 the Indians and whites used to live together in a fearful 
 state of dirt and drunkenness. Indian women have few 
 of them any notion of modesty left now, since the 
 whites came amongst them, and the consequent licence 
 resulting from the state of manners was curious to see. 
 Sometimes I walked into a cabin to find everybody 
 drunk, perhaps some on the bed, some on the floor, or 
 under the table ; or there would be a wild hubbub 
 inside, with fragments of English, Chinook, German, or 
 Spanish, or the real guttural Indian with its strange 
 clicks. On coming in, drink would be offered me, or I 
 would be invited to send for some, and the ' jamboree ' 
 would get worse and worse, until finally there was a 
 fight or a scratching match, and loud oaths and yells. 
 
 One of the mill-men, an English sailor, went about 
 174 
 
New Westminster 
 
 continually with a black eye or his face scratched with 
 the ' ten commandments,' until at last he was relegated 
 to the discipline and sobriety of the jail for a period of 
 three; months for having broken open the door of an 
 Indian woman to assault her on account of some 
 fanciful amatory grievance. Sometimes the constable 
 would make a raid and take a woman to jail for being 
 drunk, but this was in the daytime, as he dared not 
 come down round where we lived in the dark, several 
 having sworn vengeance on him if ever they caught 
 him there when they had a chance of getting away 
 without being discovered. 
 
 Thus my time passed away with sickness, riot, dis- 
 order, reading, and writing. Yes, writing too, for I 
 wrote this winter an autobiography, psychological at 
 that, with snatches of verse and long letters to England. 
 This MS. I sent to a literary friend of mine in London, 
 but it never came into his hand, having been lost in the 
 post. Then I learnt some Chinook, so that I could 
 speak a little to the Indians. And a strange enough 
 jargon it is — English, French, and Indian ; and English 
 and French corrupted and altered to suit the vocal 
 Indian peculiarities, r becoming /, as 'dly' for 'dry.' 
 There are some strange words, as ' hyas puss-puss ' for 
 the mountain lion or cougar, the northern representative 
 of the South American puma; 'hyas 1 means great or 
 large ; and ' hyiu/ plenty. ' Moos-moos ' is cow, and 
 ' moos-moos glease/ butter. The great salutation is 
 ' Clahya, tilicum,' or ' How goes it, partner ? ' ' Siwash ' is 
 an Indian, and ' sitcum siwash ' a half-breed. I never 
 progressed very far in this gibberish, but I could say 
 
 175 
 
The Western Avernus 
 
 ' yes ' and ' no,' ' nawitka ' and ' halo/ and, • What do 
 you want?' ' Ikta mika tiki?' and so on, and gestures 
 and English did the rest. 
 
 And then the frost broke up, and soon the mill was 
 running again, and the river swung to and fro with 
 burden of ice blocks, grinding on shingle and against 
 wharf and pile. But I was yet weak and did little 
 work for a fortnight, spending my time leisurely and 
 in repose or in the library, until I got fat again and 
 turned to throwing board and plank — fir, pine, cedar, 
 and spruce — like a machine as before. And I was now 
 in debt to the mill, and had to work a month to get 
 out of the obligation ; and, besides, I owed a doctor's 
 bill. So I had not, so far, made much more money by 
 staying in one place. It was now February, I had 
 been nearly four months in New Westminster, and 
 was 30 dols. worse off than nothing. However, I felt 
 reasonably contented, having some little leisure, for 
 we did not run full time, and, besides, something was 
 always going wrong with the machinery or the belts, 
 which gave me opportunities to get to chess or books. 
 
 But I doubt if I should have been in such a serene 
 state of mind if the mill had owed me money, for it 
 seemed they were in a bad way financially. If a man 
 left it was hard, nay, almost impossible, to get what 
 was due to him ; and even when they discharged any 
 one it was necessary for him to wait days to get a few 
 miserable dollars. One man worried the manager so 
 for his money, which was only 40 dollars, that at last 
 
 H threatened to kick him off the place if he 
 
 troubled him any more ! Then another man wanted 
 
 176 
 
New Westminster 
 
 his, and H offered him an order ior it on the 
 
 Victoria agency of the firm. ' But how am I to get 
 to Victoria without a cent ? ' said the unfortunate in- 
 dividual. ' Oh, get on board the Teaser and beat 
 your way,' or, more literally and in English, cheat the 
 steamer by stowing away. Strange advice under the 
 circumstances truly ! The Chinamen employed in the 
 mill struck work until they got their money, which was 
 found for them with great difficulty. Some of the 
 creditors, men in the town, merchants and others, could 
 only get payment by taking lumber for it, and the mill 
 was constantly being sued in the courts, and we looked 
 every day for somebody to come down and take the 
 mill in execution, or something equally desperate. In 
 fact, one man seized 120,000 feet on a schooner loading 
 for Victoria. So I thought it lucky they did not owe 
 me anything. 
 
 By the middle of March I began to make a little, 
 and it grew up slowly to about 20 dols., which, con- 
 sidering the little likelihood there was of my getting it, 
 seemed a huge sum. However, I determined to make 
 it 30 dols., and then try to get paid in cash, not in 
 clothes and hats out of the stores. But an incident 
 happened that prevented the sum to my credit going 
 beyond 23 dols., and that was in all probability the 
 best thing for me under the circumstances, as, if I had 
 let it go to 30 dols. I should never have got any of it. 
 It was the first week in April, and we were all at 
 dinner, twenty at the table at which I sat and about 
 ten at the other, with a Chinaman to wait on us and 
 two cooking. Now this waiter was a very insolent 
 M 177 
 
The Western Avernus 
 
 individual, rather strong, with well -developed arms, 
 who had for some time worked in the mill. He was 
 the cause of my leaving the place. Wanting some 
 more meat, I asked him for some civilly enough, I am 
 sure, but none came. Thinking he might have for- 
 gotten, I asked again, and still no meat in any reasonable 
 time. The final result was that I thrashed the man, 
 
 and some one ran to the office and told H , the 
 
 manager, that I was killing a Chinaman. Just as I sat 
 down in he rushed. ' Who 's been making this dis- 
 turbance ? ' 'I have,' I said. ' Then I discharge you.' 
 
 'That's all right about discharging, Mr. H ,' said I, 
 
 ' but can I get my money ? ' ' You can get it this 
 afternoon,' and out he went. 
 
 ' Served the Chinaman right, old man,' said Mac and 
 Johnny, ' but we 're sorry you 've got to go.' Then they 
 and another went to the office, and wanted to know if 
 the Chinaman was to be discharged too. ' No,' said 
 
 H . ' Well,' said Mac, the spokesman, ' if he isn't 
 
 discharged we '11 all go and shut the mill down.' So 
 the Chinaman went too, and Fraser, the book-keeper, 
 who was a very good friend of mine, actually charged 
 him with two cups, a plate, and a tin dipper which had 
 been smashed when we were in the thick of the fight, 
 and, what 's more, made him pay for them. 
 
 And thus it was I left the mill, for I did get my 
 money, though the manager had to borrow 20 dols. to 
 pay me. It was lucky that it happened as it did, for in 
 about ten days the concern went bankrupt, and nobody 
 got any money at all. 
 
 That night I went up town, taking good care to look 
 178 
 
N e w West m inster 
 
 about me as I went through the Chinese quarter, and 
 bade farewell to my chess and library acquaintances, 
 and in the morning, after long deliberation as to 
 whether I should take the Teaser to Victoria or the 
 Adelaide for Yale, I made up my mind to the latter 
 course, and started for Kamloops again to visit my old 
 boss, from whom I had received many kindly letters 
 since arrivine in the town of New Westminster. 
 
 179 
 
CHAPTER XV 
 
 BACK TRACKS TO EAGLE PASS 
 
 So I was bound up-stream once more, leaving saw-mill 
 and library behind me. Yet I carried a few books, for 
 I had Virgil and Horace, and a volume or two of 
 poetry, Coleridge and Keats, and Academy Skits for 
 '84, and the illustrated catalogue of the Institute of 
 Water-Colour Painters, sent to me from home, which 
 I was now taking up to give to Hughes. My 
 blankets were heavier than when I came down, for 
 I had even left my Sartor Resartus with him as a 
 present, as I thought I might do myself good by a 
 change, especially as I nearly knew it by heart, having 
 read it through many thousand miles of travel ; to say 
 nothing of my habit of poring over that same volume at 
 breakfast when in England, to which, without meaning 
 any disrespect to Carlyle, I believe I owed more than a 
 moiety of my indigestion and congestion of liver. 
 
 And I was in the Fraser again, this time to fight the 
 current for a hundred miles or so to Yale. It was a 
 very pleasant trip. Our captain, one of the well-known 
 pioneer families of British Columbia, a Moore, the one- 
 armed one, was a very delightful companion, and Jim, 
 the mate, was as good. Then we had two Chilliwhack 
 farmers, and one from Sumass, and a Chinaman or two. 
 
 180 
 
Back Tracks to Eagle Pass 
 
 When we tied up for the night at the bank below Chilli- 
 whack, for we started late, we sat down and talked and 
 smoked most amicably, and when they found out I could 
 sing, it was, ' Sing us another,' ' Come and take a drink, 
 you must be dry,' and then sing again ; and then Jim 
 and the skipper beguiled the intervals by telling dreadful 
 stories of going up the Fraser and getting steam up to 
 150 lb., when the boiler was only certified for 60 lb. 
 He told a yarn about the steamer that blew up under 
 similar conditions ten miles or so below Yale, and 
 another of the boat we were then in, when they one 
 day had the tiller-ropes break in the most perilous place 
 on the river, and had to let her drift blindly, till she 
 hung in an eddy behind a rock, giving them a chance 
 to mend the gear. Then we sang more songs and 
 had more drinks till twelve o'clock, and I spread my 
 blankets out and went to sleep, with the consciousness 
 that I had done my duty in singing at any rate, for I 
 was as hoarse as I could be. 
 
 In the morning there was a frightful fog of mist and 
 smoke, caused mostly, however, by the latter, which came 
 from a magnificent mountain fire above Pitt River, which 
 we had seen the night before. The whole side of the 
 mountain was red-hot, and the horseshoe ring of the 
 outer flames shone gloriously bright, while there was a 
 mile of dull embers in the midst of it. 
 
 In consequence of this fog we had to go very slowly, 
 at times stopping altogether, and at last, when we 
 thought, or rather the captain thought, for I had no 
 notion at all, that we were near Chilliwhack, the deck- 
 hands shouted, and some one answered out of the fog, 
 
 181 
 
The Western Avernus 
 
 and next moment we went bump against the high bank, 
 stem foremost, and soon made a landing, and parted 
 with two of our friends. 
 
 Then it gradually cleared up, and we ran on, righting 
 the stream at intervals but ' making the riffle,' or crossing 
 the rapid, without resorting to bacon hams in the 
 furnace or a nigger on the safety-valve, as was the 
 custom in the palmy days of steamboat racing on the 
 Mississippi or the Sacramento. And then we ran 
 through lovely reaches of calm water, and past huge 
 piles of drift-wood stuck on sand-bars, and came to 
 Hope, whence the trail runs to Similkameen, the last 
 new gold find in British Columbia. After that came 
 fierce fighting with the stream, and again we tied up 
 and waited for morning ; then riffle after riffle was 
 triumphantly passed, the whistle-scream echoed from 
 the entrance of the canon, and I was at Yale once 
 more, somewhat exercised in mind as to the means of 
 getting to Kamloops without walking and without 
 paying my fare, which was too much for my pocket. 
 Now the main office of the railroad was then at Yale, 
 where A. Onderdonk, the well-known and much abused 
 contractor, whom the men usually called Andy or 
 A. O., had his residence, and it was often possible to 
 get a pass up-country to work on the road, either 
 grading or track-laying, without paying for it. I had 
 no intention of working at this kind of work if it were 
 possible to do without it, for I now considered myself 
 a cut above a mere railroader, being a saw-mill man, 
 and railroading is considered by all who do not follow 
 it as a c low-down job,' nearly as bad as the dog's-meat 
 
 182 
 
Back Tracks to Eagle Pass 
 
 man's man in London. So I went up to the office and 
 bored two or three officials, even speaking to the great 
 Andy himself, who is a good-looking and pleasant in- 
 dividual, until at last I was told to jump on the train in 
 the morning for Ashcroft or Barnes, near the Black 
 Canon, where I could get work. 
 
 Down I went early, with my blankets on my back, 
 having slept that night at Taylor's, where the usual 
 racket and fandango had been going on, and found a 
 dozen or two others who were bound for the same place 
 on the same terms, and besides these I came across 
 Fraser from the mill, who was going up to Eagle 
 Pass to be book-keeper for a contractor doing grading 
 and tunnelling along the banks of the Big Shushwap 
 Lake. We got in the train and started up the canon. 
 I was glad enough to get to Ashcroft, or at any rate 
 to be out of the worst of the canon, for the narrow 
 shelf of rock on which we ran, the vast blocks of over- 
 hanging stone, the perilous high trestle-bridges, and the 
 black depth of howling waters beneath, kept me in a 
 state of mental tension, especially when we slashed 
 round a curve or went down an occasional sharp descent 
 that made me imagine the train was flying in the air. 
 We got out at Ashcroft, in the Alkali Dry Belt, but I 
 put my blankets on my back and marched a mile 
 to Barnes's Hotel, and slept there that night, after 
 having had the worst supper I ever paid 50 cents for, 
 spending the evening in a crowded bar-room amid 
 noise and smoke and half- intoxicated railroad men 
 from the camps near at hand. 
 
 In the morning I started on my walk to Hughes's 
 183 
 
The Western Avernus 
 
 Ranche, which was about forty-one miles from here. I 
 passed my companions of yesterday working with pick 
 and shovel in a mixed gang of whites and Chinamen, 
 and tramped along the railroad track between the rails, 
 for the line was now roughly finished as far as Savona's 
 Ferry, at the foot of Kamloops Lake. It was a weary, 
 thirsty walk, for it was almost impossible to step except 
 upon the ties or sleepers, and these were set so that 
 to go from one to the next made me walk with a 
 ridiculous short step, and if I missed one out I made 
 an immense stride. And I could not step in between, 
 for the line was unballasted ; that is, the space between 
 the ties was not filled up with earth or gravel. Then 
 there was no path alongside the track ; or if there was, 
 it was painful to walk upon on account of the rocks. 
 The water in the little creeks that ran down the hollows 
 in the hills was terribly alkaline, soft and horrible to 
 taste, so that as I tramped on the awkward ties, watching 
 every step, with a burning sun glaring on the bare soil, 
 I grew thirstier and thirstier, while the beautiful blue 
 stream of the Thompson, down far below me, or shining 
 farther off yet in the distance, mocked my parching 
 tongue, and the musical whisper of the water, as it 
 ran over the rapids, sounded like a fiend's rejoicing 
 voice. So I stumbled along, tasting almost every 
 stream I came to, unless I saw the white alkaline 
 incrustation on its banks, in the hope of finding good 
 water. But in the twenty-one or twenty-two miles to 
 Savona I only found one that was passable. 
 
 I tramped into that little settlement, or rather into 
 the newer portion, since called Van Horn, after one 
 
 184 
 
Back Tracks to Eagle Pass 
 
 of the C.P.R. officials, at three o'clock, ' peted,' done 
 up. I came to a Chinaman's, who had ' Restaurant ' 
 painted outside, with some Chinese characters as well, 
 and walked in. I began to demand dinner in the usual 
 way one speaks to Chinamen there, but found he could 
 talk very good English indeed. He gave me a good 
 dinner too, and I sat there smoking and talking till half- 
 past four, and then started, hoping to get to Hughes's 
 that night, although the distance was seventeen miles. 
 If I had taken the wagon-road I might have done it, 
 but thinking it would be shorter to follow the railroad 
 along the lake until I came to Cherry Creek, which ran 
 down through his land, I kept on the track, taking the 
 bare grade, which finally gave out at places. I had to 
 scramble round bluffs or rocks until it was dark, and 
 I came to a camp where there was only one man, who 
 refused me a cup of tea. I thanked him for his courtesy, 
 and started to climb the hill in the dark to discover the 
 wagon-road, as it would have been out of my way to go 
 farther on the grade. At last I found the road, and set 
 out on the last six miles in total darkness, but when I 
 had done three, arriving at Roper's, I felt I was done up 
 and could do no more. So I opened the door of the 
 hotel and walked into the bar-room. Next morning I 
 left for Hughes's and took three hours to do three 
 miles, such was my fatigue from the day before. I 
 found Hughes working by the house, shook hands 
 with him, and went and lay down, enjoying dolce far 
 niente for that day at any rate. I stayed there some 
 days, working a little, sometimes shooting, and some- 
 times trout-fishing, for there was a plentiful supply of 
 
 185 
 
The Western Avernus 
 
 small brook-trout to be caught there, and one afternoon 
 I hooked out forty. 
 
 Then I went into Kamloops and stayed a day or two 
 to look out for work, but seeing no chance I came back 
 for a little while and then went again. Finally, acting 
 on my friend's advice, I determined to go up to Eagle 
 Pass again, as work was reported lively there, and a 
 town building up rapidly. My 23 dols. was now nearly 
 exhausted, and when I got into town I had insufficient 
 to pay my fare up to the lakes, so I went to the captain 
 of the Kamloops steamer, and he allowed me to work 
 my passage up. I went down to the fires, and passed 
 wood for the fireman, stowing it away whenever they 
 took more on board, working like a demon. One time 
 I stowed away three cords of four-foot wood without 
 resting. First my shirt came off, then my undershirt, 
 and I slung the wood with the perspiration rolling off 
 me in streams, getting into my eyes, and running down 
 into my very boots. It was little scenery I saw at that 
 time, as I was down in the stoke-hold nearly all the 
 while. At last we came up to the Landing, and I could 
 hardly recognise the place. Instead of three buildings 
 there were more than a hundred, all strung along the 
 foreshore, and new ones were going up, and everywhere 
 one could hear hammers going and the axe, while on 
 the beach were crowds of men, and piles of merchandise, 
 of lumber, casks and odds and ends innumerable. Had 
 it not been for the unchanged mountain background I 
 should not have thought it was the almost desolate spot 
 I came to after my tramp over the Selkirks and through 
 the Golden Range. 
 
