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Authors: James A. Michener
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as you please.” As he spoke, his eyes shining with expectation of the gold he was going to find, it became obvious to the Englishmen that he had pictured the trail from Edmonton to Dawson as an American prairie, flat and easily negotiated but with a necessary tree here or there, for when one Edmonton man asked: “How you goin’ to get it through forests?” the American replied: “We may have to avoid a tree or two, go around maybe.”
And now the time had come to start his drive of more than a thousand miles, with no map, only a few spare parts and just one ax to cut the needed wood. Lord Luton, watching this tremendous folly, whispered to his nephew: “Someone ought to halt this madness.”
As the fire below the boiler began to flame, the already heated water started to produce steam, and with a violent creaking of parts the huge machine, capable of carrying twenty men, inched forward, felt its power, and struck out for the modified Edmonton prairie, moving quite splendidly forward with Fothergill in the driver’s seat waving to the cheering watchers. But when, one hundred yards later, the huge spiked wheels encountered a stretch of flat earth where rains had accumulated, the contraption did not proceed onward; instead, the wheels dug themselves ever more deeply into the swampy soil, the big spikes cutting powerfully down and not ahead, so that soon the entire body of the vehicle was sinking into the mire, with all forward progress halted.
Before the confused farmer could halt the supply of power to the four huge wheels, they had dug themselves into a muddy grave fromwhich six mules would not have been able to dislodge them. Dismayed, Fothergill climbed down from his perch, looked at the laughing crowd, and asked: “How am I ever going to get this to Dawson?” By chance, he directed this question to Lord Luton, who drew back as if the man and his stupidity were distasteful, and said: “Yes, how indeed?”
Back in quarters, Luton resumed the point that Carpenter had been making when the launching of the miracle machine had interrupted: “We must alert these fools to the perils they face if they attempt such nonsense…or even attempt to leave on foot…or with horses.”
For an entire day the four moved among the gold-crazy hordes, warning them that the Halverson and Desbordays documents were fraudulent, but they found themselves powerless to dissuade the starry-eyed travelers. They met two men and a woman who had bought a pony that was expected to carry their entire pack to Dawson. “Please, please! Don’t try it!” Carpenter urged, but even as he spoke the trio set off for a journey that would take them at least a year, if the pony lived, but since Harry was certain it would die before the week was out, he supposed its three owners would also perish.
When he encountered a fine-looking woman in her late thirties who proposed making the entire overland trip on foot, by herself, with a small packet of dried fruits, he lost all patience, and scolded her: “Madam, you will be close to death at the end of the first week, and surely dead by the second.” When she explained, tearfully, that she must have the gold because she had two children in Iowa to support, he made a move which astonished both her and him: He took her in his arms, pushed his heavy mustaches against her face, and kissed her soundly on the cheek: “Madam, you’re a handsome woman. And a wonderful mother, I’m sure. But for God’s sake, go back to Iowa. Now!” And before she could protest, he had given her fifteen Canadian dollars and taken her by the arm to the depot from which she could start her journey home.
—
Philip Henslow was having an experience that was somewhat similar, but one which would have a surprisingly different outcome. He was strolling idly, asking questions of any strangers who looked as if they might be informed concerning the various routes to Dawson, when he came up behind a woman, probably a good deal older
And now the time had come to start his drive of more than a thousand miles, with no map, only a few spare parts and just one ax to cut the needed wood. Lord Luton, watching this tremendous folly, whispered to his nephew: “Someone ought to halt this madness.”
As the fire below the boiler began to flame, the already heated water started to produce steam, and with a violent creaking of parts the huge machine, capable of carrying twenty men, inched forward, felt its power, and struck out for the modified Edmonton prairie, moving quite splendidly forward with Fothergill in the driver’s seat waving to the cheering watchers. But when, one hundred yards later, the huge spiked wheels encountered a stretch of flat earth where rains had accumulated, the contraption did not proceed onward; instead, the wheels dug themselves ever more deeply into the swampy soil, the big spikes cutting powerfully down and not ahead, so that soon the entire body of the vehicle was sinking into the mire, with all forward progress halted.
Before the confused farmer could halt the supply of power to the four huge wheels, they had dug themselves into a muddy grave fromwhich six mules would not have been able to dislodge them. Dismayed, Fothergill climbed down from his perch, looked at the laughing crowd, and asked: “How am I ever going to get this to Dawson?” By chance, he directed this question to Lord Luton, who drew back as if the man and his stupidity were distasteful, and said: “Yes, how indeed?”
Back in quarters, Luton resumed the point that Carpenter had been making when the launching of the miracle machine had interrupted: “We must alert these fools to the perils they face if they attempt such nonsense…or even attempt to leave on foot…or with horses.”
For an entire day the four moved among the gold-crazy hordes, warning them that the Halverson and Desbordays documents were fraudulent, but they found themselves powerless to dissuade the starry-eyed travelers. They met two men and a woman who had bought a pony that was expected to carry their entire pack to Dawson. “Please, please! Don’t try it!” Carpenter urged, but even as he spoke the trio set off for a journey that would take them at least a year, if the pony lived, but since Harry was certain it would die before the week was out, he supposed its three owners would also perish.
When he encountered a fine-looking woman in her late thirties who proposed making the entire overland trip on foot, by herself, with a small packet of dried fruits, he lost all patience, and scolded her: “Madam, you will be close to death at the end of the first week, and surely dead by the second.” When she explained, tearfully, that she must have the gold because she had two children in Iowa to support, he made a move which astonished both her and him: He took her in his arms, pushed his heavy mustaches against her face, and kissed her soundly on the cheek: “Madam, you’re a handsome woman. And a wonderful mother, I’m sure. But for God’s sake, go back to Iowa. Now!” And before she could protest, he had given her fifteen Canadian dollars and taken her by the arm to the depot from which she could start her journey home.
—
Philip Henslow was having an experience that was somewhat similar, but one which would have a surprisingly different outcome. He was strolling idly, asking questions of any strangers who looked as if they might be informed concerning the various routes to Dawson, when he came up behind a woman, probably a good deal older
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