It happened that on Christmas Day, 1917 the 43rd and 116th were holding the line on the 9th Brigade front. The 116th had established its orderly-room in a cellar under a ruined brick house not far from the hospital. I chanced to drop in about noon. They made me stay for Christmas Dinner. The hospitality and good fellowship were perfect. The dinner was a feast. We had soup, roast turkey with all the fixings, vegetables, pie and pudding, tea and cake. We were crowded closely but there was room to work our "sword-arms." The turkey had been roasted and the whole dinner prepared in a corner of the cellar-stairs by one of the men. How he managed to serve such a delicious hot dinner is beyond me. These men that did the cooking in the line for the different groups of officers were most of them simply miracle-workers. They were continually doing impossible things with army rations6, shaping up appetising and varied10 meals cooked under heart-breaking and back-breaking conditions on primus-stove or brazier in a three-foot corner of dug-out or pill-box. They did it regularly, kept their dishes clean, and their tempers sweet. I salute11 them.
After dinner officers and men all crowded in as well as they could, we sang a Christmas hymn12 and lifted our hearts in prayer to God. Then I read the story of the birth of Jesus. As I read the familiar words in those strange surroundings memories were stirred, and I think we were all picturing scenes in the land across the sea. Other days and the faces of loved ones came before us and we were back home again and it was Christmas time in dear old Canada. I gave a simple message in few words and then left. I spent the afternoon tramping around the trenches13 seeing all the men I could to give them Christmas greetings. The exercise was also almost a necessary preparation for our own headquarters officers' dinner at six. There we had two roast chickens and everything good to go with them, all cooked in his best style by our "chef," Pte. Buchanan.
In the evening I went downstairs into the tunnels where I planned to have a Christmas service with the men. Col. Urquhart and Major Chandler came along. We were the only ones who had seats for we each had a folded-up overcoat under us. The rest of the "congregation" sat or lay on the floor of the narrow tunnels with candles here and there for lights. I sat at the junction14 of the two tunnels with my men behind, to right, left and in front of me. I read, prayed, preached and pronounced the benediction15 sitting down, for the roof was too low for standing. The only thing that was conventionally "churchy" was the use of candles for lighting16, and of course my church was cruciform in its ground plan! But there was the Message, there were reverent17 worshippers, and surely the Unseen Presence also, and these are all you need anywhere to constitute a Christian18 Church.
After the benediction and when the two officers had disappeared up the ladder, I was assailed19 by a chorus of voices with "tell us a Yukon story," as the refrain. I stayed, sat down again, and there with my men gathered round me in attentive20 silence I told my Klondike story of a Christmas Day years ago. In fancy we travelled far from France, forgot the war, and moved for a little while amid snow-clad mountains and silent valleys in a vast and weirdly21 beautiful land. I named my tale a Klondike Christmas Dinner.
* * * * *
It was in the winter of 1904. A week or two before Christmas, Jas. McDougal had invited me to have dinner on Christmas Day with him and his wife. Their cabin was half-way up the mountain side on the left limit of Hunker Creek22, six miles below Gold Bottom camp where I lived. You need have no fear of having a "green Christmas" in the Yukon with its eight months of solid winter with anywhere from 50 to 90 degrees of frost. It was "fifty below" that morning. Every nail-head on the door of my cabin was white with frost. My little stove had its work cut out, after I lit it and hopped23 back into my bunk24 again, before it had warmed the cabin enough to make it comfortable for dressing25. I remember how that fall my top bed-blankets had got frozen solid to the logs at the back of the bunk while I was out on the trail one week and they never loosened up until the Spring, so that my bed rarely got disarranged and was very easily "made." When I took out some food for my dogs they crawled out of their kennels26 stiff with lying for warmth all night in one position. The exposed parts of head and shoulder were coated white with frost from their breath. They bolted their breakfast and got back quickly to the comfort of the nests they had left. The gulch27 was filled with the white mist which developed in extreme cold. It hid from my view the few cabins on the other side of the creek. Then I came in to get my own breakfast. As a special treat I had sent to Dawson twenty miles away for a pound of beefsteak for which I had to pay a fabulous28 price in gold-dust. It was real beefsteak but it had been "on the hoof29" too long and it was like the camp, "tough and hard to handle." Not so tough though as the steak McCrimmon told me he had got in Dawson by rare good luck in 1897 when he had been feeding on bacon and beans for months. "That bit of steak," he said, "lasted me off and on for a week. I got away with it at last but it was a long, hard fight. Honest, parson, that steak was so tough the first time I tackled it I couldn't get my fork into the gravy30."
