The Captain of the Polestar, and Other TalesDoyle, Arthur Conan
General
The Captain of the Polestar, and Other Tales
Doyle, Arthur Conan
Great Britain -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction; Short stories, English
He was known in the Gulch as the Reverend Elias B. Hopkins, but it was
generally understood that the title was an honorary one, extorted by his
many eminent qualities, and not borne out by any legal claim which he
could adduce. “The Parson” was another of his sobriquets, which was
sufficiently distinctive in a land where the flock was scattered and the
shepherds few. To do him justice, he never pretended to have received
any preliminary training for the ministry, or any orthodox qualification
to practise it. “We’re all working in the claim of the Lord,” he
remarked one day, “and it don’t matter a cent whether we’re hired for
the job or whether we waltzes in on our own account,” a piece of rough
imagery which appealed directly to the instincts of Jackman’s Gulch.
It is quite certain that during the first few months his presence had a
marked effect in diminishing the excessive use both of strong drinks
and of stronger adjectives which had been characteristic of the little
mining settlement. Under his tuition, men began to understand that
the resources of their native language were less limited than they had
supposed, and that it was possible to convey their impressions with
accuracy without the aid of a gaudy halo of profanity.
We were certainly in need of a regenerator at Jackman’s Gulch about
the beginning of ‘53. Times were flush then over the whole colony, but
nowhere flusher than there. Our material prosperity had had a bad effect
upon our morals. The camp was a small one, lying rather better than a
hundred and twenty miles to the north of Ballarat, at a spot where a
mountain torrent finds its way down a rugged ravine on its way to join
the Arrowsmith River. History does not relate who the original Jackman
may have been, but at the time I speak of the camp it contained a
hundred or so adults, many of whom were men who had sought an asylum
there after making more civilised mining centres too hot to hold
them. They were a rough, murderous crew, hardly leavened by the few
respectable members of society who were scattered among them.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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