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diff --git a/old/10515-8.txt b/old/10515-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..bd2d652 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/10515-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,1900 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, Rhymes of a Roughneck, by Pat O'Cotter + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + + + + +Title: Rhymes of a Roughneck + +Author: Pat O'Cotter + +Release Date: December 22, 2003 [eBook #10515] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: iso-8859-1 + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK RHYMES OF A ROUGHNECK*** + + +E-text prepared by Audrey Longhurst and the Project Gutenberg Online +Distributed Proofreading Team + + + +RHYMES OF A ROUGHNECK + +BY + +PAT O'COTTER + +1918 + + + + + + + + +DEDICATED +TO +ALASKA + +The home of the tin can and dog, +A waste of snow, ice, and moss. +The graveyard of ambitions, +The by-word for hell, +The home of the famed double cross. +Men come here for gold, +Ambitious for wealth +They stick--for they can't get away, +They dig, drink, and die, +And then go to hell, +To pay for their last sucker play-- + +ALASKA + + + + +CONTENTS + + +THE BIRTH OF THE LAND + +A WOMAN, A DOG, AND A WALNUT TREE + +WHEN THE WATER STARTS TO RUN + +THE THROWBACK + +THE MALAMUTE + +UNSATISFIED + +THE PROSPECTOR + +IF + +US FOR SAM + +HOW LONG + +THAT 30 U.S. ON THE WALL + +FLOTSAM + +TRYING + +THE NEW MASTER + +PROSPECTING + +THE WOMAN THAT YOU PASS BY + +WHY + +AND STILL I LIKE ALASKA + + + + + +THE BIRTH OF THE LAND + +For a thousand years the Devil crouched + On the white hot flags of hell: +For a thousand years the Devil cursed + The imps that had chained him well; +For a thousand years the Devil sulked + And planned with his hell-trained brain +Of the things he'd do, when his term was thru, + And freed from the blistering chain. + +He'd even the score with the men of earth, + And give them back pain for pain, +For all of the days he had felt the blaze + And the sear of the galling chain. +And it came to pass when his time was up + And hell's gates were opened wide +That all hell rang, and the clinkered imps sang + When the Devil passed Outside. + +"I have served my time," the Devil said + As he halted by heaven's gate; +I have sweated in hell for a thousand years + And each year was a year of hate. +I have framed my plans for a thousand years, + I have worked out the details well +Now I'd have a place near the human race + As a sort of a prep school for hell. + +The sons of men, on the earth below + Have scarcely a chance to sin, +Churched, belled and gowned, they mope around + By precept, all sealed in; +There is never a sin for lust of flesh + Nor sin for a man struck blow, +And the red blood crime of the olden time + Has passed with the long ago. + +Hell's motley crew is scarce worth coal + When they come to the thing called death; +They squat on the coals with the real damned souls + And listen with bated breath, +To the tales of the earth, when the world was new, +When a man had to fight for his own, +When he took his wife at the risk of his life + And killed for a half-baked bone. + +Now I'd build a place where a man might sin + For the sake of his own desires; +Make his the cause, and his the laws, + And the penalty, mine own fires; +Hast a place on earth to breed such men + Each for his own deeds blamed? +If you'll give me a place, I'll breed a race + That hell may not be shamed. + +The God King sighed as he searched the plat + And the map of the earth below; +I have given a place for every race + In the belt from snow to snow. +I have given a home to each bird and beast + For even the fox has its hole, +I have given all land to the sons of man + And I've builded a home for his soul. + +In the seven days that I toiled below + When I builded the seas and lands, +There was much to do, and I didn't get thru + And one place unfinished stands. +It's the part of my work that I really regret, + For I know it's the worst of the lot, +It's known down below as The Land of the Snow, + Or, The Country that God forgot. + +It stands apart by the Northern Pole, + Unfinished, forgotten, alone, +And no man's hand has won this land, + And no man calls it his own. +The country is made up of odds and ends, + Unfinished mountain, and swamp and lake, +Stuff that couldn't be used when the earth was fused; + If you want it, it's yours to take. + +"I'll take this plot," the Devil quoth, + "For I like your description well, +Yes, I'll take this place and I'll mould a race + That will be a credit to hell." +Then he whistled an imp from the uttermost part + And they dropped as the comets whirled +Past the white baked stars, past Venus and Mars + To the unfinished part of the world. + +He landed at last on Denali's crest + And he gazed on his acres wide-- +Barren and bleak, from each mountain peak + And swamp to the Arctic's tide. +The Devil grinned as he stood and gazed + Said he, "This is just what I need, +It's the place of my plan, for the downfall of man + Where I'll change his ambition to greed." + +Then he summoned the legions of hell to his side + Named an arch imp to straw boss each crew. +Tho they gibbered and cursed, each one did the worst + With the jobs Satan gave them to do. +They tumbled the mountains high up, and on end, + Piled glaciers where streams ought to be, +And swamp land was placed in the desolate waste + That stretched from the hills to the sea. + +They shook down all hell for a climate to fit, + But they couldn't get suited in hell, +So they took the worst parts and with devilish arts + They built one that suited them well. +They laid out muck swamps where the water lies dead + Bred mosquitoes and moose flies and gnats +Put the brown bear that kills on the barren brown hills + And with quill pigs infested the flats. + +They shut off the sun for full half of the year, + Made each glacier a blizzard blown trap, +They strung out volcanoes half way to Japan + Each one with a hair trigger cap. +They planned for the coast line a system of storms + Each equipped with a ninety mile breath +And then spread o'er it all the fog that men call + The North Coast mantle of death. + +Then knowing full well that man would not go + To a Land so forlorn to behold, +He salted the hillsides and some of the streams + With nuggets and traces of gold. +He tinted the hills with a green copper ledge + And covered the valleys with game, +All this for a lure, then the Devil felt sure + That the white man would fall for the same. + + * * * * * + +THE LAND + +The lure of the little known places + Still calls, as it called to your sires; +The longing for wide open spaces, + The perfume of evening camp fires; +The hunting for treasure unfound yet + The knocking at fortune's own gate; +The doing of deeds for the joy that it breeds + Were all used by the Devil as bait. + +The summers besprinkled with sunshine, + The hillsides a riot of bloom +With meadows a color shot grandeur + And valleys as still as a tomb. +With mountains of cloud-encased beauty + Or with stars shining down on it all +It's the trails we don't know that call us to go + And no wonder man heeded the call. + +The winters, the trails all unbroken, + The far fields that beckon and call; +The song of the frost on the runners + And the Northern Lights high over all; +The trees in the bend of the river, + The streams that nobody has spanned; +The whisper of gold, the story half told, + All this by the Devil was planned. + +When the trap of the Devil was ready + Widespread went the whisper of gold, +And the white men stampeded like cattle, + There never was tie that could hold. +The first mad rush to the Northland + When the scum from the four ends of earth +Came in with a rush, a scramble, a crush + Like scrap in a fusing pot hurled. + +They came all untaught and not ready, + Spurred on in the mad rush for gold; +They died here unsung and uncared for + Of famine, and scurvy and cold. +They had the same laws as the wolf pack, + Stay up, for you die if you fail, +And the paths to the Northern placers + Are marked by their graves on the trail. + +The towns that they started were plague spots + With brothels and dance halls aglare, +With cribs, faro banks and roulette wheels + And phonographs adding their blare. +All traps for the young and unwary, + All builded to help with his fall, +Never dealer was fair, never game on the square + For the Devil presided o'er all. + +Nick fiendishly grinned when he saw his work + And he chuckled with devilish glee-- +"When it comes to making an up-to-date hell + They've sure got to hand it to me. +For every ten souls that come in to this land + There's nine of them headed for hell +With never a fight, the percentage is right, + And my prep school is doing quite well." + + * * * * * + +Thus for a time he ruled this land + Where few might venture forth, +For never a man-made law held good + From Dixon's Entrance north. +He held this land in his claw tipped grip, + And he took his pay in souls, +Theirs was the blame, for they played his game, + And they paid for it on hell's coals. + +But the Devil lost when the law came in, + Or the men who made the laws, +The gambling hall and the dance hall went + And the Devil was forced to pause. +For the life in the land develops men, + Men of an alien breed, +A new made lot, that couldn't be bought, + And strangers to graft or greed. + +They loosed the land from the Devil's grip, + They pierced the hills with their trails, +They flagged the rocks at the harbor's mouth, + They paved the way for the rails. +They builded a school where the dance hall stood + And they brought in their children and wives; +They gave their all to the new land's call + And some of them gave their lives. + +Now the pimp and the brothel have passed away + And the gambling hall is a dream; +A railroad train now follows the trail + Where we followed a nine-dog team. +A thousand stamps now sing their song + Where we panned on the gold shot ledge, +And a picture show now marks the line + That once was the frontier's edge. + +The milch cows graze where the brown bear roamed + And a saw mill sings its lay +On a bar in the Yukon River + Where we panned one summer day. +They are raising wheat where the bull moose grazed + In the summers of long ago, +It seems kind of strange when we note the change, + But we'd rather have it so. + + * * * * * + +Yet, sometimes we dream as we camp at night + In the bend of the river's flow +Of the land that was, of the land we knew + In the days of the long ago. +The wild free land that bred the men + Who fought with might and main +And took this land from the Devil's hand, + And we'd like to see it again, + + + + + +A WOMAN, A DOG, AND A WALNUT TREE + +This Land is the orphan kiddie + Of the group with their stars in the Flag, +And it's looked on Outside as an alien, + Where its treatment makes honest men gag. +It's treated the same as the harlot + Who barters her body for pelf +And carries it home to her master + And is told to look after herself. + +Of course we're an orphan, adopted + When cast off by the great Russian Bear +And our lot's been the lot of an orphan + And we've had a "stage orphan's" care. +Our coal land was grabbed by our Uncle, + Our copper and fur by the Jews, +While another gang took all our salmon + And corrupted our natives with booze. + +Sam gave us an Army Commission + And told it to build us a Trail, +But all that Sam gave was permission-- + He didn't come thru with the kale. +Now a trail in Alaska costs money + And when Dick tries to get a bill thru +Some jackass from Maine reads the figures + And "moves the amount cut in two." + +Our Uncle Sam owns all the cables, + And the prices he gets are a sin, +It costs more for a word to Seattle + Than it does from Salt Lake to Berlin. +Our coast line is rugged and broken, + A menace to each ship that sails, +But Sam has no money for coast lights, + They get the same treatment as trails. + +And Alaska is some husky orphan, + We can reach from the Gulf to B.C., +We could stand with one foot in Kansas + While the other was washed by the sea. +We're allowed only one voice in Congress, + And that one bereft of a vote, +And has to get some one's permission + Ere he loose a protest from his throat. + +Sam gave us a group legislative, + But barred them the making of laws, +They could only memorialize Congress + And give it the reasons and cause. +The cry of the world is for Home Rule + Yet imported fools crowd our bench, +And some of their mining decisions + Send up to high Heaven their stench. + +Sam made us quit gambling, that's all right, + But one thing that nobody knows +Is why he allowed a bone head from Georgia + Hang the crêpe on our own picture shows. +We're all hedged about with restrictions + And, Sam, won't you in us confide +Why some of your damphool ideas + Are not tried out on some one outside? + +This Land's not the land of the weakling + And the men up here know what we need, +And we're sick of your bunch from the Outside + Who's only incentive is greed. +We've stood for Pinchot's conservation + And we've stood for your carpet-bag horde +Who have grabbed off the jobs in Alaska + As a sort of political reward. + +But, Sam, take a tip from a Roughneck, + Go slow now and don't crowd your hand +Or some day you may find that the orphan + Has quit creeping and learned how to stand. +Don't make us the goat for the theories + Advanced by some government cog, +And don't use this land as a station + For trying things out on the dog. + +We gaze o'er the line of the Yukon + As we're watching our neighbors at play +And we wonder why Our Uncle Sammy + Don't treat his Alaskans that way. +We look at their broad graded highways + And then at our own half blazed trails +And, Sam, it comes damned nigh to envy + When we think of their thrice a week mails. + +They don't know the word conservation, + Their resources, all theirs to use, +And when they ask their Uncle to help them + Their Uncle don't often refuse. +Their Uncle has helped them develop, + Furnished work there for men who were broke, +And, Sam, when it comes to Coast Lights + They make ours look like a joke. + +But in spite of it all, Sam, we love you, + We love every thread in the Flag, +We love every stream in Alaska, + We love every cliff, every crag. +We're not like the Woman or Dog, Sam, + And we're not like the Walnut Tree +Cause we want to be loved in return, Sam, + And, Sam, you are blind, or you'd see. + + +_Old English Proverb_: + +"A Woman, a Dog, and a Walnut Tree +The more you beat them the better they'll be." + + + + + +WHEN THE WATER STARTS TO RUN + +Along in early spring time, as the sun starts swinging North +To linger with the land it loves, and violets peep forth, +When the water starts to running thru the riffle blocks at noon +And you figure that you'll clean up, about the first of June. +You've been thru a long hard winter, but you see the end in sight, +You don't worry 'bout the cleanup, cause you know the pay is right; +But you're feeling sort of restless, as your blood warms with the sun +And your heart will start to itching, when the water starts to run. + +You may leave your Camp at evening and mush away to Town +To dally with the hootch a bit, but the feeling will not down. +You may mix up in a poker game, or try the dance hall's lure +But you're fighting off a feeling, that the old cures cannot cure. +You've got that longing feeling that there's nothing satisfies, +And your pard can't interest you, no matter how he tries, +You're lonesome, moody, restless, out at Camp, or in the Town +Your mind will not rest easy, and your troubles will not drown. + +Then memory pulls her picket pins, your thoughts go back thru years +To Outside, Home, and Sweetheart, and this last thought sort of cheers; +You recollect the days you spent beneath a Southern sky +And with regret you now remember they all ended with good-by. +It's the same old world-wide feeling that comes to man each year, +But it seems to hit us harder, when we're getting in the "clear"; +It seems that it grows stronger, each year added to our life-- +It's the hankering of the white man for a Pal, a Home, a Wife. + +Man was not meant to live alone, why quarrel with Nature's laws, +God gave you strength to build a home, wherefor then do you pause? +Go forward like your father did, go forth and seek your mate, +For till you know a wife and home, you know not Heaven's Gate. +It's the deep inherent longing for a baby on your knee, +For the sound of children's voices, beneath your own fig tree. +The male instinct to have a mate, to love, to guard, to hold, +The one instinct that's left to us, that triumphs over gold. + +With strength enough to build a home when once you get a wife +Bear gently with her follies, but guard her with your life; +Crowd full her heart with loving, yet hold a guarded rein, +Lest ye two now that rate as one, again be counted twain. +And if she come from Outside Camp, remember all is new +And give her time to find herself, teach her to lean on you. +And should homesickness grip her, and you find your wife in tears +Forget the jest and love her, remember your first years. + +Then gone that restless feeling, gone all desire to roam, +Life's interest all is centered, deep in your Northern home. +Life waits in peace the cleanup, you pass up Outside joys, +And the tempter's voice is silenced by the music of her voice. +Then you're a true Alaskan, with a home won from the North, +God grant you children's voices when the violets peep forth, +And in the summer evening, beneath the midnight sun, +May your heart grow closer to her, when the water starts to run. + + + + + +THE THROWBACK + +He was born far east of the Rockies + Of a pet in society's van; +A wine-soaked daughter of pleasure + Bred back and threw a man; +A man-child who grew up a stranger, + Who never could learn the way +Of a people who gauge their pleasure + On a line with the price they pay. + +Just a shred of an education-- + A few years of college life, +A course in the card and wine room, + A year with a chorus-girl wife, +Then disgust with a life unnatural + Spurred on with the curse of the go, +He quitted that life forever + For the land of the gold and snow. + +The Lure of the Land had gripped him, + The Land where you die if you fail; +The Land of the fabled fortunes, + The Land of the endless trail. +The Land of the lonely silence, + The Land of the cruel cold, +The Land of the lost ambitions + Alaska, the Land of gold. + +There winters of long hungry hardships, + Summers of pest-ridden heat; +Dicing with death for a grub stake, + Risking his life for meat. +Tossing away his young manhood, + Giving the best of his youth +To the holes that he bedrocked on wildcats, + Where gold was scarcer than truth. + +Ten years spent in Alaska + Gray haired, with cheeks all atan, +Beaten, but still unconquered. + Flat broke, but still a