 186 
 
Back Tracks to Eagle Pass 
 
 I went ashore and up to Murdoch's, finding the place 
 in the throes of dissolution and regeneration, pulling 
 down and rebuilding at once. At every step I came 
 across acquaintances from the lower country, or men I 
 had met in the Kicking Horse Pass. There seemed 
 much business doing, especially for carpenters, who were 
 in great request, and, judging from the number of 
 drunken men, a vast quantity of liquor was being dis- 
 posed of, although it was forbidden to sell it without a 
 licence from the Provincial Government and with or 
 without one by the Dominion Government, which led 
 to a conflict, to which I shall refer afterwards. At the 
 present time Murdoch was the only man with a licence, 
 but still it was possible to buy whisky anywhere. I 
 went into the bar-room, threw my blankets in a corner, 
 shook hands with Murdoch and one or two acquaint- 
 ances, sat down, lighted my perpetual clay pipe, and 
 took in the scene and conversation. There was an 
 immense amount of railroad talk, and I soon saw it 
 would be easy enough to get work of that kind if other 
 things failed. I determined not to do any of it if it 
 could be avoided, and thinking that Fraser might be 
 able to get me something to do, I went down to the end 
 of the town and got an Irishman, voluble and semi- 
 intoxicated, to pull me across the lake for four bits to 
 where he was working. When I got across I found he 
 was somewhere else, and waited for three hours, mean- 
 while getting most vilely hungry, and ageing as it were, 
 for I soon suspected myself a fool, which would, accord- 
 ing to the Night Thoughts, indicate my age as thirty, 
 and soon afterwards I seemed to know it, and that 
 
 187 
 
The Western Avernus 
 
 means forty. At last I could stand no longer to watch 
 the salmon and lake trout leap for flies, and I got into 
 another boat, paying another four bits to get back. So 
 my trip was in vain, and cost me a dollar, which I could 
 ill afford. On arriving at the landing I had a good 
 supper and was rejuvenated, though I had now but 
 half a dollar left, and half a dollar in the mountains of 
 British Columbia only means one meal, or two drinks 
 or four cigars, whereas in Melbourne it would have the 
 larger significance of four dinners and a single extra 
 glass of beer, and even in London Bohemia the initi- 
 ated is a long way from starvation and the archways with 
 2s. 2d. to his credit, or even with but a splendid shilling. 
 So I was very pleased to meet Fraser in the main and 
 only street that night, for I borrowed five dollars from 
 him, which were given kindly and gracefully. Indeed, 
 one thinks of five dollars there as one would think of 
 five shillings at home, and I spent a dollar when I had 
 plenty of them, which truly was only occasionally, as if 
 mere silver was nothing. Fraser promised to see if it 
 were possible to get me a good job with his contractor 
 Mitchell ; but next day I was fortunately put beyond 
 any need of troubling him for work or further loans by 
 getting employment at 2.50 dollars, or 10s. 5d. a day. 
 My ' boss ' was one of the best men to work for I ever 
 met, a Mr. G. F. Kyle, a Canadian, who had risen to a 
 good position in Onderdonk's employ. I never saw any 
 one who had anything to say against him, but, on the 
 contrary, everybody had a good word for him. He was 
 a tall, strong, pleasant and good-featured man, some- 
 what English-looking, with a sharp eagle eye and that 
 
 188 
 
Back Tracks to Eagle Pass 
 
 undefinable look about him of a man who knows other 
 men — somewhat similar to the appearance and quick, 
 penetrating glance of ' our only General/ whom I had 
 often seen in Pall Mall and the War Office when he was 
 Quartermaster-General and I worked as a writer in his 
 department. Mr. Kyle made me work hard while there 
 was any necessity for it, but then he worked himself, 
 and was as energetic a ' rustler ' as British Columbia 
 held. My first month with him was one of almost 
 continuous labour, Sunday and week-day and overtime, 
 so that I made about eighty dollars that month, subject 
 to the deduction of a dollar a day for board. We 
 built a stable and a warehouse for the stores for the 
 railroad work in the Eagle Pass, over the first twenty 
 miles of which Kyle was superintendent. Then I 
 grubbed up stumps, cleared up all round, graded off the 
 yard into a slope, cut poles in the forest, helped load up 
 the wagons, weighed the stores out — potatoes, bacon, 
 and flour — marked them, and so on. So for that first 
 month I had my hands full indeed. 
 
 Beside Kyle there was a book-keeper, a Mr. Requa, who 
 was also a very agreeable individual, and with whom I 
 got along very well, so well indeed that he told me I 
 was a first-rate worker and hadn't a lazy hair in my 
 head. I said, ' Wait a while, you don't know me yet, 
 for I can be as lazy as the next man.' Then there was 
 the storekeeper, little Mac, who had been a telegraph 
 operator in the lower country. He was extremely con- 
 ceited, and would tell me, ' I am so different from other 
 fellows, you know, Charlie,' as indeed he was, but not in 
 any way to give him much reason for boasting. Besides 
 
 189 
 
The Western Avernus 
 
 these there was an old white-haired watchman, with 
 whom I had some trouble about the horses. He was 
 going to break my neck, but it is still whole. There 
 were also two teamsters, one a good-looking, somewhat 
 soft young fellow, genial and pleasant, Bob by name or 
 nickname, and Joe Fagin, tall, clumsy, with huge 
 strength, capable of lifting Soo lb., hairless on the face, 
 ruddy and reasonably good-tempered, a great swimmer 
 and a splendid driver. Then there were two carpenters, 
 one of whom insisted I was a runaway man-o'-war's 
 man. The other was a gambler, and dropped his money 
 at stud-horse poker or faro as soon as he made it. 
 These two went away as soon as the store was finished. 
 All this time building was going on rapidly in the 
 town, and money was very plentiful and circulated 
 freely. Half the town would be drunk at night, and 
 there was a fight or two every evening, and black 
 eyes were plentiful as dollars. The Swedes were the 
 worst for drinking, getting intoxicated early in the 
 morning. One day I came across six lying in a pile, 
 close to our warehouse, by the edge of the lake. One 
 was lying with his head down hill and his hair touching 
 the water. I tried to put him right, but as he was a 
 heavy man, weighing perhaps 14 stone, with another 
 heavy fellow lying across him, I was unable to get him 
 up. While pulling away at him I woke up one of the 
 others, who was the least drunk. ' Get up,' said I, ' and 
 help me to get your partner out ; his head 's nearly in 
 the water.' ' So much the worse for him,' said the 
 other sleepily, and dropped off to rest again. I put a 
 hat over the man's face to keep the burning sun from 
 
 190 
 
Back Tracks to Eagle Pass 
 
 him', but when I came round again he had taken it off. 
 So I let him lie. 
 
 Then there was a well-known individual in town, a 
 Welshman whom we all called Taffy, who rejoiced in 
 perennial drunkenness and black eyes. He was always 
 righting and always getting whipped, but, as he kept 
 on, I suppose he liked it, One day he called a car- 
 penter, whom I knew, an opprobrious name, and got 
 badly choked and beaten. Our method of fighting 
 there was different from what is considered fair in 
 England. When a man falls or is knocked down, his 
 opponent gets on him, choking or thumping him with 
 his fists, and sometimes, if any sticks or stones, ' clubs ' 
 or ' rocks,' are lying within reach, they are brought into 
 action, and, besides, biting and eye-gouging are not 
 considered absolutely wrong, though seldom resorted 
 to. Consequently, as Taffy was usually too drunk to 
 stand up, he got the worst of his perpetual combats, 
 unless he came across an opponent who was drunker 
 than himself. This, however, would be very rare, as any 
 increased intoxication must have resulted in sleep and 
 quietness. When Taffy got to that stage he went down 
 to his boat and lay under a tarpaulin, and one day, 
 when Mac, the storekeeper, and I found him there, we 
 cut him adrift and sent him out into the lake, where he 
 floated round for an hour or two, an object of universal 
 interest. 
 
 While working here I used to see Major Rogers, 
 the surveyor who had surveyed the line through the 
 Kicking Horse Pass and the Selkirks. He had been 
 in the mountains seven years at this task, and he and 
 
 191 
 
The Western Avernus 
 
 his men toiled and suffered fearfully at times. His two 
 nephews were with him, and were fine, good-looking 
 young fellows. 
 
 After my first month things were much easier for 
 me, as I had very little to do except to attend to a 
 few horses in the stable and help load the wagons ; 
 consequently I used to lie on a pile of grain sacks in 
 the stores and read novels. Then we would go in 
 swimming, perhaps twice a day, and I would take a 
 walk up town, looking into the gambling saloons or 
 chatting with my acquaintances, who were not a few. 
 And then I got my old chum Scott again, from the 
 Kicking Horse Pass, who had followed my footsteps 
 over the Selkirks in company with Davidson. When 
 I saw him he was purser on a lake steamer, the Lady 
 Dufferin, and we had a great palaver together. He 
 told me that he and Davidson had often talked about 
 ' Texas,' as he still called me, wondering what had 
 become of me. He was glad to see me again, as glad 
 as I was to see him. He had had a hard time crossing 
 the trail, though not so bad as I, for his boots fortun- 
 ately did not chafe him, and, besides that, his time on 
 the trail had been shorter, owing to the extension of 
 the wagon road. We met constantly after this, until 
 at last he left the steamer, being unable to stand Bill 
 Fortune any longer. This man, an uneducated York- 
 shireman, who was ' bossed ' by his wife, was owner of a 
 little saw-mill below Kamloops. He used to cause 
 some amusement by blowing his little steamer's whistle 
 at intervals from the time he came in sight round the 
 point to the time he disappeared again, unless he was 
 
 192 
 
Back Tracks to Eagle Pass 
 
 too much intoxicated to pull the rope. When Scott 
 left his employ he took to running whisky into the 
 town, but without much success, as the police con- 
 fiscated his biggest venture, which almost ruined my 
 friend, as he had put all his cash into it that time. I 
 used to tell him it served him right for trying to make 
 money out of whisky, for I was then, and am now, a 
 prohibitionist, although not a total abstainer. I am 
 quite sure that I went through sufferings and privations 
 both in British Columbia and afterwards that would 
 have almost killed a man accustomed to drink spirits, 
 and I have often been six months at a time without 
 drinking anything intoxicating, even when it almost 
 risked my life to refuse. Nevertheless, in some com- 
 pany I have had to drink, and I myself have deemed 
 it occasionally politic to swagger into a bar-room and 
 say : ' Step up, boys, what 's your liquor ? ' just to show 
 a rough crowd I was not too ' high-toned ' to drink 
 with them, or too mean to pay out a dollar now and 
 again. 
 
 It was getting towards the end of June, when one 
 evening Kyle sent for me to say that he wanted me to 
 come out with him the next day to bridge over some 
 sloughs, and that he needed another man, too, who was 
 to be an axeman. So I went round and hired one 
 who was Taffy's partner, and next morning this man, 
 Williams, whom I had met before at Kamloops, and 
 I set out together up the road and were presently joined 
 by Kyle on horseback. We all worked together, felling 
 trees across these sloughs to make temporary bridges 
 for the men to cross who were making the grade. We 
 N 193 
 
The Western Avernus 
 
 took all the morning to do three, and then Williams 
 and the boss and I ate our lunch on one of the trees in 
 the middle of the swamp, dipping up water in a tin cup 
 to drink. I was not much of an axeman ; indeed it is 
 rare to find an Englishman who can do very much with 
 that instrument, as it requires a long apprenticeship, so 
 Kyle did great part of my work in showing me how 
 to do it. He knew very well I worked hard, but then 
 he could, from knowing how to handle an axe, do 
 twice as much as I in half the time, with half the 
 exertion, and he would be calm and smiling when 
 I was sweating and puffing, striking every blow in a 
 different place. After lunch we went up to the Eagle 
 River, and hailing the other side a man came across in 
 a boat, or a vile apology for one, like the thing I had 
 crossed the Illecilliwet in. However, we got across 
 safely, and went farther up to another slough, and after 
 working there a while we left Williams at the job alone 
 and came back to the river. Here Kyle told me he 
 wanted to make a ferry, though he did not explain how 
 he was going to do it. We had brought out with us in 
 the morning two coils of rope, which he had left in the 
 boat. When we got to the river again, where this punt 
 was, a quarter of a mile above where the railroad was 
 to cross, we got in and I took the oars. As we drifted 
 down Kyle told me what to do. There was just above 
 the railroad crossing a long dead tree, bare of branches, 
 lying on the bank, projecting half way over the stream, 
 which is narrow but extremely rapid, running at least 
 eight miles an hour. I was to let the boat drift right 
 under the point of this tree, so that Kyle could throw a 
 
 194 
 
Back Tracks to Eagle Pass 
 
 running noose over the end of it, which, as he stood up, 
 would be four or five feet above his head. So down we 
 swept, quicker and quicker, until at last we were right 
 under it. Kyle threw and missed. ' Pull, pull, G — ■ d — 
 it, can't you pull ? ' he said. I swore back, ' Can't you 
 see I am pulling ? ' But it was no use. I could not 
 make any headway, strain as I might, with a flat-bowed 
 thing against which the waters stood up. So down we 
 went, and I had to pull to the shore nearest our camp. 
 Then Kyle took the rope, when he had recovered from 
 his fit of irritation, and walked out on the tree and put 
 the loop on and came back again. 
 
 My heart was in my mouth, for if he had slipped he 
 would have had a hard struggle to save himself. How- 
 ever, he came to the bank in safety. Then he brought 
 the rope down to the boat, and, holding on to it, we 
 swung out into mid-stream, and then tried to steer her 
 over to the other side. We found it impossible to make 
 the shore without letting the rope go, and even then it 
 would have been a great chance. So back we went, 
 and Kyle pulled his watch out and said, ' It's past four 
 now, and I promised to see some one in town at five. I 
 must go, and you must get over and bring Williams 
 across.' ' Yes,' said I, ' but how the devil am I to do 
 it ? ' 'I don't know,' said Kyle, and strode off. I sat 
 down and laughed. He and I could not get across, and 
 now I was to do it myself. Then I grew serious, for I 
 could not see how it was to be done. I looked at the 
 stream and the strong eddies, then at the boat and the 
 rude oars or paddles, then at the tree and the rope. I 
 thought it impossible, and was very nearly turning 
 
 195 
 
The Western Avernus 
 
 round and walking off without even attempting it. 
 However, I hit on a plan at last. I thought I could try 
 at any rate, and if I was drowned it would be Kyle's 
 fault, and I would, if possible, haunt him. 
 
 My greatest fear, however, was not of drowning but 
 of being carried down the river, which would deprive 
 the men working there of all means of crossing at the 
 old place. As I sat down, making plans, one of these 
 men came to the opposite bank and asked how their 
 boat got there, and when I told him he made some 
 uncomplimentary remarks about Kyle. I asked him 
 how I was to get across, and he said I couldn't do it. 
 1 Well, I 've got to do it.' ' Well, you can't,' and he 
 disappeared. Then I got into the boat, laid hold of 
 the rope, the loose end of which I tied to a stump, and 
 hauled myself slowly up stream, hand over hand, until 
 I was right under the tree again, and the water boiled 
 in over the bows. I let go, jumped to the seat, snatched 
 the oars, was caught in an eddy, and came just where I 
 wanted to. So far so good ; but the question now was 
 how Williams and I were to get back again. If I had 
 been able to bring the loose end of the rope over, it 
 would have been all right, but that had been impossible 
 owing to its being too short. To start from that side 
 without any rope, just in that place, would have taken 
 us and boat probably a mile down stream. So there 
 was nothing for it but to take the boat back to the 
 place Kyle had brought it from, and a delightful task 
 that proved. The banks were thick with brush, and 
 trees projected over the water everywhere. One of the 
 railroad men got in and tied a rope to the bows, and 
 
 196 
 
A FERRY ON THE EAGLE RIYER. 
 
 [to /ace />. 15 
 
Back Tracks to Eagle Pass 
 
 Williams and another hauled it up while I scrambled 
 round the brush to pass the end on when they came to 
 an impassable place. Three times I fell in, once I had 
 to swim and once I was dragged out by the scruff of 
 the neck, before we got it back, and many were the 
 curses levelled at my boss for his ' darned ingenuity,' as 
 the man in the boat called it. At last Williams and I 
 got across, and set off just at dusk to walk eight miles 
 or more to town, thinking that we had at any rate got 
 over the worst and that the rest was plain sailing or 
 plain walking. But we were greatly deceived. 
 
 As we walked down the embankment of soft sand 
 in the middle of the cedar forest the sky rapidly 
 darkened and the wind came down in heavy puffs, like 
 the forerunners of a gale. Up to this time I had not 
 seen it blow much in British Columbia, except for a 
 little while once at New Westminster, so I thought it 
 would blow over and be nothing of consequence ; but, 
 instead of doing that, it came down heavier and heavier, 
 until it ceased puffing and came in violent blasts, each 
 lasting longer than the other, and fairly screaming in 
 the trees. Then needles and dead branches began to 
 fly, and presently a tree crashed down and then another. 
 We had got by this time to a long slough with a log- 
 bridge lying in the water across it, and on both sides 
 there were parties of men at work. We saw them 
 standing up on the grade looking round, and then one 
 made a run and then another, trying to find a better 
 place. The gale's force suddenly increased, and a dozen 
 cedars came down at once all round us, with a roar like 
 thunder, and all through the thick timber they fell right 
 
 197 
 
The Western Avernus 
 
 and left, one lodging against another, until two went at 
 once. And the fires lighted by the men to make their 
 supper roared and crackled in the wind, sending out 
 clouds of sparks and red embers. Then the rain began 
 to fall heavily, and was blown stingingly right in one's 
 face. I ran out into the middle of the slough on to the 
 bridge, thinking it might be safer, but when out there 
 the tall trees seemed to bend over to me, and I ran 
 right across to the others who were scuttling round 
 like holeless rabbits, trying to find a shelter. 
 
 And meantime there was a perfect windy pande- 
 monium in the forest, roars and shrieks of wind, and 
 crash, crash, crash came more trees, here, there, and 
 everywhere, some into the slough, some across the 
 grade near where we were standing, and others in the 
 distance ; the rain was piercing and stinging, and sparks 
 flew into the forest and set fire to the brush, which was 
 extinguished again and again by the downpour. 
 
 Finally, after about an hour, it began to lull, and 
 came less and less, and no more trees fell. Presently 
 Williams came across the slough and we made a fresh 
 start home, and after a weary tramp in the rain got to 
 the store. I went in. 'Hallo,' said Requa, 'you look 
 like a ghost, or as if you had seen one.' Mr. Kyle was 
 sitting near. ' Mr. Kyle,' said I, ' I brought Williams 
 over, but you let me in for a nice thing. We had to 
 drag that boat up stream and I fell in three times, 
 and afterwards we nearly came to an end on the grade 
 with the wind. Trees are lying all over the work.' He 
 was grinning till I came to the last, but that touched 
 him a little, for he was in a great hurry to get the job 
 
 198 
 
Back Tracks to Eagle Pass 
 
 finished, and anything likely to delay it made him wild. 
 So he stopped his smile and said, ' Very well, that will 
 do ; I '11 go up to-morrow.' They had had it nearly as 
 bad in town, and there had been a big waterspout on 
 the lake. The amount of fallen timber must have 
 been immense, and that so much of it fell was owing 
 to a fire that had been through the forest the year 
 before, which had burnt round the butts of the trees 
 and weakened them. 
 
 Soon after this came the Fourth of July, which, 
 strange to say, was kept with games and rejoicings 
 and fights and much intoxication, just as if it had been 
 on United States soil. We had a horse-race down the 
 narrow street, and jumping, throwing the hammer, and 
 tossing the caber. In the afternoon came running and 
 an incidental fight, because our brawny blacksmith 
 kicked a dog out of the way of the runners. ' Don't 
 you do that,' said the owner. ' I '11 kick you off too,' 
 said the keeper of the course. ' Will you ? ' No sooner 
 was he dared than the blacksmith knocked his opponent 
 down and kicked him just over the eye. Then the 
 constable interfered and got a blow in the mouth. 
 There was every prospect of a general melee, but things 
 quieted down and the games went on, and at last we 
 had a tug of war, in which I was picked on one side. 
 I confess our side was beaten, however, and the others 
 drank the keg of beer, which was the prize. By this 
 time it was dark, and at least 75 per cent, of the 
 population were drunk and vociferous, and there was 
 great howling down the street all night, and lugubrious 
 procession of black eyes and swollen heads next day. 
 
