"Half of her passengers have pack-horses for Skaguay and White Pass, and the other half are bound over the Chilcoot.

So they've mutinied and everything's at a standstill." "Hey, you!" he cried, beckoning to a Whitehall which hovered discreetly on the outer rim of the floating confusion.
A tiny launch, pulling heroically at a huge tow-barge, attempted to pass between; but the boatman shot nervily across her bow, and just as he was clear, unfortunately, caught a crab.

This slewed the boat around and brought it to a stop.
"Watch out!" the first officer shouted.
A pair of seventy-foot canoes, loaded with outfits, gold-rushers, and Indians, and under full sail, drove down from the counter direction.
One of them veered sharply towards the landing stage, but the other pinched the Whitehall against the barge.

The boatman had unshipped his oars in time, but his small craft groaned under the pressure and threatened to collapse.

Whereat he came to his feet, and in short, nervous phrases consigned all canoe-men and launch-captains to eternal perdition.