man, +Digging and sinking and drifting, + Trying to locate the "pay," +With each hole a fresh disappointment-- + Yet hoping to strike it next day. + +Scorning the letters recalling, + Forgetting the friends he had known, +Turning his back on the Outside, + Facing the future alone. +A Cabin, a Squaw, and a Fishwheel, + A bend in the river's flow, +A band of half-naked breed kids-- + He stayed there, a sourdough. + + + + + +THE MALAMUTE + +When the stars from the skies have fallen + And the smoke of the world's cleared away; +When Saint Peter marks "30" in Life's Book + And we meet there on Judgment Day; +When our trials and troubles are ended + And we're wise to the best and the worst; +When the time has arrived that the wise ones + Have told us the last shall be first; + +When the men who've made good are rewarded + And the losers are turned loose in Hell; +That's the time that a lot will be learning + The true reason and cause that they fell. +And I wonder when Peter gets busy + As he works out the tenement plan, +And when Heaven's thrown free for location + Will he confine the locations to man? + +If he does, my claim's open for jumping + For I can't figure Heaven complete, +If the dim distant trails of the sky land + Are not pattered by malamutes' feet. +Cause I know it would never seem home-like + No matter how golden the strand, +If I lose out that pal-loving feeling + Of a malamute's nose in my hand. + +And it's that way with lots of Alaskans + These men of our own last frontier, +Who tear into nature unaided + And who scarce know the meaning of fear. +Who live on lone creeks all alone here + Where the living and dying are hard, +And where oft times their only companion + Is a malamute pup for a pard. + +He's a real chum with things coming easy, + He's a pal with things breaking tough, +He's a hell-roaring fighting companion + When somebody starts something rough. +He's a true friend in sorrow and sickness + And he doesn't mind hunger or cold, +And he's really the only one pardner + You can trust when you uncover gold. + +He's a guard you can trust at the sluice box, + And he'll watch by your cache thru the night, +And if some cheechako tries to molest it + That cheechako's in for a fight. +As a pardner he's silent, but cheerful + With never a kick 'bout the trails +And if it wasn't for him in the winter + There never would be any mails. + +He pulls on our sleds in the winter + He's first in the rushing stampede +He goes where a horse couldn't travel + And besides that he rustles his feed. +He takes a pack saddle in summer + And follows us off thru the hills +And when we go short on the grub pile + He shares up whatever he kills. + +'Twas a malamute first scaled the Chilkoot + At the time of the great Klondike charge; +'Twas a malamute first saw Lake Bennett + And left his footprints at La Barge; +They hauled the first mail into Dawson, + That Land of the Old Timer's dream, +And when Wada first drove in from Fairbanks + He was driving a malamute team. + +They broke the first trail into Bettles + With no guide save the lone Northern Star; +They freighted next year to Kantishna + And from there to the famed Chandelar. +They know the long trail to Innoko, + Tacotna and Iditarod too, +For there's never a Camp in the Northland + But what these same malamutes knew. + +They brought the first sport to the Nome Beach + Where they showed up in action and deed +That the North dog is game as they make them + And besides that has plenty of speed. +He came home with the bacon from Candle + Like a bat out of Hell, thru the snow, +And the plunger that cashed in his "out tab" + Was his pardner, the Old Sourdough. + +So it seems to me kind of unfair now + As we drift toward that permanent Camp +Where the angels are running a dance hall + And a millionaire grades with a tramp; +Where the trails are located on pay dirt + And a grub stake can never expire-- +Well, if they shut out my dog, they can keep it + And I'll "siwash" it, down by Hell's Fire. + +They herald the growth of the Northland + And progress is marked by their trail; +A railroad now goes where they brought out + The Seward-Iditarod mail. +He's first in the growth of Alaska + And without him this land would be lost, +For there's never a stream in this country + That the malamutes' trail has not crossed. + +But you can't tell me God would have Heaven + So a man couldn't mix with his friends; +That we're doomed to meet disappointment + When we come to the place the trail ends. +That would be a low-grade sort of Heaven + And I'd never regret a damned sin +If I mush up to the gates, white and pearly, + And they don't let my malamute in. + + + + + +UNSATISFIED + +Some sigh for the breath of the desert + Where the stifling heat waves blow; +Some pant for the trackless tundra + And the sting of the cold and snow; +Some long for the wash of a sultry sea + As it breaks on a tropic shore; +Some pine for the breeze of the northern seas + And the sound of the Arctic's roar. + +The things that men love be countless + But they're seldom the same with two, +For the things I care for most of all + Might never appeal to you. +Some men run to wine and woman, + Some long for a wife and a home, +And he drifts with the tide, unsatisfied, + Who leaves these things to roam. + +For he hates the sands of the desert + And the slimy tropic south, +Or his dreams of a northern fortune + Are as ashes in his mouth. +He loses the best life holds for man + His existence means discontent +Still he goes his way, until comes the day + When he quits it--a life misspent. + + +YET + +Some sigh for the breath of the desert + Where the stifling heat waves blow; +Some pant for the trackless tundra + And the sting of the cold and snow; +Some long for the wash of a sultry sea + As it breaks on a tropic shore; +Some pine for the breeze of the northern seas + And the sound of the Arctic's roar. + + + + + +THE PROSPECTOR + +Where the ragged, snow-capped saw tooth + Cuts the azure of the sky +And watches o'er the lonely land + As ages wander by; +Where the sentinel pines in grandeur + Murmur to the glacier stream +As it, ice-gorged, gluts the canyon, + Never brightened by the gleam +Of sun at brightest noon day, + Nor moon of Arctic night, +And whose only link with Heaven + Is the fitful Northern Light. +Where the Whistler shrills in triumph + And the Big Horn dreams in peace, +Where the Brown Bear skulks to cover + Up where silence holds the lease; +Where the land is as God left it + Nor has known the tread of man, +There's a treasure ledge a-waiting-- + Go and find it if you can. + +If your heart be steeled to triumph + Nor beats less at your defeat; +Can you watch your whole world melt away + And still smiling, fortune greet? +Will your heart and brain and sinew + Crowd you on, when hunger's pain +Gnaws your belly and you're beaten, + Can you lose, and fight again? +Can you raise the cup of fortune + To your lips and bravely quaff +The draught she has prepared for you + And win or lose and laugh? +Can you see the fruits of hardships + Centered on one desperate throw +And know Fate's dice are loaded + Nor curse to see them go? +Then take your burden up again + And stagger up the trail, +You're bound to make a winning + Cause you don't know how to fail. + +I, who've spent my youth in following + The lure of hidden gold +Must pass the buck to Nature + And admit I'm growing old. +And yet each spring I hear it calling + And it's music to my ears, +The call of lonely places + That I've listened to for years. +It's cost me all most men hold dear + Some forty years of life, +And all the joys that others get + In babies, home, and wife. +My life's been all to-morrows + And my family only dreams +And to the average plodder + I've missed it all it seems. +Still, I've never taken orders + And I've always liked the game, +And if life could be lived over, + Why,--I'd live it just the same. + + + + + +IF + +(_A Steal from Kipling_) + +If you can hit the trail in zero weather + And laugh at frozen hand, or foot or face; +If you can eat your dogs, and still keep moving + And beat the rest, and hold the stampede's pace; +If you can stake and dig alone, unaided + And hold your ground, if needs be with a gun +And find the gold and have some lawyer steal it, + And lose, and start again, and call it fun. + +If you can go a year on mouldy bacon + And fight the scurvy off with bayo beans; +If you can jump your socks and do your washing + And smile the while you patch your threadbare jeans; +If you can laugh when sordid hunger mocks you + And smile while passing strangers eat your grub; +If you can boost when everybody knocks you + And know him wrong who holds you but a dub. + +If you can still the pain when Outside calls you + And choke back thoughts of friends you still hold dear; +If you can still the dreams when night befalls you + And wake and strike while eyes and brain are clear; +If you can wait and stick it out a-smiling + When longing letters come to you from home, +And then don't find the taste of "hootch" beguiling + You'll like this Land, from Seward up to Nome. + +If you can bear the deadly strain of waiting + Till your turn comes, and fortune smiles on you; +If you can fight and lose and keep on fighting + And to your early promises stay true; +If you can go thru Hell to spend the summer + And cuss, and freeze, and starve the winter thru +And start in broke again another New Year + You don't need this Land to make a man of you. + +If you can beat the Row, the Game, the Dance-hall + And all men's pleasures, that you know are sin; +If you can live alone, and not get lonesome + Nor heed the "lady" when she says "come in": +If you can pick a winner from the "wild cats" + And hold and hope when everything looks blue; +If you can give up everything you've ever cared for + Then ALASKA IS THE ONLY PLACE FOR YOU. + + + + + +US FOR SAM + +While all Europe is a shambles + And the whole world is at war, +And half the land the sun shines on + Is drenched in human gore; +When every Nation counts the men + It knows are tried and true +We send this message to you, Sam, + "Alaska stands with you." +You never treated us quite right-- + You grabbed away our coal, +You reserved all our fire wood + And what we've used, we've stole. +You soaked us on our cable tolls + But we don't give a damn +Even at twenty-eight cents per word + WE'RE WITH YOU, UNCLE SAM. + +You've squandered untold millions + On the filthy Philippines, +But you always made Alaskans + Go and rustle for their beans. +And your black and tan possessions + Tho they've cost you quite a few +Can never be depended on, + While we'd go thru Hell for you. +We're quite unused to luxuries + And we've always played alone, +When we asked for help to build our trails + You handed us a stone. +You've four-flushed on the railroads + But we don't care a damn, +If they monkey with the Eagle + WE'RE WITH YOU, UNCLE SAM. + +You gave us lief to make some laws + Then tied our hands behind; +That gift to us was just the same + As pictures to the blind. +Your laws all have a "joker," + Made to catch some Sourdough, +And it's hard to beat the game, Sam, + The way it's framed up down below. +We've always been the dumping ground + For your political misfits, +But Sam, if you're in trouble + We're willing to call it "quits." +We've never had an even break, + But we don't care a damn; +If the Lion growls, remember this, + WE'RE WITH YOU, UNCLE SAM. + +We're used to meeting troubles + And if you put us to the test +You'll find Alaska loves you, Sam, + Far better than the rest. +But Sam, when this is over, + As morning follows night, +Pray give us your attention + And set some matters right. +We need some decent cable rates, + We need some decent mails, +We need some decent coast lights + And we need some decent trails. +You've given these to all the rest + But we don't care a damn; +If it's full grown men you're needing + WE'RE WITH YOU, UNCLE SAM. + + + + + +HOW LONG? + +As long as lure o' placer gold + Brings North the best ye breed, +As long as tales of camps and trails + Are planted with your seed, +As long as red blood courses thru + And warms adventure's sons, +They'll sally forth, bound for the North, + Misfortune's chosen ones. + +As long as snow slides claim their toll + And glaciers split and rend, +And sweepers turn the flimsy craft + And trails come to an end; +As long as flashing Northern Lights + Flame in the Arctic sky, +Your boldest ones, your bravest sons + Come North to win or die. + +As long as lust of wealth obtains + And gold will buy all things, +And bank accounts but mark the line + 'Twixt shovel stiffs and kings; +As long as fancy rides free reined + And distant fields seem fair, +They'll seek the ship and make the trip + To the land of Do and Dare. + +As long as birds mate in the spring + And moose run in the fall, +And widows win the college youth + And hold his heart in thrall; +As long as chance for fortune's smile + Can be centered in one throw, +This is the truth, the Nation's youth + Will hear the call and go. + +As long as water runs down hill + And smoke goes up from fire; +As long as pleasure precedes pain + And women love for hire; +As long as Klondike widows + Trail thru Outside Cafés +Some one must stick on the lonesome creek + For there's ever the "him" that pays. + +As long as "huskies" curse the moon + And creeks remain unnamed; +As long as quicksands mask the bar + And there's placer ground unclaimed; +As long as "pay" is found and staked + By some deep-sea-going Swede, +That gypsy trace that marks our race + Will out, then we stampede. + + + + + +THAT 30 U.S. ON THE WALL + +A man that's spent years knocking round "out in front" + Has most usually had lots of pals-- +He's mixed up with pardners at various times + And he's had his affairs with the gals. +Now, a pardner's peculiar in lots of his ways + And he'll ditch you for various reasons, +And a gal never knows straight up from twice + And her mind seems to change with the seasons. + +I've been in on good ground with pardners I've staked + And I thought they were square, till I found +They were trying to cross me, the miserable pups, + And whipsaw me out of my ground. +I've had a few pards that would stand the hard grind + And they'd stick through hard luck night and day; +They were all you could ask while you rustled for grub, + But they blew up when you uncovered the "pay." + +Way back in the "eighties" when I'm just a kid, + I crossed up with a breed gal I'd met +One winter at Circle; she cleaned me that year + And skipped out with all she could get. +I've fallen for females in half of the camps + That's spread over this country up here, +But "square guys" or "pretzels" I couldn't get by + And none of them stuck for a year. + +I got kind of discouraged and quit the she sex + And figgered I'd just herd with males, +But it don't make no difference, I guess that I'm wrong, + 'Cause there's always the parting of trails. +I've had lots of dogs, but a dog always dies, + Or else the poor devil gets killed. +When you like 'em and lose 'em, their loss leaves a hole + That seems for a time can't be filled. + +So pardners and females and dogs is taboo + And I know, 'cause I've fussed with 'em all. +There's only one pal that I know is true blue + And it's that Thirty U.S. on the wall. +She's stood by my shoulder and stopped a brown bear + And she keeps the cache full in the Fall; +She's got the one talk that a claim jumper knows + And she craves no attention at all. + +I'm getting old now, and some sot in my ways, + And I don't loosen up like I did. +I'm slower to make friends and slower to trust + Than I used to be when I'm a kid. +So it's good-by to females and good-by to dogs, + And good-by to pardners and all, +For the only one pal that I find I can trust + Is that Thirty U.S. on the wall. + + + + + +FLOTSAM + +The China Coast's a dumping ground + And the South Sea gets its share +Of the kind of men that don't make good +The kind of man that never could + The men that never care. + +A worthless, careless drinking lot + Combed out from between the Poles. +It's gin, and cards, a woman's breath, +Laughter and love and sudden death + And the Devil gets their souls. + +It's a throwback to a weaker strain + That's washed by the Tropic tide. +And a mixture of Dago and Japanese +Latin and Jew and Portugese + Crops out thru a sun-tanned hide. + +But the Northland gets a sterner breed + To fuse in its harder mould. +It's the breed of men that don't know fail; +That's the breed of men that hit the trail + For the fabled land of gold. + +They're a sturdy, fearless, fighting lot + And they play the game to win. +They fall for women, wine, the game +And win or lose, they smile the same + And to quit is their only sin. + +Here the Norsman bunks with the canny Scot + And the lad from the Emerald Isle +Works side by side with Russ and Dane, +North-bred men of brawn and brain, + Men that are worth your while. + +So me for the land of the Midnight Sun + With the north lights in the sky, +Me for the land that mothers this race +Where you have to fight to hold your place, + Where you can't quit till you die. + + + + + +TRYING + +The dream of the white man ever goes out + To the fight that can never be won, +And ever he plans to do the things + That they say can never be done. +It's seldom he values the things that are + What he craves he may never gain, +Yet ever he tries, till the day he dies + And then feels he has lived in vain. + +He climbs to the top of the highest hills + To search out the vales afar; +He bedrocks a hole on the deepest creeks + He hitches his cart to a star. +He's ever the first in the far stampede + As he chases the rainbow's blend, +But it's not the need, and it's not the greed, + It's the wanting to win in the end. + +And whether he strives in the lofty range + Or tries in the crowded mart, +The longing to do what has never been done + Is uppermost in his heart. +He tries to build where none other has built, + Win the maid that none other has won, +To find the gold that he never can hold, + To finish what cannot be done. + +He lives his life in a trying way + And he scorns the things that are tame, +If all seems lost, he still fights on, + For ever he plays the game. +And the efforts he makes as he strives to win + Are a credit to him and his breed, +And the gods will count and give full amount + And accept the act for the deed. + + +FOR + +The dream of the white man ever goes out + To the fight that can never be won, +And ever he plans to do the things + That they say can never be done. + +It's seldom he values the things that are, + What he craves he never may gain, +But ever he tries, till the day he dies + And then feels he has lived in vain. + + + + + +THE NEW MASTER + +As one who lays aside a task, where one has ruled alone, +I lay aside the crown of hell, and give to you my throne; +As one who feels his race is run, whose day is of the past, +I recognize your genius, and