And sovereign as stars the light of her eyes;
For women alone were the long trenches laid;
For women alone they defy the stern skies.

These toilers are grimy, and hairy, and dun
With the wear of the wind, the scorch of the sun;
But their picks fall slack, their foul tongues are mute--
As the maiden goes by these earthworms salute!

CHAPTER XXIV

HOMEWARD BOUND

The steamer was crowded with men who had also made the turn at the
end of the trail. There were groups of prospectors (disappointed and
sour) from Copper River, where neither copper nor gold had been
found. There were miners sick and broken who had failed on the
Tanana, and others, emaciated and eager-eyed, from Dawson City going
out with a part of the proceeds of the year's work to see their wives
and children. There were a few who considered themselves great
capitalists, and were on their way to spend the winter in luxury in
the Eastern cities, and there were grub stakers who had squandered
their employers' money in drink and gaming.

None of them interested me very greatly. I was worn out with the
filth and greed and foolishness of many of these men. They were
commonplace citizens, turned into stampeders without experience or
skill.

One of the most successful men on the boat had been a truckman in the
streets of Tacoma, and was now the silly possessor of a one-third
interest in some great mines on the Klondike River. He told every one
of his great deeds, and what he was worth. He let us know how big
his house was, and how much he paid for his piano. He was not a bad
man, he was merely a cheap man, and was followed about by a gang of
heelers to whom drink was luxury and vice an entertainment. These
parasites slapped the teamster on the shoulder and listened to every
empty phrase he uttered, as though his gold had made of him something
sacred and omniscient.

I had no interest in him till being persuaded to play the fiddle he
sat in the "social room," and sawed away on "Honest John," "The
Devil's Dream," "Haste to the Wedding," and "The Fisher's Hornpipe."
He lost all sense of being a millionnaire, and returned to his
simple, unsophisticated self. The others cheered him because he had
gold. I cheered him because he was a good old "corduroy fiddler."

Again we passed between the lofty blue-black and bronze-green walls
of Lynn Canal. The sea was cold, placid, and gray. The mist cut the
mountains at the shoulder