CONTENTS

October Daybreak on Boundary Bay The Last Arete The Great Divide Above the Clouds Winter Sunset in the Cascade Range Beside the Ocstall Jansen's Curse The Survey Cook A Raid on the Seal Rookeries The Coast of British Columbia Vancouver Victoria, B. C.

Paolo's Virginia (A Spring Phantasy)

Author's Introduction

To you who have lifted the veil of mists o'er-blown And gazed in the eyes of dawn when night had flown— Have felt in your hearts a thrill of sheer delight As you scanned the scene below from some alpine height— I extend this fleeting glimpse across a world Of forest and meadow land—at last unfurled— Through vistas of soaring peaks with frosted crest In the fiorded wonderland of this—last—west.

October Daybreak on Boundary Bay

A skyline bold and clear Of cold sharp corniced snow, Where, bulking huge, the mass of Baker's cone Shadows the world below.

'Tis bright with promise now! That flood and field Still shrouded in the mystery of night, Will shortly be revealed.

The wildfowl on the bay Call to the distant flight Of ducks, that swoop from out the realms of space, Seeking a place to light.

Sounds through the waking hours The beating of countless wings, Faint voices floating through the upper air In softest whisperings.

A blush of coming day Flooding the eastern sky, Fresh rosy Dawn climbing the rampart hills, Forces the night to fly:

Then from his lair the sun Leaps forth. The fading gleam Of silver moon and silent stars is quenched. Day reigns once more supreme.

The Last Arete

Alpinist— Excelsior, there's nought we may not dare! Why, now, confess defeat, when plain in sight Looms the stern peak—to which we've toiled and fought Up many a mountain gorge and soaring height? It were a shame if we should now go back And, leaving all we've won, retrace our track.

Undaunted by the circling mists we camped, Laid siege; while hail and snow went storming by, Assaulted through the brilliant mists; that wrapped A veil, impenetrable to the eye, Around the wastes of ice, the snowfields bare And craggy peaks that pierce the upper air.

We scorned to own defeat, when lost to sight, 'Mid cloud and snowstorm, was that summit cold; But started out the morn e're yet the sun The highest cornices had edged with gold. See now! the noonday glare reveals our fate Above a rampart white and sharp arete.

Guide— Crevasses open-mouthed have reft the face Of brightly gleaming ice, that upward led. Their clear green depths a gap impassable present Across the glacier slope ahead; Save on yon steep and scintillating slope Which promises success to axe and rope.

Alpinist— Roped man to man we'll scale the giddy height: Step after step cut up those slopes of snow That, gleaming spotless in the noonday light, Curve out of sight above and far below. What rumbled? (G.) From yon distant cliff was hurled An avalanche which shakes this snowy world.

Guide— The rocks I've gained through chimneys rough and steep That crumble at a careless touch, and send A rattling train of rubble bounding down The icy slopes, which great crevasses rend. Re-entrant over here the mountain dips Into a gulf, which eddying mists eclipse.

Perched on this tottering and steep arete, One hardly dares to even whisper low; Lest, crashing from their crumbling pedestals, The rotten crags through empty space will go Two thousand feet down, where the hard neve Is packed by ice that avalanched that way.

I'll anchor fast, and hold the rope, that you By hand and foot and alpenstock may scale. A traverse of the skyline rocks we'll make And yon last gleaming slope of snow assail. It leads up to a virgin mountain's head, On which our feet will be the first to tread.

* * * *

The highest of a glacier covered range, Its proud and lofty crest at length hath bowed Before the bold attack of alpinists Undaunted by the steeps or storm or cloud; and all the dangers than in grim array The spirit of the mountain brought to play.

[*]The Great Divide

What strange emotions fill my breast! What flitting shadows of unrest Sweep o'er me as I stand beside The Rocky Mountains' "Great Divide."

That rustic arch, with letters bold Against the summit snowfields cold, Has power to wing my fancy far To this split streamlet's furthest bar.

The icy flood is cleft in twain, Its waters never meet again; Far east and to the furthest west Those wavelets hurry without rest.

The mind can hardly grasp such vast Extent of territory passed E're these two streams shall reach the sea, At different oceans to be free.

Through valleys wide and fertile plain, Where yellow fields of waving grain Are garnered for the wide world's store, One stream flows to a distant shore.

May be that harnessed it will drive The wheels which in some human hive Of industry are waiting for The power that it holds in store

To saw the timber, thresh the grain And even haul the loaded train By energy electrical As though some wizard wove a spell.

Such small beginnings mark this stream, It almost seems to be a dream That carries me in mind away Along its course to Hudson's Bay.