Breakfast finished and the dishes washed I put on my parka over my other clothes and with fur gauntlets and moccasins I was ready for the road. The parka, by the way, is a loose-fitting, smock-like garment that slips over the head and comes down below the knees and has a hood31. It is made of "bed-ticking" usually and so is light to walk in but keeps the heat in and the cold out. First I went across to Bill Lennox's cabin and asked him to feed my dogs at noon. Then I hit the trail for McDougal's. I followed it along the bottom of the narrow valley among miners' windlass-dumps and cabins. At most of them I stepped in for a few minutes to wish my friends a Merry Christmas and also to tell or hear the news. There was always something of living interest to gossip about in those glorious, exciting days. Men were finding fortunes ten or twenty feet below the surface of the ground or even in the grass roots. Fortunes too they were in the alluring32 form of gold-dust and nuggets, fascinating, raw, yellow gold lying there just where God made and dropped it. I've seen it so plentiful33 that it looked like a sack of corn-meal spilled among the dirt. It drove men crazy, and how could they help it. A wild, glorious gamble it was, with the thrill of adventure, temptation, and novelty always present, and a wonderfully beautiful land, new and interesting, as its setting.
It was towards noon before I turned out of the main trail, taking one that wound its way up the mountain side for half a mile until it came out on a flat stretch of snow. I was now above the frost-fog and could see, a few hundred yards away, a small straight plume34 of white smoke rising out of what looked like a big shapely snowdrift. The trail ran straight to it and soon I could see a log or two of the little cabin showing between the comb of snow hanging from the eaves and the snow banked up against the base. The door was low and when it opened in response to my knock I had to bow my head to get in. I entered without ceremony for they were expecting me. I heard a cheery voice with a Doric accent tell me to "come right in." I could hear the voice but could see no one for with the opening of the door the warm air meeting the cold immediately formed a veil of mist. But it was only for a moment for in the North in winter you don't keep the door open long. You either come in or get out, as the case may be, without lingering on the threshold. But what a hearty36 welcome when the door was shut behind me from McDougal and his good wife! No delay either, no shuffling37 your feet in the hall until the maid takes your card to mysterious regions in the inner chambers38 of the house, and comes back to lead you into a waiting room where you may sit down. Betimes the hostess graciously appears and with formal greeting and conventional smile gives you a hand to shake that has on occasions as much welcome in it as the tail of a dead fish. But this welcome was real, immediate35, and unmistakable. I was right at home as soon as I stepped into the cabin for in so doing I came into the parlour, dining room, bed-room, and kitchen. They hadn't even a "but and a ben." There was something special about their welcome too, even in the hospitable39 north. To the miners generally I was known as the "sky-pilot," or "parson," or by my first or last name. But to these two true-blue Presbyterians with their Scottish traditions I was always "the minister," and so in my reception there was a respect and courtesy that gave their greetings a rare fineness of tone. Sometimes it is good for you to have people place you on a pedestal. You usually try to measure up to expectations and in that country self-respect was often the sheet-anchor that kept you from drifting to the devil.
It was only a one-room cabin eight feet wide and twelve feet long, log walls chinked with moss40, rough board floor, roof of poles covered with a foot of moss and a half foot of earth on the top. The only place I could stand upright in it was under the ridge-pole. There was one window of four panes41, each about the size of a woman's handkerchief. The glass was coated an inch deep in frost, but some light came through, though not enough to dispense42 with candles. Under the window was a table, simply a shelf two and a half feet wide and three feet long. At the end of the cabin opposite the door was the bed and to my left the stove, a sheet-iron one-chambered affair with an oven in the pipe, a simple, small Klondike stove which was not much to look at but capable of great things when rightly handled. After taking off my parka it was to the stove I went first. It's a habit you form in the North any way, but if you have a moustache, as I had, the heavy icicles formed by your breath on a six-mile walk in that extreme cold need to be thawed43 off near the stove, and that by a gentle, careful process, the reason for this gentleness only experience would make you appreciate. Once this is done there is no need to sit near the stove. Indeed you can't get far away from it if you stay in the cabin.
