While raced along a branch he caught,
  That, waving from the shore long sought,
  Was like an arm outstretched.
  He pulled himself hand over hand
  Until his feet could feel the sand
  By eddying currents fetched.
  His pack was soaked with water through,
  There was no trail ahead he knew,
  But still kept on his way;
  And with determination strong
  Struggled the beach and cliffs along
  While held the light each day.
  At length he reached the little creek,
  The which he had set out to seek,
  And found some partners there.
  They had begun to pan the sand
  Which proved to be a golden strand
  At last to them laid bare.
  One day in camp the word went round
  That Jake and all his crew had drowned
  Between the canyon walls.
  Their staunch canoe was seen upturned
  Where white the boiling rapids churned
  Below the waterfalls.

* * * *

  Small wonder if Jan's conscience woke
  And if that moral guardian spoke
  In accusation strong
  Against the words he had let fall,
  Beyond the power of recall,
  To get revenge for wrong.

[1]Skookum—a Chinook word, meaning strong.

[2]Sourdough—a seasoned prospector.

The Survey Cook

  Deep in the Sunset Valley
  Ill fortune had detained;
  Bacon and beans were finished;
  Of flour, none remained.

  But now with tents and blankets,
  Facing the backward track,
  All hands were feeling cheerful
  Save the cook—his looks were black.

  They'd packed across the mountains
  Where trails were never known,
  Through leagues of heavy timber
  And rock slides overgrown;

  Had bridged the swollen torrents
  By felling trees across;
  And scrambled through the canyons
  That walled the river's course.

  The horses of the pack train
  Had died in dark despair
  When brought to face the prospect
  Of using goat trails there;

  So man a beast of burden
  Himself was forced to be;
  The crew packed grub and blankets
  And the cook the cutlery,

  The dishpans and the kettles,
  The basins and a pot,
  A battered old reflector,
  Cups, bowls and plates, Great Scott!

  Cymbals and drums weren't in it
  When cook did have a spill;
  The crash of warlike music
  Echoed from hill to hill

  As down his pack came bounding,
  Spurning the canyon walls,
  Scattering pots and dishes,
  Leaping the waterfalls.

  The packers looked in terror
  To see the cook come too
  As past their dizzy erie
  The clanging luggage flew;

  When anxiously they hailed him,
  The cook, he only swore:
  "If I survive this picnic
  So help me—nevermore."

A Raid on the Seal Rookeries

  The tale was told by a hunter bold
    Of a sealing schooner's crew,
  Of a midnight raid where the breakers played
    On reefs that the offing strew.

  "In Behring Sea they tell," said he,
    "How Hansen, in the 'Adele,'
  Waiting for night, with never a light,
    Dared the reefs and ocean swell.

  "A rascal bold, in misdeeds grown old,
    He had raided far and wide;
  But never before in the sealers' lore
    Had the Pribilof[1] reefs been tried.

  "But an Aleut[2], by his sealskin boot
    And the grave of his father, swore
  For a keg of booze and a pair of shoes
    To sell their secret, and more.

  "So Hansen knew to a yard or two
    Where the hidden ledges ran;
  And the breakers' roar on the reefs and shore
    Were guides to the daring man.

  "The trailing kelp and a flash might help
    Where the phosphorus burned bright,
  For the deed was done past set of sun
    When the stars were hid from sight.

  "The schooner's kedge to a rocky ledge,
    By a hempen cable tied,
  With silent stealth, for the raiders' health,
    Was lowered overside.

  "Then with muffled oars they reached the shores
    Near a crowded rookery;
  Where the voice of seals, in loud appeals,
    Drowned the moan of wind and sea.

  "There were clubbed ten score and some dozens more
    Of the seals which in panic came
  Like frightened sheep before the sweep
    Of the raiders' far-flung chain;

  "For they took their stand, where the rocky land
    Slopes down to the surf-worn beach,
  To intercept the herd that swept
    Like a torrent, the sea to reach.

  "Their dories lay in a tiny bay
    On a bit of sandy shore;
  And they loaded seals by heads or heels
    Till the boats would hold no more.

  "On many a trip to the little ship
    The skiffs went back and fore,
  Till she streamed with blood in a crimson flood
    From the deck to the cabin door.

  "The seals were piled in confusion wild
    On deck, by a seaman there;
  While the hold was stored and the cabin floored
    Whenever he'd time to spare,

  "For they had to sail before the pale
    Light came of a breaking day;
  Lest the sealing guard should follow hard
    And capture them with their prey."

* * * *

  "In the dawn's pale light that followed the night
    The sealing guard went round;
  But the bloody turf, by the edge of the surf,
    Was the only sign they found;

  "For a curtain fell on the Behring swell
    And hid the schooner's flight;
  But they lay the blame on Hansen's name
    For the lawless deeds that night."

[1]Pribilofs—a group of islands in Behring Sea, where the fur seal breeds.

[2]Aleut—a native of the Aleutian Islands.

The Coast of British Columbia

  On the far stretching coast of B. C.,
    Where the hills and the seas interlace,
  Is a cruising ground yet unexcelled,
    Where the yachtsman can loiter or race.

  And for those that of danger a spice
    Or variety's pleasures would know,
  There's a limitless sea to the west
    Where the free ocean breezes do blow.

  There are harbours and fiords on a coast
    That is thousands of miles in extent;
  And new scenes that its windings unfold
    Fill those that explore with content.

Vancouver

  Vancouver, Vancouver,
    Vancouver we'll sing all the way.
  Far away we may roam, but Vancouver's our home
    We remember, wherever we