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I was sitting yonder, my back against the big stone, munching away contentedly, humming the words of a song to keep me awake, when I chanced to glance up to mark the position of the moon, and there that hell's imp danced in the sheen as he has been dancing ever since. Sacre! it was the bravest deed of my life to crawl here and awaken you; the devilish thing did charm me as a snake does a bird."
We all know the process. The immigrant has no patent on it. It afflicts the native, too, when he goes to a town where he is not known. In the slum it reaches its climax in the second generation, and makes of the Irishman's and the Italian's boys the "toughs" who fight the battles of Hell's Kitchen and Frog Hollow.
Funny how it is easier to say “My Gawd!” and “Where t' hell's Ida!” than “I 'ain't got none.” Any way round, you never do get over being conscious of your grammar. If it is correct, it is lonesome as the first robin. If it is properly awful, there are those school-teacher upbringers.
Others spoke of tattered and eternally hungry men who fired despondent powders. "They'll charge through hell's fire an' brimstone t' git a holt on a haversack, an' sech stomachs ain't a-lastin' long," he was told. From the stories, the youth imagined the red, live bones sticking out through slits in the faded uniforms.
U-chuck-le-sit, is a small but safe harbour on the north side and near to the entrance to the Alberni Canal. The cannery, cold storage plant and village of Kildonan are built on the harbour. Klu-quilth-soh, is the Indian name for a rather forbidding passage in the Alberni Canal, and known for strong winds and choppy seas. It is named by the white people "Hell's Gate."
"Yet, in one sense I was not alone, Euan, for I was fanciful; and roamed accompanied by those bright visions that unawakened souls conjure for company; companioned by all creatures of the mind, from saint to devil. Ai-me! For there were moments when I would have welcomed devils, so that they rid me of my solitude, at hell's own price!"
For her the flaming east was hell's own vestibule, for her the greying dawn was a pallor of the heart, the death of hope.
No man can say: 'that's a thing I never will do'. The pangs and the feelings, the stings and the ravings, which the black crew forge in hell's smithy, all these keep coming on and coming on, slowly, wonderously, nearer and ever nearer: on a sudden Horrour is in the house, and the frantic victim sits with it in the corner, and gnaws at it as a dog gnaws a bone.
They set out up the long reach of Water Street, their steel caulks biting deep into the pitted board-walks. For nearly a mile the street was flanked solely by lumber-yards, small mills, and factories. Then came a strip of unimproved land, followed immediately by the wooden, ramshackle structures of Hell's Half-Mile.
"Hell's broke loose at the Emergency Health meeting," he remarked, employing the conventional phrasing of his craft. And Wayne, in the same language, inquired: "How much?" "Two columns. And a column from the Boss on another story." "Whew!" whistled Wayne. "We shall have some paper." From midnight until 2.30 in the morning the reporters on the great story dribbled in.
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