 199 
 
The Western Avernus 
 
 In the middle of the month I had a trip down to 
 Kamloops on a very unpleasant errand, for Kyle sent 
 me there with some others in charge of the body of 
 a young fellow who had been killed in his tent one 
 night by a tree falling on him when asleep. I had to 
 go to the funeral, and was glad enough to get back to 
 the pass again to my horses and novel-reading in the 
 hay. 
 
 I read a good deal of trash this time, and only 
 remember Hardy's Far from the Madding Crowd, the 
 best novel I had seen for many a long day. And 
 then I got Meredith's Diana of the Cross-ways, and the 
 first volume of Ruskin's Stones of Venice, and became 
 temporarily learned in voussoirs, spandrels, arches, 
 ornaments, etc. 
 
 During this month we had still a very lively time in 
 town, with occasional intervals of comparative quiet 
 for a day or two when Mr. Todd, the magistrate, came 
 up from Kamloops, for then the unlicensed liquor 
 dealers would hold their hands and go quietly, so that 
 no one could be very drunk in town. One day he 
 came into our store, when it was fearfully warm, and 
 sat down sighing. ' Don't you find it rather dull here, 
 Mr. Todd ? ' said I. ' It is a little dull after Kamloops.' 
 'Well,' said I, smiling, 'you can bet your life it will 
 be livelier when you leave.' He smiled too, though 
 rather feebly, and left me sewing sacks, to keep myself 
 from dying of e?ittui and heat combined. 
 
 When I look back on those months they were 
 really very happy. I had not too much to do ; I was 
 saving nearly ten pounds a month ; I had novels and 
 
 200 
 
Back Tracks to Eagle Pass 
 
 my two classical dead friends, and my unclassical live 
 friend Scott, who would come in and argue about 
 religion, and get me to tell him something about 
 Darwin, in order that he might try to controvert what 
 I said. Then there was our daily swimming, canoeing 
 in Indian canoes, and jabbering with Indians, and row- 
 ing over to Major Roger's place at Sickamoose Narrows. 
 And good board was to be had, even in this place. 
 Better than all, I did not suffer from home-sickness, 
 which can so unaccountably destroy all pleasure in life 
 at times. 
 
 And then I actually had a long conversation with 
 another educated man, a Church of England clergyman, 
 from Kamloops, who had come up to do a little preach- 
 ing to those who would listen. And these were few. 
 I took care of his horse, and so got acquainted with 
 him, and one night he came down to the stable to see 
 the animal, and then we sat down on the edge of a 
 boat — Taffy's boat, by the way — and argued of strange 
 things, 'free will, fixed fate, foreknowledge absolute,' 
 and the ' origin of evil,' and finding that the discussion 
 would be interminable for lack of something we could 
 really agree upon, we went off into English literature, 
 having a pleasant talk about many different authors. 
 Then I told him about my meeting the two clergymen 
 in the Fraser Canon, and made him laugh about the 
 pie, although his knowledge of cooking was no greater 
 than Mr. Edwards's, the author of that most abominable 
 crust. 
 
 So altogether I did not spend those three months to 
 any great disadvantage, and I was sorry enough when 
 
 201 
 
The Western Avernus 
 
 Mr. Kyle told me he would not require my services any 
 longer, as there was so little to do. I had been expect- 
 ing this for some time, as during the last two weeks I 
 was with him I did not do a good day's work. So I 
 took my money, bade farewell to Eagle Pass Landing, 
 went on board the Peerless, and back to Kam loops. 
 
 202 
 
CHAPTER XVI 
 
 TO VANCOUVER ISLAND AND VICTORIA 
 
 In Kamloops I sent home ioo dols., leaving myself 
 about 40 dols., thinking that would be sufficient to see 
 me through a period of rest, but I was sorry before 
 long that I had not kept it, as will be seen. 
 
 I went over to Hughes's, and stayed there a few 
 days, doing a few odd jobs for him, and hunted a little 
 and fished. I met an old acquaintance there again, an 
 Indian woman, Mary, who had been married to a white 
 man near Kamloops, who nearly killed her with a 
 shovel. So she left him, and when I knew her was 
 living with an American from Maine, who certainly did 
 not try to kill her, but still used to beat her. They 
 would go into town together and get drunk, and then 
 fight and squabble. I got her to make me a pair of 
 moccasins, which I lost going down to the coast. I 
 had a pleasant week at Hughes's place, not doing more 
 work than made me fit to eat a good dinner, and we 
 had great talks and discussions, making plans of 
 meeting one day in London, which may yet come to 
 pass. Then at last, getting tired of doing nothing and 
 earning nothing, I thought I would go to the coast 
 again. 
 
 So I bade my friend Mr. Hughes farewell, and off I 
 203 
 
The Western Avernus 
 
 went to Savona. I found an old saw-mill friend at 
 Van Horn, a man who was half an Indian by dint of 
 living with them, who could talk Chinook as fluently as 
 English, and with him I started to walk west once 
 more, firmly determined not to pay the exorbitant rail- 
 road fare ; and I walked the whole way to Yale again, 
 looking in at my friends the clergymen's place near 
 Jackass Mountain, of course, as I passed by. They 
 gave us dinner, and we stayed to service with a crowd 
 of Indians, and heard them talk to them in a strange 
 soft tongue, very different from the guttural language 
 of the coast. 
 
 Then to Yale, and thence by steamer to New 
 Westminster, and the Farmers' Home. 
 
 I had been so careless of money coming down that 
 I found I was running short once more, as usual with 
 me ; and as the mill had ' started up ' on a different 
 basis I went to work there again, but had trouble with 
 another Chinaman, and was discharged for knocking 
 him down. This was the second time. It was very 
 unfortunate. 
 
 I had only about 10 dols. If I had had four times 
 as much I should have bought a rifle and hunted and 
 trapped that winter, but under the circumstances I 
 thought it best to leave British Columbia, especially as 
 I was told the Chinaman was going to take me to court, 
 and I should have been heavily fined if he had. Of 
 course I could have got help to pay it if it had come 
 to that, but I thought it best to avoid accidents, so I 
 jumped on board the Teaser for Victoria. The last 
 incident of note in New Westminster was my meeting 
 
 204 
 
To Vancouver Island and Victoria 
 
 with a Japanese sailor, who had been looking on in the 
 mill when I had the difficulty with the Mongolian, and 
 now insisted on shaking hands with me for thrashing 
 him ; for these Japanese cordially hate their neighbours, 
 and regard them, as this one and many another told 
 me, as ' pigs and dogs.' 
 
 We ran down out of the river and were in the Straits 
 of Georgia, on the sea. Not the open sea, for it looked 
 more like a large lake, yet it had the smell of the brine 
 and the long roll of the sea, and the seaweed, and it 
 was pleasant to me, whose last sight of open salt water 
 had been outside of Sandy Hook. We ran across the 
 straits, down a multiplicity of channels, among a 
 thousand islands wooded to the very edge of the water, 
 and came at last into the land-locked, pleasant little 
 harbour of Victoria. 
 
 I had by this time picked up a companion or partner 
 on board. He was an Englishman, who had been in 
 the Cape Mounted Rifles and the Mounted Police of 
 the North-west Provinces east of the Rockies, from 
 which he had been discharged as an invalid. He was 
 a tall, strange individual, in a sort of velveteen jacket, 
 evidently a gentleman, and with a good voice and 
 English accent, but there was something uncanny about 
 him. One might suspect him of being haunted. We 
 talked a great deal of British Columbia, and I found 
 he had been at Hughes's once. Then I remembered 
 Hughes had told me of such a one who came and asked 
 for work during haying time, and when terms were 
 agreed upon said he would like to go and read the 
 newspaper that afternoon, and, finally, that he thought 
 
 205 
 
The Western Avernus 
 
 he would not work there, but would try to get a job 
 that would last longer somewhere else. I found out he 
 was the same individual. He had since then been in 
 the Spullamacheen Valley, and was going to Victoria 
 to try to get admission to the hospital. 
 
 In Victoria I went to the same hotel, and slept in 
 the same room with him, and was rather alarmed at 
 the wild way he talked. He was clearly insane. He 
 raved about his relatives in England who had robbed 
 him of his money, of his comrades in the Mounted 
 Police who had put forth evil reports about him, and 
 even about the people in Victoria, who knew what had 
 been said of him, for he had heard them talking about 
 him in the streets. I went to sleep, but not without 
 some misgivings, glad that he had no razor in his 
 valise, for he looked no unlikely subject for homicidal 
 mania. 
 
 Next day I was relieved by his getting admission to 
 the hospital, which, unless I am much mistaken, would 
 be a first step to his obtaining a permanent refuge at 
 the lunatic asylum, certainly the best place for him. 
 
 I was now coming down gradually in cash, and was 
 in a very fair way to have nothing at all. It really 
 seemed to me that it was my fate to be perpetually in 
 financial difficulties, for no sooner did I get anything 
 than it vanished again, and when I got a good job it 
 would not last. But then a bad one would not either. 
 I was perpetually in anxiety, and sometimes even felt 
 inclined to spend my last dollar or two recklessly, in 
 order to know the worst at once and be no more in 
 suspense. As I was walking about town in a state of 
 
 206 
 
To Vancouver Island and Victoria 
 
 mental inquiry as to ways and means, occasionally 
 asking for work at some likely-looking place, I met 
 suddenly my two friends from the canon. Now I was 
 a pretty object to talk to clergymen in a populous city. 
 It is true my old Texas hat had been discarded at 
 Eagle Pass, but I was nevertheless only in rough 
 working clothes, and doubtless the state of my pocket 
 might have been discerned by a keen observer in my 
 dejected face. Nevertheless my wild appearance did 
 not daunt Mr. Small and Mr. Edwards, who bore 
 down with smiling faces and shook hands, making all 
 sorts of inquiries. Then I walked down the street with 
 them, feeling something like a prisoner between two 
 policemen, and many were the curious glances cast at 
 me by passers-by when they saw me in such company. 
 Perhaps they thought I was a brand snatched from the 
 burning. I met a man from the hotel in which I was 
 staying, and his astonishment and temporary paralysis 
 were delightful, and I had to stand a considerable 
 amount of chaff about my ' high-toned ' acquaintances 
 when I left them, after promising to lunch with them 
 next day. I tried to get off, but they insisted, so I 
 went to a good restaurant with them, and surprised the 
 waiter, who at first, I have no doubt, thought I was an 
 unfortunate man these two charitable individuals had 
 brought in to save from starvation ; but when he saw 
 the terms we were on, and heard snatches of our con- 
 versation, he looked at me with more respect and a 
 great amount of subdued curiosity. After lunch we 
 went out and hired a boat, and I pulled them round to 
 Esquimault Harbour, and we took a look at H.M.S. 
 
 207 
 
The Western Avernus 
 
 Triumph. Coming back we began a religious argu- 
 ment, and I fear they got to look at me as a very 
 heathen, for my views and pessimistic philosophy of 
 life seemed, no doubt, extremely wrong viewed from 
 their standpoint, and it was with the sorrowful charity 
 of shocked yet forgiving spirits that they parted from 
 me for the last time. And I was left alone to come 
 back from metaphysics to the reality I philosophically 
 denied, and from subjective introspective analysis of 
 motives impelling to action, faith, or belief, to the 
 objectivity of nearly penniless pockets and need of paid 
 employment. 
 
 That afternoon I went down to the wharves and 
 asked the mate of the steamer Olympian, which ran 
 down the Sound, to let me work my way to Tacoma, 
 and after several refusals, as I would not be denied, 
 he told me to take a truck, and I helped discharge 
 her cargo and then to load her up again, working like 
 a horse, running and sweating along with the regular 
 hands. 
 
 So I left Victoria and ran down Puget Sound, calling 
 in at Port Townsend, Port Ludlow, Port Madison, and 
 Seattle, doing little or nothing on the way down, as 
 there was no discharging to do until I came in the 
 morning' to Tacoma. 
 
 208 
 
CHAPTER XVII 
 
 MOUNT TACOMA OVERHEAD 
 
 As I had had breakfast on board the steamer, I was 
 not obliged to pay out anything from my scanty stock 
 for meals, and I went up town to look for work. I 
 soon discovered that I had jumped out of the frying- 
 pan into the fire, for there was even less to be done in 
 Tacoma than in Victoria. I tried road-contractors and 
 house-builders, but could not even get work at mixing 
 mortar. I went to the coal wharves and tried to obtain 
 employment trimming coal, but every one was full- 
 handed. Then I walked down to the great saw-mill, 
 and tackled every one about the place without success, 
 until at last I came to the man who superintended the 
 loading of the vessels at the mill's wharves. Yes, I 
 could come down in the afternoon and go to work. 
 Then I wanted to know the wages. He looked at me. 
 ' Oh, it 's the wages you want to know ! Then you can 
 wait till you find out.' I got wild and ' talked back,' 
 and finally told him and the mill to go to a warm 
 locality, for I didn't want his work, and wouldn't work 
 under him at any price. This, of course, was not true ; 
 but then I had never been answered in that way in all 
 my life, and it very naturally made me angry. And 
 the fact that he replied in such a manner showed me 
 O 209 
 
The Western Avernus 
 
 that men must be very plentiful, or he would not have 
 ventured to speak so, for the bosses are polite enough 
 when hands are scarce. I walked off boiling, and made 
 up my mind to leave Tacoma and the Sound and go 
 to Portland. Then I would go to sea again and get 
 out of America. I began to think I had had enough 
 of it. 
 
 I walked up town, and, in order to reduce myself to 
 a cool and quiet state of mind, I climbed the hills 
 beyond the main street, for I desired to see Mount 
 Tacoma, which I had been told was a lofty and mag- 
 nificent mountain. After a while I turned and looked 
 back, but could see nothing, for all the level land across 
 the head of the Sound was filled with a mass of vapour. 
 I sat down and waited, and presently mist and cloud 
 began to shift and roll in the wind, that bared to me at 
 last the most glorious mountain I had yet seen. The 
 peaks of the Rockies faded from my memory, and the 
 snowy pinnacles of the Selkirks — even the white cone 
 of Mount Baker — were hidden and diminished, as this 
 white miracle of rock and ice and snow rose before me 
 towering nearly fifteen thousand feet above the sea that 
 was at my feet and the level lands at its base. Its 
 tremendous majesty is not lessened by division of peaks 
 nor marred by additions ; it is one and indivisible, 
 solitary, patriarchal yet childless. It lifts its ancient 
 head for ever above the clouds ; the storm-thunder rolls 
 below the thunder of its loosened avalanches ; the scream 
 of the soaring eagle fails to pierce to the olden silence 
 of that height ; and only the fires of the stars are above 
 the cold sharp jewels of its glittering icy crest. But 
 
 210 
 
Mount Tacoma Overhead 
 
 when at dawn the splendour of the sun kindles it to 
 responsive rose, its magic colour is beyond even the 
 ethereal glory of the rainbow and the tinged fleece of 
 floating clouds at even. It is imperial, antique, beyond 
 worship, eternal and godlike. 
 
 I had seen a mountain, and one unsurpassed in Alps 
 and Andes. Is there a greater on Himalay? 
 
 I came back slowly to earth after that, not this time 
 from the depths of subjectivity but from the rapt state 
 of ecstasy that one knows so seldom, when one be- 
 comes one with Nature for a while, and an unreasoning 
 pantheist, when one's eyes are blind to anything but 
 the glory of the universe, and one's ears are deaf to the 
 anguish of the world, and forgetful even of one's own. 
 I was alone that hour, and I am glad ; a voice would 
 have jarred on me like a false note in an exquisite 
 sonata, and even another being silent like myself would 
 have kept me to the earth and reality. For that time 
 I was a mystic, a theopath, and a believer in dreams 
 and visions, and the mountain was alive, theurgic, 
 whole and part of me, and the sea-strait beneath and 
 the sky above were ways for spirits and spiritual 
 ministering. 
 
 Yet I came back to reality, pain, anxiety, to converse 
 with brutish men, and weariness of the flesh. 
 
 My plan was now to get out of this town and go to 
 Portland, that was now so near to me, in comparison 
 with the huge distance when I had dreamed of a raft 
 voyage down the Columbia from the Rocky Mountains. 
 As it was impossible for me to pay my fare, since I had 
 but two dollars and a half, there remained two courses 
 
 211 
 
The Western Avernus 
 
 open to me. I could walk, or ' beat my way ' on the 
 train. I declined walking ; I had had enough of it in 
 British Columbia, toiling to and fro over mountain and 
 road, so there remained but ' beating.' I had to find a 
 freight or goods train, and in it an open or unlocked 
 car in which I could secrete myself, so that I might 
 be taken to Portland without any one knowing. And 
 even if I was found out, perhaps a dollar would set it 
 right with the conductor or brakesman, who are, as a 
 rule, not above making an addition to their pay. So I 
 went down to the railroad yards, and was told by a man 
 to go to a certain hotel, kept by an ex-conductor, who 
 would be able to put me up to the tricks and tell me 
 what train would be best for me to take. I went there, 
 and found out that there was a train at four o'clock 
 next morning going to Portland. I learnt the con- 
 ductor's name, but was told to keep out of his way. I 
 could find out nothing about the brakesman. 
 
 I went down in the evening to the place from which 
 the train would start, near which there was a sawmill, 
 and I soon made friends with the night watchman, who 
 promised to find me a good pile of sawdust to sleep on, 
 and so save me paying for a bed, which I could as ill 
 afford as when I was in Chicago. I sat down by the 
 fire and talked and smoked with him till ten o'clock, 
 and then together we hunted up some good shavings 
 and sawdust, and I spread my blankets out and went 
 to sleep most placidly. 
 