abdicate at last. +I go and leave you master, and I feel it's just as well, +For Hades lacks its master, until you rule in hell. +The world wags on and changes, old methods now seem weak, +And the changes of a thousand years, of these I fain would speak. + +I've raised and sponsored many names, that darken history's page, +I've made them rulers of the world in many a by-gone age. +They all have shown a human turn, from Nero down to you, +But now my life-long dream of a super fiend at last seems coming true. +I've watched you since the faintest spark blazed in your mother's womb, +I've watched your hypocritic grief, beside your father's tomb; +I know the tainted blood that flows thru your each and every vein +That shows up in your withered arm, and feeds your fevered brain. + +I saw it in your grandsire, where first it cropped out plain +When German gold was squandered to slay the honest Dane. +I fed you dreams of empire, and dreams of lust and greed +And the age old lust of conquest that taints all of your breed. +The strain that showed in Nero, cropped out alike in you, +You killed your gentle mother, but not as Nero slew. +I gave you hate of Albion, for all the world will tell +That could I kill that Anglo strain, I'd use the earth for hell. + +I loathe the Anglo-Saxon race, I hate their English speech, +For where the Union Jack waves high, the Cross will ever reach. +Their ignorant millions till the soil, for they protect their own, +I hate it for I've never had this ensign for mine own. +I taught you how to use God's church, I built the path you trod, +I filled your mouth until you claimed, a pardnership with God. +I told you tales to tell to men, I coached you every hour +Until an egomaniac ran wild, mad with a lust for power. + +I made an army for you then, the peer of all war lords, +I smiled the night you went away to visit Norway fiords. +I knew your Bagdad railway schemes, I knew the Austrian claims, +I knew that German gold would guide the mad assassin's aims. +I knew the schemes that you had planned, the one that nothing curbs, +I envied your diplomacy that blamed it on the Serbs. +My brain ne'er hatched a finer scheme, your armies marking time +And then the rape of Belgium, your premier man-sized crime. + +And if one deals in hellish schemes, that one must stamp your worth, +You made a shambles of that land, you moved hell up on earth. +The cries of mangled maidens, the mutilated child, +The tears of butchered mothers, would drive an earth man wild, +And thru it all proclaiming, you were the tool of God-- +O pardner in this orgy, no one suspected fraud. +You butchered, maimed and pillaged, hell never saw such sights +As the Prussian Guard remembers, on those first Belgian nights. + +O shades of maddened Nero and his early Christian fires, +Could he have been in Belgium and have seen your funeral pyres! +Could he have seen your orgies he would have wept for shame +But had he your fiendish cunning, he might have done the same. +But the hated Saxon balked you and the desperate fighting Frank +Hurled back our super devils and took us on the flank. +Your inbred tainted offspring lost his chances at Verdun +Where curtained steel just saved the world from the grip of brutal Hun. + +But Wilhelm, you are crafty, you are mine own I ween +Your fertile brain had brought to life the hell-born submarine, +You killed the unarmed merchantmen, you murdered in the dark, +You sent the child and mother to feed your friend the shark. +The world grew sick with wonder, no voice was raised to laud +And still you did it in your name, the name of you and God. +Where you have trod the world is dead, no sign of life or mirth, +You beat me, Bill, you beat my hell, with this of yours on earth. + +You won hell's admiration and of all of mine own folk +When you paired off with the ghastly Turk, that was a master stroke. +And all the things you did before, just now seem weak and tame +Since you launched that Dardanelles campaign of pillage, lust and shame. +To fuss thus with my chosen race, my ally since time dates +Proclaimed that Kultur and the Turk are well matched running mates. +And tho I've watched hell's orgies, and stood by in fiendish glee, +I quit you, Bill, these Turkish stunts are far too much for me. + +When officers from Kultur's class stand by and watch a Turk +Just disembowel a mother, why, Bill, it makes me shirk. +It makes me shudder and I've watched the master fiends of hell, +But none of them have brains like you, none do their work so well. +When Turk and German flood with oil, then set a school ablaze +And bayonet the babies, as they stumble thru the haze, +I yield the crown to you, Dear Bill, my pupil passes me +You take the rôle of Master and your pupil I will be. + +I've worked for hell's best interests, my master now appears +For when your name is mentioned, the imps break into cheers. +The gavel of the poor damned souls, that long has rung their knell, +Is passed to you, I abdicate and now you rule in hell. +For years I've done the best I could, now I realize I'm thru, +And in the future I'm content to live and learn from you. +Your earthly work is finished, soon in hell you'll carve your name +And I shudder when I realize that hell won't be the same. + + + + + +PROSPECTING + +Looking for placer pangar, + Loafing about in the hills, +Getting your grub with a rifle, + Taking your drink from rills. +Getting your bed from the spruce tree, + Taking your course by your dreams, +Just camping alone in the mountains, + Siwashing along the streams. + +Locating the hind sight on Nature, + Traveling alone and far, +Thinking with no one to guide you, + Digesting the things that are. +Back trailing the life that's past you, + Peeping at what's in store, +Pondering over life's mistakes, + Wondering, how many more. + +Dreaming alone of childhood days, + Regretting some things that are past, +Recalling lost opportunities, + And chances too good to last. +Living your whole life over, + Recalling the daily grind, +Thanking your God that it's over, + Glad that you've left it behind. + +But still regretting your errors, + Sad for some things you have done, +Wishing that you had coppered some plays + As you count them one by one. +Now living a life, clean, decent, + For man never sins alone, +Getting a grip on your ego, + Coming at last to your own. + +You dream and you hunt all summer + Till you notice a chill in the air, +Then you think of your warm snug cabin + And you feel that you'd rather be there. +Then you head over unblazed passes + Till at last you herd with your own, +And though you located no pangar + You are better for being alone. + + + + + +THE WOMAN THAT YOU PASS BY + +My trade was old when the world was new, + Ere the pyramids rose by the Nile +Men quitted their wives, and gave me their goods + For the warmth of my kiss, and my smile. +For never was wife who could hold her man + By the honeymoon's afterglow +Did I veil mine eyes and beckon to him, + God's truth, and 'tis you who know. + +My trade was old when the world was new, + Long ere Caesar ruled in Rome, +To spend their gold in a harlot's cell + Patricians quitted home. +And high born dames since the world began + Have learned to sit and to sigh +And to patiently wait for their lords to leave + The woman that you pass by. + +I'm only a pawn in the game called life, + Yet I take what you never could hold; +I garner the kisses you'd barter life for + And with them, I gather your gold. +I garner the best of your manhood's prime + Then quit them when shattered in health; +I bring to heel the ones that you love + And smiling I shear them of wealth. + +To garner the wealth that you hold in store + I must keep me surpassing fair, +For the life that I lead is an open book + And the game that I deal is square. +Stop--think of the maids and wives you know + As you drift thru life's subtle game-- +How many are dealing as straight as I? + How many can say the same? + +You give your all, and you slave your life + In a struggle to hold one man; +You think you're paid if he call you wife + And be true to you for a span. +You keep his house and you bear his child + And you walk with your head held high +But most of his love, and his kisses go + To the woman that you pass by. + +The favors you give, I sell for gold, + And men prize what costs them high; +You never will learn that love goes out + With the tear in a woman's eye; +That the patient drudge who sits at home + And learns to save and to mend +Can never hold the light of love + But is doomed to lose in the end. + +So I follow the old dishonored trade, + Bedecked in garments fine, +And the cream of the earth is saved for me + In raiment and food and wine. +And life to me is a merry game + Tho, sometimes, I weep and sigh, +For deep down in your heart, do you envy me + The woman that you pass by? + + + + + +WHY + +Why is it Alaskans all come back + When they've quit this land for good? +Why is it that no man stays away + When he's sworn to his friends he would? +Where lies the grip this country hath + All tangled around the heart +That takes a grip that can never slip + And can never be torn apart? + +Is it the lure of the summer sunshine + That goes to the head like wine? +Is it the lure of the far flung meadows + Of the shadowy scented pine? +Is it the lure of going where none have gone + Of just being alone in the wild? +Is it the lure of the ancient glaciers + That were old when Christ was a child? + +They come here wild, athirst for gold + They would win and run away, +They lose the stake they brought along + And then they have to stay. +Here each one follows his own bent, + The mines, the hills, the mart, +Work's but a name, the end's the same, + The country steals your heart. + +There's a lure to the land of the poppy, + There's a lure to the land of your birth, +You swear you abhor it, and yet you'll long for it + As no other land on this earth. +There's the lure of the snow mantled vastness, + There's the lure of each valley and hill, +Of friends that you've met, that you'll never forget + And you'll want to come back, and you will. + + + + + +AND STILL I LIKE ALASKA + +I've tramped across her endless miles of tundra, +I've rafted all her rapid flowing streams, + She's kept me on the hummer, + I've fought mosquits in summer +And "siwashed" neath Aurora's wintry beams, + And still, I like Alaska. + +I went a winter once on pay streak bacon, +I've gone a year on nothing much but beans, + I've squandered all my time checks, + The kind they give us roughnecks, +And haven't got a dollar in my jeans, + And still, I like Alaska. + +I got a stake one time and wandered Outside, +And I'm telling you I surely put on "dog," + But they got in between me and my poke + They sure did clean me +And I hit for Dixon's Entrance, on the "hog," + And still, I like Alaska. + +I don't suppose a man will live to beat it, +Some day we'll quit this land of ice and snow, + And when the Devil gits us, + And finds a place that fits us, +And we're working on the sulphur beds below, + I know I'll like Alaska. + + + +***END OF 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at <a href = "https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a></pre> +<p>Title: Rhymes of a Roughneck</p> +<p>Author: Pat O'Cotter</p> +<p>Release Date: December 22, 2003 [eBook #10515]</p> +<p>Language: English</p> +<p>Character set encoding: iso-8859-1</p> +<p>***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK RHYMES OF A ROUGHNECK***</p> +<br /> +<br /> +<center><b>E-text prepared by Audrey Longhurst<br /> + and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team</b></center> + + <p> </p> + <hr class="full" /> + <p> </p> + <h1>RHYMES OF A</h1> + <h1>ROUGHNECK</h1> + <center> + <b>BY PAT O'COTTER</b> + </center> + <center> + 1918 + </center> + <p> </p> + + <p> </p> + <a id="RULE4_1" name="RULE4_1"><!-- RULE4 1 --></a> <em>DEDICATED</em> <em>TO</em> + <em>ALASKA</em> +<pre> +The home of the tin can and dog, +A waste of snow, ice, and moss. +The graveyard of ambitions, +The by-word for hell, +The home of the famed double cross. +Men come here for gold, +Ambitious for wealth +They stick—for they can't get away, +They dig, drink, and die, +And then go to hell, +To pay for their last sucker play— +</pre> + ALASKA + <p> </p> + <p> </p> + <p> </p> + <p> </p> + <hr /> + <a id="TOC" name="TOC"><!-- TOC --></a> + <h2>CONTENTS</h2> +<pre> +<a href="#RULE4_2">THE BIRTH OF THE LAND</a> +</pre> +<pre> +<a href="#RULE4_3">A WOMAN, A DOG, AND A WALNUT TREE</a> +</pre> +<pre> +<a href="#RULE4_4">WHEN THE WATER STARTS TO RUN</a> +</pre> +<pre> +<a href="#RULE4_5">THE THROWBACK</a> +</pre> +<pre> +<a href="#RULE4_6">THE MALAMUTE</a> +</pre> +<pre> +<a href="#RULE4_7">UNSATISFIED</a> +</pre> +<pre> +<a href="#RULE4_8">THE PROSPECTOR</a> +</pre> +<pre> +<a href="#RULE4_9">IF</a> +</pre> +<pre> +<a href="#RULE4_10">US FOR SAM</a> +</pre> +<pre> +<a href="#RULE4_11">HOW LONG</a> +</pre> +<pre> +<a href="#RULE4_12">THAT 30 U.S. ON THE WALL</a> +</pre> +<pre> +<a href="#RULE4_13">FLOTSAM</a> +</pre> +<pre> +<a href="#RULE4_14">TRYING</a> +</pre> +<pre> +<a href="#RULE4_15">THE NEW MASTER</a> +</pre> +<pre> +<a href="#RULE4_16">PROSPECTING</a> +</pre> +<pre> +<a href="#RULE4_17">THE WOMAN THAT YOU PASS BY</a> +</pre> +<pre> +<a href="#RULE4_18">WHY</a> +</pre> +<pre> +<a href="#RULE4_19">AND STILL I LIKE ALASKA</a> +</pre> + <p> </p> + <p> </p> + <hr /> + <a id="RULE4_2" name="RULE4_2"><!-- RULE4 2 --></a> + <h2>THE BIRTH OF THE LAND</h2> +<pre> +For a thousand years the Devil crouched + On the white hot flags of hell: +For a thousand years the Devil cursed + The imps that had chained him well; +For a thousand years the Devil sulked + And planned with his hell-trained brain +Of the things he'd do, when his term was thru, + And freed from the blistering chain. +</pre> +<pre> +He'd even the score with the men of earth, + And give them back pain for pain, +For all of the days he had felt the blaze + And the sear of the galling chain. +And it came to pass when his time was up + And hell's gates were opened wide +That all hell rang, and the clinkered imps sang + When the Devil passed Outside. +</pre> +<pre> +"I have served my time," the Devil said + As he halted by heaven's gate; +I have sweated in hell for a thousand years + And each year was a year of hate. +I have framed my plans for a thousand years, + I have worked out the details well +Now I'd have a place near the human race + As a sort of a prep school for hell. +</pre> +<pre> +The sons of men, on the earth below + Have scarcely a chance to sin, +Churched, belled and gowned, they mope around + By precept, all sealed in; +There is never a sin for lust of flesh + Nor sin for a man struck blow, +And the red blood crime of the olden time + Has passed with the long ago. +</pre> +<pre> +Hell's motley crew is scarce worth coal + When they come to the thing called death; +They squat on the coals with the real damned souls + And listen with bated breath, +To the tales of the earth, when the world was new, +When a man had to fight for his own, +When he took his wife at the risk of his life + And killed for a half-baked bone. +</pre> +<pre> +Now I'd build a place where a man might sin + For the sake of his own desires; +Make his the cause, and his the laws, + And the penalty, mine own fires; +Hast a place on earth to breed such men + Each for his own deeds blamed? +If you'll give me a place, I'll breed a race + That hell may not be shamed. +</pre> +<pre> +The God King sighed as he searched the plat + And the map of the earth below; +I have given a place for every race + In the belt from snow to snow. +I have given a home to each bird and beast + For even the fox has its hole, +I have given all land to the sons of man + And I've builded a home for his soul. +</pre> +<pre> +In the seven days that I toiled below + When I builded the seas and lands, +There was much to do, and I didn't get thru + And one place unfinished stands. +It's the part of my work that I really regret, + For I know it's the worst of the lot, +It's known down below as The Land of the Snow, + Or, The Country that God forgot. +</pre> +<pre> +It stands apart by the Northern Pole, + Unfinished, forgotten, alone, +And no man's hand has won this land, + And no man calls it his own. +The country is made up of odds and ends, + Unfinished mountain, and swamp and lake, +Stuff that couldn't be used when the earth was fused; + If you want it, it's yours to take. +</pre> +<pre> +"I'll take this plot," the Devil quoth, + "For I like your description well, +Yes, I'll take this place and I'll mould a race + That will be a credit to hell." +Then he whistled an imp from the uttermost part + And they dropped as the comets whirled +Past the white baked stars, past Venus and Mars + To the unfinished part of the world. +</pre> +<pre> +He landed at last on Denali's crest + And he gazed on his acres wide— +Barren and bleak, from each mountain peak + And swamp to the Arctic's tide. +The Devil grinned as he stood and gazed + Said he, "This is just what I need, +It's the place of my plan, for the downfall of man + Where I'll change his ambition to greed." +</pre> +<pre> +Then he summoned the legions of hell to his side + Named an arch imp to straw boss each crew. +Tho they gibbered and cursed, each one did the worst + With the jobs Satan gave them to do. +They tumbled the mountains high up, and on end, + Piled glaciers where streams ought to be, +And swamp land was placed in the desolate waste + That stretched from the hills to the sea. +</pre> +<pre> +They shook down all hell for a climate to fit, + But they couldn't get suited in hell, +So they took the worst parts and with devilish arts + They built one that suited them well. +They laid out muck swamps where the water lies dead + Bred mosquitoes and moose flies and gnats +Put the brown bear that kills on the barren brown hills + And with quill pigs infested the flats. +</pre> +<pre> +They shut off the sun for full half of the year, + Made each glacier a blizzard blown trap, +They strung out volcanoes half way to Japan + Each one with a hair trigger cap. +They planned for the coast line a system of storms + Each equipped with a ninety mile breath +And then spread o'er it all the fog that men call + The North Coast mantle of death. +</pre> +<pre> +Then knowing full well that man would not go + To a Land so forlorn to behold, +He salted the hillsides and some of the streams + With nuggets and traces of gold. +He tinted the hills with a green copper ledge + And covered the valleys with game, +All this for a lure, then the Devil felt sure + That the white man would fall for the same. +</pre> +<pre> +THE LAND +</pre> +<pre> +The lure of the little known places + Still calls, as it called to your sires; +The longing for wide open spaces, + The perfume of evening camp fires; +The hunting for treasure unfound yet + The knocking at fortune's own gate; +The doing of deeds for the joy that it breeds + Were all