But I must describe my host and hostess. Mr. and Mrs. McDougal looked more like brother and sister than husband and wife. They were both small of stature45 and resembled each other. Both were well past middle life. Their hair was growing grey. They had no children, but his pet name for his little woman was "Grannie." McDougal had graduated from a Scottish University and after his marriage decided46 to leave the old land for America. They settled in California. As the years went on they found themselves getting within sight of old age without enough money laid by to save them from dependence47 on others in their declining years. Then came the news of the gold discoveries. It appealed to him for he saw in this adventure a chance to lay the haunting spectre of poverty. Grannie stayed behind in their pretty cottage home in the sunny south. A year or at most two and they hoped he would be back with enough to put their minds at ease. In 1897 he set out and after a trying journey reached the Klondike in 1898. He managed to find and stake this shelf of pay-gravel far up the mountain side. It had ages ago been part of the bed of a stream. He worked with eager haste to get enough to go back to his home and loved one. But the run of "pay" was poor and uneven48, water was scarce, and his "tailings" required continual "cribbing" to keep from coming down on claims in the creek below. It all meant enforced delay in the realization49 of his hopes. The summers came and went with "clean-ups" good and bad but in the aggregate50 not quite enough for the fulfilment of his plans. Grannie was wearying for him and at last after six lonesome years she could stand it no longer. She heard that there was a railway now over the White Pass and steamboats on the river, and so in the Spring of 1903 she bravely set out for the North-land where she could be with her man again. Nearly two years she had been among us, a dear little lady with a heart so kind and pure and motherly that she became the patron saint of our creek. Men fiercely tempted51 in those strange days have found strength to save their souls because of the ministry52 of Grannie's life and words.
But we were just sitting down to dinner at the little table in front of the window. Now boys, I feel guilty in describing this dinner to you here knowing the simplicity53 of your army fare, but perhaps it will be a sort of painful pleasure for you to feast with us in imagination. First I said a simple grace thanking God for our food and asking a blessing54 upon it and us. We had soup to begin with, thick hot Scotch55 broth44 it was, then roast ptarmigan, two each of these plump, tasty little birds which the old man had shot from the cabin door, native cranberry56 sauce, parsnips and potatoes. These were good "cheechako spuds" shipped in from the South. We had home-grown potatoes in the Klondike sometimes, but in a summer which had one or two nights of nipping frost every month it was hard to ripen57 them. They were usually small and green, and so "wet" that the saying was "you had to wear a bathing-suit to eat them." Also of course there was home-made bread and excellent tea.
But the dessert was the masterpiece of the meal. It was a good, hot, Canadian blueberry pie about as big round as the top of a piano-stool. It had a lid on it and the juice was bubbling out through the little slits58. It certainly looked delicious and it tasted the same. It was cut into only four pieces. I maintain that no self-respecting pie should be cut into more than four pieces except perhaps in the case of a very large family. Grannie gave me one piece, McDougal one, and took one herself. That left one over and when I was through with my piece I was urged of course to have the other piece. What could I do? What would you have done in my place? Courtesy, inclination59 to oblige, and my palate all said take it. My waist-band said, "Have a care," but it was awfully60 good pie and I cleaned the plate!
Then McDougal lit his pipe. Grannie cleared up the table but left the dishwashing until after I had gone as she wanted to share the conversation. What a jolly three hours we had! Not a great deal there to make us happy, you would say; a lonely log-cabin in a far land and in the depth of an almost Arctic winter with no other human habitation within sight or sound. Yet we forgot the fierce cold that circled us, for the little place was comfortable, and better still our hearts were warm with love and friendship. McDougal was finely educated and had travelled, so the cabin was neither small nor lonely. Its walls expanded and took in many guests. A goodly throng61 was there for we wandered at will among a world of books and men. He loved a good, clean joke, and let me tell you when we got going the stories both grave and gay were worth your hearing.
Grannie was with us heart and soul in it all. Her face beamed with cheeriness and good will. Sometimes, however, a far-away look came into her brown eyes. I knew what it meant. She longed to get away from the North and back again to the sunshine of her Southern home. She was getting on in years and our extreme winters were very trying to her. Whenever she got half a chance she would tell us something about their home in California, the warm, bright summers, the lovely gardens she and her neighbours had, and the flowers growing in profusion62, especially the roses charming the eye and filling the air with their perfume.
Dear wee Grannie, she never lived to go back. One winter the brutal63 cold gripped her and in spite of all we could do it took her life away. It was a sad day when we placed her body in the grave on that hillside. All the creek assembled to show their affection, and in deep sorrow. It was her last request that she should be buried there. She didn't want to be far from the man she loved even though it meant a lonely grave in a lonely land. The Klondike is for McDougal his homeland now. Fifteen years have passed since then and he still lives in that cabin on the mountain slope where the woman he loves best lies buried.
But there was no thought of sorrow that Christmas Day. Nowhere in the world was there a merrier party, and when it came time for me to go, (I had a wedding at Last Chance Roadhouse), it was with a feeling that the cabin had been a sanctuary64 of friendship, happiness and hospitality. When I went out into the darkness and the bitter cold I was hardly conscious of it for my heart was aglow65. All through these years filled with many vivid experiences that day has kept its brightness. Nor will it ever fade away but seems to shine more clearly in the Halls of Memory as the years go by.