 Next morning, at half-past three, he called me, and I 
 rolled up my blankets and went out into the darkness 
 to seek my train, after shaking hands with him. When 
 
 212 
 
Mount Tacoma Overhead 
 
 I came to the cars I went along trying the doors, and 
 was nearly caught by the conductor. However, I hid 
 in some lumber until he passed by, and then came out 
 again, finding, fortunately, a car with the end door 
 open. I jumped up, put my head in, and finding there 
 was room I dropped my blankets inside, following them 
 as quickly as possible, shutting the door behind me. I 
 found there was very little stuff in the car, but making 
 my way nearly to the other end I kicked a soft yielding 
 mass, which grunted out : ' Hallo, partner, where are 
 you coming to ? ' ' Didn't see you, pard, it 's too dark,' 
 said I ; and then thinking I had heard the voice before, 
 asked : ' Ain't you the Irishman I spoke to last night? ' 
 ' Yes, I am.' So we knew each other, and presently, 
 when the engine whistled and rang her bell, and started 
 out, I lighted a match and took a look at my com- 
 panion and my travelling carriage, or ' side-door Pull- 
 man,' as the ' tramps ' and ' dead-beats ' facetiously call 
 it. It was new and stunk most villainously of vile paint, 
 there were some dirty and evil-smelling planks in it, the 
 floor had cracks in it, and the sides as well. My Irish 
 friend was a man about thirty-five or forty, or even 
 more, bearded and dirty, with a longish upper lip and 
 a sulky inward look — in all respects a man whom I 
 did not desire as a companion or a friend. He was 
 lying down with his head on his blankets, chewing 
 tobacco. I spread mine out and rolled myself up in 
 them, and soon went to sleep, waking up every time 
 the train stopped. About two hours from the time of 
 starting, when we were side-tracked, waiting for a train 
 to pass us on the single line, the door was suddenly 
 
 213 
 
The Western Avernus 
 
 shot back on its slide and a young fellow leapt in. 
 ' Hallo, you fellows, where are you bound for ? ' ' Port- 
 land,' said I, sitting up and biting off a bit of tobacco 
 to show I was at my ease. ' Well, you '11 have to put up 
 the stuff (Anglice, put down some money), or you can't 
 travel.' ' How much will do it? ' said my Irish partner. 
 ' A dollar and a half each.' We both swore it couldn't 
 be done. ' I haven't got a dollar and a half,' I said. 
 I lied. I had 2.50 dols. Then he came down to a 
 dollar and a quarter. 'Yes,' said I, 'but suppose we 
 give you the cash now, what will happen if the con- 
 ductor comes along ? ' ' That will be all right.' ' No, 
 it won't be all right, brakie ; I know this man's name, 
 it 's Martin, and you know it isn't all right' This took 
 him aback. ' Well, I '11 tell you what I '11 do. If you '11 
 give me a dollar and a quarter after we get across the 
 Columbia at Kalama I '11 let you ride. If you get 
 bounced by Martin before then it will be my loss, and 
 if it 's over the other side it will be yours.' ' That 's a 
 bargain,' said I ; ' you shall have it when we cross.' 
 So he went away, and I went to sleep again for a 
 while, and then woke up and sat smoking and thinking 
 of the stories my brother used to tell me about 
 beating his way in New Mexico. Very often men will 
 ride on the engine above the pilot or cow-catcher, and 
 sometimes even inside it. Then some men travel on 
 the passenger-trains, on top of the cars, or on the 
 baggage-car at the end where there is no door — the 
 'blind baggage,' as it is called. And, besides this, 
 there is what is known as the ' universal ticket,' a board 
 with notches in it to fit on the iron stays under the 
 
 214 
 
Mount Tacoma Overhead 
 
 passenger-coaches. Some, too, will ride on the brake- 
 beam. In fact there is no method, however hazardous 
 it may be, that is not practised by men who want to 
 go somewhere in a hurry or without walking. My 
 Irishman told me that he was travelling in Oregon 
 once, and was standing up between the freight-cars, 
 with his feet on the drawhead, holding on to the steps 
 with his hands. A brakesman coming along on top 
 noticed him, and demanded a dollar, which the Irish- 
 man either wouldn't or couldn't pay. The brakie came 
 down a step and made a kick at him. ' I grabbed hold 
 of his leg,' said he, ' and held him. He couldn't let go 
 with his hands or shift his other foot. It was a pretty 
 position. But I got tired myself, and at last I sez : 
 " Will you be quiet if I let yez go ? " "I will," sez he, 
 for he was scared I should pull him down and throw 
 him under the wheels, and devil the good in his 
 hollering for the row of the train. So I lets him up. 
 And what do you think the murdering blagaird did ? 
 He goes right back to the caboose, I guess, and fetches 
 a coupling-pin ' (of iron, about one inch thick and ten 
 inches long) ' and comes over me and sez : " Take that, 
 you dam bum," and lets drive at me. When I see him 
 lift his arm I pulled my six-shooter. The pin came 
 down an' just missed me, an' I shot at him. Away he 
 goes forward, and presently the train slackens up. Sez 
 I : " It's time I left, if I don't want to be killed." So 
 I jumps off, and rolls twenty feet down a bank. I 
 scrambled on me hands and knees about twenty yards, 
 for I was hurt and I couldn't run, and got into a thick 
 bush, an' I lay low. The fireman and brakie and the 
 
 215 
 
The Western Avernus 
 
 conductor came huntin' me with lanterns, and two o' 
 them had guns, and I heard 'em swear to kill me. I 
 cocks mine and says : " Not if I can help it." Twice 
 that brakie came within five yards o' me, and each time 
 I was just going to shoot him when he turned off. At 
 last they gets tired and goes on board the train, cursing 
 horrible, you bet. I wish I 'd killed the bastard 
 anyhow.' 
 
 With such yarns we beguiled the time, and I began 
 to think that we were going ' slick ' through to Port- 
 land, but I reckoned without the conductor. When 
 we stopped at a small station, after running about five 
 hours, the door slid back again and a different head 
 looked in. ' Hallo, boys, how are you making it ? ' 
 with a sardonic grin that boded us no good. ' Oh, well 
 enough,' said I. ' Are you going to Portland ? ' ' That 's 
 where I 'm going.' ' Then you had better get out and 
 walk.' I grinned and sat still. ' It 's far easier this 
 way. Ain't you going to let us ride ? ' ' Not by a 
 darn sight. You Ve come ninety miles, and that 's good 
 enough.' ' Well/ said I at last, ' if I must I must,' and 
 I grabbed my blankets and jumped out, thinking at 
 any rate that I had saved my dollar, for if the ' con ' had 
 found us on the other side the dollar would have been 
 paid and yet part of the ride lost. So I rolled up my 
 loose blankets on a pile of ties, while the Irishman sat 
 alongside smoking philosophically. I heard a colloquy 
 between the brakie and the conductor. The former 
 was angry with the latter for spoiling his little game, 
 and the conductor evidently enjoyed the whole business. 
 Finally he said : ' Who 's running this train, you or I ? 
 
 216 
 
Mount T a coma Overhead 
 
 If you don't like what I do you can get off and walk.' 
 So the brakie ' dried up ' and said no more. Presently 
 the train moved off, and I found myself at Cowlitz, ten 
 miles from the Columbia, and set out to walk, soon 
 leaving the Irishman behind. After walking five miles, 
 I heard a hand-car coming along behind me, with some 
 section hands working it along by means of the lever, 
 ' pumping,' as it is commonly called. When they came 
 up with me the boss stopped it and invited me to take 
 a ride and pump with them. So I was on a hand-car 
 again, for the first time since I had left the section in 
 Iowa, where Ray Kern and I worked for three days. 
 In a very short time we ran into Kalama, and I went 
 and got some supper and slept in a big deserted house 
 that had been built when the town had a ' boom ' — i.e. 
 when there was great speculation in lots and building, 
 and a great future was predicted for it. This is the 
 place where the cars run across the river on a big ferry- 
 boat ; from the farther side they then go to Portland. 
 
 Next morning I went across with the passenger-train, 
 paid a dollar to go to that town, and soon arrived there, 
 an utter stranger with no friends and a dollar and a 
 half in my pocket. This was just as usual, however, 
 and by this time I began to get used to it, and did not 
 feel as miserable as I ought to have done. I went to a 
 cheap hotel, had supper, and next morning began to 
 look for a ship to get out of America. I was not 
 particular where I went — England, Australia, South 
 America, or China. 
 
 I had a notion then in my head to go to China, 
 thence to Singapore, thence to Calcutta, and then home 
 
 217 
 
The Western Avernus 
 
 to England through the Suez Canal ; or I could go to 
 Australia, and thence to Calcutta, in some of the ships 
 that take Australian horses for mounting the Indian 
 cavalry. I had been to sea before, indeed I had served 
 as an able-bodied seaman between England and 
 Australia for a while, and though six or seven years 
 had elapsed since my more youthful escapades, I 
 thought I had still enough of the business at my 
 fingers' ends to carry me through. So I walked down 
 to the wharves along the Willammette (accented on 
 the second syllable), and the first vessel I came to I 
 was lucky enough to get a job in. This was a barque, 
 the Coloma, of Portland, bound to China with lumber 
 and returning Chinamen. I spoke to the mate at the 
 gangway as he was tallying lumber down the chute 
 into the bow-ports, and afterwards to the skipper, pre- 
 senting him with my brother's certificate of discharge, 
 as I had lost my own by shipping once before in 
 England for New Zealand in a fit of pique — a love 
 affair — and then backing out just before she sailed. I 
 was told to come to work in the afternoon. I brought 
 down my bundle, had dinner, and stowed lumber down 
 in the hold with my new companions. It was hard 
 work, lifting heavy planks, forty feet long, in a confined 
 space, and driving them in with a sledge-hammer or 
 using another plank as a ram. Then sometimes lumber 
 would come down without much warning, through the 
 carelessness of the man on the look-out for it, and it 
 was necessary then to jump for one's life, or any rate 
 to save one's legs. 
 
 My shipmates were a mixed lot. One was a French - 
 218 
 
STOWING LUMBER. 
 
 [to/ace p. 218 
 
Mount Tacoma Overhead 
 
 man from France, not a Canadian Frenchman, who 
 spoke very bad English, so bad that I had to make 
 him talk French slowly when I wanted to understand 
 him particularly, but at other times I would let him 
 ramble on unintelligibly, throwing in a few remarks at 
 random to make him believe I was listening. Another 
 was an old Englishman, formerly sailing in the steamers 
 from England to the West Coast of Africa : a little 
 man he was, whose boast was that he never got drunk, 
 although he drank to excess. He told me many 
 horrible and circumstantial accounts of fever-stricken 
 ships, and how once he made canvas shrouds for 
 eighteen men on the voyage home, the only survivors 
 of passengers and crew being himself, the captain, two 
 firemen, and an engineer. There was a Newcastle-on- 
 Tyne man, a Geordie, fair and blue-eyed and strong 
 and broad-shouldered, a gay Lothario of seamen, and a 
 babbler concerning ' bonnes fortunes,' but a good-hearted, 
 pleasant Englishman. After him, in my mind, comes 
 an Irish sailor, long in America, lithe and loose-jointed, 
 perpetually smiling, mirthful and mirth-provocative, 
 loud and witty, a great joker, a natural humourist, a 
 born low comedian out of his element. He made me 
 laugh against my will, waking me in the dead of night 
 by stumbling into the fo'c's'le half-drunk. His first 
 remark in the dark would make laughter and sleep 
 struggle against each other in me, and by the time he 
 had the lamp lighted I would be shaking in my bunk 
 and shouting. 
 
 Down below, working in the hold, it was the same ; 
 time ' could not stale, nor custom wither his infinite 
 
 219 
 
The Western Avernus 
 
 variety ' of facial contortion and remark. Once he 
 nearly caused me to fall from aloft by making me laugh 
 until my sides ached. 
 
 He was delightful so, and at the same time an 
 inimitable raconteur. Three times had ships sailing 
 from the Pacific coast to England foundered under him, 
 compelling him and the rest of the crew to the boats, 
 after laborious pumping day and night, until some died 
 of fatigue and some jumped overboard. 
 
 Then in the West Indies, one time, the cook died of 
 yellow jack, and the captain made him cook, much 
 against his will. He got on well enough for a while, 
 cooking beef and potatoes, as the bread came from the 
 shore. But one day the skipper brought ten pounds of 
 rice on board, and told him they would have rice for 
 dinner that day in the cabin. Now Jim knew as much 
 about rice as a man would who had only eaten it, and 
 thinking, from the size of the bag, that it would about 
 do for the three in the cabin, leaving perhaps some for 
 himself, he began to cook the whole of it. His account 
 of the progress of that cooking was delightful : how it 
 swelled up and thrust the lid off, and began to pour out 
 on the range ; how he snatched more saucepans, and 
 how those filled up and came over ; and how, finally, 
 every available pot he had was choking with rice, while 
 he was ladling it out, blind with excitement, on to a 
 board. His tragic accents and facial play would have 
 made his fortune as a story-teller. 
 
 At night time he and Geordie and I went up town, 
 but after a little while I always left them, to avoid 
 getting drunk, as both of them could drink buckets of 
 
 220 
 
Mount Tacoma Overhead 
 
 lager beer, while five glasses would be more than 
 enough for me ; indeed, four would make me crawl 
 along the gang-plank to the t'gallant fo'c's'le for safety. 
 Then they would come in, boisterous and singing, at 
 midnight. 
 
 Our officers were mixed, as usual. The captain was 
 very quiet, and, as far as I found him, very considerate ; 
 especially so when I had some days of severe illness 
 and great pain, which nearly sent me to the hospital, 
 though I did not knock off work. 
 
 The chief officer, or first mate, was a big, heavy man, 
 weighing about fifteen stone, loud-voiced but good- 
 tempered, and yet rather a dangerous man to handle, I 
 fancy. At any rate, I had no desire to try conclusions 
 with him, as he had once been in prison for man- 
 slaughter. The second mate was my particular aversion, 
 and it was through him I left the ship. I had soon 
 found out, when once on board, that as my sea-education 
 had been very hasty I had forgotten a great part of it 
 after six years of the land, and that made this second 
 mate get a down on me. Then he had a particularly 
 bullying way of speaking to all of us, and I disliked 
 it very much. He used to look at me sometimes as if 
 he was saying, ' Wait till I get you to sea.' Now I 
 could have whipped him if it had only been between us 
 two, but I knew that if I had trouble with him at sea I 
 should have to reckon with the mate as well, and I 
 could not have whipped him. And to make things 
 worse, one day the second mate set me to grease down 
 the mizzentopmast, and would not give me a bo'son's 
 chair. I refused to do it, and the ensuing altercation 
 
 221 
 
The Western Avernus 
 
 was heard by the captain, who ordered him to give 
 me one, saying I could not be expected to do it 
 without, as I was a big heavy man and not a boy. 
 This made him thoroughly my enemy. So, after I had 
 been on board two weeks, I determined to leave, 
 although I had signed articles, and having got my 
 money due for working with lumber, which was paid 
 every Saturday night, and a little more of that due to 
 me from the monthly wages on the pretext of wanting 
 to buy some underclothing, I left here early on Monday 
 morning with my blankets and five dollars cash, 
 intending to see if I could not get work in the country 
 in the valley of the Willammette. And if I was 
 unsuccessful I could walk south towards California, 
 keeping in my mind, as an ultimate possible destination, 
 the city of San Francisco. 
 
 222 
 
to 
 
CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 OREGON UNDERFOOT 
 
 All Oregon was before me where to choose, and I 
 determined on that southward course. I was sorry 
 indeed to feel myself forced to leave the Coloma, but 
 still I knew it was probable I should have come to 
 Hong Kong in irons, or maybe not at all, for the 
 occasional brutality of American officers is incredible, 
 and far beyond anything that occurs in English ships. 
 So I cast loose and let myself into the stream of Destiny, 
 that runs for ever southward to that ' common sink,' 
 San Francisco ; whither, sooner or later, all men on the 
 Pacific slope must come for a while, drawn by the 
 magnetic influence of a great city. 
 
 Portland, that flourishing, detestable, Chinese-ridden 
 town, that selfish city, I left without regret. Here they 
 believe that the part is greater than the whole, that 
 their prosperity overweights calamity even of greater 
 Oregon, and that all the rest was made for them. 
 
 So my time in America had not come to an end, and 
 the ' terminus ad quern ' was unknown and unknowable. 
 I was thrown back again on myself, and my late 
 companions were behind me and a cloud-covered path 
 before me. 
 
 I went over the river and took a ticket for Aurora, 
 223 
 
The Western Avernus 
 
 so that I should get a good start into the country far 
 from the city, as the farther I went the more likelihood 
 there would be, in all probability, of obtaining work. 
 And when Aurora came, I sat still in the cars, in order 
 that I might go a little farther without paying for it. 
 If the conductor had not come to me I would have gone 
 on as far as the train went, but he politely reminded me 
 that my ticket had been for Aurora ; so I had to get 
 get out at Hubbard, and walked down the line after 
 the disappearing train. 
 
 I felt most melancholy for the rest of that day, and 
 my thoughts ranged forward without finding any 
 satisfaction, and backwards with regret. It seemed as 
 if I had no will of my own ; that I was but the sport 
 of Necessity and Destiny — a straw on a stream to be 
 carried on or lodged on a bar, as it might be. The sky 
 of blue was dull, and the singing of birds melancholy, 
 and the wind a dirge and a wail. I was too much 
 alone, and dwelt in a cave without light ; no natural 
 cave-dweller or troglodyte, but a prisoner with all 
 natural friendly impulses and affections repulsed and 
 rejected. Like a vine that finds no support for its 
 tendrils to grow on and to be uplifted by, I ran along 
 the ground, thrown down. My sacrifices were rejected, 
 my fires quenched, and the heavy smoke ran low in the 
 air, portending storm. I was raging, nihilistic, anarchist, 
 a mutineer against gods and men, a sneerer, a scoffer, 
 atheist even as to Nature and Loveliness ; a misan- 
 thrope, a misogynist, a reviler of all things, a Sadducee, 
 a Philistine. For the iron entered my soul. And I 
 walked like a whirlwind, with a pestilence and despair 
 
 224 
 
Oregon Underfoot 
 
 in me, self-contained and wrathful. I ate in silence or 
 went hungry in silence. I rose up in starvation, and 
 lived on apple orchards like a bird of prey forced to 
 hateful fruits, lacking blood and flesh. I passed men 
 on the road and spoke not. If they spoke to me I did 
 but stare at them, and went by in strange quiet. This 
 for days. Then I came back to myself somewhat, yet 
 still walked as if towards a fixed goal that was far off. 
 I asked for work and asked in vain ; there was no work 
 and no money, and the hospitality was niggard and 
 mean and unbountiful. I was no happy tramp who 
 never worked, preferring to beg and lie in the sun or 
 steal ; I was strong and tall, and could do most things ; 
 yet no work. I passed quiet Salem and widespread 
 Albany, and through Eugene City without hope. At 
 night I camped out without supper ; in the morning I 
 awoke cold and chilled through, and walked in hunger. 
 I bought but little, and got a meal now and again for 
 chopping wood. I split much during that journey, oak 
 and pine, madrone and manzanita. I drove the axe 
 down vengefully, as though an enemy's head was be- 
 neath the keen edge. I filed saws for people. I did 
 all things that came to hand ; but no work yet to be 
 obtained. 
 
 And I left the fruitful, cursed Willammette Valley, 
 and strove across the range to the valley of the north 
 Umpqua River, walking, recklessly and hard, nearly 
 forty miles that day. And that night I found a human 
 being on the range, a farmer and a man, who spoke 
 kindly and asked me in. I remember him gratefully. 
 Then through Oakland, old and new, and across the 
 P 225 
 
The Western Avernus 
 
 North Umpqua River to Roseberg. Still no work, and 
 starvation. And I left the road, crossed the South 
 Umpqua, wading it, and went up Rice Creek into the 
 hills, meeting no work but more friendly people. Then 
 to Olallie Creek, for I heard of rail-splitting to be had. 
 I came to a little house belonging to some men owning 
 sheep. My hope proved vain. They had nothing to 
 do. That night I slept a mile away down in the quiet 
 valley, getting breakfast in the morning. And then the 
 trail to Cow Creek, and to Riddle. This was a pleasant 
 walk, and I began to recover from my fit of depression. 
 The air was bright and kind and large. I could breathe. 
 And as I went along the ridges of the hills I looked 
 down on peace and solitude, and sunlight and shadow. 
 And ever and again, as I walked quietly along the un- 
 frequented trail, a deer would jump through the brush 
 and plunge leaping down or up the hill. And I sat 
 down and took out my Virgil and read part of the 
 Sixth Book, and got up calmer and better than I had 
 been for days. I had come up from the Avernus for 
 a while. 
 