used by the Devil as bait. +</pre> +<pre> +The summers besprinkled with sunshine, + The hillsides a riot of bloom +With meadows a color shot grandeur + And valleys as still as a tomb. +With mountains of cloud-encased beauty + Or with stars shining down on it all +It's the trails we don't know that call us to go + And no wonder man heeded the call. +</pre> +<pre> +The winters, the trails all unbroken, + The far fields that beckon and call; +The song of the frost on the runners + And the Northern Lights high over all; +The trees in the bend of the river, + The streams that nobody has spanned; +The whisper of gold, the story half told, + All this by the Devil was planned. +</pre> +<pre> +When the trap of the Devil was ready + Widespread went the whisper of gold, +And the white men stampeded like cattle, + There never was tie that could hold. +The first mad rush to the Northland + When the scum from the four ends of earth +Came in with a rush, a scramble, a crush + Like scrap in a fusing pot hurled. +</pre> +<pre> +They came all untaught and not ready, + Spurred on in the mad rush for gold; +They died here unsung and uncared for + Of famine, and scurvy and cold. +They had the same laws as the wolf pack, + Stay up, for you die if you fail, +And the paths to the Northern placers + Are marked by their graves on the trail. +</pre> +<pre> +The towns that they started were plague spots + With brothels and dance halls aglare, +With cribs, faro banks and roulette wheels + And phonographs adding their blare. +All traps for the young and unwary, + All builded to help with his fall, +Never dealer was fair, never game on the square + For the Devil presided o'er all. +</pre> +<pre> +Nick fiendishly grinned when he saw his work + And he chuckled with devilish glee— +"When it comes to making an up-to-date hell + They've sure got to hand it to me. +For every ten souls that come in to this land + There's nine of them headed for hell +With never a fight, the percentage is right, + And my prep school is doing quite well." +</pre> +<pre> +Thus for a time he ruled this land + Where few might venture forth, +For never a man-made law held good + From Dixon's Entrance north. +He held this land in his claw tipped grip, + And he took his pay in souls, +Theirs was the blame, for they played his game, + And they paid for it on hell's coals. +</pre> +<pre> +But the Devil lost when the law came in, + Or the men who made the laws, +The gambling hall and the dance hall went + And the Devil was forced to pause. +For the life in the land develops men, + Men of an alien breed, +A new made lot, that couldn't be bought, + And strangers to graft or greed. +</pre> +<pre> +They loosed the land from the Devil's grip, + They pierced the hills with their trails, +They flagged the rocks at the harbor's mouth, + They paved the way for the rails. +They builded a school where the dance hall stood + And they brought in their children and wives; +They gave their all to the new land's call + And some of them gave their lives. +</pre> +<pre> +Now the pimp and the brothel have passed away + And the gambling hall is a dream; +A railroad train now follows the trail + Where we followed a nine-dog team. +A thousand stamps now sing their song + Where we panned on the gold shot ledge, +And a picture show now marks the line + That once was the frontier's edge. +</pre> +<pre> +The milch cows graze where the brown bear roamed + And a saw mill sings its lay +On a bar in the Yukon River + Where we panned one summer day. +They are raising wheat where the bull moose grazed + In the summers of long ago, +It seems kind of strange when we note the change, + But we'd rather have it so. +</pre> +<pre> +Yet, sometimes we dream as we camp at night + In the bend of the river's flow +Of the land that was, of the land we knew + In the days of the long ago. +The wild free land that bred the men + Who fought with might and main +And took this land from the Devil's hand, + And we'd like to see it again, +</pre> + <p> </p> + <hr /> + <a id="RULE4_3" name="RULE4_3"><!-- RULE4 3 --></a> + <h2>A WOMAN, A DOG, AND A WALNUT TREE</h2> +<pre> +This Land is the orphan kiddie + Of the group with their stars in the Flag, +And it's looked on Outside as an alien, + Where its treatment makes honest men gag. +It's treated the same as the harlot + Who barters her body for pelf +And carries it home to her master + And is told to look after herself. +</pre> +<pre> +Of course we're an orphan, adopted + When cast off by the great Russian Bear +And our lot's been the lot of an orphan + And we've had a "stage orphan's" care. +Our coal land was grabbed by our Uncle, + Our copper and fur by the Jews, +While another gang took all our salmon + And corrupted our natives with booze. +</pre> +<pre> +Sam gave us an Army Commission + And told it to build us a Trail, +But all that Sam gave was permission— + He didn't come thru with the kale. +Now a trail in Alaska costs money + And when Dick tries to get a bill thru +Some jackass from Maine reads the figures + And "moves the amount cut in two." +</pre> +<pre> +Our Uncle Sam owns all the cables, + And the prices he gets are a sin, +It costs more for a word to Seattle + Than it does from Salt Lake to Berlin. +Our coast line is rugged and broken, + A menace to each ship that sails, +But Sam has no money for coast lights, + They get the same treatment as trails. +</pre> +<pre> +And Alaska is some husky orphan, + We can reach from the Gulf to B.C., +We could stand with one foot in Kansas + While the other was washed by the sea. +We're allowed only one voice in Congress, + And that one bereft of a vote, +And has to get some one's permission + Ere he loose a protest from his throat. +</pre> +<pre> +Sam gave us a group legislative, + But barred them the making of laws, +They could only memorialize Congress + And give it the reasons and cause. +The cry of the world is for Home Rule + Yet imported fools crowd our bench, +And some of their mining decisions + Send up to high Heaven their stench. +</pre> +<pre> +Sam made us quit gambling, that's all right, + But one thing that nobody knows +Is why he allowed a bone head from Georgia + Hang the crêpe on our own picture shows. +We're all hedged about with restrictions + And, Sam, won't you in us confide +Why some of your damphool ideas + Are not tried out on some one outside? +</pre> +<pre> +This Land's not the land of the weakling + And the men up here know what we need, +And we're sick of your bunch from the Outside + Who's only incentive is greed. +We've stood for Pinchot's conservation + And we've stood for your carpet-bag horde +Who have grabbed off the jobs in Alaska + As a sort of political reward. +</pre> +<pre> +But, Sam, take a tip from a Roughneck, + Go slow now and don't crowd your hand +Or some day you may find that the orphan + Has quit creeping and learned how to stand. +Don't make us the goat for the theories + Advanced by some government cog, +And don't use this land as a station + For trying things out on the dog. +</pre> +<pre> +We gaze o'er the line of the Yukon + As we're watching our neighbors at play +And we wonder why Our Uncle Sammy + Don't treat his Alaskans that way. +We look at their broad graded highways + And then at our own half blazed trails +And, Sam, it comes damned nigh to envy + When we think of their thrice a week mails. +</pre> +<pre> +They don't know the word conservation, + Their resources, all theirs to use, +And when they ask their Uncle to help them + Their Uncle don't often refuse. +Their Uncle has helped them develop, + Furnished work there for men who were broke, +And, Sam, when it comes to Coast Lights + They make ours look like a joke. +</pre> +<pre> +But in spite of it all, Sam, we love you, + We love every thread in the Flag, +We love every stream in Alaska, + We love every cliff, every crag. +We're not like the Woman or Dog, Sam, + And we're not like the Walnut Tree +Cause we want to be loved in return, Sam, + And, Sam, you are blind, or you'd see. +</pre> + <p><i>Old English Proverb</i>:</p> +<pre> +"A Woman, a Dog, and a Walnut Tree +The more you beat them the better they'll be." +</pre> + <p> </p> + <hr /> + <a id="RULE4_4" name="RULE4_4"><!-- RULE4 4 --></a> + <h2>WHEN THE WATER STARTS TO RUN</h2> +<pre> +Along in early spring time, as the sun starts swinging North +To linger with the land it loves, and violets peep forth, +When the water starts to running thru the riffle blocks at noon +And you figure that you'll clean up, about the first of June. +You've been thru a long hard winter, but you see the end in sight, +You don't worry 'bout the cleanup, cause you know the pay is right; +But you're feeling sort of restless, as your blood warms with the sun +And your heart will start to itching, when the water starts to run. +</pre> +<pre> +You may leave your Camp at evening and mush away to Town +To dally with the hootch a bit, but the feeling will not down. +You may mix up in a poker game, or try the dance hall's lure +But you're fighting off a feeling, that the old cures cannot cure. +You've got that longing feeling that there's nothing satisfies, +And your pard can't interest you, no matter how he tries, +You're lonesome, moody, restless, out at Camp, or in the Town +Your mind will not rest easy, and your troubles will not drown. +</pre> +<pre> +Then memory pulls her picket pins, your thoughts go back thru years +To Outside, Home, and Sweetheart, and this last thought sort of cheers; +You recollect the days you spent beneath a Southern sky +And with regret you now remember they all ended with good-by. +It's the same old world-wide feeling that comes to man each year, +But it seems to hit us harder, when we're getting in the "clear"; +It seems that it grows stronger, each year added to our life— +It's the hankering of the white man for a Pal, a Home, a Wife. +</pre> +<pre> +Man was not meant to live alone, why quarrel with Nature's laws, +God gave you strength to build a home, wherefor then do you pause? +Go forward like your father did, go forth and seek your mate, +For till you know a wife and home, you know not Heaven's Gate. +It's the deep inherent longing for a baby on your knee, +For the sound of children's voices, beneath your own fig tree. +The male instinct to have a mate, to love, to guard, to hold, +The one instinct that's left to us, that triumphs over gold. +</pre> +<pre> +With strength enough to build a home when once you get a wife +Bear gently with her follies, but guard her with your life; +Crowd full her heart with loving, yet hold a guarded rein, +Lest ye two now that rate as one, again be counted twain. +And if she come from Outside Camp, remember all is new +And give her time to find herself, teach her to lean on you. +And should homesickness grip her, and you find your wife in tears +Forget the jest and love her, remember your first years. +</pre> +<pre> +Then gone that restless feeling, gone all desire to roam, +Life's interest all is centered, deep in your Northern home. +Life waits in peace the cleanup, you pass up Outside joys, +And the tempter's voice is silenced by the music of her voice. +Then you're a true Alaskan, with a home won from the North, +God grant you children's voices when the violets peep forth, +And in the summer evening, beneath the midnight sun, +May your heart grow closer to her, when the water starts to run. +</pre> + <p> </p> + <hr /> + <a id="RULE4_5" name="RULE4_5"><!-- RULE4 5 --></a> + <h2>THE THROWBACK</h2> +<pre> +He was born far east of the Rockies + Of a pet in society's van; +A wine-soaked daughter of pleasure + Bred back and threw a man; +A man-child who grew up a stranger, + Who never could learn the way +Of a people who gauge their pleasure + On a line with the price they pay. +</pre> +<pre> +Just a shred of an education— + A few years of college life, +A course in the card and wine room, + A year with a chorus-girl wife, +Then disgust with a life unnatural + Spurred on with the curse of the go, +He quitted that life forever + For the land of the gold and snow. +</pre> +<pre> +The Lure of the Land had gripped him, + The Land where you die if you fail; +The Land of the fabled fortunes, + The Land of the endless trail. +The Land of the lonely silence, + The Land of the cruel cold, +The Land of the lost ambitions + Alaska, the Land of gold. +</pre> +<pre> +There winters of long hungry hardships, + Summers of pest-ridden heat; +Dicing with death for a grub stake, + Risking his life for meat. +Tossing away his young manhood, + Giving the best of his youth +To the holes that he bedrocked on wildcats, + Where gold was scarcer than truth. +</pre> +<pre> +Ten years spent in Alaska + Gray haired, with cheeks all atan, +Beaten, but still unconquered. + Flat broke, but still a man, +Digging and sinking and drifting, + Trying to locate the "pay," +With each hole a fresh disappointment— + Yet hoping to strike it next day. +</pre> +<pre> +Scorning the letters recalling, + Forgetting the friends he had known, +Turning his back on the Outside, + Facing the future alone. +A Cabin, a Squaw, and a Fishwheel, + A bend in the river's flow, +A band of half-naked breed kids— + He stayed there, a sourdough. +</pre> + <p> </p> + <hr /> + <a id="RULE4_6" name="RULE4_6"><!-- RULE4 6 --></a> + <h2>THE MALAMUTE</h2> +<pre> +When the stars from the skies have fallen + And the smoke of the world's cleared away; +When Saint Peter marks "30" in Life's Book + And we meet there on Judgment Day; +When our trials and troubles are ended + And we're wise to the best and the worst; +When the time has arrived that the wise ones + Have told us the last shall be first; +</pre> +<pre> +When the men who've made good are rewarded + And the losers are turned loose in Hell; +That's the time that a lot will be learning + The true reason and cause that they fell. +And I wonder when Peter gets busy + As he works out the tenement plan, +And when Heaven's thrown free for location + Will he confine the locations to man? +</pre> +<pre> +If he does, my claim's open for jumping + For I can't figure Heaven complete, +If the dim distant trails of the sky land + Are not pattered by malamutes' feet. +Cause I know it would never seem home-like + No matter how golden the strand, +If I lose out that pal-loving feeling + Of a malamute's nose in my hand. +</pre> +<pre> +And it's that way with lots of Alaskans + These men of our own last frontier, +Who tear into nature unaided + And who scarce know the meaning of fear. +Who live on lone creeks all alone here + Where the living and dying are hard, +And where oft times their only companion + Is a malamute pup for a pard. +</pre> +<pre> +He's a real chum with things coming easy, + He's a pal with things breaking tough, +He's a hell-roaring fighting companion + When somebody starts something rough. +He's a true friend in sorrow and sickness + And he doesn't mind hunger or cold, +And he's really the only one pardner + You can trust when you uncover gold. +</pre> +<pre> +He's a guard you can trust at the sluice box, + And he'll watch by your cache thru the night, +And if some cheechako tries to molest it + That cheechako's in for a fight. +As a pardner he's silent, but cheerful + With never a kick 'bout the trails +And if it wasn't for him in the winter + There never would be any mails. +</pre> +<pre> +He pulls on our sleds in the winter + He's first in the rushing stampede +He goes where a horse couldn't travel + And besides that he rustles his feed. +He takes a pack saddle in summer + And follows us off thru the hills +And when we go short on the grub pile + He shares up whatever he kills. +</pre> +<pre> +'Twas a malamute first scaled the Chilkoot + At the time of the great Klondike charge; +'Twas a malamute first saw Lake Bennett + And left his footprints at La Barge; +They hauled the first mail into Dawson, + That Land of the Old Timer's dream, +And when Wada first drove in from Fairbanks + He was driving a malamute team. +</pre> +<pre> +They broke the first trail into Bettles + With no guide save the lone Northern Star; +They freighted next year to Kantishna + And from there to the famed Chandelar. +They know the long trail to Innoko, + Tacotna and Iditarod too, +For there's never a Camp in the Northland + But what these same malamutes knew. +</pre> +<pre> +They brought the first sport to the Nome Beach + Where they showed up in action and deed +That the North dog is game as they make them + And besides that has plenty of speed. +He came home with the bacon from Candle + Like a bat out of Hell, thru the snow, +And the plunger that cashed in his "out tab" + Was his pardner, the Old Sourdough. +</pre> +<pre> +So it seems to me kind of unfair now + As we drift toward that permanent Camp +Where the angels are running a dance hall + And a millionaire grades with a tramp; +Where the trails are located on pay dirt + And a grub stake can never expire— +Well, if they shut out my dog, they can keep it + And I'll "siwash" it, down by Hell's Fire. +</pre> +<pre> +They herald the growth of the Northland + And progress is marked by their trail; +A railroad now goes where they brought out + The Seward-Iditarod mail. +He's first in the growth of Alaska + And without him this land would be lost, +For there's never a stream in this country + That the malamutes' trail has not crossed. +</pre> +<pre> +But you can't tell me God would have Heaven + So a man couldn't mix with his friends; +That we're doomed to meet disappointment + When we come to the place the trail ends. +That would be a low-grade sort of Heaven + And I'd never regret a damned sin +If I mush up to the gates, white and pearly, + And they don't let my malamute in. +</pre> + <p> </p> + <hr /> + <a id="RULE4_7" name="RULE4_7"><!-- RULE4 7 --></a> + <h2>UNSATISFIED</h2> +<pre> +Some sigh for the breath of the desert + Where the stifling heat waves blow; +Some pant for the trackless tundra + And the sting of the cold and snow; +Some long for the wash of a sultry sea + As it breaks on a tropic shore; +Some pine for the breeze of the northern seas + And the sound of the Arctic's roar. +</pre> +<pre> +The things that men love be countless + But they're seldom the same with two, +For the things I care for most of all + Might never appeal to you. +Some men run to wine and woman, + Some long for a wife and a home, +And he drifts with the tide, unsatisfied, + Who leaves these things to roam. +</pre> +<pre> +For he hates the sands of the desert + And the slimy tropic south, +Or his dreams of a northern fortune + Are as ashes in his mouth. +He loses the best life holds for man + His existence means discontent +Still he goes his way, until comes the day + When he quits it—a life misspent. +</pre> +<pre> +YET +</pre> +<pre> +Some sigh for the breath of the desert + Where the stifling heat waves blow; +Some pant for the trackless tundra + And the sting of the cold and snow; +Some long for the wash of a sultry sea + As it breaks on a tropic shore; +Some pine for the breeze of the northern seas + And the sound of the Arctic's roar. +</pre> + <p> </p> + <hr /> + <a id="RULE4_8" name="RULE4_8"><!