Gulf and Glacier; or, The Percivals in Alaska. Willis Boyd Allen
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Gulf and Glacier; or, The Percivals in Alaska
CHAPTER I.
NORTHERN BOUND
“All aboard!”
It was a bright July morning, and its gladness was reflected in the faces of the throng that hurried to and fro, like an army of particularly busy ants, in the Boston and Lowell Depot.
Way trains puffed in and out, discharging their loads of out-of-town people, who poured through the doorway in an almost continuous stream, carrying baskets of lunch, bunches of pond lilies and the small parcels that tell of every-day trips to the city.
On the opposite side of the station stood a Canadian Pacific train. The massive trucks and heavy English build of the tawny cars distinguished them from the stock required for local traffic. This was the train which was to take a hundred or more passengers, without change, across the broad American Continent. From the windows of those very cars, the travelers were to look out upon the rolling Western prairies, the ravines and snowy summits of the Rocky Mountains, and at last, the blue waters of the Pacific. No wonder the people on this side of the station, those departing, as well as those to be left behind, wore a more serious and anxious look upon their faces than the light-hearted suburbans who chatted gaily on their brief daily trip of a dozen miles.
How curiously the hundred tourists looked into one another’s eyes? “Will he prove a delightful companion, I wonder?” they said to themselves. “Is she to be a life-long friend, dating from this moment when our paths meet for the first time?”
“All aboard!” shouts the conductor again.
It has been well said that a railway station is a fit emblem of human life, with its brief merriment and grief, its greetings and good-bys, its clamor of coming and going.
Be this as it may, it is probable that of the half a thousand people in the Lowell Depot that morning, but few abandoned themselves to moral reflections. Certainly Tom Percival was not occupied with philosophical meditation, as he stood on the lowest step of the car “Kamloops,” looking out eagerly over the crowd that surged to and fro on the platform beside the train.
“Halloo, Ran!” he shouted suddenly, waving his hat and beckoning to a young man of about his own age, who was making his way toward the car, valise in hand.
“All right, Tom,” responded the other. “Come along, Fred,” he added to a companion at his side. “Here’s the ‘old cabin home’ for the next week or so, I suppose.”
The three young fellows – or boys, as it is easier to call them, once for all – shook hands all round, and then, standing on the car platform, turned to the crowd again as the train started and slowly moved out of the station.
“Good-by! good-by!”
“Be sure to write!”
“Bring me a totem pole from Alaska!”
“Hurrah! hurrah!”
And amid a medley of shouts and frantic wavings of handkerchiefs the long train rumbled away, northward bound.
Randolph Burton made his way into the car, followed by his cousin Tom and their chum Fred Seacomb. Randolph had just passed his Sophomore examination successfully at Harvard, while Tom was rejoicing over his admission to the Freshman class, with only one condition. Fred was a pupil in a scientific school at Philadelphia. He was as dignified and scrupulously neat as ever, and his eyeglasses twinkled as of old.
“Where are the girls?” inquired Randolph, turning to Tom.
The car was filled with passengers, all talking at once, and besieging the porter with questions.
“In our ‘drawing-room,’ at the other end of the car,” replied Tom. “You know father and mother have a jolly little room all to themselves, but we shall use it as headquarters, the whole way to Vancouver.”
“Thomas alludes to Vancouver as if it were East Somerville or Braintree,” remarked Fred, eying that young man calmly. “How many times did you say you had crossed the Continent?”
“Don’t you concern yourself about me,” rejoined Tom. “If you’d ground up on this trip as I have, perhaps you’d feel on familiar terms with Assiniboia and Saskatchewan and” —
“Oh! here he comes, talking Indian as usual,” interrupted a merry voice. “Randolph and Fred are with him.”
“Glad to see you, Miss Sibley!” said Fred, with his most elegant bow.
“Oh! please,” laughed the sunny-haired girl, “I’m going to be just ‘Pet’ on this trip, any way. I sha’n’t be seventeen till November, you know.”
The boys seemed relieved at this declaration, and, perching on the arms of the car seats, entered into lively conversation with Pet, as well as Tom’s sisters, Kittie and Bess.
The whole party, it may now be explained, had started on a journey to Alaska. The young people had worked hard at their studies during the winter, and Mr. Percival, being a man of ample means, as well as of good sense and thoroughly kind heart, had included in his invitation Pet Sibley and Fred Seacomb, both of whom are familiar to the readers of the earlier volumes of this series.
They had been undecided where to go for the summer, when a friend of Mrs. Percival’s told her of this grand “Excursion,” which was to take its patrons from sea to sea, up the coast of Alaska, and back by way of Yellowstone Park, all within the space of seven weeks. Careful inquiries satisfied Mr. Percival and his wife that this was just the trip they were looking for; places were secured, and the start was now fairly made, as we have seen.
“Well, boys,” remarked Mr. Percival, coming up at this moment, “have you found your berths yet?”
“Not yet, father,” said Tom, throwing his arm lovingly over the man’s broad shoulder. They were very near to each other, these two, and the companionship of this long journey was destined to bring them together more closely than ever before.
“Randolph, you and Tom are next to our drawing-room, on the ‘starboard’ side. Fred comes next, taking the upper berth at night. Some gentlemen in the party will probably occupy the lower one. Kittie and Bess are directly opposite, and Miss Pet will come next.”
“How nice! Then we’re all together, right in this end of the car!”
“O, dear! I wish we had Bert and Sue Martin with us this year!” lamented Kittie. “They would just fill those two odd berths, one on each side.”
“Can’t have ’em, Kit,” replied her brother. “The whole family have gone out to Portland, Oregon, with their married sister. You know she and her husband are going to live there, where he is in business, and that left Bert and Sue here with only their grandmother.”
“We pass through Portland, I believe,” added Mr. Percival, “on our return trip. We’ll drop in on them if we can, for a short call.”
By this time the train was running at full speed, and the young people began to explore their surroundings. The country through which they were passing was so familiar that they found more objects of interest within the car than without.
There were a dozen other passengers in the “Kamloops,” all chattering briskly and settling themselves into the cosey quarters they were to call home for the next ten days.
Fred Seacomb, as usual, began making acquaintances at once. Before they reached Lowell he had raised an obstinate window for one of his nearest neighbors, had found a missing pair of spectacles for a sweet-faced old lady not far away, and had pointed out various objects of interest (though he knew less of them than any other member of his party) to a bashful boy and girl of about ten and twelve respectively, in the front seats.
People began to glance to the Percival end of the car, and their faces relaxed into genial smiles as Tom struck up “Annie Rooney,” the rest chiming in melodiously. Before long their company was increased by the two occupants of the vacant berths. They introduced themselves as Rev. Rossiter Selborne and his sister, Miss Adelaide Selborne. The young clergyman could not have been over thirty; his sister, a tall, pale, timid girl, was apparently of about Kittie’s age. The new-comers were evidently painfully conscious of the questioning glances with which they were greeted, and