 I came at last out of the trail on to a road and a 
 little house on the side of the hill. Beneath lay a 
 stretch of plain with farmed land and houses, and 
 beyond a line of willowy creek, and, beyond, again hills. 
 Under the verandah of the house sat a man reading. 
 I went up and said ' Good-day,' which he pleasantly 
 returned. I saw I had come across no ordinary farmer. 
 He was an educated man evidently, with good forehead 
 and head and keen eyes, though spectacled. His hands 
 were finely shaped, though hard and brown as his face ; 
 
 226 
 
Oregon Underfoot 
 
 good teeth and supple lips, and a fine smile ; young, 
 about thirty-five perhaps. I sat down beside him. 
 Presently he gave me the paper, and I set to and read 
 the news. I asked him for a bit of tobacco, and he 
 gave me nearly half a pound. Then he asked me to 
 stay for dinner, and introduced me to his wife, a gentle, 
 pleasant, girlish, graceful figure, with much intelligence 
 if slightly uncultured. Her pet fawn, with large ears 
 and lovely eyes, made friends with me. After dinner 
 we sat and talked. He was manager of a mine near at 
 hand, an assayer and practical miner, a chemist too. 
 He took me to his little laboratory, and I showed him 
 that I remembered a little of the chemistry I had learnt 
 in days gone by, and mentioned some of the best 
 known names in that science. Then we spoke of books, 
 and I found him well informed even outside of his 
 specialty. So I spent a pleasant hour or two, and 
 parted with him regretfully. 
 
 I came down to Cow Creek, and passed on to Can- 
 yonville, sleeping in the canon in a barn that night, 
 walking next morning fifteen miles before I got break- 
 fast. Then I ran into the wilderness again at Wolf 
 Creek, and spent 25 cents of the last little money I had 
 in buying a can of salmon, which I devoured sitting on 
 a log in the forest, and came at night to Grave Creek, 
 and split a pile of oak wood, getting a good supper 
 thereby and a long talk with the hired girl, who was 
 pretty and pleasant, not deeming me a common tramp. 
 
 Then onward next day as hard as ever. And I came 
 past Grant's Pass and saw Rogue River in the rain, and 
 sat in a deserted barn, thinking what a fool I was to be 
 
 227 
 
The Western Avernus 
 
 there, while the rain came to sleet and snow, and the 
 wind was bitter. Then to Woodville, and 25 cents gone 
 for supper, and sleep in a barn, and no breakfast. And 
 I came now to an old English farmer's place, still asking 
 for work, and still finding there were more men in the 
 country than enough to do what was wanted. Then I 
 saw the Rogue River Valley, beautiful and level to the 
 base of the frowning Siskiyou Mountains of Northern 
 California, that lifted peak on peak of snow above that 
 smiling valley. I walked miles through it in vain, and 
 turned at last to Jacksonville, having then but one 
 dollar. 
 
 I recklessly had supper and a bed that night. I had 
 come 300 miles from Portland in twelve days. 
 
 Next morning I breakfasted with an old farmer, with 
 whom I talked, telling him my adventures. He was a 
 tall, thin, careful-looking individual, shaven. He said 
 but little, but at last asked me whether I would go to 
 work for 10 dols. a month. I would have willingly 
 worked for nothing for a week or two, just to take a 
 rest and be sure of my meals and a place to sleep. In- 
 deed, I offered to work for the men on Olallie Creek 
 three days for nothing on that account So I jumped 
 at the offer. He said he lived near Waldo, sixty-five 
 miles away, and that he was not going back for three 
 days. He offered, rather unwillingly as I thought, to 
 pay for my board in town until then, but I said no, that 
 I would walk there, for I didn't want him to think that 
 I was one of the very numerous class of men who would 
 suddenly disappear at the end of the three days. So he 
 gave me his name and directions, and I set out, having, 
 
 228 
 
Oregon Underfoot 
 
 when I had settled my bill at the hotel, thirty-five cents 
 left to carry me sixty-five miles. However, I had 
 served a good apprenticeship to starvation, and did not 
 doubt my ability to walk the whole distance on nothing, 
 since I was sure of a meal at the end. So I left Jack- 
 sonville with a lighter heart than I had had since 
 leaving Portland behind me. That day I walked 
 steadily about twenty-five miles, having nothing to eat 
 but a pound of dry biscuits. I slept in a barn. Next 
 day I started without breakfast, until I came to a farm 
 at ten o'clock, where I got a meal for my last twenty- 
 five cents. The country received but little attention from 
 me, though it was worth more, as it was a gold-mining 
 district. I passed the Applegate River, and many 
 places where they were sluicing away the gravel with 
 water, ' hydraulicking,' as they call it, filling up the 
 river with ' slickens ' or soft mud. I walked all day 
 with some degiee of hunger, and slept in a barn, by this 
 time ravenous. Next morning no breakfast, for I would 
 not ask for it, as I knew I could get to my destination 
 that day. I walked through Kirbyville, and then went 
 out of my way. I was put right by two men who asked 
 me where I was going. When I told them they looked 
 at me with pity : ' You are going to work for the 
 meanest man in all Oregon.' This was consolatory, but 
 I answered I was ready to work for the very devil him- 
 self sooner than work for nobody at all, and walk and 
 starve. 
 
 Then I got lost again, and went nearly ten miles out 
 of my way, for this place was so full of roads in every 
 direction that it was impossible for a stranger to keep 
 
 229 
 
The Western Avernus 
 
 right. At last, by dint of inquiry, I made my way to 
 what I imagined was the house. On one side of the 
 road were barns and stables surrounded by a fence, 
 and, behind, forest and hills ; on the other stood a 
 ramshackle old shanty, dirty outside, unpainted, with 
 moss-green roof, with piles of rags and old boots on 
 the verandah, and more rags stuffed in the broken and 
 uncleaned windows. It was antique but un venerable, 
 ruinous but not majestic. It looked like a miser's 
 house. I went through a little badly-hung gate, that 
 was pulled-to again by a string with an old saucepan 
 hung to it for a weight, and went up to the door. 
 
 H , my boss, had told me there was a man named 
 
 Pete working for him. I knocked, and getting no 
 answer turned the handle. The inside was worse than 
 the outside. I shut the door, and, going to the back of 
 the house, saw somebody working in the orchard. I 
 crossed the fence and went to him and said, ' Are you 
 Pete ? ' ' Yes,' he said. ' Then, for God's sake, come 
 
 and get me some dinner. H sent me out to work 
 
 here, and I haven't had anything to eat since yesterday 
 at eleven in the morning.' It was then three in the 
 afternoon. Pete grinned and left his potato-digging. 
 He was a fine young fellow, keen-eyed and intelligent, 
 with the figure of a man who has worked hard, but no 
 harder than is sufficient to bring out all his strength ; 
 his skin was beautiful and his eyes bright blue. He 
 was confident, rather selfish, very self-reliant ; a man to 
 get on in life if it could be done. 
 
 He made me some tea and cooked bacon, bringing 
 
 out good bread, meanwhile talking about H . This 
 
 230 
 
Oregon Underfoot 
 
 man had formerly been a lay preacher, through some 
 extraordinary want of knowledge of his own character. 
 He even then used to swear volubly, much to Pete's 
 astonishment when a child, as he averred. Then he 
 gave up what he had no vocation for, and turned all his 
 attention to farming and money-making. Pete pro- 
 phesied evil times for me, but told me to stand no 
 nonsense and talk back if necessary. This I felt quite 
 able to do, and generally I thought myself able to 
 ' hold up my end ' in a row. 
 
 Pete and I spent all next day together digging 
 
 potatoes and making fences, and in the evening H 
 
 came home. Pete stayed three days more and then 
 left. So I was alone with my ' meanest man in Southern 
 Oregon.' I did not find him very difficult to get along 
 with, however, for I worked hard, and if he growled in 
 spite of what I did I growled back. The weather was 
 very bad, raining nearly all the time, but I lost scarcely 
 an hour through that. I had four to six horses to look 
 after and the stable to clean. I fed these and about 
 twenty head of cows and calves. I did what milking 
 was to be done. I chopped the wood, got up in the 
 morning to light the fire, and often cooked the break- 
 fast. Then we hauled firewood and made fences. I 
 rode for letters and after cattle. I did everything, and 
 he did nothing at all at first, for his hand was but then 
 recovering from a felon or whitlow. Pete told me that 
 a man who had been there before me had had a very 
 
 bad hand with the same disease, and that H had 
 
 charged him four dols. a week for his board, and made 
 him as uncomfortable as he could, jeering at his 
 
 231 
 
The Western Avernus 
 
 sufferings. Then he got one himself, and behaved 
 like a sick child. 
 
 One day, when I came in from the field, I found 
 
 H 's brother Angus was in the house. He had 
 
 come from Crescent City, in Del Norte County, Cali- 
 fornia, having been farther south, working in the red- 
 woods of Mendocino County. A greater difference 
 could not be between two brothers. Angus was fifteen 
 years younger, stout and ruddy, with a full beard and 
 an open, pleasant smile. He had the greatest contempt 
 in some ways for the other, declaring that all the 
 meanness of the whole family had centred in him. 
 His coming was a great relief to me ; I had some one to 
 talk to ; and as Angus worked there and I with him, 
 he would quit work before I could have done had I 
 
 been alone. Then if H ever growled he would 
 
 take up the cudgels for me as I sat silently smoking by 
 the fire. He did all the cooking too, which not only 
 resulted in greater freedom for me, but in better bread 
 and food, though there were great rows at intervals 
 between the brothers about the tea, as the elder liked it 
 weak and the younger strong. 
 
 All this time I did various kinds of work, sometimes 
 harrowing with three horses, sometimes hauling rails. 
 And then all three of us went out felling timber, and 
 we hewed out logs to build a place to put roots and 
 potatoes in, using axe and broad axe, ' weapon naked, 
 shapely, wan,' as Walt Whitman calls it. 
 
 On Sundays I would take the rifle and go hunting, 
 not so much to kill anything as to get away from our 
 miserable little interior of dirt and smoke-grimed ceiling 
 
 232 
 
Oregon Underfoot 
 
 beams, cobwebby rafters, and windows through which 
 the fowls came to pick up the unswept crumbs from 
 the floor. Kitchen and dining-room in one was as 
 dirty as sleeping- and sitting-room, even though Pete 
 had so far revolutionised appearances as to make 
 
 H suspect him of wasting time in the very 
 
 necessary job of cleaning up. So it was a relief to 
 go up the mountains after deer, even if I mostly killed 
 none. It was a good place for hunting, and a good 
 time, for the snow on the upper hills drove them down, 
 and I could, if I hunted carefully, often see them. I 
 hardly ever shot at them, but stood watching. One 
 day I saw an elk, and would certainly have killed 
 him if he had not been too quick for me. Then I 
 could watch an occasional fox or the long-haired grey 
 squirrels with their winter fur. And I usually got 
 drenched through and through, and came back soaking 
 to attend to the horses and the cattle, for nobody else 
 would do it. 
 
 So time went, and my month began to draw to a 
 close. My affectionate regard for my employer did 
 not increase with more knowledge, as I found him 
 selfish, close, and querulous, and, in spite of my previous 
 experiences when out of employment, I determined to 
 leave at the end of the month if he would not increase 
 my wages to at least 15 dols. a month, and go across 
 the Great Coast Range to Crescent City, and thence to 
 San Francisco. So the night on which I had completed 
 my term I spoke to him, and was refused any advance. 
 He paid what was owing to me, 8 dols. 75 cents, for I 
 had had some tobacco and one or two other things. 
 
 233 
 
The Western Avernus 
 
 Next day, however, it began to rain furiously without 
 ceasing, and the creeks got full and overflowing, and a 
 passing neighbour told us the Illinois River was not 
 
 fordable. At noon H told me I could stay till it 
 
 cleared up if I liked, on condition of working, and so 
 for nearly a week I did all the stable work and odd 
 jobs as usual. During this last seven days I walked 
 over to Waldo to see if I could get some letters I 
 thought would be lying there for me from Hughes, 
 to whom I had written on my first arrival on this ranche. 
 I had to cross the river on a big flume or aqueduct 
 built to carry water across the river to a ditch for a 
 hydraulic mine. The sight beneath me was magnificent. 
 The river was fairly roaring in its rocky channel, red 
 and turbid, running ten or twelve miles an hour, beaten 
 into foam on the huge rocks in its midst and hurling 
 the spray into the air, while the flume on which I stood 
 trembled with the burden of water it carried and the 
 shock of the stream below. I found letters at Waldo 
 from my friend at Kamloops, and next day I left 
 Mr. H and set out over the Coast Range. 
 
 234 
 
^ 
 
CHAPTER XIX 
 
 ACROSS THE COAST RANGE 
 
 I HAD made preparations for a three or four days' walk, 
 packing up some bread, bacon, and a little tea, with a 
 small bag of parched maize or Indian corn, while I put 
 some of it, stripped from the cob, but unparched, in my 
 pockets. I had no exact knowledge of the distance 
 to Crescent City in California, from which steamers ran 
 to San Francisco, but knew it was between seventy 
 and ninety miles or thereabouts, and, of course, as the 
 road was very lonely, it was necessary to be provided 
 with food. And then my finances would not have 
 permitted me to pay for my meals, even if I had been 
 able to buy them, inasmuch as the fare from Crescent 
 to San Francisco was, I had been told, about 7 dols. 
 
 The week's rain and storm that had kept me from 
 travelling had had a terrible effect on the roads. At 
 stated intervals during the summer it was usual to run 
 a stage from Waldo to Crescent, but this was now 
 abandoned for the present for great part of the way, 
 owing to the roads being ' washed out.' The rainfall 
 had been terrific at the ranche, for at least an inch and 
 a half fell in ten hours one night, and the wind had 
 done some damage. There were vague reports of 
 disasters on the coast, which most probably arose more 
 
 235 
 
The Western Avernus 
 
 from the likelihood of such occurring than from actual 
 knowledge. What was of more importance to me were 
 the facts that the Illinois was still unfordable, necessi- 
 tating a detour over the flume, and that all the creeks 
 in the valley were likely to be very full ; and I found, 
 after passing Waldo, that I had occasionally some 
 difficulty in crossing one or two, while the road itself 
 was muddy and full of pools of water. I walked, how- 
 ever, in good spirits until nightfall, and camped about 
 twelve miles beyond Waldo at the foot of the range, 
 in a miserable hut with no doors or windows or flooring. 
 All possible wood had been burnt by other travellers, 
 and I had great difficulty in kindling a fire, partly from 
 the scantiness of fuel and partly from the dampness 
 of everything. I took my knife and scraped off the 
 outer bark of a big fir-tree close at hand, and took 
 some of the dry under-bark ; then I gathered up little 
 bits of sticks, putting them inside my shirt to dry ; 
 finally, I took some gum or pitch from an old axe-cut 
 in the tree, and with the aid of a letter from a friend in 
 London, who little thought to what end his letter would 
 come, or in what way aid me, I managed to make a 
 poor blaze and to keep it in long enough to boil some 
 water for tea. I need not have taken so much trouble 
 if I had cared about tearing some of the shingles from 
 the little hut, but I never liked to do that. There are 
 men who will always do this, but I had some little 
 consideration for those coming after me, and if every 
 one camping in a place took some of the building for 
 a fire there would soon be no shelter. 
 
 I cooked a little bacon, ate that and a piece of bread, 
 236 
 
Across the Coast Range 
 
 and drank the cup — the tin cup — of tea. Then I went 
 into the shanty and spread my blankets. There was 
 every prospect of a bitterly cold night, for it was now 
 Sfetting- towards the end of November. The wind was 
 chilly, and moaned outside and came through the 
 openings and cracks of my abode. My blankets were 
 old and thin, and the ground, even inside, was damp. 
 My fire outside was now extinguished, with but a 
 smouldering ember the wind puffed into momentary 
 redness and a little wreath of smoke, and there was no 
 wood to make one inside without aid of an axe. The 
 situation was lonely and dismal. Below me ran the 
 creek, not singing sweetly and placidly, but groaning 
 and hurrying. Thick forest went back to the hills all 
 round, while overhead the sky, moonless and chill, 
 showed frequent clouds and an infrequent fugitive star. 
 The nearest house was three miles from me, down the 
 road on which I had come, and was uninhabited. To 
 make matters worse I got an attack of nervousness, a 
 thing most unusual with me, so that my imagination 
 became heated, creating panthers, cougars, and bears, 
 that would come and devour me in the night. To be 
 sure there were these animals somewhere on the hills, 
 but hitherto they had never alarmed me, not even in the 
 Selkirks, where they were really numerous, and here they 
 were scarce. I tried to lull myself with the notion that it 
 was late enough in the season for the bears to be in their 
 winter quarters, fast asleep and dreaming, but all the time 
 I knew I was but deceiving myself, and every howl of 
 wind I converted into a growl of nocturnal predacious 
 animal — bear or wolf or mountain lion. And it grew 
 
 237 
 
The Western Avernus 
 
 colder and colder, until it was nearly freezing. I lay 
 on my right side and dropped off into uneasy slumber. 
 Presently I woke and found my left side nearly frozen, 
 so I turned over and lay awake for a while until that 
 side grew a little warmer. Again I went to sleep, and 
 woke once more with a start to find the other side cold. 
 So went the night, until at last I woke, shivering all 
 over, in the very earliest dawn, finding a white frost 
 outside. I made a little fire again, drank some tea, and 
 started off before it was fairly light, recovering courage 
 and confidence as I grew warm with hard walking and 
 climbing. The road was fairly good, and I had no 
 dangerous creeks to cross. I climbed up and up in the 
 fresh morning air, with bright sunlight above me and no 
 fear or threatening of rain, until I was far above the 
 valleys in a very winding road. The hills were not 
 covered in all places by timber, and I could see far 
 across the depths beneath me, which were filled with 
 glistening clouds or mists. 
 
 About seven o'clock I came round a turn in the road 
 that ran high up the hillside above a deep valley or 
 eoree, which was filled with cloud. The sun was behind 
 me, and here, to my great delight, I saw a phenomenon 
 similar to the Spectre of the Brocken. On the dense 
 white fleece of cloud was a sun-ring or halo, and in it, 
 magnified to gigantic size, my own figure. I threw 
 down my blankets and shouted with joy. I was all 
 alone with my own ghost, my enlarged and liberated 
 cloud-spirit, my likeness, but great, spiritual, free, 
 apotheosised, among the gods. And from cloudland 
 he returned my salute as I took off my hat, and 
 
 218 
 
Across the Coast Range 
 
 waved his arms as I waved mine. I was free there 
 from grossness ; I was etherealised, idealised, poetic. 
 And what a background even for a spirit, for a god ! 
 The little valley of my sun-shadow ran out into a larger 
 one, filled with a sea of glistening cloud that lay still 
 in places, or rolled and heaved solemnly like a light sea 
 freed from the heavy chains of gravity. It lay not level, 
 but in hills and long upward curves, indicating faintly 
 the possible outline of the under-hills, and here and 
 there one loftier height thrust through the veiling mist 
 fir and pine, like a far ocean palm -island, when the 
 island is not seen, and the trees are unbased and dream- 
 like, fantastic, divided from earth, and skyey. And the 
 mass of mist was white, shining, fleecy and glorious, 
 while beyond miles of it rose higher range after range, 
 with the farthest capped with frost and snow, glittering 
 like diadems of jewels. 
 