-- RULE4 8 --></a> + <h2>THE PROSPECTOR</h2> +<pre> +Where the ragged, snow-capped saw tooth + Cuts the azure of the sky +And watches o'er the lonely land + As ages wander by; +Where the sentinel pines in grandeur + Murmur to the glacier stream +As it, ice-gorged, gluts the canyon, + Never brightened by the gleam +Of sun at brightest noon day, + Nor moon of Arctic night, +And whose only link with Heaven + Is the fitful Northern Light. +Where the Whistler shrills in triumph + And the Big Horn dreams in peace, +Where the Brown Bear skulks to cover + Up where silence holds the lease; +Where the land is as God left it + Nor has known the tread of man, +There's a treasure ledge a-waiting— + Go and find it if you can. +</pre> +<pre> +If your heart be steeled to triumph + Nor beats less at your defeat; +Can you watch your whole world melt away + And still smiling, fortune greet? +Will your heart and brain and sinew + Crowd you on, when hunger's pain +Gnaws your belly and you're beaten, + Can you lose, and fight again? +Can you raise the cup of fortune + To your lips and bravely quaff +The draught she has prepared for you + And win or lose and laugh? +Can you see the fruits of hardships + Centered on one desperate throw +And know Fate's dice are loaded + Nor curse to see them go? +Then take your burden up again + And stagger up the trail, +You're bound to make a winning + Cause you don't know how to fail. +</pre> +<pre> +I, who've spent my youth in following + The lure of hidden gold +Must pass the buck to Nature + And admit I'm growing old. +And yet each spring I hear it calling + And it's music to my ears, +The call of lonely places + That I've listened to for years. +It's cost me all most men hold dear + Some forty years of life, +And all the joys that others get + In babies, home, and wife. +My life's been all to-morrows + And my family only dreams +And to the average plodder + I've missed it all it seems. +Still, I've never taken orders + And I've always liked the game, +And if life could be lived over, + Why,—I'd live it just the same. +</pre> + <p> </p> + <hr /> + <a id="RULE4_9" name="RULE4_9"><!-- RULE4 9 --></a> + <h2>IF</h2> + <p>(<i>A Steal from Kipling</i>)</p> +<pre> +If you can hit the trail in zero weather + And laugh at frozen hand, or foot or face; +If you can eat your dogs, and still keep moving + And beat the rest, and hold the stampede's pace; +If you can stake and dig alone, unaided + And hold your ground, if needs be with a gun +And find the gold and have some lawyer steal it, + And lose, and start again, and call it fun. +</pre> +<pre> +If you can go a year on mouldy bacon + And fight the scurvy off with bayo beans; +If you can jump your socks and do your washing + And smile the while you patch your threadbare jeans; +If you can laugh when sordid hunger mocks you + And smile while passing strangers eat your grub; +If you can boost when everybody knocks you + And know him wrong who holds you but a dub. +</pre> +<pre> +If you can still the pain when Outside calls you + And choke back thoughts of friends you still hold dear; +If you can still the dreams when night befalls you + And wake and strike while eyes and brain are clear; +If you can wait and stick it out a-smiling + When longing letters come to you from home, +And then don't find the taste of "hootch" beguiling + You'll like this Land, from Seward up to Nome. +</pre> +<pre> +If you can bear the deadly strain of waiting + Till your turn comes, and fortune smiles on you; +If you can fight and lose and keep on fighting + And to your early promises stay true; +If you can go thru Hell to spend the summer + And cuss, and freeze, and starve the winter thru +And start in broke again another New Year + You don't need this Land to make a man of you. +</pre> +<pre> +If you can beat the Row, the Game, the Dance-hall + And all men's pleasures, that you know are sin; +If you can live alone, and not get lonesome + Nor heed the "lady" when she says "come in": +If you can pick a winner from the "wild cats" + And hold and hope when everything looks blue; +If you can give up everything you've ever cared for + Then ALASKA IS THE ONLY PLACE FOR YOU. +</pre> + <p> </p> + <hr /> + <a id="RULE4_10" name="RULE4_10"><!-- RULE4 10 --></a> + <h2>US FOR SAM</h2> +<pre> +While all Europe is a shambles + And the whole world is at war, +And half the land the sun shines on + Is drenched in human gore; +When every Nation counts the men + It knows are tried and true +We send this message to you, Sam, + "Alaska stands with you." +You never treated us quite right— + You grabbed away our coal, +You reserved all our fire wood + And what we've used, we've stole. +You soaked us on our cable tolls + But we don't give a damn +Even at twenty-eight cents per word + WE'RE WITH YOU, UNCLE SAM. +</pre> +<pre> +You've squandered untold millions + On the filthy Philippines, +But you always made Alaskans + Go and rustle for their beans. +And your black and tan possessions + Tho they've cost you quite a few +Can never be depended on, + While we'd go thru Hell for you. +We're quite unused to luxuries + And we've always played alone, +When we asked for help to build our trails + You handed us a stone. +You've four-flushed on the railroads + But we don't care a damn, +If they monkey with the Eagle + WE'RE WITH YOU, UNCLE SAM. +</pre> +<pre> +You gave us lief to make some laws + Then tied our hands behind; +That gift to us was just the same + As pictures to the blind. +Your laws all have a "joker," + Made to catch some Sourdough, +And it's hard to beat the game, Sam, + The way it's framed up down below. +We've always been the dumping ground + For your political misfits, +But Sam, if you're in trouble + We're willing to call it "quits." +We've never had an even break, + But we don't care a damn; +If the Lion growls, remember this, + WE'RE WITH YOU, UNCLE SAM. +</pre> +<pre> +We're used to meeting troubles + And if you put us to the test +You'll find Alaska loves you, Sam, + Far better than the rest. +But Sam, when this is over, + As morning follows night, +Pray give us your attention + And set some matters right. +We need some decent cable rates, + We need some decent mails, +We need some decent coast lights + And we need some decent trails. +You've given these to all the rest + But we don't care a damn; +If it's full grown men you're needing + WE'RE WITH YOU, UNCLE SAM. +</pre> + <p> </p> + <hr /> + <a id="RULE4_11" name="RULE4_11"><!-- RULE4 11 --></a> + <h2>HOW LONG?</h2> +<pre> +As long as lure o' placer gold + Brings North the best ye breed, +As long as tales of camps and trails + Are planted with your seed, +As long as red blood courses thru + And warms adventure's sons, +They'll sally forth, bound for the North, + Misfortune's chosen ones. +</pre> +<pre> +As long as snow slides claim their toll + And glaciers split and rend, +And sweepers turn the flimsy craft + And trails come to an end; +As long as flashing Northern Lights + Flame in the Arctic sky, +Your boldest ones, your bravest sons + Come North to win or die. +</pre> +<pre> +As long as lust of wealth obtains + And gold will buy all things, +And bank accounts but mark the line + 'Twixt shovel stiffs and kings; +As long as fancy rides free reined + And distant fields seem fair, +They'll seek the ship and make the trip + To the land of Do and Dare. +</pre> +<pre> +As long as birds mate in the spring + And moose run in the fall, +And widows win the college youth + And hold his heart in thrall; +As long as chance for fortune's smile + Can be centered in one throw, +This is the truth, the Nation's youth + Will hear the call and go. +</pre> +<pre> +As long as water runs down hill + And smoke goes up from fire; +As long as pleasure precedes pain + And women love for hire; +As long as Klondike widows + Trail thru Outside Cafés +Some one must stick on the lonesome creek + For there's ever the "him" that pays. +</pre> +<pre> +As long as "huskies" curse the moon + And creeks remain unnamed; +As long as quicksands mask the bar + And there's placer ground unclaimed; +As long as "pay" is found and staked + By some deep-sea-going Swede, +That gypsy trace that marks our race + Will out, then we stampede. +</pre> + <p> </p> + <hr /> + <a id="RULE4_12" name="RULE4_12"><!-- RULE4 12 --></a> + <h2>THAT 30 U.S. ON THE WALL</h2> +<pre> +A man that's spent years knocking round "out in front" + Has most usually had lots of pals— +He's mixed up with pardners at various times + And he's had his affairs with the gals. +Now, a pardner's peculiar in lots of his ways + And he'll ditch you for various reasons, +And a gal never knows straight up from twice + And her mind seems to change with the seasons. +</pre> +<pre> +I've been in on good ground with pardners I've staked + And I thought they were square, till I found +They were trying to cross me, the miserable pups, + And whipsaw me out of my ground. +I've had a few pards that would stand the hard grind + And they'd stick through hard luck night and day; +They were all you could ask while you rustled for grub, + But they blew up when you uncovered the "pay." +</pre> +<pre> +Way back in the "eighties" when I'm just a kid, + I crossed up with a breed gal I'd met +One winter at Circle; she cleaned me that year + And skipped out with all she could get. +I've fallen for females in half of the camps + That's spread over this country up here, +But "square guys" or "pretzels" I couldn't get by + And none of them stuck for a year. +</pre> +<pre> +I got kind of discouraged and quit the she sex + And figgered I'd just herd with males, +But it don't make no difference, I guess that I'm wrong, + 'Cause there's always the parting of trails. +I've had lots of dogs, but a dog always dies, + Or else the poor devil gets killed. +When you like 'em and lose 'em, their loss leaves a hole + That seems for a time can't be filled. +</pre> +<pre> +So pardners and females and dogs is taboo + And I know, 'cause I've fussed with 'em all. +There's only one pal that I know is true blue + And it's that Thirty U.S. on the wall. +She's stood by my shoulder and stopped a brown bear + And she keeps the cache full in the Fall; +She's got the one talk that a claim jumper knows + And she craves no attention at all. +</pre> +<pre> +I'm getting old now, and some sot in my ways, + And I don't loosen up like I did. +I'm slower to make friends and slower to trust + Than I used to be when I'm a kid. +So it's good-by to females and good-by to dogs, + And good-by to pardners and all, +For the only one pal that I find I can trust + Is that Thirty U.S. on the wall. +</pre> + <p> </p> + <hr /> + <a id="RULE4_13" name="RULE4_13"><!-- RULE4 13 --></a> + <h2>FLOTSAM</h2> +<pre> +The China Coast's a dumping ground + And the South Sea gets its share +Of the kind of men that don't make good +The kind of man that never could + The men that never care. +</pre> +<pre> +A worthless, careless drinking lot + Combed out from between the Poles. +It's gin, and cards, a woman's breath, +Laughter and love and sudden death + And the Devil gets their souls. +</pre> +<pre> +It's a throwback to a weaker strain + That's washed by the Tropic tide. +And a mixture of Dago and Japanese +Latin and Jew and Portugese + Crops out thru a sun-tanned hide. +</pre> +<pre> +But the Northland gets a sterner breed + To fuse in its harder mould. +It's the breed of men that don't know fail; +That's the breed of men that hit the trail + For the fabled land of gold. +</pre> +<pre> +They're a sturdy, fearless, fighting lot + And they play the game to win. +They fall for women, wine, the game +And win or lose, they smile the same + And to quit is their only sin. +</pre> +<pre> +Here the Norsman bunks with the canny Scot + And the lad from the Emerald Isle +Works side by side with Russ and Dane, +North-bred men of brawn and brain, + Men that are worth your while. +</pre> +<pre> +So me for the land of the Midnight Sun + With the north lights in the sky, +Me for the land that mothers this race +Where you have to fight to hold your place, + Where you can't quit till you die. +</pre> + <p> </p> + <hr /> + <a id="RULE4_14" name="RULE4_14"><!-- RULE4 14 --></a> + <h2>TRYING</h2> +<pre> +The dream of the white man ever goes out + To the fight that can never be won, +And ever he plans to do the things + That they say can never be done. +It's seldom he values the things that are + What he craves he may never gain, +Yet ever he tries, till the day he dies + And then feels he has lived in vain. +</pre> +<pre> +He climbs to the top of the highest hills + To search out the vales afar; +He bedrocks a hole on the deepest creeks + He hitches his cart to a star. +He's ever the first in the far stampede + As he chases the rainbow's blend, +But it's not the need, and it's not the greed, + It's the wanting to win in the end. +</pre> +<pre> +And whether he strives in the lofty range + Or tries in the crowded mart, +The longing to do what has never been done + Is uppermost in his heart. +He tries to build where none other has built, + Win the maid that none other has won, +To find the gold that he never can hold, + To finish what cannot be done. +</pre> +<pre> +He lives his life in a trying way + And he scorns the things that are tame, +If all seems lost, he still fights on, + For ever he plays the game. +And the efforts he makes as he strives to win + Are a credit to him and his breed, +And the gods will count and give full amount + And accept the act for the deed. +</pre> +<pre> +FOR +</pre> +<pre> +The dream of the white man ever goes out + To the fight that can never be won, +And ever he plans to do the things + That they say can never be done. +</pre> +<pre> +It's seldom he values the things that are, + What he craves he never may gain, +But ever he tries, till the day he dies + And then feels he has lived in vain. +</pre> + <p> </p> + <hr /> + <a id="RULE4_15" name="RULE4_15"><!-- RULE4 15 --></a> + <h2>THE NEW MASTER</h2> +<pre> +As one who lays aside a task, where one has ruled alone, +I lay aside the crown of hell, and give to you my throne; +As one who feels his race is run, whose day is of the past, +I recognize your genius, and abdicate at last. +I go and leave you master, and I feel it's just as well, +For Hades lacks its master, until you rule in hell. +The world wags on and changes, old methods now seem weak, +And the changes of a thousand years, of these I fain would speak. +</pre> +<pre> +I've raised and sponsored many names, that darken history's page, +I've made them rulers of the world in many a by-gone age. +They all have shown a human turn, from Nero down to you, +But now my life-long dream of a super fiend at last seems coming true. +I've watched you since the faintest spark blazed in your mother's womb, +I've watched your hypocritic grief, beside your father's tomb; +I know the tainted blood that flows thru your each and every vein +That shows up in your withered arm, and feeds your fevered brain. +</pre> +<pre> +I saw it in your grandsire, where first it cropped out plain +When German gold was squandered to slay the honest Dane. +I fed you dreams of empire, and dreams of lust and greed +And the age old lust of conquest that taints all of your breed. +The strain that showed in Nero, cropped out alike in you, +You killed your gentle mother, but not as Nero slew. +I gave you hate of Albion, for all the world will tell +That could I kill that Anglo strain, I'd use the earth for hell. +</pre> +<pre> +I loathe the Anglo-Saxon race, I hate their English speech, +For where the Union Jack waves high, the Cross will ever reach. +Their ignorant millions till the soil, for they protect their own, +I hate it for I've never had this ensign for mine own. +I taught you how to use God's church, I built the path you trod, +I filled your mouth until you claimed, a pardnership with God. +I told you tales to tell to men, I coached you every hour +Until an egomaniac ran wild, mad with a lust for power. +</pre> +<pre> +I made an army for you then, the peer of all war lords, +I smiled the night you went away to visit Norway fiords. +I knew your Bagdad railway schemes, I knew the Austrian claims, +I knew that German gold would guide the mad assassin's aims. +I knew the schemes that you had planned, the one that nothing curbs, +I envied your diplomacy that blamed it on the Serbs. +My brain ne'er hatched a finer scheme, your armies marking time +And then the rape of Belgium, your premier man-sized crime. +</pre> +<pre> +And if one deals in hellish schemes, that one must stamp your worth, +You made a shambles of that land, you moved hell up on earth. +The cries of mangled maidens, the mutilated child, +The tears of butchered mothers, would drive an earth man wild, +And thru it all proclaiming, you were the tool of God— +O pardner in this orgy, no one suspected fraud. +You butchered, maimed and pillaged, hell never saw such sights +As the Prussian Guard remembers, on those first Belgian nights. +</pre> +<pre> +O shades of maddened Nero and his early Christian fires, +Could he have been in Belgium and have seen your funeral pyres! +Could he have seen your orgies he would have wept for shame +But had he your fiendish cunning, he might have done the same. +But the hated Saxon balked you and the desperate fighting Frank +Hurled back our super devils and took us on the flank. +Your inbred tainted offspring lost his chances at Verdun +Where curtained steel just saved the world from the grip of brutal Hun. +</pre> +<pre> +But Wilhelm, you are crafty, you are mine own I ween +Your fertile brain had brought to life the hell-born submarine, +You killed the unarmed merchantmen, you murdered in the dark, +You sent the child and mother to feed your friend the shark. +The world grew sick with wonder, no voice was raised to laud +And still you did it in your name, the name of you and God. +Where you have trod the world is dead, no sign of life or mirth, +You beat me, Bill, you beat my hell, with this of yours on earth. +</pre> +<pre> +You won hell's admiration and of all of mine own folk +When you paired off with the ghastly Turk, that was a master stroke. +And all the things you did before, just now seem weak and tame +Since you launched that Dardanelles campaign of pillage, lust and shame. +To fuss thus with my chosen race, my ally since time dates +Proclaimed that Kultur and the Turk are well matched running mates. +And tho I've watched hell's orgies, and stood by in fiendish glee, +I quit you, Bill, these Turkish stunts are far too much for me. +</pre> +<pre> +When officers from Kultur's class stand by and watch a Turk +Just disembowel a mother, why, Bill, it makes me shirk. +It makes me shudder and I've watched the master fiends of hell, +But none of them have brains like you, none do their work so well. +When Turk and German flood with oil, then set a school ablaze +And bayonet the babies, as they stumble thru the haze, +I yield the crown to you, Dear Bill, my pupil passes me +You take the rôle of Master and your pupil I will be. +</pre> +<pre> +I've worked for hell's best interests, my master now appears +For when your name is mentioned, the imps break into cheers. +The gavel of the poor damned souls, that long has rung their knell, +Is passed to you, I abdicate and now you rule in hell. +For years I've done the best I could, now I realize I'm thru, +And in the future I'm content to live and learn from you. +Your earthly work is finished, soon in hell you'll carve your name +And I shudder when I realize that hell won't be the same. +</pre> + <p> </p> + <hr /> + <a id="RULE4_16" name="RULE4_16"><!