Far down the other branch we roam By smiling lakes, and watch the foam Of rapid streams that flow between Fair orchard lands and meadows green.

The silv'ry salmon leaps the falls; And everywhere insistent calls Arise from forest, stream and hill, To charm the sense or test the skill.

Oft times by restlessness oppressed, I long to see that lonely crest; And once again to dream beside The arch, that's lettered "Great Divide."

[*]A watershed of the Rockies—a stream passing beneath an arch on the summit is divided, one part being directed eastward and the other westward.

Above the Clouds

On the shores of a sea of mist I chanced to roam, Where sunlit the surface gleamed Whiter than foam.

But the voice of the restless main Was absent there, For the billows that rolled along Were waves of air;

And the isles of that silent sea Were mountain peaks That, far from the haunts of man, The wild goat seeks.

O, that day above the clouds Was bright and fair! With pines and the sparkling snow Unsullied there;

But, a thousand fathoms down A city street Was shrouded in sunless gloom Where shadows meet;

It knew not the fairer day And matchless view; That snowfields gleamed above And skies were blue:

That the clouds which gloomed below Were seas of light From another point of view At greater height.

Winter Sunset in the Cascade Range

Picture a world of snowfields Aglow in the sunset light, Great fir trees snow-flake laden And broken clouds piled white; While bathed in a silver sheen The pines on a crest are seen.

Would I could frame the language Worthy those sunset tints, Hued from saffron to coral, Aflame where the sunlight glints; And the clear steel blue of the sky Where the clouds had drifted by.

The daylight slowly faded. Weakly mere words convey The ivory white of snowflakes, Decking the hills that day; And the softening yellow tone That fell from the sun god's throne.

Far beyond wooded ridges Lit with a twilight ray, Sentinel like in the cloudland A nameless peak held sway; Keeping a silent guard O'er valleys by cloud wreaths barred.

'Twas crowned with flaming colours Of sunset's fleeting hour; Giving its best expression To nature's lavish dower E're the ebbing tide of day Should fade from the world away.

Then light melted softly to shadow And the blue of the sky turned grey, While a veil of deepening twilight Warned us to haste away, For the winter nights are bleak In the wilds by that lonely peak.

[*]Beside the Ocstall

I mused one day beside the Ocstall River Where trailing mists went drifting softly by; And waterfalls in thunderous voices calling, Their vaporous breath raised to a burdened sky.

What mystic spell? what strange compelling passion Did hold the sons of Britain toiling there? What charm was there in that great lonely region Enticing them from distant lands, more fair?

Fantastic cloud wreaths draped a sea of mountains: Forest and muskeg in the vales held sway; To win a fortune from those wild surroundings Men came, then could not from them break away.

They tried the lands where everlasting sunshine Caressed lush fruits and kissed the waves at play; But no place gripped them like this western outpost Where men with large ambitions hewed their way.

It was the challenge to the daring spirit Of vast resources in their native state. It was the lure of gold, romance of action, The chances of success where stakes were great.

[*]Ocstall River—a tributary of the Skeena near its mouth.

Jansen's Curse

'Twas out upon a gold stampede, And Jan had always planned to lead. The man who has the greatest might, He surely must be in the right, Was part of Jansen's creed; For very skookum[1] was this man, Built on a most ambitious plan; But with a domineering trait, Would have his own, no other way; And often had been heard to say: "I'll be no 'also ran.'" The river trip he hoped to make With an old-timer nicknamed Jake, Who'd hired a canoe; And with a bunch of sourdoughs[2] Intended, e're the river rose In flood, to push on through. This man soon got himself disliked As up the rapid stream they piked And oft by rapids lined. His overbearing ways were met With keen expressions of regret He'd not been left behind. At length the crew a village saw Of Indians who had a store In goods where Jan did trade. The others knew their chance at last They could not get away too fast When off ashore he'd strayed. They threw his pack out on the bank, Their late companion's health they drank With hopes they'd never meet; But Jan, their move when he realized, Came hurrying greatly surprised,

And flushed with angry heat. Some most profane remarks he made And said that he was not afraid To thrash the blooming crew, Their ancestors were not forgot, He hoped old Nick would make it hot For any that he knew. One parting curse did Jan call down, He hoped they all would surely drown Before they reached their goal; The waters be their winding sheet, That Hell would raise a double heat To welcome every soul. Then taking up his pack he set His face towards the trail that yet Along the river ran. But soon the blazes were no more, His path was barred by creeks, a score, Which now no bridges span. He felled the towering cottonwood, That graceful by the river stood, To bridge each torrent wide. But longest spans were swept away, By the wild waters in their play At the last creek he tried. So plunging in the torrent wild Which swept him helpless as a child, He braved its swollen tide. While raced along a branch he caught, That, waving from the shore long sought, Was like an arm outstretched. He pulled himself hand over hand Until his feet could feel the sand By eddying currents fetched.

