THE BALLAD OF YUKON JAKE by Ted Parmentier Oh, the North Countree is a hard countree That mothers a bloody brood; And its icy arms hold hidden charms For the greedy, the sinful and lewd, And strong men rust from the gold and lust That sears the Northland's soul; But the wickedest born, from the Pole to the Horn, Is the Hermit of Sharktooth Shoal. Now Jacob Kaime was the Hermit's name, In the days of his pious youth, Ere he cast a smirch on the Baptist Church By betraying a girl named Ruth. But now men quake at Yukon Jake, The Hermit of Sharktooth Shoal; For that is the name that Jacob Kaime Is known by from Nome to the Pole; He was just a boy and the parson's joy Ere he fell for the gold and the muck, And he learned to pray 'mid the hogs and hay On a farm near Keokuk. But a service tale of illicit kale And whiskey and women wild, Drained the morals clean as a soup tureen From this poor but honest child. He longed for the bite of a Yukon night And the Northern-lights' weird flicker, Or a game of stud in the frozen mud And the taste of raw red likker. He wanted to mush along in the slush, With a team of huskie hounds, And to fire his gat at a beaver hat, And knock it out of bounds. So he left his home for the hell-town Nome, On Alaska's ice-ribbed shores, And he learned to curse and drink, and worse, 'Til the rum dripped from his pores; When the boys on a spree were drinking it free In a Malamute saloon, And Dan McGrew and his dangerous crew Shot craps with a piebald coon; While the kid on his stool banged away like a fool At a jag-time melody, And the barkeep vowed to the hardboiled crowd That he'd cremate Sam McGee; Then Jacob Kaime, who had taken the name Of Yukon Jake the Killer, Would rake the dive with his forty-five 'Til the atmosphere grew chiller ; With a sharp command he'd make 'em stand And deliver their hard earned dust; Then drink the bar dry of rum and rye, As a Klondike bully must; Without coming to blows he would tweak the nose Of Dangerous Dan McGrew, And, becoming bolder, throw over his shoulder The lady that's known as Lou. Oh, tough as a steak was Yukon Jake, Hardboiled as a picnic egg; He washed his shirt in Klondike dirt, And drank his rum by the keg. In fear of their lives, or because of their wives, He was shunned by the best of his pals; And outcast he, from the cameraderie Of all but wild animals. So he bought him the whole of Sharktooth Shoal, A reef in the Bering Sea, Where he lived by himself on a sea-lion's shelf In lonely iniquity. But miles away, in Keokuk, Did a lovely maiden fight To remove the smirch from the Baptist Church By bringing the heathen light; And the elders declared that all would be squared If she carried the Holy Words From her Keokuk home to the hell-hole Nome And save those awful birds. So two weeks later she took a freighter For the gold-cursed land near the Pole, Blut heaven ain't made for a girl that's betrayed, She was wrecked on Sharktooth Shoall All hands were tossed in the sea and lost, All but the maiden Ruth, Who swam to the edge of the sea-lion's ledge Where abode the love of her youth. He was hunting a seal for his evening meal (He handled a mean harpoon) When he saw at his feet not something to eat, But a girl in a frozen swoon; He dragged her to his lair by the frozen hair, And he rubbed her knees with gin To his great surprise she opened her eyes, And revealed-his original sin! His eight months' beard grew still and weird, And it felt like a chestnut burr; He swore by his gizzard and the Arctic blizzard, That he'd do right by her. The cold sweat froze on the end of his nose, 'Til it gleamed like a Teckla pearl, While her bright hair fell like a flame from hell Down the back of the grateful girl. But a hopeless rake was Yukon Jake, The Hermit of Sharktooth Shoal; And the dizzy maid he re-betrayed, And wrecked her immortal soull Then he rowed her ashore with a broken oar, And he sold her to Dan McGrew For a huskie dog and a hot egg-nog, As rascals are wont to do. Now ruthless Ruth is a maid uncouth With scarlet cheeks and lips, And she sings rough songs to the drunken throngs That come from the sealing ships. For a rouge-stained kiss from this infamous miss They will give a seal's sleek fur, Or perhaps a sable, if they are able, For it's all the same to her. Oh, the North Countree is a rough countree That mothers a bloody brood; And its icy arms hold hidden charms, For the sinful, the greedy and lewd; And strong men rust with the gold and lust That sears the Northland's soul, But the wickedest born from the Pole to the Horn, Is the Hermit of Sharktooth Shoal.

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