-- RULE4 16 --></a> + <h2>PROSPECTING</h2> +<pre> +Looking for placer pangar, + Loafing about in the hills, +Getting your grub with a rifle, + Taking your drink from rills. +Getting your bed from the spruce tree, + Taking your course by your dreams, +Just camping alone in the mountains, + Siwashing along the streams. +</pre> +<pre> +Locating the hind sight on Nature, + Traveling alone and far, +Thinking with no one to guide you, + Digesting the things that are. +Back trailing the life that's past you, + Peeping at what's in store, +Pondering over life's mistakes, + Wondering, how many more. +</pre> +<pre> +Dreaming alone of childhood days, + Regretting some things that are past, +Recalling lost opportunities, + And chances too good to last. +Living your whole life over, + Recalling the daily grind, +Thanking your God that it's over, + Glad that you've left it behind. +</pre> +<pre> +But still regretting your errors, + Sad for some things you have done, +Wishing that you had coppered some plays + As you count them one by one. +Now living a life, clean, decent, + For man never sins alone, +Getting a grip on your ego, + Coming at last to your own. +</pre> +<pre> +You dream and you hunt all summer + Till you notice a chill in the air, +Then you think of your warm snug cabin + And you feel that you'd rather be there. +Then you head over unblazed passes + Till at last you herd with your own, +And though you located no pangar + You are better for being alone. +</pre> + <p> </p> + <hr /> + <a id="RULE4_17" name="RULE4_17"><!-- RULE4 17 --></a> + <h2>THE WOMAN THAT YOU PASS BY</h2> +<pre> +My trade was old when the world was new, + Ere the pyramids rose by the Nile +Men quitted their wives, and gave me their goods + For the warmth of my kiss, and my smile. +For never was wife who could hold her man + By the honeymoon's afterglow +Did I veil mine eyes and beckon to him, + God's truth, and 'tis you who know. +</pre> +<pre> +My trade was old when the world was new, + Long ere Caesar ruled in Rome, +To spend their gold in a harlot's cell + Patricians quitted home. +And high born dames since the world began + Have learned to sit and to sigh +And to patiently wait for their lords to leave + The woman that you pass by. +</pre> +<pre> +I'm only a pawn in the game called life, + Yet I take what you never could hold; +I garner the kisses you'd barter life for + And with them, I gather your gold. +I garner the best of your manhood's prime + Then quit them when shattered in health; +I bring to heel the ones that you love + And smiling I shear them of wealth. +</pre> +<pre> +To garner the wealth that you hold in store + I must keep me surpassing fair, +For the life that I lead is an open book + And the game that I deal is square. +Stop—think of the maids and wives you know + As you drift thru life's subtle game— +How many are dealing as straight as I? + How many can say the same? +</pre> +<pre> +You give your all, and you slave your life + In a struggle to hold one man; +You think you're paid if he call you wife + And be true to you for a span. +You keep his house and you bear his child + And you walk with your head held high +But most of his love, and his kisses go + To the woman that you pass by. +</pre> +<pre> +The favors you give, I sell for gold, + And men prize what costs them high; +You never will learn that love goes out + With the tear in a woman's eye; +That the patient drudge who sits at home + And learns to save and to mend +Can never hold the light of love + But is doomed to lose in the end. +</pre> +<pre> +So I follow the old dishonored trade, + Bedecked in garments fine, +And the cream of the earth is saved for me + In raiment and food and wine. +And life to me is a merry game + Tho, sometimes, I weep and sigh, +For deep down in your heart, do you envy me + The woman that you pass by? +</pre> + <p> </p> + <hr /> + <a id="RULE4_18" name="RULE4_18"><!-- RULE4 18 --></a> + <h2>WHY</h2> +<pre> +Why is it Alaskans all come back + When they've quit this land for good? +Why is it that no man stays away + When he's sworn to his friends he would? +Where lies the grip this country hath + All tangled around the heart +That takes a grip that can never slip + And can never be torn apart? +</pre> +<pre> +Is it the lure of the summer sunshine + That goes to the head like wine? +Is it the lure of the far flung meadows + Of the shadowy scented pine? +Is it the lure of going where none have gone + Of just being alone in the wild? +Is it the lure of the ancient glaciers + That were old when Christ was a child? +</pre> +<pre> +They come here wild, athirst for gold + They would win and run away, +They lose the stake they brought along + And then they have to stay. +Here each one follows his own bent, + The mines, the hills, the mart, +Work's but a name, the end's the same, + The country steals your heart. +</pre> +<pre> +There's a lure to the land of the poppy, + There's a lure to the land of your birth, +You swear you abhor it, and yet you'll long for it + As no other land on this earth. +There's the lure of the snow mantled vastness, + There's the lure of each valley and hill, +Of friends that you've met, that you'll never forget + And you'll want to come back, and you will. +</pre> + <p> </p> + <hr /> + <a id="RULE4_19" name="RULE4_19"><!-- RULE4 19 --></a> + <h2>AND STILL I LIKE ALASKA</h2> +<pre> +I've tramped across her endless miles of tundra, +I've rafted all her rapid flowing streams, + She's kept me on the hummer, + I've fought mosquits in summer +And "siwashed" neath Aurora's wintry beams, + And still, I like Alaska. +</pre> +<pre> +I went a winter once on pay streak bacon, +I've gone a year on nothing much but beans, + I've squandered all my time checks, + The kind they give us roughnecks, +And haven't got a dollar in my jeans, + And still, I like Alaska. +</pre> +<pre> +I got a stake one time and wandered Outside, +And I'm telling you I surely put on "dog," + But they got in between me and my poke + They sure did clean me +And I hit for Dixon's Entrance, on the "hog," + And still, I like Alaska. +</pre> +<pre> +I don't suppose a man will live to beat it, +Some day we'll quit this land of ice and snow, + And when the Devil gits us, + And finds a place that fits us, +And we're working on the sulphur beds below, + I know I'll like Alaska. +</pre> + <p> </p> + <hr class="full" /> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK RHYMES OF A ROUGHNECK***</p> +<p>******* This file should be named 10515-h.txt or 10515-h.zip *******</p> +<p>This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:<br /> +<a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/1/0/5/1/10515">https://www.gutenberg.org/1/0/5/1/10515</a></p> +<p>Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed.</p> + +<p>Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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For +example an eBook of filename 10234 would be found at: + +https://www.gutenberg.org/1/0/2/3/10234 + +or filename 24689 would be found at: +https://www.gutenberg.org/2/4/6/8/24689 + +An alternative method of locating eBooks: +<a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/GUTINDEX.ALL">https://www.gutenberg.org/GUTINDEX.ALL</a> + +*** END: FULL LICENSE *** +</pre> +</body> +</html> diff --git a/old/10515.txt b/old/10515.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..1efb07c --- /dev/null +++ b/old/10515.txt @@ -0,0 +1,1900 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, Rhymes of a Roughneck, by Pat O'Cotter + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + + + + +Title: Rhymes of a Roughneck + +Author: Pat O'Cotter + +Release Date: December 22, 2003 [eBook #10515] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: US-ASCII + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK RHYMES OF A ROUGHNECK*** + + +E-text prepared by Audrey Longhurst and the Project Gutenberg Online +Distributed Proofreading Team + + + +RHYMES OF A ROUGHNECK + +BY + +PAT O'COTTER + +1918 + + + + + + + + +DEDICATED +TO +ALASKA + +The home of the tin can and dog, +A waste of snow, ice, and moss. +The graveyard of ambitions, +The by-word for hell, +The home of the famed double cross. +Men come here for gold, +Ambitious for wealth +They stick--for they can't get away, +They dig, drink, and die, +And then go to hell, +To pay for their last sucker play-- + +ALASKA + + + + +CONTENTS + + +THE BIRTH OF THE LAND + +A WOMAN, A DOG, AND A WALNUT TREE + +WHEN THE WATER STARTS TO RUN + +THE THROWBACK + +THE MALAMUTE + +UNSATISFIED + +THE PROSPECTOR + +IF + +US FOR SAM + +HOW LONG + +THAT 30 U.S. ON THE WALL + +FLOTSAM + +TRYING + +THE NEW MASTER + +PROSPECTING + +THE WOMAN THAT YOU PASS BY + +WHY + +AND STILL I LIKE ALASKA + + + + + +THE BIRTH OF THE LAND + +For a thousand years the Devil crouched + On the white hot flags of hell: +For a thousand years the Devil cursed + The imps that had chained him well; +For a thousand years the Devil sulked + And planned with his hell-trained brain +Of the things he'd do, when his term was thru, + And freed from the blistering chain. + +He'd even the score with the men of earth, + And give them back pain for pain, +For all of the days he had felt the blaze + And the sear of the galling chain. +And it came to pass when his time was up + And hell's gates were opened wide +That all hell rang, and the clinkered imps sang + When the Devil passed Outside. + +"I have served my time," the Devil said + As he halted by heaven's gate; +I have sweated in hell for a thousand years + And each year was a year of hate. +I have framed my plans for a thousand years, + I have worked out the details well +Now I'd have a place near the human race + As a sort of a prep school for hell. + +The sons of men, on the earth below + Have scarcely a chance to sin, +Churched, belled and gowned, they mope around + By precept, all sealed in; +There is never a sin for lust of flesh + Nor sin for a man struck blow, +And the red blood crime of the olden time + Has passed with the long ago. + +Hell's motley crew is scarce worth coal + When they come to the thing called death; +They squat on the coals with the real damned souls + And listen with bated breath, +To the tales of the earth, when the world was new, +When a man had to fight for his own, +When he took his wife at the risk of his life + And killed for a half-baked bone. + +Now I'd build a place where a man might sin + For the sake of his own desires; +Make his the cause, and his the laws, + And the penalty, mine own fires; +Hast a place on earth to breed such men + Each for his own deeds blamed? +If you'll give me a place, I'll breed a race + That hell may not be shamed. + +The God King sighed as he searched the plat + And the map of the earth below; +I have given a place for every race + In the belt from snow to snow. +I have given a home to each bird and beast + For even the fox has its hole, +I have given all land to the sons of man + And I've builded a home for his soul. + +In the seven days that I toiled below + When I builded the seas and lands, +There was much to do, and I didn't get thru + And one place unfinished stands. +It's the part of my work that I really regret, + For I know it's the worst of the lot, +It's known down below as The Land of the Snow, + Or, The Country that God forgot. + +It stands apart by the Northern Pole, + Unfinished, forgotten, alone, +And no man's hand has won this land, + And no man calls it his own. +The country is made up of odds and ends, + Unfinished mountain, and swamp and lake, +Stuff that couldn't be used when the earth was fused; + If you want it, it's yours to take. + +"I'll take this plot," the Devil quoth, + "For I like your description well, +Yes, I'll take this place and I'll mould a race + That will be a credit to hell." +Then he whistled an imp from the uttermost part + And they dropped as the comets whirled +Past the white baked stars, past Venus and Mars + To the unfinished part of the world. + +He landed at last on Denali's crest + And he gazed on his acres wide-- +Barren and bleak, from each mountain peak + And swamp to the Arctic's tide. +The Devil grinned as he stood and gazed + Said he, "This is just what I need, +It's the place of my plan, for the downfall of man + Where I'll change his ambition to greed." + +Then he summoned the legions of hell to his side + Named an arch imp to straw boss each crew. +Tho they gibbered and cursed, each one did the worst + With the jobs Satan gave them to do. +They tumbled the mountains high up, and on end, + Piled glaciers where streams ought to be, +And swamp land was placed in the desolate waste + That stretched from the hills to the sea. + +They shook down all hell for a climate to fit, + But they couldn't get suited in hell, +So they took the worst parts and with devilish arts + They built one that suited them well. +They laid out muck swamps where the water lies dead + Bred mosquitoes and moose flies and gnats +Put the brown bear that kills on the barren brown hills + And with quill pigs infested the flats. + +They shut off the sun for full half of the year, + Made each glacier a blizzard blown trap, +They strung out volcanoes half way to Japan + Each one with a hair trigger cap. +They planned for the coast line a system of storms + Each equipped with a ninety mile breath +And then spread o'er it all the fog that men call + The North Coast mantle of death. + +Then knowing full well that man would not go + To a Land so forlorn to behold, +He salted the hillsides and some of the streams + With nuggets and traces of gold. +He tinted the hills with a green copper ledge + And covered the valleys with game, +All this for a lure, then the Devil felt sure + That the white man would fall for the same. + + * * * * * + +THE LAND + +The lure of the little known places + Still calls, as it called to your sires; +The longing for wide open spaces, + The perfume of evening camp fires; +The hunting for treasure unfound yet + The knocking at fortune's own gate; +The doing of deeds for the joy that it breeds + Were all used by the Devil as bait. + +The summers besprinkled with sunshine, + The hillsides a riot of bloom +With meadows a color shot grandeur + And valleys as still as a tomb. +With mountains of cloud-encased beauty + Or with stars shining down on it all +It's the trails we don't know that call us to go + And no wonder man heeded the call. + +The winters, the trails all unbroken, + The far fields that beckon and call; +The song of the frost on the runners + And the Northern Lights high over all; +The trees in the bend of the river, + The streams that nobody has spanned; +The whisper of gold, the story half told, + All this by the Devil was planned. + +When the trap of the Devil was ready + Widespread went the whisper of gold, +And the white men stampeded like cattle, + There never was tie that could hold. +The first mad rush to the Northland + When the scum from the four ends of earth +Came in with a rush, a scramble, a crush + Like scrap in a fusing pot hurled. + +They came all untaught and not ready, + Spurred on in the mad rush for gold; +They died here unsung and uncared for + Of famine, and scurvy and cold. +They had the same laws as the wolf pack, + Stay up, for you die if you fail, +And the paths to the Northern placers + Are marked by their graves on the trail. + +The towns that they started were plague spots + With brothels and dance halls aglare, +With cribs, faro banks and roulette wheels + And phonographs adding their blare. +All traps for the young and unwary, + All builded to help with his fall, +Never dealer was fair, never game on the square + For the Devil presided o'er all. + +Nick fiendishly grinned when he saw his work + And he chuckled with devilish glee-- +"When it comes to making an up-to-date hell + They've sure got to hand it to me. +For every ten souls that come in to this land + There's nine of them headed for hell +With never a fight, the percentage is right, + And my prep school is doing quite well." + + * * * * * + +Thus for a time he ruled this land + Where few might venture forth, +For never a man-made law held good + From Dixon's Entrance north. +He held this land in his claw tipped grip, + And he took his pay in souls, +Theirs was the blame, for they played his game, + And they paid for it on hell's coals. + +But the Devil lost when the law came in, + Or the men who made the laws, +The gambling hall and the dance hall went + And the Devil was forced to pause. +For the life in the land develops men, + Men of an alien breed, +A new made lot, that couldn't be bought, + And strangers to graft or greed. + +They loosed the land from the Devil's grip, + They pierced the hills with their trails, +They flagged the rocks at the harbor's mouth, + They paved the way for the rails. +They builded a school where the dance hall stood + And they brought in their children and wives; +They gave their all to the new land's call + And some of them gave their lives. + +Now the pimp and the brothel have passed away + And the gambling hall is a dream; +A railroad train now follows the trail + Where we followed a nine-dog team. +A thousand stamps now sing their song + Where we panned on the gold shot ledge, +And a picture show now marks the line + That once was the frontier's edge. + +The milch cows graze where the brown bear roamed + And a saw mill sings its lay +On a bar in the Yukon River + Where we panned one summer day. +They are raising wheat where the bull moose grazed + In the summers of long ago, +It seems kind of strange when we note the change, + But we'd rather have it so. + + * * * * * + +Yet, sometimes we dream as we camp at night + In the bend of the river's flow +Of the land that was, of the land we knew + In the days of the long ago. +The wild free land that bred the men + Who fought with might and main +And took this land from the Devil's hand, + And we'd like to see it again, + + + + + +A WOMAN, A DOG, AND A WALNUT TREE + +This Land is the orphan kiddie + Of the group with their stars in the Flag, +And it's looked on Outside as an alien, + Where its treatment makes honest men gag. +It's treated the same as the harlot + Who barters her body for pelf +And carries it home to her master + And is told to look after herself. + +Of course we're an