His pack was soaked with water through, There was no trail ahead he knew, But still kept on his way; And with determination strong Struggled the beach and cliffs along While held the light each day. At length he reached the little creek, The which he had set out to seek, And found some partners there. They had begun to pan the sand Which proved to be a golden strand At last to them laid bare. One day in camp the word went round That Jake and all his crew had drowned Between the canyon walls. Their staunch canoe was seen upturned Where white the boiling rapids churned Below the waterfalls.

* * * *

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

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

[2]Sourdough—a seasoned prospector.

The Survey Cook

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A Raid on the Seal Rookeries

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * * *

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

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

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

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

The Coast of British Columbia

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

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

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

Vancouver

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

Vancouver, Vancouver, In summer time all the day long To sea we will roam, for afloat we're at home So we sway on our halyards with song.

Vancouver, Vancouver, The open gateway of the West. Her harbour's the port where vessels resort Of pleasure or profit in quest.

Vancouver, Vancouver, Her mountains a wonderland hold, Where the Lions on guard, carved in rock grey and hard, Have stood sentry for ages untold.

Vancouver, Vancouver, Of seamen intrepid we'll sing: Vancouver and Cook, great explorers, who took Possession in name of their king.

Victoria, B.C.

Bud of England grafted On a western tree, Favoured by the breezes Of a temperate sea.

Roses in the gardens Greet thy Christmastide, Broom upon the headlands Gilds the ocean side.

In thy dreamy moments Thou didst plan to be Queen upon the islands By the western sea.

Paolo's Virginia

A SPRING PHANTASY

Cast

Kelpies Frosties Fairies Paolo Virginia Cupid

SCENE I.

SEASHORE AT THE MOUTH OF A CREEK

Paolo— Heart free, care free and free to roam am I Wherever fancy leads beneath the sky. I'll rest awhile and watch the kelpies play, They will be sporting on the sands to-day. Perhaps they'll tell me what my heart desires To know, and Cupid's dart inspires.

[Kelpies come up from the sea and sing in chorus:]

Join with us, dance with us, prance with us Over the sea. Roam with us, flee with us, be with us Where we may be

Sing with us, walk with us, talk with us Carelessly gay. Come with us, play with us, stray with us Where we may stray.

Paolo— Pray, kelpies, tell me what you find of joy, In what of work or play your hours employ.

Kelpies' Chorus— You can sing of the lakes and mountains And the freedom of open plains; But for spaces wide and untrammelled The ocean alone remains.

In the cradle of ocean surges We rock to heart's content. We've played on countless beaches And roam the sea's extent.

1st Kelpie— The sights that we view on our travels Are marvels that fill with delight; But chief is the phosphorescence Of the foaming seas, at night.

Paolo— I wish you would tell of those flashes That are such a wonderful sight.

Phosphorescence

1st Kelpie— Sparkling and darkling, dust of the milky way, Shifting and drifting, firefly legions at play; Fading and glowing, lights of a starry maze, Coming and going, drift of a luminous haze.

Tangling and spangling the waves with a wealth of light, Spraying and straying silently through the night; Dusting and flashing a light in our yeasty wake, Glowing and splashing wherever the waves we break.

Lacing and tracing the path of the evening breeze, Blazing and raising a light on the breaking seas; Ebbing and flowing, an ocean of liquid light, Finding and showing the reefs in the blackest night.

Paolo— There's much in what you say appeals to me; What else may you have learned along the margin of the sea?

1st Kelpie— There is a cove, secret from passing eyes, Beautiful as a dream of Paradise; Where, sheltered from the stormy waves that stray Unfettered down the sea's wide open way, The seaman oftentimes doth moor his barque In shaded bays, peaceful by day or dark. For there the salty tide finds calm repose, Sheltered from every boisterous wind that blows; And ripples, like faint shadows on a glass, Play lightly where the fitful breezes pass. Elsewhere the mirrored shores inverted stand, Trees foot to foot, hand clasping hand; And all the flitting clouds their faces see, Till sea and sky seem one in harmony. In that well guarded spot few sounds intrude To mar the quiet of its solitude. The beat of surges at the entrance seems A distant murmur from the land of dreams; While crickets chirruping and song birds gay, From valley and from hillside sound their lay.

Four miles of coastline do those arms surround Of cliff and delta, wood and open ground; Where stately fir and cedar trees are seen In contrast with the lighter shades of green; While on the rocks thick moss and lichen grow, And rough arbutus shrubs their shadows throw.