 I looked long at the scene and breathed in the air, 
 and turning I bowed solemnly to my cloudself, who 
 bowed again. I took up my burden and walked on in 
 a curious state of mental exaltation, oblivious of the 
 future and the past, regarding simply the scenery, the 
 sun and the clouds beneath and above me. Yet the 
 walk was arduous enough, though the worst was to 
 come, for I was climbing up and going down all the 
 while, while the road took most disappointing turns, 
 and frequently I could have saved miles of tramping 
 had I had wings to fly across a narrow valley or gorge 
 round the head of which the road ran. Still I felt so 
 well, for my nervousness had fled with the night, that I 
 did not grumble, and when I came at noon to a good 
 
 239 
 
The Western Avernus 
 
 cabin, or house, I made dinner with care and sang while 
 I prepared my frugal meal. This house belonged to a 
 man named Bain, who had a notice put up on the door 
 asking travellers to beware of fire, and I thanked him 
 for the hospitality of open door by writing with a burnt 
 stick a few lines of rude verse on the name-scrawled 
 wall, signing myself ' A Tramp.' I had no notion of 
 any place to camp in at night, though I thought it 
 possible that I might reach Smith River, on which there 
 
 was a hotel, as I had been told by Angus H . So 
 
 I walked on cheerfully enough, meeting not a soul on 
 the road, and at last it began to grow towards evening 
 without any sign of a house or river. About half an 
 hour before sundown I was walking along the road on 
 the side of the hill ; and across the valley, which was 
 deep and thick with trees, I could see that I should 
 have to make my way in exactly the opposite direction 
 to which I was then going, after coming to the head of 
 the gorge. This, of course, rather irritated me, although 
 my anger was unreasonable, as the road was just so 
 long, and I could not make it shorter. Still such a 
 round made me anxious to camp, as the road, I could 
 see, made quite a fresh start up the hill, and evidently 
 Smith River must be a good many miles away yet. 
 
 Finally, I plunged deep in the valley, and I found 
 at last a kind of broken-down hut or house, with a 
 roof on, by the side of a creek, in silence and shadow. 
 I looked at it for a while and sat down, but the aspect of 
 the place was so forbidding, so chill and damp, and so 
 fearfully lonely, that I took up my blankets again and 
 walked on, chewing corn as I went, determined not to 
 
 240 
 
Across the Coast Range 
 
 stop or stay until I came to the river and the hotel I 
 came out just at sundown on the top of a very high ridge, 
 and I fancied I caught a faint glimpse of far sea, but was 
 not sure. It rapidly grew dark, and I walked hard and 
 harder. Finally, there appeared a deep valley, or canon, 
 in front of me, with a narrow streak of silver turbulent 
 river 4000 feet below, and opposite another wall of west- 
 ward mountain. I plunged down the road, and I fancied 
 I saw the gleam of a far-off light close by the river. The 
 descent was difficult and dangerous. The rains had 
 washed out the earth and gravel and smaller stones 
 of the surface of the road, so that it was like going 
 down the dried bed of a mountain torrent. Every 
 hundred yards or so the way zigzagged to and fro, 
 seeking the easiest way down. Twice I fell, and times 
 innumerable I only just saved myself. At last it grew 
 so dark that I could only distinguish the road by the 
 absence of brush. And the roar of the river below 
 grew louder and louder. After an hour and a half's 
 hard stumbling over rocks I came on to level ground, 
 alongside the river, and with difficulty at last found a 
 bridge across, and saw the lights of a house near at 
 hand. This was my resting-place for the night. 
 
 Inside the main room were two men, one with a 
 wooden leg, the owner of the establishment, a great 
 hunter in spite of his infirmity, and the driver of the 
 stage from Waldo, who had passed me during the night 
 as I slept and shivered in that hut. There were two 
 women, wife and sister-in-law of the one-legged man, 
 a child, and two hunting-dogs. There was a good 
 wood fire, and I was glad to sit down and smoke in 
 Q 2 4l 
 
The Western Avernus 
 
 front of it, being little inclined for talking. Soon after 
 I came in supper was announced, but I declined taking 
 any, my ostensible reason being that I had had supper 
 before coming down into the valley, and the real one 
 that I was anxious to keep all the money I could in my 
 pocket for my San Franciscan fare. I was hungry 
 enough, however, and could well have enjoyed a good 
 meal. However, I promised myself a breakfast. That 
 night I slept on a lounge or sofa in my own blankets, 
 and was charged nothing for accommodation, so I only 
 spent fifty cents for my morning meal. After eating I 
 started to go up the opposite mountain, which took me 
 about two hours' hard climbing by another zigzag of a 
 road. On the top was a kind of plateau, almost bare 
 of trees, and it was easy walking, with a fine view of 
 mountains behind me. At noon I went down into 
 another valley, coming on a deserted mining town of 
 several houses and two hotels, with all the furniture 
 removed, including doors and window-sashes. This 
 desolation of past habitation made the scene more 
 chill and lonely than if there had been no dwellings at 
 all. I was very hungry, so I lighted a fire and boiled 
 some tea. 
 
 In the bar-room of the largest hotel I found the 
 hindquarters of a deer that had been left by some 
 hunter, possibly by my one-legged acquaintance, and 
 although it was somewhat flyblown I found it fresh, 
 and with the aid of my bowie-knife I managed to get 
 some good pieces of steak, which I toasted on a 
 sharpened stick over the fire. Then I cooked some 
 bacon. 
 
 242 
 
Across the Coast Range 
 
 I had now a choice of roads — one the old and the 
 other the new. The former was the shorter, and after 
 some consideration I chose it and had some frightful 
 scrambling over rocks, at times, too, having difficulty in 
 discovering what was the road and what was not. 
 Finally, I got in better walking on a gentle slope. 
 
 I was now eagerly looking for sight of the ocean. 
 The Gulf of Georgia and the Straits of San Juan de 
 Fuca, the land-locked waters of Puget Sound, were but 
 salt water ; they lacked the enchantment of the sea. 
 And I came over the long ridge, and before me was 
 the deep sea — not a gulf or a channel or a strait, but 
 the mighty main, the vast and tremendous waters of 
 the mysterious Pacific, misty and grand, the ocean that 
 Balboa saw from the silent peak in Darien. I sat 
 down quietly on a knoll of dwarf manzanita, so still 
 and quiet that the shy birds came and sang to me, 
 and a wondering rabbit peeped from the brush and 
 played before me ; and as I drank in that sweet fresh 
 air and watched the majestic expanse of far faint blue 
 I seemed to see that the earth was round, huge and 
 curved ; and beyond the horizon I saw, with spiritual 
 insight and in trance, the long brown plains of the great 
 Australian continent, whereon I too had wandered in 
 the years passed by ; and in front lay the long coasts 
 of ancient populous Asia; and yet farther beyond that 
 illimitable expanse, far across zones of calm and 
 cyclones of wind and storm, and belts of terrible 
 thunder-cloud, lay the shores of the Dark Continent, 
 full of mystery. And Europe, my home and birthplace, 
 was behind and beneath me. 
 
 243 
 
The Western Avernus 
 
 I thought of Vasco Nunez, the discoverer of this 
 ocean ; of Magellan, who had blundered through the 
 narrow straits that bear his name, and of Vasco da 
 Gama, who had entered on its waters round the far-off 
 stormy Cape ; of Pizarro, on those shores of Peru to 
 the southward ; and of our Drake, who chased the 
 Spaniards through these seas ; and I drew in with 
 ecstasy the air that all those strong old voyagers and 
 sea-captains had breathed in the times when some- 
 thing was yet unknown and there were possibilities of 
 Eldorados unmarked on any chart, when charts were 
 graved on horns with strange adornment of gaping, 
 imaginary sea-monsters, such as the young Amyas 
 Leigh wondered at in the etched ivory of Salvation 
 Yeo. 
 
 I looked still, and the mystic water grew alive, subtle,, 
 serpentine, and more mysterious, coiling and wonder- 
 ful. She became eyed like the peacock's tail, with 
 faint eddies of currents, and grew personal and feminine. 
 This was the ocean from which the earth arose, this 
 was the grave to which she descended to be renewed ; 
 and the eyes grew intense and vivid, prophetic and full 
 of kindness unutterable, and of cruelty. In her was 
 the beginning of all things and the end ; she and the 
 sky were time and space, and symbolic. From her 
 came the primaeval slime of life, and she was full of 
 dead men's bones. Ships sailed on her bosom, and in 
 her depths they lay shattered, broken, sunken dwelling- 
 places for her monsters,; evil as the thoughts that never 
 pass men's lips. Her eyes were as those of one who 
 knew all things, and her lips were touched with the 
 
 244 
 
Across the Coast Range 
 
 melancholy of cruelty satiated, and yet her hands and 
 ringers were eager for slaughter. She was calm and 
 silent as a handmaiden of Fate, but passionate in her 
 hair and eyes even as a sleeping fury ; for in her dwell 
 all things evil and good, and all knowledge and all 
 power and all possibility of being. 
 
 And there was more .of grief than of joy in my 
 heart, for I remembered I was a man, and finite, and 
 the spirit of my race, and the desire of love came upon 
 me, and while the birds sang, and fearless squirrel and 
 rabbit played in the wind-rustled manzanita and the 
 slender grasses, I was oppressed and cold at heart, and 
 I was glad to take up my burden and the burden of 
 life and walk on and on, to save myself from thought. 
 So I went on downward, for I had done with climbing, 
 and I saw in the far distance, across the level lands 
 between sea and mountain base, the smoke of Crescent 
 City. Down narrow paths, and all winding ways, 
 through roads cut deep with the wash of rains, I still 
 went on, among brush and a few scanty trees. And 
 at last I plunged into a dark forest and a steeper path, 
 and as I stumbled over bare roots and rocks I grew 
 wrathful, and cursed the whole Pacific from Behring's 
 Straits to the southern unknown lands of the South 
 Pole, from San Francisco to African Zanzibar, and the 
 Pacific coast and Horace Greeley, and the strange long- 
 ing that had brought me West. For it grew darker yet, 
 and still no sign of habitation or indication of nearing 
 any, while I came down into mist and fog, damp, chill 
 and penetrating, making the gloom worse, hanging in 
 wreaths among the thick growth of trees, touching the 
 
 245 
 
The Western Avernus 
 
 brush with damp dews that dropped on me as I walked. 
 Twice and again I fell and rolled over, the last time 
 wrenching my ankle severely ; but I walked in spite of 
 it, desperately determined not to camp out in a gloomy 
 place if perseverance could bring me to a better. And 
 suddenly the path grew level, and I came out in the 
 aisle of a very forest cathedral. I was in the redwoods, 
 the most majestic of all trees, save only their elder 
 brethren, the gigantic sequoias. These were huge and 
 solemn, some ten feet and more in diameter at the butt, 
 rising bare of branches to two hundred feet above me, 
 where they spread out in thick crowns, that darkened 
 yet more the obscure and misty air of night. Tired as 
 I was, I stood for a few moments to admire them, and 
 then with difficulty I discovered the road. I found 
 that it forked here. I stood and considered again. 
 The straight road was most probably the road to the 
 town, the other would possibly lead to some house or 
 camp. I determined to turn off, and as a reward for 
 my reasoning I saw a light less than a hundred yards 
 away. I passed through the barn-yard and knocked 
 and went in. There were two men, rather well dressed, 
 and a very ladylike woman. We talked for a while 
 and they gave me supper, and said I could sleep in the 
 barn. The hay was wringing wet, through the leaks in 
 the roof, but, after the walk I had had, I managed 
 to get to sleep in spite of any inconveniences, and next 
 morning I had still thirteen miles to do to reach 
 Crescent City, and I started without breakfast, doing 
 the whole distance wearily and fasting. 
 
 My road ran still through the redwoods, and if they 
 246 
 
Across the Coast Range 
 
 were solemn and weird at night they were more beauti- 
 ful in the daytime. Under them at times was thick 
 brush, from which they rose like towers or great light- 
 houses from the breaking of little waves, and in other 
 places they stood by themselves, springing straight 
 from the bare ground, or moss, or scanty turf. These 
 had grown for so many centuries, and had such great 
 life in them, they were so grand and solemn and king- 
 like, that I felt they had personality. It seemed 
 nothing short of murder to hew and saw them down 
 for planks and post-making, for house-building, and 
 shelter for little men, who lusted to destroy in an hour 
 the slow, sweet growth of their unnumbered years. 
 We come with our quick and furious flood of life to a 
 quick conclusion ; they, with the slow sap under bark 
 and in the wood, rise imperceptibly to majesty, and fall 
 at the end of their long term by overgrowth of summit 
 and crown , they sink at last under the burden of 
 natural honours, and mingle slowly in long decay with 
 the soil in which they were rooted. But men come 
 and destroy them, as barbarians in the pathetic, silent 
 senate-house, and nature lies wounded and bleeding. 
 
 I came out on the banks of the Smith River again 
 and was ferried over, and was asked no fee. I was 
 astonished at the lack of greed, and the natural sweet 
 kindliness of the man, a Charon fair and young, which 
 are so rare in all countries, and, alas ! much too rare in 
 America. I thanked him courteously, and he bowed 
 and wished me well most knightlike, pushing back 
 across the stream, and I passed again into the red- 
 woods, climbing up through a sweet tangle of thick 
 
 247 
 
The Western Aver n us 
 
 brush with the great god-trees rising from it, and then 
 descended and came on a flat, more bare, with willow 
 and birch, and no more redwoods. And I began to 
 hear a faint roar, like a singing in my ears. But it 
 grew and grew till I recognised the sound of the sea, 
 the roar of breakers, the eternal ocean voice. It put 
 new life into me ; I walked faster, though I was faint, 
 until I came where I could hear the separate roar of 
 separate waves — distinct thunders. I sat down under 
 a tree by the roadside and lighted my pipe, and, to 
 save myself from vain imaginings of possible things, 
 I took my Virgil and again read part of the Sixth 
 Book. And when I came to the middle I thought, 
 4 1 am not yet out of Avernus, and who knows if I 
 shall return to the lucid stars and lucid earth, for there 
 is much to be passed through before my time is at 
 hand.' 
 
 So I came at last to Crescent City, and found it dull 
 and vile, with work scarce, so they said, and men 
 plenty. I was truly in golden California, but not in 
 the land of wine and oil, of fleeces and fat beeves. 
 Being hungry and disconsolate, it was necessary to eat, 
 and I ate the worth of 25 cents and was more refreshed. 
 The steamer for San Francisco was lying in the bay, 
 loading lumber, and was to sail in the night, having 
 been delayed by the storm, which had torn away part 
 of the pier and driven driftwood upon the very streets 
 of the town. So I went to buy my ticket. Now 
 
 Angus H had told me the fare was 7.50 dols. As 
 
 I had started on this last journey with 8.50 dols., and 
 had only spent three-quarters of a dollar — 50 cents at 
 
 248 
 
Across the Coast Range 
 
 the Smith River Valley and 25 cents in town — I had 
 7.75 dols., which would leave me 25 cents with which to 
 make a start in San Francisco. But when I got to the 
 office they demanded 8.50 dols. as the fare, and I had 
 it not. I used much persuasive eloquence and rhetoric 
 to induce the agent to make a reduction, opening up 
 fully the state of my finances. But he was adamantine, 
 flinty, and I could make no impression on him. I 
 appealed to the chief man, a general of militia, and 
 calling him General I asked him to 'fix' it for me. 
 But no ! he would do nothing. The fare, the full fare, 
 and nothing but the fare. So I went out to consider. 
 To walk to San Francisco meant 300 miles of semi- 
 starvation at least, if I did not obtain work. I furiously 
 determined to go by that steamer or perish in the 
 attempt. I took stock of my possessions. Had I 
 anything to sell ? My clothes might have been worthy 
 of acquisition by a museum of antiquities, but even 
 then I could not go in that vessel 'Berserker.' My 
 blankets were old and thin ; besides, I attached a 
 superstitious value to them. They were part of myself. 
 Had they not travelled in Australia with me over hill 
 and plain ? Had they not been wet with salt Water in 
 my voyages? And they had done me great service in 
 great need in all parts of America. No! I would as 
 soon part with my skin. Then I had a bundle of 
 letters from men who might be celebrated one day, 
 literary Bohemians of London, who had not forgotten 
 their Waring on his travels. There were photographs 
 too. But these would not fetch money in the market. 
 Finally, I came to my Horace and Virgil. Was it 
 
 249 
 
The Western Avernus 
 
 possible there were men with a knowledge of the Latin 
 
 tongue in this wilderness, this end of the earth ? Or 
 
 were there some burning with thirst to acquire such 
 
 knowledge? I walked up the street and came to a 
 
 notice : — 
 
 Walter Jones, B.A., Advocate, 
 
 Teacher of Latin, Greek, and Mathematics. 
 
 Ye gods ! I stared, thinking I was dreaming ! This 
 was the man. I pushed open the door and entered, 
 acting on the spur of the moment. I saw a little sad- 
 looking man, with a good forehead and shabby clothes. 
 There were lots of books there too. He received me 
 courteously and asked my business. I sat in silence 
 for a moment, wondering if he thought I wished to 
 learn Latin or Greek or even mathematics. Then I 
 told him I wanted to get to San Francisco, and then, 
 interrupting me nervously, he said : 
 
 'If it's money you want, I'm very sorry, but I 
 haven't got any myself.' 
 
 ' I 'm not surprised/ I answered, ' that an educated 
 man should be without in such a brutish wilderness. 
 But I did want money — 75 cents — and I want to sell 
 you this Horace or Virgil for it' 
 
 1 1 can't, I can't, I haven't got a cent, and I 'm in 
 debt too. But perhaps you could sell it to Father 
 Grady, the Roman Catholic priest.' 
 
 ' Is he an Irishman ? ' 
 
 < Yes.' 
 
 ' Then I don't want anything to do with him. I 
 have a premonition of the kind of man, and somehow 
 I don't like Irishmen, especially if they are religious.' 
 
 250 
 
Across the Coast Range 
 
 I meant the lower class Irish, who are not usually to 
 be admired in the States. 
 
 ' Well, I can't do anything for you but that. I 'm 
 really sorry. I could see, when you spoke, that you 
 were an educated man, and I would do anything I 
 could for you. But I am positively unable to make 
 a living here myself.' 
 
 I was sorry for him. He looked ill and weak. I 
 was at any rate well and strong, and could do manual 
 labour. 
 
 ' Well, thank you, Mr. Jones. I suppose I must try 
 the reverend father.' 
 
 'Yes, do, and come and tell me how you get on 
 with him.' 
 
 I shook hands with the little man and made my way 
 to the priest's house. He came out to me. I was 
 right. He was just the kind of low-class peasant 
 Irishman that I detest most cordially. The very look 
 of him made me half sick, and I nearly turned away 
 without speaking. However, I opened my business to 
 him, and told him Mr. Jones had sent me. ' Thank 
 you, I don't want either of them. I know them by 
 heart already ' (said I to myself, ' You lie '), ' and I have 
 copies with me of course. But you might try Mr. 
 So-and-so' (I forget the name) 'the hotel-keeper.' 
 
 I thanked him as civilly as I could, which was not 
 over courteously, for my gorge so rose against his fat 
 conceit and complacency. 
 
