The Boy With the U. S. SurveyRolt-Wheeler, Francis
General
The Boy With the U. S. Survey
Rolt-Wheeler, Francis
Geological Survey (U.S.) -- Juvenile fiction
The assistant topographer of the party, to whom the boy was next
introduced, was a great surprise. He looked like anything except what he
was. Not particularly prepossessing, he had a large head, already nearly
bald, he was slightly bow-legged and short and scant of speech. It was
not until weeks later that the boy found out why he had been selected
for the trip. His strength was herculean, and in spite of the fact that
he was not slightly built he could put a mountain goat to shame at
scaling an apparently inaccessible crag. As Magee, the Irishman of the
party, described him, "Tie his hands behind his back, and he'll climb up
the side of a house with his toenails and his eyebrows."
Of the two camp hands, one was an Indian called Harry, a fine specimen
of one of the famous tribes which successfully resisted Russian rule in
the early years, and who was regarded as one of the most expert
canoeists who had ever been in the Survey.
The other was Magee. And Magee was sufficiently described by his full
name, which was Patrick Aloysius Magee. He was a devil-may-care Irishman
from Galway, who had spent fifteen years in the gold camps, and had
tossed over the poker table and the faro layout the little bags of gold
dust that had represented years of weary work. It was not that hope had
died out in him, which made him leave prospecting and take to the
Survey, but in his own way of putting it, "There were too many men of
the female sex around the gold camps now." He had been a sailor for some
years, too, in the old sailing-ship days, and had left the sea because
of his contempt for steam.
As for the cook, his chief recommendation was that "he could cook an
eight-course dinner out of a pair of old boots, and make a man believe
he had had something to eat when he was still as hungry as when he sat
down." Altogether, Roger thought, as the little gunboat got under way
and steamed for Seldovia, near the southern bend of the Kenai peninsula,
a more aggressive body of men he had never met, and he determined to
hold up his end, no matter what should come.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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