But these people, proprietors of the New Line, in whose offices they stood—their ships if starting later were at least seaworthy. Seaworthy? ’Sh! Their ships didn’t so much as exist. These men only waited, postponing sailing dates on one pretext or another, till they had got your money and filled, and over-filled, the lists of their phantom ships. When they’d done that, you’d see! They’d pocket their thousands and abscond into Canada. While Hildegarde waited hesitating, even on the smallest and least faith-inspiring boats the passenger lists rapidly filled. And still every train that thundered into the Seattle station disgorged its hundreds clamoring to be taken to Nome. Already, since Hildegarde’s arrival, a number of schooners and several steamers, with flags flying and bands playing, had gone forth to meet the early ice floes. Would these daring ones get any further, after all, than the Aleutian Islands before June? “You’ll see they’ll have to put in at Dutch Harbor for a month!” Hildegarde saw men; standing in dense crowds on the wharves, shake their heads, as they watched each ship go forth on the great adventure. “All my life,” thought the girl, “I shall remember the port of Seattle, when the first boats went to Nome.” There were those who might seem to have more cause than Hildegarde Mar to remember that unprecedented spectacle. For to the wonderful “Water Front” sooner or later every creature in Seattle found his way—commonly to suffer there some strange, malignant change. Even the quiet ones began to emit strange sounds, and to tear about as if afflicted with rabies; the most self-controlled went mad among the rest. They fought their way through the barriers, men and women alike; they screamed about their freight upon the docks; hurrahing and gesticulating, they saw maniac friends off, on ships whose decks were black with people, whose rigging, even, swarmed with clotted humanity, like bees clinging in bunches to the boughs of a tree.