THE TRAIL OF NINETY-EIGHT: A NORTHLAND ROMANCE
(Grosset & Dunlap, 1910)
Whenever I think of Robert W. Service, I think of him as a writer of verse. When I was twelve years old, I would have committed any crime to have owned a copy of his Collected Poems. Looking back over the bridge of twenty years, I don't think Service is so lofty in my opinion as he once was. However, I still get a kick out of reading his works. What I like, above all, is his mentality. He has not the slightest trace of pride or affectation. Moreover, his sense of the beautiful is keen and refined. He is what the psychiatrists would call a "well adapted" person; and this, of course, makes him easy to listen to. Therefore, you can imagine my pleasure when I finally, after several years of fruitless search, managed to get hold of a copy of his first novel.
Athol Meldrum is a young Scotsman who leaves his home and family to seek a life of adventure. He has secret intentions of going to Gold Rush country, but, due to lack of funds, he's forced to do manual labor in San Francisco. There he meets two other down-and-out characters, and a friendship arises among them. One of these is a young renegade named "the Prodigal." The other is a tough born-again Christian named "Salvation Jim." Pitching their money together, they manage to get up to Alaska, where, after much privation, they make it into Dawson City. While en route, Athol meets a young Jewish girl named Berna, and falls in love with her. When her father dies, two conniving and unscrupulous individuals guard her jealously, in an attempt to locate the whereabouts of the old man's gold. Things become more complicated when Athol and his friends fall foul of Jack Locasto, the town boss. It seems that Locasto has a hankering for Berna himself. The plot weaves and spins amid several adventures, before Athol finally gets a chance to get his girl and start a new life. They begin living together, but are not formally married. This causes some scandal, and puts a strain on the relationship. But Athol won't give her up. Matters, however, soon become worse, for Locasto hasn't put away his old grudge. Eventually, the long-standing feud explodes in a bloody confrontation.
This novel is really one of the most remarkable I've read in a great while. It is conventional, in a sense, yet utterly unconventional. Besides containing a highly intriguing story-line, it gives what is probably the most detailed picture of the Klondike Gold Rush I've ever come across. No one has preserved a more accurate account of those dissipated Gold Rush towns which lured so many men into perdition. The character-types are given special treatment. However, the drinking saloons and dance-halls are painted as vividly as a pencil-sketch. Even details of minor significance, which have been forgotten even by Gold Rush historians, are brought to light. One of the passages, though lengthy, is worth quoting:
"To the right as I entered was a palatial bar set off with burnished brass, bevelled mirrors, and glittering, vari-coloured pyramids of costly liquers. Up to the bar men were bellying, and the bartenders in white jackets were mixing drinks with masterful dexterity. It was a motley crowd. There were men in broadcloth and fine linen, men in blue shirts and mud-stiffened overalls, grey-bearded elders and beardless boys. It was a noisy crowd, laughing, brawling, shouting, singing. Here was the foam of life, with never a hint of the muddy sentiment underneath.
"To the left I had a view of the gambling-room, a glimpse of green tables, of spinning balls, of cool men, with shades over their eyes, impassively dealing. There were huge wheels of fortune, keno tables, crap outfits, faro layouts, and, above all, the dainty, fascinating roulette. Everything was in full swing. Miners with flushed faces and a wild excitement in their eyes were playing cautiously. Here and there were the fevered faces of women. Gold coin was stacked on the tables, while a man with a pair of scales was weighing dust from the tendered pokes.
"In front of me was a double swing-door painted in white and gold, and, pushing through this, for the first time I found myself in a Dawson dance-hall.
"I remember being struck by the gorgeousness of it, its glitter and its glow. Who would have expected, in this bleak-visaged North, to find such a fairy-land of a place? It was painted in white and gold, and set off by clusters of bunched lights. There was much elaborate scroll-work and ornate decoration. Down each side, raised about ten feet from the floor, and supported on gilt pillars, were little private boxes hung with curtains of heliotrope silk. At the further end of the hall was a stage, and here a vaudeville performance was going on."
The reader feels himself almost there, within the din and the glare of Dawson City. The effect of this descriptive writing, while probably less felt then, today leaves a strong and indelible impression upon the reader. In certain respects, the book has immense value to students of the Klondike era. Aside from its historical significance, however, it stands as a story of sweeping drama and bold concept. The prose, to be sure, is a bit hackish in places. But its perspicuity is faultless. Withal, there are many fine poetic portrayals of natural scenery, which showcase Service as a creative writer of no mean talent.
The novel's "shacking up" theme was rather daring for its time. In 1910, that sort of arrangement was completely taboo; and in most states of the Union, criminal codes retained co-habitation statutes as late as the early 1970's. "Free love" was made popular with the counter-culture movements of the 1960's, though even during the Edwardian era it had its few adherents. Of course, one shouldn't infer that Service was making any kind of moral statement. He was simply making use of a writer's legitimate material, which is worth nothing if it can't include the common, though uncountenanced, experiences of real people. But it would be a mistake to call Service a realist. He is a romanticist in every sense of the term; and whatever realism he follows is of the Rudyard Kipling type (q.v., "Without Benefit of Clergy").
Some of the material, such as that dealing with Jack Locasto, seems to follow those familiar traces already furrowed by Rex Beach. In fact, Service's 1951 poem "Two Men" (published in Lyrics of a Lowbrow) suggests that he knew Rex Beach during his Yukon days. If so, the novel's recurring "tough man" scenes (one involving a brutal fist-fight between Locasto and a British adventurer) may reflect that writer's influence. Notwithstanding, Service disdains to follow any formal pattern, striking out into his own territory like the true Sourdough he was. In a way, the book is incomparable to any work of its kind. The plot roles and ripples along like a brook, and whatever mechanism Service used left no grease-prints on the story. When all is weighed and evaluated, The Trail of Ninety-Eight is a perfectly readable adventure tale of high worth and internal merit.
Although I'd recommend this book to anyone, the problem may be finding yourself a copy. This was a big seller at the time, but in recent years it has become very scarce. As good copies command up to $100 on the market, I was fortunate indeed to get an old ex-library edition for $10. If, after looking around, you still have trouble locating a reasonably priced copy of this work, my advice is to contact the folks over at the Robert Service Home Page, and see if they know anyone with a copy for sale. Unfortunately, no publisher has yet discovered the value of this book, so any re-print edition is out of the question. But if you land a copy safely, rest assured you've staked on something good. For whatever anyone else may say in dissent of my verdict, The Trail of Ninety-Eight is a "full poke."
--B.A.S.
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