Classic Poem

'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 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
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.