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Show 73 The ice held through May, melting during the daytime, freezing again at night. The Mounties called it "anchor ice," and warned everyone against it. Still, one stampeder went out. He said no Englishman in a fancy red jacket could tell him to keep off the ice. He was quite a distance out before the Mounties noticed him. They yelled at him to come back. We all yelled. But he just kept walking, daring the ice. Suddenly he screamed, and reached desperately toward shore. Then he disappeared through the ice. There was nothing anyone could do, not even the Mounties, I went back to my tent, trying to forget what I had seen. But even to this day, the image has never left my mind. After that, the men were not quite so impatient. They sat in their makeshift boats, four- and five-deep around the lake- floating coffins, the Mounties called them-and waited. And cussed. At last, on May 29 the ice broke, and before it had completely moved out, the boats moved in. It was a wild parade: scows crashing into the floating ice, skiffs dodging each other, canoes overturning, and rafts sinking as soon as they left shore. Tip jumped aboard our raft, swinging the oars and shouting immodest language at all colliding crafts. I stood shoreside in rubber boots, talking to the raft as if she were a race horse. |