 I found the hotel-keeper. He was an intelligent man, 
 but half-drunk. ' Yes, I am something of a classical 
 scholar, but I don't read these books now. I don't 
 
 251 
 
The Western Avernus 
 
 want 'em.' Then a look came into his eyes I could not 
 quite fathom. ' But,' said he, ' do you see that tall man 
 down the road, with a plank on his shoulder ? ' ' Yes,' 
 said I. 'Then you go and ask him. He's the best 
 scholar in this city, bar old Jones.' 
 
 I turned away and went after the man with the 
 plank. I had serious doubts as to his scholarship when 
 I came close to him. Good-natured idiocy seemed 
 more his intellectual station among men than learning. 
 
 I went up and told him that the hotel-keeper had 
 sent me. He burst into a roar of laughter. ' Ho ! ho ! 
 ho ! Why, man, I can't read or write at all. Ho ! ho ! 
 ho ! ' and he put his plank down and sat on it to laugh 
 at his ease. I was in a fearful rage. I turned to go 
 back and assault my jocose friend, but as I went along 
 I thought, * If I do they'll have me in gaol too quick, 
 and I have no friends here at all.' So I thought better 
 of it and restrained myself, although I was fairly boiling. 
 It would have gone hard with him, even after second 
 thoughts, if I had met him face to face. 
 
 I went back to the office and tackled the General 
 once more, but in vain. Then I determined to jump 
 on the steamer in spite of them, and if I got on and 
 out to sea they should have no fare at all. If I could 
 not manage to get on board with the other passengers 
 when they went off to her I would ' borrow ' a boat and 
 try to get on her in the dark. So I went down in the 
 evening and found a crowd of people waiting until the 
 boat was ready for them. A big barque, or scow, laden 
 with lumber was to take them. When word was given 
 for the passengers to come forward I tried to get down, 
 
 2^2 
 
Across the Coast Range 
 
 but the agent or clerk was too smart for me, and 
 demanded my ticket. I had none, of course. Then 
 the fare. ' How much ? ' said I, as if I didn't know. 
 
 I Eight and a half dollars.' 
 
 I I Ve only got seven dollars and six bits.' 
 • Then stand back.' 
 
 So down the others went until I was left alone on the 
 pier with the clerk and one or two lookers-on. He 
 came over to me. 
 
 ' How much did you say you had ? ' 
 
 I told him. 
 
 ' All right, you can go. Hand over.' 
 
 I handed over, and then said : ' You may as well 
 leave me two bits to get a meal with in San Francisco.' 
 
 He looked at me and hesitated a moment, then gave 
 me back the twenty-five cents. I thanked him and 
 went down to the scow, and presently we got on board. 
 I had ' made that riffle ' at any rate, and was not 
 compelled to risk the ' conveying ' of boats and stowing 
 away. 
 
 When we got on board I went down into the steerage 
 and found one more white man and four Chinamen in 
 it. This place was a veritable Black Hole. There 
 were four double bunks, each holding two men, a big 
 chest in the small space between the bunks, and the 
 rest of it was taken up by the steps. The only light 
 came from the hatch above, and was supplemented by 
 an evil-smelling oil lamp. I am cosmopolitan enough, 
 Heaven knows, and have consorted with all sorts and 
 conditions of men — Australian blacks, Hindoos, Malays, 
 Japanese, Indians, and all kinds of Europeans — but 
 
 253 
 
The Western Avernus 
 
 of all I have been thrown into contact with I most 
 thoroughly detest the low Chinese. And now I had to 
 spend two whole days, at least, in close quarters with 
 them. I chummed in with the white man, who was a 
 nice, good-looking young fellow — a milker and butter- 
 maker — and slept in the same bunk with him ; but we 
 had to eat with the Chinese, and as they were violently 
 sick when we got out to sea they managed to make 
 things very unpleasant. I stayed on deck as much as 
 possible, and when I did go below I went there to sleep. 
 Yet these two days are black ones in my calendar, 
 though blacker ones were yet to come to me. 
 
 On the evening of the second day we came to the 
 Golden Gate, and ran through it into the great bay of 
 San Francisco. It was a beautiful sight, but I was too 
 melancholy and anxious to enjoy the sight of sea and 
 cliff, of lighthouse and quiet shining water, and the hills 
 gleaming in the setting sun that sank behind us. As 
 we passed up the harbour the city was gradually lighted 
 up with gas and electricity, and the waters grew gloomy 
 and gloomier yet. We threaded our way through ships 
 at anchor, and passed dark wharves with others loading 
 or discharging, and at last made fast ourselves to the 
 wharf at the foot of Mission Street. Outside on the 
 wharf were numerous 'busses to hotels, and as we 
 touched the sides we were boarded by a crowd of hotel- 
 runners, shouting and screaming: 'The International,' 
 'The American Exchange,' 'The Russ House,' and 
 eulogising the merits of a dozen others. The man 
 from the 'American Exchange' came to me as I sat 
 smoking on my blankets, and was most urgent I should 
 
 254 
 
Across the Coast Range 
 
 go with him, and would not let me alone. At last I 
 turned to him and said : ' It 's no good, partner, I 'm no 
 catch. I 'm dead broke.' He left me, and when things 
 began to get a little quieter I picked up my bundle and 
 went over the side. I was again in a strange city, and 
 all that I had was 25 cents — one shilling, and a half- 
 penny over. 
 
 255 
 
CHAPTER XX 
 
 IN SAN FRANCISCO 
 
 In the steamer I had had plenty of opportunity for 
 reflection as to the course to be pursued on arrival in 
 San Francisco, but all the mental exercise had resulted 
 in was the conclusion that I should be in a very bad 
 fix indeed when I got there, and that I should, if 
 possible, leave it at once. As it is a great shipping 
 port, in fact the port of the whole Pacific coast, my 
 mind naturally turned on going to sea again if nothing 
 else turned up. So when I slung my blankets on my 
 back and walked along the city front towards the 
 better-lighted portions of the city, I determined to look 
 for a sailors' boarding-house, the proprietor of which 
 would take me in if sailors were at all in demand. I 
 came in front of what I afterwards found out was 
 called the Ferries, at the foot of Market Street, and 
 went where there were a lot of saloons, eating-houses, 
 boot-black stands, peanut vendors, and newspaper 
 sellers, and asked a man to direct me to a sailors' 
 boarding-house. He pointed to the saloon before me 
 and I went in, and, asking for the boss, told him I was 
 a sailorman, and that I wanted to find a house, acting 
 in a jaunty, devil-may-care manner. 
 
 ' Hev you got any money ? ' ' Nary cent.' ' Then I 
 256 
 
In San Francisco 
 
 can't do anything for you. Hell ain't fuller of devils 
 than San Francisco is of sailors, and most of them dead 
 broke. My house is full up now. Perhaps you might 
 stand a show at the Arizona Hotel on Clay.' He came 
 outside and showed me which way to go. In Clay 
 Street, a dirty, dark, narrow way, I found the other 
 house, and had no better luck there. I asked the 
 proprietor to let me leave my blankets for a while. 
 Then I went out and found another house, and was 
 again refused, this time roughly, and without courtesy 
 such as the other two to whom I had applied had 
 extended to me. It must be remembered that I looked 
 rough enough to be a sailor a dozen times over, and I 
 could very well affect the old manner and walk which 
 now were no longer natural to me. So I looked like a 
 sailorman who had been taking a spell in the country. 
 However, it was no good trying these houses, and after 
 talking for a while with a sailor, who confirmed the 
 statements of the boarding-house keepers about the 
 numbers of idle men in the city, I thought I would go 
 and look for a lodging. I found one in Clay Street, 
 and after paying 20 cents for my bed I put my blankets 
 in the trunk-room and went in and sat down in the 
 sitting-room. There were more than twenty men in 
 this place, which was bare of adornment save a quack 
 doctor's advertisement on the walls. The tables were 
 wood, uncovered and somewhat hacked with knives, 
 the floors were dirty and covered with saliva, old chews, 
 and tobacco ash, while two or three spittoons of rubber 
 were full to overflowing. There were chairs, however, 
 and not benches, as in many lodging-houses. The 
 R 257 
 
The Western Avernus 
 
 denizens of the place were not, after what I had seen, 
 in any way strange to me ; but I fancy if some cultured, 
 educated man direct from London civilisation had been 
 dropped into the room he would have been struck by 
 the scene. 
 
 The room was well lighted with kerosene lamps, but 
 a dense cloud of tobacco-smoke hung from the ceiling 
 to the heads of those who were seated, and the gabble 
 of tongues made the place a very Babel, for some were 
 talking at the tops of their voices, some playing cards 
 at the tables, laughing and occasionally even yelling, 
 and there was a ring of others round the stove keeping 
 up a loud and animated conversation with all the 
 interest of a round game, in which victory remained 
 with the longest and loudest talker, and ignominious 
 defeat and forfeit to him who ceased first. Then there 
 were others round the wall, some asleep in spite of the 
 din, others with their chairs tilted back, sunk in coma 
 or reflective study, and some with their heels on a 
 vacant table, chewing tobacco and spitting with vast 
 differences in accuracy of aim at the over-burdened 
 spittoons, one of which was most gruesome to see, 
 betraying occasionally faint gleams of aroused interest 
 when a lucky shot was made in this modern American 
 game of k6tt(i/3o<;. 
 
 The faces, figures, and dresses of these men were as 
 various as their moods, attitudes, and occupation, and 
 after a little while spent in quiet observation, with my 
 chair tilted back against the wall, the differences began 
 to be very perceptible to me. One of the loudest 
 talkers was an American Irishman, and his professional 
 
 258 
 
In San Francisco 
 
 occupation was evidently something to do with coal, as 
 I noticed the grime of coal-dust round his eyes, which 
 comes off only after repeated washings. He was slight, 
 dressed in blue dungaree trousers and an old shiny 
 black coat. His face was merry and red, and his brown 
 eyes twinkled as he made a joke at a stolid-looking 
 Swede or German, with a face as motionless as a block 
 of wood, who, nevertheless, at times let out a flood of 
 broken English which I could scarcely understand. 
 There was another, manifestly a sailor, rather smartly 
 dressed, with a bright face and a red knotted hand- 
 kerchief under it. He was evidently at home, and 
 noisier than a man of forty usually is when sober. 
 There was a big, heavy German, whom they addressed 
 as ' Bismarck,' who sat playing casino, or seven up, or 
 some other card game, sometimes joining vigorously in 
 the talk and thumping the table till the lamp jumped 
 and the light flickered up the chimney. Then there 
 was a very fine, handsome-looking young fellow, who 
 was a cigar-maker, as I found out afterwards, with well- 
 cut features and a pleasant laugh, who usually sat with 
 his heels on the table. 
 
 There were men, too, who looked as if they did 
 nothing — ' bums ' in fact — others whose trade it was a 
 puzzle to discover, and some who seemed, like myself, 
 to be from the country. It was a curious mixed gang, 
 and I was glad at last to take my lamp and go to bed 
 in a little narrow room, in which the bed took up most 
 of the space. There were nearly two hundred of these 
 apartments, separated from each other by wooden 
 partitions with an open roof covered with a mosquito 
 
 259 
 
The Western Avernus 
 
 netting, and I could hear the snoring of my neighbours 
 in various keys from deep bass to shrill treble, while 
 one or two ran through the whole gamut, some occa- 
 sionally choking and waking themselves. 
 
 In the morning it was a very serious question with 
 me. I had five cents — 2|d. — and no prospect of break- 
 fast. Of course I was hungry, and the fact that it 
 seemed impossible to appease the growing famine made 
 me worse. I walked out and up and down to consider 
 things, and finally, after taking a smoke, I determined 
 to go to the British Consul, to see if he could get me 
 a ship. I found my way to his rooms near the Post 
 Office, and had an interview, not with the Consul 
 himself, who is an august and unapproachable person, 
 but with a short stout man of sailor-like appearance, 
 who heard my story, briefly told, and gave me a note to 
 the captain of an English ship, asking him to ship me 
 if possible. I went down, found the vessel, and after 
 waiting dismally for two hours, kicking my heels on the 
 wharf, and disconsolately watching the boats in the 
 bay, I was told that the ship would not sail for six 
 weeks and wanted no hands at present, as she had 
 more than enough staying by her. Then I tried a 
 dozen other vessels, but without success, and got so 
 weary, hungry, and disgusted that I went back to Clay 
 Street, and sat down in the house for an hour or two, 
 still having a little tobacco to prevent me from suffering 
 too acutely from famine. Then I went again to the 
 Consul's, but got no encouragement there. 
 
 I went up Market Street and tried to divert my 
 attention from myself by taking a look at the city, 
 
 260 
 
In San Francisco 
 
 whose] fine broad streets, and street cars or trams that 
 run without horses, being drawn on an underground 
 cable, had great attraction for me. I noticed, too, the 
 cosmopolitan character of the place, the numerous races 
 to be seen, and the beauty of many of the women ; but 
 as evening drew on the calls of hunger became so 
 piercing that I went back again to my lodging-house, 
 and sat down thinking where I should get something to 
 eat and how to get a lodging. At last I determined to 
 spend my last five cents, and going to a restaurant got 
 a cup of coffee, telling the man that the 'nickel,' or 
 five-cent piece, was my last money. He gave me a 
 dough-nut to eat with the coffee. This was the first 
 I had eaten for twenty-four hours. I thanked him and 
 went back again to the house, thinking that I should 
 have to spend the night in the streets. I sat down and 
 got into conversation with the man next to me, and 
 I opened up the talk by speaking about the state of 
 things in the city, and he told me that thousands were 
 out of work, and that there was every prospect of its 
 being a hard winter to working men. Then I told him 
 I was dead broke, and asked his advice as to where 
 I should sleep. ' Well,' said he, ' the clerk here is a 
 good fellow, and won't turn you out ; you can stay in 
 this room all night and sleep on a chair or on the floor. 
 There 's lots of fellows do it.' This was some consolation, 
 for I did not desire to tramp about the city and spend 
 the damp cold night in the open air. I asked the clerk 
 at ten o'clock if he would let me stay, and he said that it 
 would be all right if I came up when the others had gone 
 to bed. At half-past eleven I came up, and he let me in 
 
 261 
 
The Western Avernus 
 
 the room, from which the lamps had been removed, and 
 I found there five or six other men whom I had seen 
 about the place during the evening. One was quite a 
 respectable-looking old man, another was a jolly-looking 
 individual, who carefully spread some newspapers on 
 the floor in the warmest corner and lay down on them. 
 The others were nondescript fellows, rough and dirty. 
 I drew a chair up to the stove and slept for an hour 
 very uncomfortably, then I lay down on the bare boards 
 and slept uneasily until four o'clock, when Jim, the 
 clerk, came in and roused us by calling out ' Breakfast,' 
 which seemed to me a very poor joke indeed, as I was 
 about as hungry as I could be. We went out and washed 
 in the lavatory, looking a miserable lot of wretches, and 
 I crawled into the street, lighted dimly by lamps, for 
 there was yet no sign of day. 
 
 It was absolutely necessary for me to get something 
 to eat. It could be put off no longer. So, after think- 
 ing a while, I went down to the wharf where the steamer 
 in which I had come from Crescent City was lying, 
 and had a talk with the night watch-man, whom I 
 asked to give me some breakfast. He gave me some 
 coffee and bread and meat, which I ate ravenously, and 
 went away thanking him for his kindness. I ate no- 
 thing else all day, and spent the time hunting for a ship, 
 and at night slept on the bare boards as before. Next 
 day I went in the forenoon to an employment office, 
 not with any hope of getting employment, having no 
 money for fees, but just to do something. But my luck 
 was great. I sat down on a bench, above which was a 
 notice-board with requisitions for milkers, butter-makers, 
 
 262 
 
In San Francisco 
 
 coachmen, choppers, and labourers of all sorts, among a 
 crowd of men, some of whom I knew by sight, when in 
 came my old friend of the Rockies and Eagle Pass 
 Landing, Scott ! I jumped up and we shook hands 
 warmly. He was dressed well, and had a gold chain 
 across his waistcoat. I was as rough-looking as possible, 
 and just as I had been when I saw him last, save that 
 my hat was new. He asked me how I was ' making it,' 
 or getting along, and I told him just how it was with 
 me. He gave me 25 cents, and I went out and got a 
 10-cent dinner at a cheap eating-house, where they give 
 a great deal for the money. Scott had left Eagle Pass 
 soon after me and had gone direct to Victoria, and 
 then to San Francisco, where he had been for some 
 weeks, working part of the time. The remaining 15 
 cents kept me for that day and the next, as I spent 
 nothing for lodging, and then he gave me a little more. 
 At the end of a week from the time I had come to the 
 city he told me he had heard of a chance for work for 
 me, and I went up to a store in Market Street, owned 
 by a man whose possessions ran into millions of dollars. 
 He told me to come round in the morning and I could 
 get a day's work. I came accordingly at seven o'clock 
 and went to work without having had breakfast, my 
 supper the night before being a cup of coffee and a roll. 
 I helped two men, one a Swede, the other an 
 Englishman, to clean out the cellar or basement of 
 some new buildings, carrying up heavy timbers, iron 
 boilers, bricks, and glass frames, hard work at any time, 
 but laborious in the extreme on an empty stomach. 
 However, my Englishman was a good little fellow, and 
 
 263 
 
The Western Avernus 
 
 lent me 15 cents, with which I got the best meal I had 
 yet had in San Francisco. At night I got a dollar and 
 a half, my day's wages, and was told to come again on 
 Monday, as this was Saturday. I was now quite a 
 capitalist, and by eschewing the luxury of a bed I 
 could manage to live for some time. I worked again 
 on Monday, and then my boss told me to come up to 
 his private house next night, as he wanted a man to get 
 some rock and gravel out of a quarry to fill up his yard 
 and make a good floor. I was to sleep in the barn. I 
 went up and lay in a loft among bales of hay and in- 
 numerable rats, who ran along the bales and then 
 jumped on me, waking me up all night long. Some- 
 times half a dozen would charge across at me at once, 
 and if I made a noise it would only quiet them for 
 a minute, and their games would begin again. In 
 the morning I went to work in the quarry, and kept at 
 it for ten days, taking all the dogs of the establishment 
 to bed with me at night, whereby I saved myself from 
 rats, but was troubled with fleas and an occasional fight 
 over my recumbent figure. 
 
 My meals cost me a good deal during this time, so 
 when I left I only had about nine dols., upon which I 
 lived for nearly three weeks, still staying in Clay 
 Street, where I now had a bed, paying a dollar a 
 week for it. 
 
 Scott by this time was working in a Turkish bath- 
 house, and was at any rate making a living. 
 
 I tried hard to get employment myself but without 
 avail, and gradually my small store of silver got less 
 and less as I went back into my old condition, even 
 
 264 
 
In San Francisco 
 
 though I nearly starved myself, exercising great self- 
 control in the matter of meals. And in these days I 
 passed into the company of books, and in them found 
 nepenthe. They were a refuge and a consolation, 
 for in them I sought strength for my weakness, and 
 renewed courage, and did not seek in vain. They are 
 indeed steadfast friends to the afflicted, and wise coun- 
 sellors to the wavering and infirm, and but for them 
 who can say what might have been my lot? If there 
 are no fields of amaranth beyond the grave, there is 
 even asphodel on this hither side, and in the company 
 of the mighty men of old we wander at last in a dis- 
 coverable Eden, and by the very borders of the fabled 
 lakes of Elysium. 
 