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1
pretentious
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| adj.自命不凡的，自负的，炫耀的 | |
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mortar
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| n.灰浆，灰泥；迫击炮；v.把…用灰浆涂接合 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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battalion
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| n.营；部队；大队(的人) | |
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rations
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| 定量( ration的名词复数 )； 配给量； 正常量； 合理的量 | |
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vaulted
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| adj.拱状的 | |
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rubble
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| n.（一堆）碎石，瓦砾 | |
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erect
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| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
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10
varied
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| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
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salute
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| vi.行礼，致意，问候，放礼炮；vt.向…致意，迎接，赞扬；n.招呼，敬礼，礼炮 | |
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12
hymn
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| n.赞美诗，圣歌，颂歌 | |
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13
trenches
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| 深沟，地沟( trench的名词复数 )； 战壕 | |
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junction
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| n.连接，接合；交叉点，接合处，枢纽站 | |
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benediction
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| n.祝福；恩赐 | |
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16
lighting
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| n.照明，光线的明暗，舞台灯光 | |
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reverent
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| adj.恭敬的，虔诚的 | |
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Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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19
assailed
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| v.攻击( assail的过去式和过去分词 )；困扰；质问；毅然应对 | |
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attentive
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| adj.注意的，专心的；关心(别人)的，殷勤的 | |
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weirdly
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| 古怪地 | |
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creek
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| n.小溪，小河，小湾 | |
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hopped
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| 跳上[下]( hop的过去式和过去分词 )； 单足蹦跳； 齐足（或双足）跳行； 摘葎草花 | |
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bunk
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| n.(车、船等倚壁而设的)铺位；废话 | |
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dressing
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| n.(食物)调料；包扎伤口的用品，敷料 | |
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kennels
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| n.主人外出时的小动物寄养处，养狗场；狗窝( kennel的名词复数 )；养狗场 | |
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gulch
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| n.深谷，峡谷 | |
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fabulous
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| adj.极好的；极为巨大的；寓言中的，传说中的 | |
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hoof
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| n.(马，牛等的)蹄 | |
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gravy
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| n.肉汁；轻易得来的钱，外快 | |
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hood
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| n.头巾，兜帽，覆盖；v.罩上，以头巾覆盖 | |
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alluring
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| adj.吸引人的，迷人的 | |
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plentiful
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| adj.富裕的，丰富的 | |
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plume
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| n.羽毛；v.整理羽毛，骚首弄姿，用羽毛装饰 | |
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immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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hearty
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| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
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shuffling
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| adj. 慢慢移动的, 滑移的 动词shuffle的现在分词形式 | |
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chambers
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| n.房间( chamber的名词复数 )；（议会的）议院；卧室；会议厅 | |
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hospitable
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| adj.好客的；宽容的；有利的，适宜的 | |
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moss
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| n.苔，藓，地衣 | |
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panes
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| 窗玻璃( pane的名词复数 ) | |
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dispense
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| vt.分配，分发；配(药)，发(药)；实施 | |
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thawed
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| 解冻 | |
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broth
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| n.原(汁)汤(鱼汤、肉汤、菜汤等) | |
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stature
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| n.（高度）水平，（高度）境界，身高，身材 | |
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46
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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dependence
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| n.依靠，依赖；信任，信赖；隶属 | |
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uneven
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| adj.不平坦的，不规则的，不均匀的 | |
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realization
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| n.实现；认识到，深刻了解 | |
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aggregate
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| adj.总计的，集合的；n.总数；v.合计；集合 | |
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51
tempted
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| v.怂恿（某人）干不正当的事；冒…的险（tempt的过去分词） | |
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52
ministry
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| n.(政府的)部；牧师 | |
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simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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54
blessing
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| n.祈神赐福；祷告；祝福，祝愿 | |
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55
scotch
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| n.伤口，刻痕；苏格兰威士忌酒；v.粉碎，消灭，阻止；adj.苏格兰(人)的 | |
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56
cranberry
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| n.梅果 | |
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ripen
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| vt.使成熟；vi.成熟 | |
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58
slits
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| n.狭长的口子，裂缝( slit的名词复数 )v.切开，撕开( slit的第三人称单数 )；在…上开狭长口子 | |
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59
inclination
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| n.倾斜；点头；弯腰；斜坡；倾度；倾向；爱好 | |
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awfully
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| adv.可怕地，非常地，极端地 | |
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throng
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| n.人群，群众；v.拥挤，群集 | |
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profusion
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| n.挥霍；丰富 | |
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brutal
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| adj.残忍的，野蛮的，不讲理的 | |
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64
sanctuary
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| n.圣所，圣堂，寺庙；禁猎区，保护区 | |
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aglow
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| adj.发亮的；发红的；adv.发亮地 | |
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