>>> YOU ARE VIEWING A 200 LINE SAMPLE OF EBOOK# E00104 <<< TITLE: THE MAGNETIC NORTH AUTHOR: ELIZABETH ROBINS (C. E. RAIMOND) EBOOK: E00104 (O'Briens Book Cellar) THE MAGNETIC NORTH By ELIZABETH ROBINS (C. E. Raimond) Author of "The Open Question," "Below the Salt," etc. _With a Map_ 1904 CONTENTS CHAPTER I. WINTER CAMP IN THE YUKON II. HOUSE-WARMING III. TWO NEW SPISSIMENS IV. THE BLOW-OUT V. THE SHAMAN VI. A PENITENTIAL JOURNEY VII. KAVIAK'S CRIME VIII. CHRISTMAS IX. A CHRISTIAN AGNOSTIC X. PRINCESS MUCKLUCK XI. HOLY CROSS XII. THE GREAT WHITE SILENCE XIII. THE PIT XIV. KURILLA XV. THE ESQUIMAUX HORSE XVI. MINOOK XVII. THE GREAT STAMPEDE XVIII. A MINERS' MEETING XIX. THE ICE GOES OUT XX. THE KLONDYKE XXI. PARDNERS XXII. THE GOING HOME THE MAGNETIC NORTH CHAPTER I WINTER CAMP ON THE YUKON "To labour and to be content with that a man hath is a sweet life; but he that findeth a treasure is above them both."--_Ecclesiasticus_. Of course they were bound for the Klondyke. Every creature in the North-west was bound for the Klondyke. Men from the South too, and men from the East, had left their ploughs and their pens, their factories, pulpits, and easy-chairs, each man like a magnetic needle suddenly set free and turning sharply to the North; all set pointing the self-same way since that July day in '97, when the _Excelsior_ sailed into San Francisco harbour, bringing from the uttermost regions at the top of the map close upon a million dollars in nuggets and in gold-dust. Some distance this side of the Arctic Circle, on the right bank of the Yukon, a little detachment of that great army pressing northward, had been wrecked early in the month of September. They had realised, on leaving the ocean-going ship that landed them at St. Michael's Island (near the mouth of the great river), that they could not hope to reach Dawson that year. But instead of "getting cold feet," as the phrase for discouragement ran, and turning back as thousands did, or putting in the winter on the coast, they determined, with an eye to the spring rush, to cover as many as possible of the seventeen hundred miles of waterway before navigation closed. They knew, in a vague way, that winter would come early, but they had not counted on the big September storm that dashed their heavy-laden boats against the floe-ice, ultimately drove them ashore, and nearly cost the little party their lives. On that last day of the long struggle up the stream, a stiff north-easter was cutting the middle reach of the mighty river, two miles wide here, into a choppy and dangerous sea. Day by day, five men in the two little boats, had kept serious eyes on the shore. Then came the morning when, out of the monotonous cold and snow-flurries, something new appeared, a narrow white rim forming on the river margin--the first ice! "Winter beginning to show his teeth," said one man, with an effort at jocosity. Day by day, nearer came the menace; narrower and swifter still ran the deep black water strip between the encroaching ice-lines. But the thought that each day's sailing or rowing meant many days nearer the Klondyke, seemed to inspire a superhuman energy. Day by day each man had felt, and no man yet had said, "We must camp to-night for eight months." They had looked landward, shivered, and held on their way. But on this particular morning, when they took in sail, they realised it was to be that abomination of desolation on the shore or death. And one or other speedily. Nearer the white teeth gleamed, fiercer the gale, swifter the current, sweeping back the boats. The _Mary C._ was left behind, fighting for life, while it seemed as if no human power could keep the _Tulare_ from being hurled against the western shore. Twice, in spite of all they could do, she was driven within a few feet of what looked like certain death. With a huge effort, that last time, her little crew had just got her well in mid-stream, when a heavy roller breaking on the starboard side drenched the men and half filled the cockpit. Each rower, still pulling for dear life with one hand, bailed the boat with the other; but for all their promptness a certain amount of the water froze solid before they could get it out. "Great luck, if we're going to take in water like this," said the cheerful Kentuckian, shipping his oar and knocking off the ice--"great luck that all the stores are so well protected." "Protected!" snapped out an anxious, cast-iron-looking man at the rudder. "Yes, protected. How's water to get through the ice-coat that's over everything?" The cast-iron steersman set his jaw grimly. They seemed to be comparatively safe now, with half a mile of open water between them and the western shore. But they sat as before, stiff, alert, each man in his ice jacket that cracked and crunched as he bent to his oar. Now right, now left, again they eyed the shore. Would it be--could it be there they would have to land? And if they did...? Lord, how it blew! "Hard a-port!" called out the steersman. There, just ahead, was a great white-capped "roller" coming--coming, the biggest wave they had encountered since leaving open sea. But MacCann, the steersman, swung the boat straight into the crested roller, and the _Tulare_ took it gamely, "bow on." All was going well when, just in the boiling middle of what they had thought was foaming "white-cap," the boat struck something solid, shivered, and went shooting down, half under water; recovered, up again, and seemed to pause in a second's doubt on the very top of the great wave. In that second that seemed an eternity one man's courage snapped. Potts threw down his oar and swore by----and by----he wouldn't pull another----stroke on the----Yukon. While he was pouring out the words, the steersman sprang from the tiller, and seized Potts' oar just in time to save the boat from capsizing. Then he and the big Kentuckian both turned on the distracted Potts. "You infernal quitter!" shouted the steersman, and choked with fury. But even under the insult of that "meanest word in the language," Potts sat glaring defiantly, with his half-frozen hands in his pockets. "It ain't a river, anyhow, this ain't," he said. "It's plain, simple Hell and water." The others had no time to realise that Potts was clean out of his senses for the moment, and the Kentuckian, still pulling like mad, faced the "quitter" with a determination born of terror. "If you can't row, take the rudder! Damnation! Take that rudder! Quick, _or we'll kill you_!" And he half rose up, never dropping his oar. Blindly, Potts obeyed. The _Tulare_ was free now from the clinging mass at the bow, but they knew they had struck their first floe. Farther on they could see other white-caps bringing other ice masses down. But there was no time for terrors ahead. The gale was steadily driving them in shore again. Boat and oars alike were growing unwieldy with their coating of ever-increasing ice, and human strength was no match for the storm that was sweeping down from the Pole. Lord, how it blew! "There's a cove!" called out the Kentuckian. "Throw her in!" he shouted <<< END OF SAMPLE... (THE FULL EBOOK HAS 894896 TOTAL CHARACTERS) >>>