 But reading did not help me to a job, and I came 
 down at last to no money at all, and in desperation I 
 sent home for the ioo dols. which I had remitted to 
 England in Kamloops. Then I had at least forty days 
 to get through. Times were now terribly hard in San 
 Francisco. It was estimated that there were at least 
 20,000 men out of work, to say nothing of women and 
 children. Londoners have nowadays some faint notion 
 of the struggle for life among the poor of London, and 
 the unutterable miseries they suffer during a bad winter, 
 but they still think that America is a paradise, and that 
 there can be no want there, especially in the Golden 
 West. But they are much mistaken. 
 
 I had to take again to sleeping on bare boards, and I 
 was much luckier than many others, who slept in door- 
 ways, and on the pile of potatoes on the wharf, and 
 sometimes went to the police station and got a bed 
 
 265 
 
The Western Avernus 
 
 there. Then there was a fearful struggle for food. I 
 used to sit in the lodging-house room and hear men, 
 whom I knew to be near starvation, telling each other 
 of hotels and restaurants where they would give men 
 food, warning each other not to go to others lest they 
 should be given into custody. I knew one man who 
 lived for months by going down to the iron-working 
 places and machine-shops in Mission Street, and asking 
 the men who were lucky enough to have work to give 
 him what was left when they had finished their dinners. 
 Another lived on a friend who used to bring twice as 
 much as he could eat to work with him. Then some 
 were without food for two days at a time. For my own 
 part, Scott helped me considerably, and at last I found 
 out a charitable organisation from whom I got much 
 help, promising to repay them when I got my money 
 from England, and I did so. The secretary was a fine, 
 kind old fellow, and used to get me to clean the office- 
 windows, giving me a dollar for two or three hours' work, 
 finding me a job at gardening sometimes. 
 
 He knew I was an educated man, and, in spite of 
 my appearance and poverty, treated me as an equal. 
 Then at last I had quite a stroke of luck. I met in 
 Clay Street, one day, John Anderssen, the Swede who 
 had worked with me at the mill in New Westminster, 
 and had been with me on that terrible winter walk. 
 He took me down to a schooner and got me a job 
 helping to discharge her. The work was fearfully 
 heavy, and I had to run all day long dragging heavy 
 planks; but the pay was good — four dols., or 16s. 8d., 
 for nine hours. It is one of the hardest things a man 
 
 266 
 
In San Francisco 
 
 can do, and there are thousands of working men who 
 are unable to do it. Yet I stuck to it for a day and 
 a half, till the work was done, and made six dollars. 
 This was quite a windfall, and I lived for two weeks on 
 it, having a bed again, after three weeks on bare 
 boards. It was now the beginning of 1886. But I 
 hoped to get money from England early in February, 
 and then things would be better. Meantime I spent 
 my time in walking round the city, with which I got 
 thoroughly acquainted, and in reading in the library. 
 Scott I saw at frequent intervals, and when I was in 
 good spirits we used to renew our old discussions about 
 religion, and he used to make me read the letters I 
 wrote home, for he had a great admiration for my 
 epistolary style, and considered me a complete letter- 
 writer of a very high order. 
 
 Then at nights he used to take me off to some 
 revival meeting, which would be more comic to me 
 than any theatre, as the way such affairs were carried 
 on was new to me, for I had never been to any before. 
 I think Scott had a dim hope in his mind that I should 
 be converted to active religion, but he was doomed to 
 disappointment, as my sense of humour was too great 
 for me to forget the rank absurdities of speech and 
 demeanour of these apostles. It surprised me, how- 
 ever, to see with what fluency even manifestly unedu- 
 cated people could tell their experiences, until at last 
 I discovered that their method of talking, when they 
 got stuck, was to interject a stream of 'Praise the 
 Lords' until they thought of something else, finally 
 attaining a rapidity of utterance in some cases worthy 
 
 267 
 
The Western Avernus 
 
 of the main clemi-god of the platform, round whom 
 would be sitting a circle of devout hysterical girls. 
 
 During these weeks of comparative ease, owing to 
 my six dollars, I never ceased trying to get work, but 
 it was no use, and finally I got so disgusted that I left 
 off trying, leaving things in the hands of Destiny. The 
 number of men in town seemed, if anything, to increase, 
 and the employment offices were fairly besieged by 
 applicants. Some poor fellows actually committed 
 suicide, and I saw more than one in the morgue who 
 would have been alive, I doubted not, if work had been 
 obtainable. I used sometimes to go to this morgue, 
 not, I think, out of morbid curiosity, but simply from 
 sheer ennui, when I felt incapable of reading. And 
 it had generally an occupant or two, for San Francisco 
 is fertile in violent deaths, and in five months I know 
 there were ten murders at least. Murders I call them, 
 though a corrupt bench and jury usually bring it in 
 anything but that, and acquit the guilty person if he 
 or she have sufficient money or influence. 
 
 In that same morgue I one night saw a woman 
 lying dead — a woman with a most beautiful, calm face, 
 splendid hair and delicate skin ; a woman of a common 
 history and the old perpetual tragedy of our life and 
 society. Young and lovely, with a beautiful voice, she 
 left her husband's home, God knows by what drawn or 
 driven, and was for years an outcast in the streets of 
 San Francisco. Yet, in spite of disease and want and 
 drink, her fatal beauty remained with her scarcely 
 diminished, and the touch of sudden death purified her 
 and made her saintlike — to me at any rate, though I 
 
 268 
 
In San Francisco 
 
 doubt if the group of ghouls around her thought so. 
 But one wretched woman, her companion for years in 
 the polluting and polluted ways of that vile city, sat 
 by and wept bitterly with her face in her hands, her 
 hair dishevelled like the locks of an Eastern mourner. 
 
 For three months San Francisco was a city of sorrow 
 and despair to me, of laborious occupation or worse, 
 of none at all, of poverty, of starvation, of discomfort. 
 When I think of those miserable nights on bare planks, 
 in vile smell of tobacco, I shiver. It is a nightmare to 
 think of myself standing outside in the dreary street, 
 with my equally unlucky companions, looking up at 
 the windows of the sitting-room, to which Jim would 
 only allow us to come when the lights were removed, 
 as sign that the rest had gone to bed. And the uneasy 
 sleep and the dreams of better things, and the awaken- 
 ing to misery and starvation — it was bitter. The walk 
 in Oregon, bad as it was, and the Selkirk trail, are 
 nothing, in my memory, to these most evil days in that 
 city, when it seemed little indeed that kept me at times 
 from the tables of the morgue. And even when 
 brighter days came at last, and my long-expected 
 money came from England, I could not help seeing 
 the misery of others, which was so patent to me who 
 had gone through it myself. In those days I was an 
 Anarchist, a very Nihilist, and the sight of rich 
 prosperity filled me with fury, and a millionaire was a 
 loathsome object, a vampire, a bloodsucker. Even 
 now I shiver to think of the horror of that time, when 
 it seemed as if every avenue of hope was closed, and 
 black necessity drove me slowly backward to the 
 
 269 
 
The Western Avernus 
 
 waters of suicide. It was at times vain to try to read ; 
 I only saw my own history in the pages, and the head- 
 ings were Misery and Starvation. It was vain to try 
 to think of things past when I was bound to the wheel 
 of the present, crushed and maimed. I had no patience, 
 no hope, no charity. I was tortured by the lack of all 
 human feelings in me. I was at times a brute and 
 carnivorous. Then I grew sad and melancholy, no 
 more savage and wild, and I sat down by myself 
 in silence, and would have wept for sheer misery and 
 utter loneliness had not my tears been dried up. And 
 sometimes I grew almost delirious, and came into a 
 new world, suffering from a calenture, viewing a mirage; 
 and my veins bounded, and I was strong and wise, 
 philosophic, calm and virtuous, and then cast down 
 in utter confusion, sweeping like a lost boat over a 
 cataract to the whirlpools of a lost soul. Yet at times 
 I was merry, and laughed and joked with my fellows 
 about our sufferings, and made light of them, and then 
 went out cursing. And all this for lack of work, for 
 lack of a little money, and because I had known other 
 things, and was, it may be, cultured, and in many ways 
 gifted beyond my poor brutish friends. 
 
 It was thus I learnt the misery of cities and the 
 perpetual warfare and bitter fight for life. I have no 
 need to go now to the slums of London in search of a 
 new sensation. I will keep away unless I can do good 
 there, for the sight of such misery would come back to 
 me with more than a hundred times the effect it would 
 have on even some delicate highborn lady, who from 
 motives of compassion and curiosity has gone to the 
 
 270 
 
In San Francisco 
 
 dreadful East-end in winter time. Do these not look 
 at the sufferings they see as if the sufferers belonged to 
 a lower, different race? It may not be so, but I fear 
 it is, too often. But I know I was even as these — 
 starved, hopeless, miserable, passionate, hating, and 
 their sight and memory are dreadful. 
 
 And how strange the contrast to me with a little 
 money, when that for which I had sent came at last ! 
 New clothes, and a bath and plentiful meals. Lo ! a 
 new man, careless, laughing, and too forgetful. The 
 change was too sudden, and I changed too much, and 
 for a time became callous. I had suffered ; then let 
 others suffer. I had starved ; was I to help others, 
 that I might perhaps the sooner starve again ? Should 
 I not take some luxury, because others lacked necessary 
 things ? I grew selfish and went off reading, or I took 
 long walks to look at the waves breaking on the ocean 
 beach, to see things while I was in the humour for 
 them. I thrust aside my past sufferings, and with 
 them those of the rest. Yet this was but a reaction, I 
 think. I had been strained almost to the breaking- 
 point, and now I was let loose. I had been played upon 
 so harshly that more than one tuning was wanted to 
 make me tolerable. I was weary of seeing evil when 
 all things seemed evil. I was a passive Manichsean, on 
 the whole on the side of good, but a non-combatant. 
 Then between Good and Evil. There was no Good and 
 Evil. It was ' thinking made it so.' Perhaps it was that 
 
 ' A little discord makes My music sweet, 5 
 Saith God upon His throne ; 'so let men beat 
 Their painful breasts and moan. 5 
 
 271 
 
The Western Avernus 
 
 And my life ran in calmer channels as I sought 
 vaguely for work, knowing that it would ere long be 
 necessary, yet not striving earnestly for very lack of 
 power. I passed into the world of books, remaining in 
 the library for hours, and I read the Meditations of 
 Marcus Antoninus and Blake's Poems of Innocence once 
 and again, understanding much, and, I am fain to say, 
 looking at some as a child might at Sanskrit in the 
 Devanagari character — as something occult, mystic, 
 hieroglyphic, and secret. In some other cities I should 
 have spent much of my leisure in picture galleries — 
 in Melbourne, for instance — but in this city of outer 
 barbarians there is no such thing, and little art and 
 few artists. Chromos and oleographs such as one sees 
 in London are infinitely ahead of much water-colour 
 work and oil-painting in San Francisco ; and to look 
 at the many villainous daubs that hang there, even 
 in good shops, was extremely painful to me, who at 
 any rate had seen, and seen often, the best in London 
 — Turner, Danby, Gainsborough, and Reynolds, and 
 Rossetti's marvellous morbid work, and all the old 
 schools, Italian and Venetian, and Leonardo da Vinci, 
 and had sat and dreamed vague dreams unexpressed 
 anywhere or by anybody, except by Pater's words on 
 La Gioconda, and had read Ruskin over and over again. 
 Then even etchings and engravings were from old 
 worn-out European plates, and were ghastly. So I 
 was forced back to Nature again, and yet went willingly, 
 and sat for hours on a rock on the ocean beach and 
 heard the sea thunder, and saw the white foam lightning 
 on the dark blue of the turbulent waters, taking good 
 
 272 
 
In San Francisco 
 
 care to turn my back to the cliffs that soulless, enter- 
 prising Americans had placarded with advertisements 
 of champagnes and brandies unknown to European 
 merchants. Or I went up Telegraph Hill, above the 
 bay, and saw the huge ferry-boats running to Oakland, 
 Alameda, San Rafael, or Saucelito with foam-tracks 
 behind them, and contemplated the merchant ships 
 lying at anchor with delicate tracery of rope and spar 
 against the calm water, or the opposing hills, above 
 which rose the winter-crowned crest of Mount Diablo 
 or Tamalpais, and heard the near current of humanity 
 on the wharves and the roar of traffic and handling of 
 far-brought merchandise. 
 
 At last it was undoubtedly time for me to be at 
 work, for living even in dreamland costs money, and 
 the veriest Buddha has to live on victuals and drink. 
 In the middle of April I received an offer of work on 
 a ranche in Lake County, to the north of San Francisco, 
 on the condition that I should engage myself for a year. 
 Having still some money left, I declined to put myself 
 in such fetters and shackles, knowing that the very 
 fact of its being impossible for me to leave would in- 
 evitably make me desire to do so. But in the be- 
 ginning of May I began to feel very anxious, for my 
 hoarded dollars decreased one by one. I went to a 
 great bookseller's in town and undertook the work of 
 a ' book agent.' I had to wander round the city with 
 a large sample atlas under my arm, going into every 
 place I thought might offer me a chance to dispose of 
 one, and suffered during some days the misery of 
 trying to induce a man who manifestly was not in need 
 S 273 
 
The Western Avernus 
 
 of my book to buy it nevertheless. The successful 
 book-agent is a man who can read character, who is 
 pliable, ready, quick-witted, and not to be repulsed. 
 He must have brains, but cheek, impudence, or what 
 is often called ' gall ' in America, is far more necessary, 
 and it was most decidedly in this that I was lacking. 
 I sold a few and made 40 per cent, on my sales, but 
 80 or 100 per cent, would not have compensated me for 
 the shame and diffidence I experienced in entering 
 house after house for a whole day, with perhaps only 
 one success to be scored to me, and only too often I 
 worked hard and made nothing at all. Finally, after 
 three days, which were absolutely blank, I sold my 
 sample copy at a sacrifice, and renounced a business for 
 which I was evidently unfit. 
 
 In the second week of May my luck began to turn. 
 I had come down at last to five dollars, then four, 
 three, two, one, and then I had none at all. I was dead 
 broke again, and without prospects. Up to this time 
 I had dwelt in a fool's paradise, and was a kind of 
 dreamy Micawber, but the rude shock of finding myself 
 again without cash awoke me like a cold douche, and I 
 set to work ' rustling ' for a job. And as it was spring 
 there was some likelihood of my being able to find it, 
 even if I had to put my old blankets on my back once 
 more and go out into the vast Californian country on 
 speculation. But by a happy chance this was spared 
 me, and I was glad, for it would have been most 
 extremely bitter for me to make another tramp like 
 my British Columbia or Oregon journeys, perhaps in 
 starvation and suffering once more. I had met a 
 
 274 
 
SHOOTING HOGS. 
 
 [to face p. 275. 
 
In San Francisco 
 
 certain English merchant in San Francisco, a man of 
 wealth and many ranches. To him I applied for 
 employment. He could give me none, and sent me 
 away disconsolate, but the day after I received a 
 message from him, and the next morning found me on 
 my way to Sonoma County, to work upon a vineyard 
 and stock and grain ranche. The wages were but 
 small — 20 dols. a month — and I found the work suffi- 
 ciently arduous, but I made up my mind to stay there in 
 spite of everything until I had enough money to take 
 me back to England, for after being out in the cold 
 so long I desired to feel the warm air of civilisation on 
 my cheeks once more. 
 
 The situation of the ranche was beautiful. At the 
 back of the farm buildings rose a precipitous mountain 
 clothed on its lower slopes with fir and birch and pine, 
 while above the trees ran rocky peaks that shone rosy 
 red in the summer's setting sun. Across the valley 
 rose another chain of hills more bare of timber, and the 
 lands between us and this farther range were green 
 with vines and golden with wheat and corn and barley. 
 From the higher peaks of the mountain I saw the 
 waters of San Francisco's bay, and at times the haze 
 and smoke of the city itself, while nearer mapped out 
 beneath me lay farm after farm and vine-plot after 
 vine-plot, verdant and flourishing. 
 
 My work was very various, and required a man who 
 had some knowledge of many things, and certainly I 
 think my experience had so far fitted me for it. I was 
 stableman for one thing, and in that capacity sometimes 
 had charge of as many as a dozen horses. Then 
 
 275 
 
The Western, Avernus 
 
 I harnessed and ' hitched up ' all the buggies and 
 carnages, and had to keep them and the harness clean. 
 I was milkman, milking four cows, taking charge of 
 their calves and feeding them on hay and grass, and 
 occasional apples and pears in the season. My spare 
 time in the summer was devoted to picking and drying 
 apricots, plums, greengages, magnum bonums, and 
 peaches, and when the summer still further advanced 
 I had to see that our fifty horses came up to water 
 at the ranche, for the heat dried up the pools and 
 springs in the pastures. There were 300 sheep, and 
 these I looked after during lambing and brought to 
 water also. Half the day I was on horseback, for the 
 most part riding a black Californian ' broncho,' who 
 threw me twice ' buck-jumping,' and on the first occa- 
 sion nearly killed me. But before I had done with 
 him I made him kind and tractable, teaching him some 
 school tricks, such as backing and going sideways, and 
 he learnt to follow me when I went on foot. 
 
 My companions were for the most part Italians, who 
 swore most diabolical and blasphemous oaths, but were 
 kind and pleasant, hard workers too and steady. My 
 particular partner was a Swede, ' Andy,' who was a sailor, 
 and had been a passenger on the ill-fated Atlantic, and 
 he and I got along extremely well, sleeping in the 
 same room, an apartment decorated with illustrations 
 from the English GrapJiic and Illustrated. 
 
 I stayed there through haymaking and harvest and 
 thrashing, until the vintage. There were three hundred 
 acres of vines — Mission, Zinfundel, and Berger, and 
 many others — for it was the largest vineyard in Sonoma 
 
 276 
 
In San Francisco 
 
 Valley, and during this time I used to go down the 
 vineyard on horseback, carrying a rifle to shoot the 
 half-wild hogs who broke in to get the sweet, plentiful 
 grapes. And ere the end of the vintage I left. The 
 work was not in every way suited to me, and it grew 
 more and more irksome as my small stock of money 
 increased, for when I saw an avenue open for escape 
 to England and civilisation, converse with uneducated 
 men grew intolerable, and I longed for the society of 
 those whose interests were not merely bucolical and 
 pecuniary, whose talk was not of bullocks, ' for how can 
 such get wisdom ? ' 
 
 So at last I bade farewell to my companions, sang 
 ' L'Addio ' to my Italian friends, and went down to San 
 Francisco, and next day took the overland train for 
 New York. It was a glad release for me, that swift 
 flight overland, that triumphant progress through the 
 long sunburnt plains of Southern California, the high 
 plateau of sweet-breath'd Arizona, the land of the 
 beautiful maiden, through New Mexico of cattle and 
 sheep and brown adobes, down the long descent of 
 Kansas plains, through Missouri and the eastern States 
 to the Atlantic seaboard and the roar and rush of New 
 York City, and finally over the furrows of the ocean, 
 blue and wonderful, the very sea that ran in cease- 
 less currents to the island of my birth, and England 
 at last. 
 
 277 
 
Printed by T. and A. Constable, Printers to Her Majesty 
 at the Edinburgh University Press 
 
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