orphan, adopted + When cast off by the great Russian Bear +And our lot's been the lot of an orphan + And we've had a "stage orphan's" care. +Our coal land was grabbed by our Uncle, + Our copper and fur by the Jews, +While another gang took all our salmon + And corrupted our natives with booze. + +Sam gave us an Army Commission + And told it to build us a Trail, +But all that Sam gave was permission-- + He didn't come thru with the kale. +Now a trail in Alaska costs money + And when Dick tries to get a bill thru +Some jackass from Maine reads the figures + And "moves the amount cut in two." + +Our Uncle Sam owns all the cables, + And the prices he gets are a sin, +It costs more for a word to Seattle + Than it does from Salt Lake to Berlin. +Our coast line is rugged and broken, + A menace to each ship that sails, +But Sam has no money for coast lights, + They get the same treatment as trails. + +And Alaska is some husky orphan, + We can reach from the Gulf to B.C., +We could stand with one foot in Kansas + While the other was washed by the sea. +We're allowed only one voice in Congress, + And that one bereft of a vote, +And has to get some one's permission + Ere he loose a protest from his throat. + +Sam gave us a group legislative, + But barred them the making of laws, +They could only memorialize Congress + And give it the reasons and cause. +The cry of the world is for Home Rule + Yet imported fools crowd our bench, +And some of their mining decisions + Send up to high Heaven their stench. + +Sam made us quit gambling, that's all right, + But one thing that nobody knows +Is why he allowed a bone head from Georgia + Hang the crepe on our own picture shows. +We're all hedged about with restrictions + And, Sam, won't you in us confide +Why some of your damphool ideas + Are not tried out on some one outside? + +This Land's not the land of the weakling + And the men up here know what we need, +And we're sick of your bunch from the Outside + Who's only incentive is greed. +We've stood for Pinchot's conservation + And we've stood for your carpet-bag horde +Who have grabbed off the jobs in Alaska + As a sort of political reward. + +But, Sam, take a tip from a Roughneck, + Go slow now and don't crowd your hand +Or some day you may find that the orphan + Has quit creeping and learned how to stand. +Don't make us the goat for the theories + Advanced by some government cog, +And don't use this land as a station + For trying things out on the dog. + +We gaze o'er the line of the Yukon + As we're watching our neighbors at play +And we wonder why Our Uncle Sammy + Don't treat his Alaskans that way. +We look at their broad graded highways + And then at our own half blazed trails +And, Sam, it comes damned nigh to envy + When we think of their thrice a week mails. + +They don't know the word conservation, + Their resources, all theirs to use, +And when they ask their Uncle to help them + Their Uncle don't often refuse. +Their Uncle has helped them develop, + Furnished work there for men who were broke, +And, Sam, when it comes to Coast Lights + They make ours look like a joke. + +But in spite of it all, Sam, we love you, + We love every thread in the Flag, +We love every stream in Alaska, + We love every cliff, every crag. +We're not like the Woman or Dog, Sam, + And we're not like the Walnut Tree +Cause we want to be loved in return, Sam, + And, Sam, you are blind, or you'd see. + + +_Old English Proverb_: + +"A Woman, a Dog, and a Walnut Tree +The more you beat them the better they'll be." + + + + + +WHEN THE WATER STARTS TO RUN + +Along in early spring time, as the sun starts swinging North +To linger with the land it loves, and violets peep forth, +When the water starts to running thru the riffle blocks at noon +And you figure that you'll clean up, about the first of June. +You've been thru a long hard winter, but you see the end in sight, +You don't worry 'bout the cleanup, cause you know the pay is right; +But you're feeling sort of restless, as your blood warms with the sun +And your heart will start to itching, when the water starts to run. + +You may leave your Camp at evening and mush away to Town +To dally with the hootch a bit, but the feeling will not down. +You may mix up in a poker game, or try the dance hall's lure +But you're fighting off a feeling, that the old cures cannot cure. +You've got that longing feeling that there's nothing satisfies, +And your pard can't interest you, no matter how he tries, +You're lonesome, moody, restless, out at Camp, or in the Town +Your mind will not rest easy, and your troubles will not drown. + +Then memory pulls her picket pins, your thoughts go back thru years +To Outside, Home, and Sweetheart, and this last thought sort of cheers; +You recollect the days you spent beneath a Southern sky +And with regret you now remember they all ended with good-by. +It's the same old world-wide feeling that comes to man each year, +But it seems to hit us harder, when we're getting in the "clear"; +It seems that it grows stronger, each year added to our life-- +It's the hankering of the white man for a Pal, a Home, a Wife. + +Man was not meant to live alone, why quarrel with Nature's laws, +God gave you strength to build a home, wherefor then do you pause? +Go forward like your father did, go forth and seek your mate, +For till you know a wife and home, you know not Heaven's Gate. +It's the deep inherent longing for a baby on your knee, +For the sound of children's voices, beneath your own fig tree. +The male instinct to have a mate, to love, to guard, to hold, +The one instinct that's left to us, that triumphs over gold. + +With strength enough to build a home when once you get a wife +Bear gently with her follies, but guard her with your life; +Crowd full her heart with loving, yet hold a guarded rein, +Lest ye two now that rate as one, again be counted twain. +And if she come from Outside Camp, remember all is new +And give her time to find herself, teach her to lean on you. +And should homesickness grip her, and you find your wife in tears +Forget the jest and love her, remember your first years. + +Then gone that restless feeling, gone all desire to roam, +Life's interest all is centered, deep in your Northern home. +Life waits in peace the cleanup, you pass up Outside joys, +And the tempter's voice is silenced by the music of her voice. +Then you're a true Alaskan, with a home won from the North, +God grant you children's voices when the violets peep forth, +And in the summer evening, beneath the midnight sun, +May your heart grow closer to her, when the water starts to run. + + + + + +THE THROWBACK + +He was born far east of the Rockies + Of a pet in society's van; +A wine-soaked daughter of pleasure + Bred back and threw a man; +A man-child who grew up a stranger, + Who never could learn the way +Of a people who gauge their pleasure + On a line with the price they pay. + +Just a shred of an education-- + A few years of college life, +A course in the card and wine room, + A year with a chorus-girl wife, +Then disgust with a life unnatural + Spurred on with the curse of the go, +He quitted that life forever + For the land of the gold and snow. + +The Lure of the Land had gripped him, + The Land where you die if you fail; +The Land of the fabled fortunes, + The Land of the endless trail. +The Land of the lonely silence, + The Land of the cruel cold, +The Land of the lost ambitions + Alaska, the Land of gold. + +There winters of long hungry hardships, + Summers of pest-ridden heat; +Dicing with death for a grub stake, + Risking his life for meat. +Tossing away his young manhood, + Giving the best of his youth +To the holes that he bedrocked on wildcats, + Where gold was scarcer than truth. + +Ten years spent in Alaska + Gray haired, with cheeks all atan, +Beaten, but still unconquered. + Flat broke, but still a man, +Digging and sinking and drifting, + Trying to locate the "pay," +With each hole a fresh disappointment-- + Yet hoping to strike it next day. + +Scorning the letters recalling, + Forgetting the friends he had known, +Turning his back on the Outside, + Facing the future alone. +A Cabin, a Squaw, and a Fishwheel, + A bend in the river's flow, +A band of half-naked breed kids-- + He stayed there, a sourdough. + + + + + +THE MALAMUTE + +When the stars from the skies have fallen + And the smoke of the world's cleared away; +When Saint Peter marks "30" in Life's Book + And we meet there on Judgment Day; +When our trials and troubles are ended + And we're wise to the best and the worst; +When the time has arrived that the wise ones + Have told us the last shall be first; + +When the men who've made good are rewarded + And the losers are turned loose in Hell; +That's the time that a lot will be learning + The true reason and cause that they fell. +And I wonder when Peter gets busy + As he works out the tenement plan, +And when Heaven's thrown free for location + Will he confine the locations to man? + +If he does, my claim's open for jumping + For I can't figure Heaven complete, +If the dim distant trails of the sky land + Are not pattered by malamutes' feet. +Cause I know it would never seem home-like + No matter how golden the strand, +If I lose out that pal-loving feeling + Of a malamute's nose in my hand. + +And it's that way with lots of Alaskans + These men of our own last frontier, +Who tear into nature unaided + And who scarce know the meaning of fear. +Who live on lone creeks all alone here + Where the living and dying are hard, +And where oft times their only companion + Is a malamute pup for a pard. + +He's a real chum with things coming easy, + He's a pal with things breaking tough, +He's a hell-roaring fighting companion + When somebody starts something rough. +He's a true friend in sorrow and sickness + And he doesn't mind hunger or cold, +And he's really the only one pardner + You can trust when you uncover gold. + +He's a guard you can trust at the sluice box, + And he'll watch by your cache thru the night, +And if some cheechako tries to molest it + That cheechako's in for a fight. +As a pardner he's silent, but cheerful + With never a kick 'bout the trails +And if it wasn't for him in the winter + There never would be any mails. + +He pulls on our sleds in the winter + He's first in the rushing stampede +He goes where a horse couldn't travel + And besides that he rustles his feed. +He takes a pack saddle in summer + And follows us off thru the hills +And when we go short on the grub pile + He shares up whatever he kills. + +'Twas a malamute first scaled the Chilkoot + At the time of the great Klondike charge; +'Twas a malamute first saw Lake Bennett + And left his footprints at La Barge; +They hauled the first mail into Dawson, + That Land of the Old Timer's dream, +And when Wada first drove in from Fairbanks + He was driving a malamute team. + +They broke the first trail into Bettles + With no guide save the lone Northern Star; +They freighted next year to Kantishna + And from there to the famed Chandelar. +They know the long trail to Innoko, + Tacotna and Iditarod too, +For there's never a Camp in the Northland + But what these same malamutes knew. + +They brought the first sport to the Nome Beach + Where they showed up in action and deed +That the North dog is game as they make them + And besides that has plenty of speed. +He came home with the bacon from Candle + Like a bat out of Hell, thru the snow, +And the plunger that cashed in his "out tab" + Was his pardner, the Old Sourdough. + +So it seems to me kind of unfair now + As we drift toward that permanent Camp +Where the angels are running a dance hall + And a millionaire grades with a tramp; +Where the trails are located on pay dirt + And a grub stake can never expire-- +Well, if they shut out my dog, they can keep it + And I'll "siwash" it, down by Hell's Fire. + +They herald the growth of the Northland + And progress is marked by their trail; +A railroad now goes where they brought out + The Seward-Iditarod mail. +He's first in the growth of Alaska + And without him this land would be lost, +For there's never a stream in this country + That the malamutes' trail has not crossed. + +But you can't tell me God would have Heaven + So a man couldn't mix with his friends; +That we're doomed to meet disappointment + When we come to the place the trail ends. +That would be a low-grade sort of Heaven + And I'd never regret a damned sin +If I mush up to the gates, white and pearly, + And they don't let my malamute in. + + + + + +UNSATISFIED + +Some sigh for the breath of the desert + Where the stifling heat waves blow; +Some pant for the trackless tundra + And the sting of the cold and snow; +Some long for the wash of a sultry sea + As it breaks on a tropic shore; +Some pine for the breeze of the northern seas + And the sound of the Arctic's roar. + +The things that men love be countless + But they're seldom the same with two, +For the things I care for most of all + Might never appeal to you. +Some men run to wine and woman, + Some long for a wife and a home, +And he drifts with the tide, unsatisfied, + Who leaves these things to roam. + +For he hates the sands of the desert + And the slimy tropic south, +Or his dreams of a northern fortune + Are as ashes in his mouth. +He loses the best life holds for man + His existence means discontent +Still he goes his way, until comes the day + When he quits it--a life misspent. + + +YET + +Some sigh for the breath of the desert + Where the stifling heat waves blow; +Some pant for the trackless tundra + And the sting of the cold and snow; +Some long for the wash of a sultry sea + As it breaks on a tropic shore; +Some pine for the breeze of the northern seas + And the sound of the Arctic's roar. + + + + + +THE PROSPECTOR + +Where the ragged, snow-capped saw tooth + Cuts the azure of the sky +And watches o'er the lonely land + As ages wander by; +Where the sentinel pines in grandeur + Murmur to the glacier stream +As it, ice-gorged, gluts the canyon, + Never brightened by the gleam +Of sun at brightest noon day, + Nor moon of Arctic night, +And whose only link with Heaven + Is the fitful Northern Light. +Where the Whistler shrills in triumph + And the Big Horn dreams in peace, +Where the Brown Bear skulks to cover + Up where silence holds the lease; +Where the land is as God left it + Nor has known the tread of man, +There's a treasure ledge a-waiting-- + Go and find it if you can. + +If your heart be steeled to triumph + Nor beats less at your defeat; +Can you watch your whole world melt away + And still smiling, fortune greet? +Will your heart and brain and sinew + Crowd you on, when hunger's pain +Gnaws your belly and you're beaten, + Can you lose, and fight again? +Can you raise the cup of fortune + To your lips and bravely quaff +The draught she has prepared for you + And win or lose and laugh? +Can you see the fruits of hardships + Centered on one desperate throw +And know Fate's dice are loaded + Nor curse to see them go? +Then take your burden up again + And stagger up the trail, +You're bound to make a winning + Cause you don't know how to fail. + +I, who've spent my youth in following + The lure of hidden gold +Must pass the buck to Nature + And admit I'm growing old. +And yet each spring I hear it calling + And it's music to my ears, +The call of lonely places + That I've listened to for years. +It's cost me all most men hold dear + Some forty years of life, +And all the joys that others get + In babies, home, and wife. +My life's been all to-morrows + And my family only dreams +And to the average plodder + I've missed it all it seems. +Still, I've never taken orders + And I've always liked the game, +And if life could be lived over, + Why,--I'd live it just the same. + + + + + +IF + +(_A Steal from Kipling_) + +If you can hit the trail in zero weather + And laugh at frozen hand, or foot or face; +If you can eat your dogs, and still keep moving + And beat the rest, and hold the stampede's pace; +If you can stake and dig alone, unaided + And hold your ground, if needs be with a gun +And find the gold and have some lawyer steal it, + And lose, and start again, and call it fun. + +If you can go a year on mouldy bacon + And fight the scurvy off with bayo beans; +If you can jump your socks and do your washing + And smile the while you patch your threadbare jeans; +If you can laugh when sordid hunger mocks you + And smile while passing strangers eat your grub; +If you can boost when everybody knocks you + And know him wrong who holds you but a dub. + +If you can still the pain when Outside calls you + And choke back thoughts of friends you still hold dear; +If you can still the dreams when night befalls you + And wake and strike while eyes and brain are clear; +If you can wait and stick it out a-smiling + When longing letters come to you from home, +And then don't find the taste of "hootch" beguiling + You'll like this Land, from Seward up to Nome. + +If you can bear the deadly strain of waiting + Till your turn comes, and fortune smiles on you; +If you can fight and lose and keep on fighting + And to your early promises stay true; +If you can go thru Hell to spend the summer + And cuss, and freeze, and starve the winter thru +And start in broke again another New Year + You don't need this Land to make a man of you. + +If you can beat the Row, the Game, the Dance-hall + And all men's pleasures, that you know are sin; +If you can live alone, and not get lonesome + Nor heed the "lady" when she says "come in": +If you can pick a winner from the "wild cats" + And hold and hope when everything looks blue; +If you can give up everything you've ever cared for + Then ALASKA IS THE ONLY PLACE FOR YOU. + + + + + +US FOR SAM + +While all Europe is a shambles + And the whole world is at war, +And half the land the sun shines on + Is drenched in human gore; +When every Nation counts the men + It knows are tried and true +We send this message to you, Sam, + "Alaska stands with you." +You never treated us quite right-- + You grabbed away our coal, +You reserved all our fire wood + And what we've used, we've stole. +You soaked us on our cable tolls + But we don't give a damn +Even at twenty-eight cents per word + WE'RE WITH YOU, UNCLE SAM. + +You've squandered untold millions + On the filthy Philippines, +But you always made Alaskans + Go and rustle for their beans. +And your black and tan possessions + Tho they've cost you quite a few +Can never be depended on, + While we'd go thru Hell for you. +We're quite unused to luxuries + And we've always played alone, +When we asked for help to build our trails + You handed us a stone. +You've four-flushed on the railroads + But we don't care a damn, +If they monkey with the Eagle + WE'RE WITH YOU, UNCLE SAM. + +You gave us lief to make some laws + Then tied our hands behind; +That gift to us was just the same + As pictures to the blind. +Your laws all have a "joker," + Made to catch some Sourdough, +And it's hard to