"Everything is ready, Mrs Welse, unfortunately we couldn't spare one of the steamer's boats."
Frona Welse stood up enthusiastically and came to the second officer.
"We are very busy," she explained, "and gold diggers are such a flimsy burden, to say the least..."
"I understand," he interrupted, "and I pretend to be unbearable, and so am I. And so am I. I apologise for the trouble I've caused you, but-but-but-" He turned quickly and pointed to the shore. "You see that big log house, between the pines and the river? I was born there."
"I guess I'm in a hurry too," he murmured sympathetically as he guided her through the crowded deck.
Everyone was in everyone else's way; nor was there one who failed to proclaim it at the top of his lungs. Thousands of gold-diggers were clamouring for their clothes to come down at once. Each hatchway was wide open, and from lower down, screaming donkey engines were rushing the ragged gear skywards. On either side of the steamer, rows of crows picked up the flying cargo, and on each of these crows, a crowd of sweaty men rushed to the descending slingshots, picking up bales and boxes in a frantic search. Men waved their shipping receipts and shouted at them over the steamer tracks. Sometimes two and three described the same article and war broke out. The brands "two circles" and "circle and dot" caused endless rattling, while each whip discovered a dozen plaintiffs.
"The pursuer insists on going mad," the first officer said as he helped Frona Welse down the gangplank, "and the freight officers handed the cargo to the passengers and quit the job. But we are not so unlucky as the Star of Bethlehem," he assured her, pointing to a steamer moored a quarter of a mile away. "Half her passengers have pack-horses for Skaguay and White Passage, and
and the other half is Chilcoot. So they revolted and everything came to a standstill."
"Hey you!" he exclaimed, pointing to a Whitehall hanging cautiously on the outer edge of the floating chaos.
A small launch, heroically towing a large towing barge, tried to get through; but the boatman nervously struck her bow and unfortunately caught a crab just offshore. This spun the boat round and stopped it.
"Look out!" shouted the first officer.
A pair of seventy-metre canoes, full sail and full of outfits, gold diggers and Indians, came down from the opposite direction. One veered sharply into the landing area, but the other pinned Whitehall to the barge. The boatman had released his oars in time, but his little boat groaned under the pressure and threatened to collapse. He stood up and, in short, strained words, sent all the canoeists and launch captains to eternal hell. The whites and Indians in the canoe laughed derisively as a man in the barge leaned overhead and baptised him with crisp and crackling oaths.
"Aw, g'wan!" someone shouted. "Why don't you learn to paddle?"
