NationStates Jolt Archive

Skagway, Alaska 1896


The Steamer Spirit of Gettysburg loomed in the harbor, adjacent the port city of Skagway. The Summer heat could bve appauling to those not acustomed to such intense degrees. The flies were terrible and disease rampant such as malaria and cholera which would flare up from time to time. The port was always busy, ships came and went, people came and went, just as the seasons came and went. The mountains offered a blessed view, gracious and abundant to the eyes, tantalizing to the senses of those who love the outdoors and live to breath in the fresh air, climb mountains, and triumph over nature. It offered a fresh start, washing away the life you once knew, ushering in a new start, a better start at life where one could make or break it by their own will. The sweat of your brow and the will in your heart were all one needed. That's all Jack Castner had as his rough hands gripped the railing. The sun spotted on and off, through the clouds. A gentle breeze waved across the bow, causing him to hold onto his hat for dear life as others occupied the top.
"There she is" a rusty old voice uttered from behind. Jack turned around to see an old man, grasping a pipe away from his mouth, a fresh cloud of cherry tobacco wafting into the air, disappearing into the cool air. "Skagway, little better than Hell on Earth" he began to laugh but quickly turned to a fit of coughing.
"It's a start better than before" Jack replied more to himself than to the old man.
"Where off you head, friend?"
"Like all the others, I suppose." Jack replied, this time to the old man who's name was simply, Thatch.
"The slippery slope, my friend. Just make sure you fall down the better side" Thatch said as he pointed a finger to the distant mountains, cascading over the harbor and the sprawling tent and timber city.
"You seem a bit optomistic, good sir" Jack joked. He turned back to the sight of the harbor and imagined a better life for himself, for once. Sadly, it rarely ever turned out such for him, trouble ahd a way of finding its' master.
"I'm an old hand on this'n ship, lad. I see your kind come and go, always coming and going, always moving." Thatch said as he stepped up to the railing, his face sunk into a great white bushy beard. "I'll say the same to you as I says to all the others, good luck...cause luck's all ya got to rely on out there." he craned his head, motioning out again to the mountain.

The conversation between Jack and Thatch was closely watched by a pair of dark Shieldian eyes. Will Nenton took a draw on his cigarette while he watched, one hand keeping a hand on his akubra to keep it from flying overboard. He’d been born in Iansisle, but hadn’t been back there in nearly fifteen years. This was his third gold rush now -- though his first north of the equator -- and he’d enough experience to determine exactly what sort of man both Jack and Thatch were. The anxious, callow youth and the wizened local; he’d seen both on the Rand back in ‘86 and at Coolgardie in ‘93.

Nenton’s trouble was that, although he was a veteran of these affairs, he was not much of a miner. Other men had made fortunes in the Transvaal; he had only managed to anger local authorities and was sent scrambling back to the Cape Colony in ‘90 with a kommando on his trail. Australia had been a bit better; at least he managed to hit some gold before a dispute over him compromising the morals of some of the leading women of Coolgardie convinced him that liquidating his claim and making for Perth was the best course of action. He hadn’t been long in town before rumors of another rich strike reached his ears and Nenton packed up and shipped all the way across the Pacific.

He took one last draw on the cigarette and flicked the butt over the railing, then approached the two men.

“Luck’s good enough for some,” he said, “but more often I find that a simple bit of preparation can make up for all the sour luck in the world.” He stuck a hand out for Jack to shake. “Name’s Will Nenton. And yours, son?”

((ooc: I don't mean to interrupt the flow of the thread, but wasn't 1897, not '96, the first big year of the rush?))

OOC: My character came early on.

((Fair enough. I suppose my character did as well, then ;)))