beat the game, Sam, + The way it's framed up down below. +We've always been the dumping ground + For your political misfits, +But Sam, if you're in trouble + We're willing to call it "quits." +We've never had an even break, + But we don't care a damn; +If the Lion growls, remember this, + WE'RE WITH YOU, UNCLE SAM. + +We're used to meeting troubles + And if you put us to the test +You'll find Alaska loves you, Sam, + Far better than the rest. +But Sam, when this is over, + As morning follows night, +Pray give us your attention + And set some matters right. +We need some decent cable rates, + We need some decent mails, +We need some decent coast lights + And we need some decent trails. +You've given these to all the rest + But we don't care a damn; +If it's full grown men you're needing + WE'RE WITH YOU, UNCLE SAM. + + + + + +HOW LONG? + +As long as lure o' placer gold + Brings North the best ye breed, +As long as tales of camps and trails + Are planted with your seed, +As long as red blood courses thru + And warms adventure's sons, +They'll sally forth, bound for the North, + Misfortune's chosen ones. + +As long as snow slides claim their toll + And glaciers split and rend, +And sweepers turn the flimsy craft + And trails come to an end; +As long as flashing Northern Lights + Flame in the Arctic sky, +Your boldest ones, your bravest sons + Come North to win or die. + +As long as lust of wealth obtains + And gold will buy all things, +And bank accounts but mark the line + 'Twixt shovel stiffs and kings; +As long as fancy rides free reined + And distant fields seem fair, +They'll seek the ship and make the trip + To the land of Do and Dare. + +As long as birds mate in the spring + And moose run in the fall, +And widows win the college youth + And hold his heart in thrall; +As long as chance for fortune's smile + Can be centered in one throw, +This is the truth, the Nation's youth + Will hear the call and go. + +As long as water runs down hill + And smoke goes up from fire; +As long as pleasure precedes pain + And women love for hire; +As long as Klondike widows + Trail thru Outside Cafes +Some one must stick on the lonesome creek + For there's ever the "him" that pays. + +As long as "huskies" curse the moon + And creeks remain unnamed; +As long as quicksands mask the bar + And there's placer ground unclaimed; +As long as "pay" is found and staked + By some deep-sea-going Swede, +That gypsy trace that marks our race + Will out, then we stampede. + + + + + +THAT 30 U.S. ON THE WALL + +A man that's spent years knocking round "out in front" + Has most usually had lots of pals-- +He's mixed up with pardners at various times + And he's had his affairs with the gals. +Now, a pardner's peculiar in lots of his ways + And he'll ditch you for various reasons, +And a gal never knows straight up from twice + And her mind seems to change with the seasons. + +I've been in on good ground with pardners I've staked + And I thought they were square, till I found +They were trying to cross me, the miserable pups, + And whipsaw me out of my ground. +I've had a few pards that would stand the hard grind + And they'd stick through hard luck night and day; +They were all you could ask while you rustled for grub, + But they blew up when you uncovered the "pay." + +Way back in the "eighties" when I'm just a kid, + I crossed up with a breed gal I'd met +One winter at Circle; she cleaned me that year + And skipped out with all she could get. +I've fallen for females in half of the camps + That's spread over this country up here, +But "square guys" or "pretzels" I couldn't get by + And none of them stuck for a year. + +I got kind of discouraged and quit the she sex + And figgered I'd just herd with males, +But it don't make no difference, I guess that I'm wrong, + 'Cause there's always the parting of trails. +I've had lots of dogs, but a dog always dies, + Or else the poor devil gets killed. +When you like 'em and lose 'em, their loss leaves a hole + That seems for a time can't be filled. + +So pardners and females and dogs is taboo + And I know, 'cause I've fussed with 'em all. +There's only one pal that I know is true blue + And it's that Thirty U.S. on the wall. +She's stood by my shoulder and stopped a brown bear + And she keeps the cache full in the Fall; +She's got the one talk that a claim jumper knows + And she craves no attention at all. + +I'm getting old now, and some sot in my ways, + And I don't loosen up like I did. +I'm slower to make friends and slower to trust + Than I used to be when I'm a kid. +So it's good-by to females and good-by to dogs, + And good-by to pardners and all, +For the only one pal that I find I can trust + Is that Thirty U.S. on the wall. + + + + + +FLOTSAM + +The China Coast's a dumping ground + And the South Sea gets its share +Of the kind of men that don't make good +The kind of man that never could + The men that never care. + +A worthless, careless drinking lot + Combed out from between the Poles. +It's gin, and cards, a woman's breath, +Laughter and love and sudden death + And the Devil gets their souls. + +It's a throwback to a weaker strain + That's washed by the Tropic tide. +And a mixture of Dago and Japanese +Latin and Jew and Portugese + Crops out thru a sun-tanned hide. + +But the Northland gets a sterner breed + To fuse in its harder mould. +It's the breed of men that don't know fail; +That's the breed of men that hit the trail + For the fabled land of gold. + +They're a sturdy, fearless, fighting lot + And they play the game to win. +They fall for women, wine, the game +And win or lose, they smile the same + And to quit is their only sin. + +Here the Norsman bunks with the canny Scot + And the lad from the Emerald Isle +Works side by side with Russ and Dane, +North-bred men of brawn and brain, + Men that are worth your while. + +So me for the land of the Midnight Sun + With the north lights in the sky, +Me for the land that mothers this race +Where you have to fight to hold your place, + Where you can't quit till you die. + + + + + +TRYING + +The dream of the white man ever goes out + To the fight that can never be won, +And ever he plans to do the things + That they say can never be done. +It's seldom he values the things that are + What he craves he may never gain, +Yet ever he tries, till the day he dies + And then feels he has lived in vain. + +He climbs to the top of the highest hills + To search out the vales afar; +He bedrocks a hole on the deepest creeks + He hitches his cart to a star. +He's ever the first in the far stampede + As he chases the rainbow's blend, +But it's not the need, and it's not the greed, + It's the wanting to win in the end. + +And whether he strives in the lofty range + Or tries in the crowded mart, +The longing to do what has never been done + Is uppermost in his heart. +He tries to build where none other has built, + Win the maid that none other has won, +To find the gold that he never can hold, + To finish what cannot be done. + +He lives his life in a trying way + And he scorns the things that are tame, +If all seems lost, he still fights on, + For ever he plays the game. +And the efforts he makes as he strives to win + Are a credit to him and his breed, +And the gods will count and give full amount + And accept the act for the deed. + + +FOR + +The dream of the white man ever goes out + To the fight that can never be won, +And ever he plans to do the things + That they say can never be done. + +It's seldom he values the things that are, + What he craves he never may gain, +But ever he tries, till the day he dies + And then feels he has lived in vain. + + + + + +THE NEW MASTER + +As one who lays aside a task, where one has ruled alone, +I lay aside the crown of hell, and give to you my throne; +As one who feels his race is run, whose day is of the past, +I recognize your genius, and abdicate at last. +I go and leave you master, and I feel it's just as well, +For Hades lacks its master, until you rule in hell. +The world wags on and changes, old methods now seem weak, +And the changes of a thousand years, of these I fain would speak. + +I've raised and sponsored many names, that darken history's page, +I've made them rulers of the world in many a by-gone age. +They all have shown a human turn, from Nero down to you, +But now my life-long dream of a super fiend at last seems coming true. +I've watched you since the faintest spark blazed in your mother's womb, +I've watched your hypocritic grief, beside your father's tomb; +I know the tainted blood that flows thru your each and every vein +That shows up in your withered arm, and feeds your fevered brain. + +I saw it in your grandsire, where first it cropped out plain +When German gold was squandered to slay the honest Dane. +I fed you dreams of empire, and dreams of lust and greed +And the age old lust of conquest that taints all of your breed. +The strain that showed in Nero, cropped out alike in you, +You killed your gentle mother, but not as Nero slew. +I gave you hate of Albion, for all the world will tell +That could I kill that Anglo strain, I'd use the earth for hell. + +I loathe the Anglo-Saxon race, I hate their English speech, +For where the Union Jack waves high, the Cross will ever reach. +Their ignorant millions till the soil, for they protect their own, +I hate it for I've never had this ensign for mine own. +I taught you how to use God's church, I built the path you trod, +I filled your mouth until you claimed, a pardnership with God. +I told you tales to tell to men, I coached you every hour +Until an egomaniac ran wild, mad with a lust for power. + +I made an army for you then, the peer of all war lords, +I smiled the night you went away to visit Norway fiords. +I knew your Bagdad railway schemes, I knew the Austrian claims, +I knew that German gold would guide the mad assassin's aims. +I knew the schemes that you had planned, the one that nothing curbs, +I envied your diplomacy that blamed it on the Serbs. +My brain ne'er hatched a finer scheme, your armies marking time +And then the rape of Belgium, your premier man-sized crime. + +And if one deals in hellish schemes, that one must stamp your worth, +You made a shambles of that land, you moved hell up on earth. +The cries of mangled maidens, the mutilated child, +The tears of butchered mothers, would drive an earth man wild, +And thru it all proclaiming, you were the tool of God-- +O pardner in this orgy, no one suspected fraud. +You butchered, maimed and pillaged, hell never saw such sights +As the Prussian Guard remembers, on those first Belgian nights. + +O shades of maddened Nero and his early Christian fires, +Could he have been in Belgium and have seen your funeral pyres! +Could he have seen your orgies he would have wept for shame +But had he your fiendish cunning, he might have done the same. +But the hated Saxon balked you and the desperate fighting Frank +Hurled back our super devils and took us on the flank. +Your inbred tainted offspring lost his chances at Verdun +Where curtained steel just saved the world from the grip of brutal Hun. + +But Wilhelm, you are crafty, you are mine own I ween +Your fertile brain had brought to life the hell-born submarine, +You killed the unarmed merchantmen, you murdered in the dark, +You sent the child and mother to feed your friend the shark. +The world grew sick with wonder, no voice was raised to laud +And still you did it in your name, the name of you and God. +Where you have trod the world is dead, no sign of life or mirth, +You beat me, Bill, you beat my hell, with this of yours on earth. + +You won hell's admiration and of all of mine own folk +When you paired off with the ghastly Turk, that was a master stroke. +And all the things you did before, just now seem weak and tame +Since you launched that Dardanelles campaign of pillage, lust and shame. +To fuss thus with my chosen race, my ally since time dates +Proclaimed that Kultur and the Turk are well matched running mates. +And tho I've watched hell's orgies, and stood by in fiendish glee, +I quit you, Bill, these Turkish stunts are far too much for me. + +When officers from Kultur's class stand by and watch a Turk +Just disembowel a mother, why, Bill, it makes me shirk. +It makes me shudder and I've watched the master fiends of hell, +But none of them have brains like you, none do their work so well. +When Turk and German flood with oil, then set a school ablaze +And bayonet the babies, as they stumble thru the haze, +I yield the crown to you, Dear Bill, my pupil passes me +You take the role of Master and your pupil I will be. + +I've worked for hell's best interests, my master now appears +For when your name is mentioned, the imps break into cheers. +The gavel of the poor damned souls, that long has rung their knell, +Is passed to you, I abdicate and now you rule in hell. +For years I've done the best I could, now I realize I'm thru, +And in the future I'm content to live and learn from you. +Your earthly work is finished, soon in hell you'll carve your name +And I shudder when I realize that hell won't be the same. + + + + + +PROSPECTING + +Looking for placer pangar, + Loafing about in the hills, +Getting your grub with a rifle, + Taking your drink from rills. +Getting your bed from the spruce tree, + Taking your course by your dreams, +Just camping alone in the mountains, + Siwashing along the streams. + +Locating the hind sight on Nature, + Traveling alone and far, +Thinking with no one to guide you, + Digesting the things that are. +Back trailing the life that's past you, + Peeping at what's in store, +Pondering over life's mistakes, + Wondering, how many more. + +Dreaming alone of childhood days, + Regretting some things that are past, +Recalling lost opportunities, + And chances too good to last. +Living your whole life over, + Recalling the daily grind, +Thanking your God that it's over, + Glad that you've left it behind. + +But still regretting your errors, + Sad for some things you have done, +Wishing that you had coppered some plays + As you count them one by one. +Now living a life, clean, decent, + For man never sins alone, +Getting a grip on your ego, + Coming at last to your own. + +You dream and you hunt all summer + Till you notice a chill in the air, +Then you think of your warm snug cabin + And you feel that you'd rather be there. +Then you head over unblazed passes + Till at last you herd with your own, +And though you located no pangar + You are better for being alone. + + + + + +THE WOMAN THAT YOU PASS BY + +My trade was old when the world was new, + Ere the pyramids rose by the Nile +Men quitted their wives, and gave me their goods + For the warmth of my kiss, and my smile. +For never was wife who could hold her man + By the honeymoon's afterglow +Did I veil mine eyes and beckon to him, + God's truth, and 'tis you who know. + +My trade was old when the world was new, + Long ere Caesar ruled in Rome, +To spend their gold in a harlot's cell + Patricians quitted home. +And high born dames since the world began + Have learned to sit and to sigh +And to patiently wait for their lords to leave + The woman that you pass by. + +I'm only a pawn in the game called life, + Yet I take what you never could hold; +I garner the kisses you'd barter life for + And with them, I gather your gold. +I garner the best of your manhood's prime + Then quit them when shattered in health; +I bring to heel the ones that you love + And smiling I shear them of wealth. + +To garner the wealth that you hold in store + I must keep me surpassing fair, +For the life that I lead is an open book + And the game that I deal is square. +Stop--think of the maids and wives you know + As you drift thru life's subtle game-- +How many are dealing as straight as I? + How many can say the same? + +You give your all, and you slave your life + In a struggle to hold one man; +You think you're paid if he call you wife + And be true to you for a span. +You keep his house and you bear his child + And you walk with your head held high +But most of his love, and his kisses go + To the woman that you pass by. + +The favors you give, I sell for gold, + And men prize what costs them high; +You never will learn that love goes out + With the tear in a woman's eye; +That the patient drudge who sits at home + And learns to save and to mend +Can never hold the light of love + But is doomed to lose in the end. + +So I follow the old dishonored trade, + Bedecked in garments fine, +And the cream of the earth is saved for me + In raiment and food and wine. +And life to me is a merry game + Tho, sometimes, I weep and sigh, +For deep down in your heart, do you envy me + The woman that you pass by? + + + + + +WHY + +Why is it Alaskans all come back + When they've quit this land for good? +Why is it that no man stays away + When he's sworn to his friends he would? +Where lies the grip this country hath + All tangled around the heart +That takes a grip that can never slip + And can never be torn apart? + +Is it the lure of the summer sunshine + That goes to the head like wine? +Is it the lure of the far flung meadows + Of the shadowy scented pine? +Is it the lure of going where none have gone + Of just being alone in the wild? +Is it the lure of the ancient glaciers + That were old when Christ was a child? + +They come here wild, athirst for gold + They would win and run away, +They lose the stake they brought along + And then they have to stay. +Here each one follows his own bent, + The mines, the hills, the mart, +Work's but a name, the end's the same, + The country steals your heart. + +There's a lure to the land of the poppy, + There's a lure to the land of your birth, +You swear you abhor it, and yet you'll long for it + As no other land on this earth. +There's the lure of the snow mantled vastness, + There's the lure of each valley and hill, +Of friends that you've met, that you'll never forget + And you'll want to come back, and you will. + + + + + +AND STILL I LIKE ALASKA + +I've tramped across her endless miles of tundra, +I've rafted all her rapid flowing streams, + She's kept me on the hummer, + I've fought mosquits in summer +And "siwashed" neath Aurora's wintry beams, + And still, I like Alaska. + +I went a winter once on pay streak bacon, +I've gone a year on nothing much but beans, + I've squandered all my time checks, + The kind they give us roughnecks, +And haven't got a dollar in my jeans, + And still, I like Alaska. + +I got a stake one time and wandered Outside, +And I'm telling you I surely put on "dog," + But they got in between me and my poke + They sure did clean me +And I hit for Dixon's Entrance, on the "hog," + And still, I like Alaska. + +I don't suppose a man will live to beat it, +Some day we'll quit this land of ice and snow, + And when the Devil gits us, + And finds a place that fits us, +And we're working on the sulphur beds below, + I know I'll like Alaska. + + + +***END OF 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