ANTICIPATION

    I will wash my brain in the splendid breeze,
    I will lay my cheek to the northern sun,
    I will drink the breath of the mossy trees,
    And the clouds shall meet me one by one. 
    I will fling the scholar’s pen aside,
    And grasp once more the bronco’s rein,
    And I will ride and ride and ride,
    Till the rain is snow, and the seed is grain.

The way is long and cold and lone ­
But I go. 
It leads where pines forever moan
Their weight of snow,
Yet I go. 
There are voices in the wind that call,
There are hands that beckon to the plain;
I must journey where the trees grow tall,
And the lonely heron clamors in the rain.

Where the desert flames with furnace heat,
I have trod. 
Where the horned toad’s tiny feet
In a land
Of burning sand
Leave a mark,
I have ridden in the noon and in the dark. 
Now I go to see the snows,
Where the mossy mountains rise
Wild and bleak ­and the rose
And pink of morning fill the skies
With a color that is singing,
And the lights
Of polar nights
Utter cries
As they sweep from star to star,
Swinging, ringing,
Where the sunless middays are.

I

A little over a year ago a small steamer swung to at a Seattle wharf, and emptied a flood of eager passengers upon the dock.  It was an obscure craft, making infrequent trips round the Aleutian Islands (which form the farthest western point of the United States) to the mouth of a practically unknown river called the Yukon, which empties into the ocean near the post of St. Michaels, on the northwestern coast of Alaska.

The passengers on this boat were not distinguished citizens, nor fair to look upon.  They were roughly dressed, and some of them were pale and worn as if with long sickness or exhausting toil.  Yet this ship and these passengers startled the whole English-speaking world.  Swift as electricity could fly, the magical word gold went forth like a brazen eagle across the continent to turn the faces of millions of earth’s toilers toward a region which, up to that time, had been unknown or of ill report.  For this ship contained a million dollars in gold:  these seedy passengers carried great bags of nuggets and bottles of shining dust which they had burned, at risk of their lives, out of the perpetually frozen ground, so far in the north that the winter had no sun and the summer midnight had no dusk.

The world was instantly filled with the stories of these men and of their tons of bullion.  There was a moment of arrested attention ­then the listeners smiled and nodded knowingly to each other, and went about their daily affairs.

But other ships similarly laden crept laggardly through the gates of Puget Sound, bringing other miners with bags and bottles, and then the world believed.  Thereafter the journals of all Christendom had to do with the “Klondike” and “The Golden River.”  Men could not hear enough or read enough of the mysterious Northwest.

In less than ten days after the landing of the second ship, all trains westward-bound across America were heavily laden with fiery-hearted adventurers, who set their faces to the new Eldorado with exultant confidence, resolute to do and dare.

Miners from Colorado and cow-boys from Montana met and mingled with civil engineers and tailors from New York City, and adventurous merchants from Chicago set shoulder to shoemakers from Lynn.  All kinds and conditions of prospectors swarmed upon the boats at Seattle, Vancouver, and other coast cities.  Some entered upon new routes to the gold fields, which were now known to be far in the Yukon Valley, while others took the already well-known route by way of St. Michaels, and thence up the sinuous and sinister stream whose waters began on the eastern slope of the glacial peaks just inland from Juneau, and swept to the north and west for more than two thousand miles.  It was understood that this way was long and hard and cold, yet thousands eagerly embarked on keels of all designs and of all conditions of unseaworthiness.  By far the greater number assaulted the mountain passes of Skagway.

As the autumn came on, the certainty of the gold deposits deepened; but the tales of savage cliffs, of snow-walled trails, of swift and icy rivers, grew more numerous, more definite, and more appalling.  Weak-hearted Jasons dropped out and returned to warn their friends of the dread powers to be encountered in the northern mountains.

As the uncertainties of the river route and the sufferings and toils of the Chilcoot and the White Pass became known, the adventurers cast about to find other ways of reaching the gold fields, which had come now to be called “The Klondike,” because of the extreme richness of a small river of that name which entered the Yukon, well on toward the Arctic Circle.

From this attempt to avoid the perils of other routes, much talk arose of the Dalton Trail, the Taku Trail, the Stikeen Route, the Telegraph Route, and the Edmonton Overland Trail.  Every town within two thousand miles of the Klondike River advertised itself as “the point of departure for the gold fields,” and set forth the special advantages of its entrance way, crying out meanwhile against the cruel mendacity of those who dared to suggest other and “more dangerous and costly” ways.

The winter was spent in urging these claims, and thousands of men planned to try some one or the other of these “side-doors.”  The movement overland seemed about to surpass the wonderful transcontinental march of miners in ’49 and ’50, and those who loved the trail for its own sake and were eager to explore an unknown country hesitated only between the two trails which were entirely overland.  One of these led from Edmonton to the head-waters of the Pelly, the other started from the Canadian Pacific Railway at Ashcroft and made its tortuous way northward between the great glacial coast range on the left and the lateral spurs of the Continental Divide on the east.

The promoters of each of these routes spoke of the beautiful valleys to be crossed, of the lovely streams filled with fish, of the game and fruit.  Each was called “the poor man’s route,” because with a few ponies and a gun the prospector could traverse the entire distance during the summer, “arriving on the banks of the Yukon, not merely browned and hearty, but a veteran of the trail.”

It was pointed out also that the Ashcroft Route led directly across several great gold districts and that the adventurer could combine business and pleasure on the trip by examining the Ominica country, the Kisgagash Mountains, the Peace River, and the upper waters of the Stikeen.  These places were all spoken of as if they were close beside the trail and easy of access, and the prediction was freely made that a flood of men would sweep up this valley such as had never been known in the history of goldseeking.

As the winter wore on this prediction seemed about to be realized.  In every town in the West, in every factory in the East, men were organizing parties of exploration.  Grub stakers by the hundred were outfitted, a vast army was ready to march in the early spring, when a new interest suddenly appeared ­a new army sprang into being.

Against the greed for gold arose the lust of battle.  War came to change the current of popular interest.  The newspapers called home their reporters in the North and sent them into the South, the Dakota cow-boys just ready to join the ranks of the goldseekers entered the army of the United States, finding in its Southern campaigns an outlet to their undying passion for adventure; while the factory hands who had organized themselves into a goldseeking company turned themselves into a squad of military volunteers.  For the time the gold of the North was forgotten in the war of the South.

II

However, there were those not so profoundly interested in the war or whose arrangements had been completed before the actual outbreak of cannon-shot, and would not be turned aside.  An immense army still pushed on to the north.  This I joined on the 20th day of April, leaving my home in Wisconsin, bound for the overland trail and bearing a joyous heart.  I believed that I was about to see and take part in a most picturesque and impressive movement across the wilderness.  I believed it to be the last great march of the kind which could ever come in America, so rapidly were the wild places being settled up.  I wished, therefore, to take part in this tramp of the goldseekers, to be one of them, and record their deeds.  I wished to return to the wilderness also, to forget books and theories of art and social problems, and come again face to face with the great free spaces of woods and skies and streams.  I was not a goldseeker, but a nature hunter, and I was eager to enter this, the wildest region yet remaining in Northern America.  I willingly and with joy took the long way round, the hard way through.

THE COW-BOY

    Of rough rude stock this saddle sprite
    Is grosser grown with savage things. 
    Inured to storms, his fierce delight
    Is lawless as the beasts he swings
    His swift rope over. ­Libidinous, obscene,
    Careless of dust and dirt, serene,
    He faces snows in calm disdain,
    Or makes his bed down in the rain.