GOING TO DAWSON IN WINTER.
Now in Dawson I called upon Carrie N. eighteen months later, and heard her tell the story of her trip to the Klondyke. They had landed, she said, at Dyea from the "Alki" with their many tons of provisions and supplies, all of which had to be dumped upon the beach where no dock or wharf had ever been constructed. Here with dog-teams and sleds, a few horses and men "packers," their supplies were hauled up the mountain as far as "Sheep Camp," some ten miles up the mountain side. It was early springtime and the snow lay deep upon the mountains and in the gorges, which, in the vicinity of Chilkoot Pass at the summit of the mountain are frightfully high and precipitous.
The weather was not cold, and the moving of this large party of forty persons with their entire outfit was progressing as favorably as could be expected. A camp had been made at Dyea as the base of operations; another was made at Sheep Camp. At each place the women of the party did the cooking in tents while men gathered wood, built fires, and brought water. Other men worked steadily at the hauling, and most of their supplies had already been transported to the upper camp; when there occurred a tragedy so frightful as to make itself a part of never-to-be-forgotten Alaskan history.
It was on Sunday, and a snow storm was raging, but the weather was warm. Hundreds of people thronged the trails both going up and coming down the mountain in their effort to quickly transport their outfits over to the other side, and thus make the best possible time in reaching the gold fields. Here a difference of opinion arose among the people of our Seattle party, for some, more daring than the others, wished to push on over the summit regardless of the storm; while the more cautious ones demurred and held back, thinking it the part of discretion to wait for better weather. A few venturesome ones kept to their purpose and started on ahead, promising to meet the laggards at Lake Bennett with boats of their own making in which to journey down the river and lakes to Dawson.
Their promises were never fulfilled.
While they, in company with hundreds of others as venturesome, trudged heavily up the narrow trail, a roar as of an earthquake suddenly sounded their death-knell. Swiftly down the mountain side above them tore the terrible avalanche, a monster formation of ice, snow and rock, the latter loosened and ground off the face of old Chilkoot by the rushing force of the moving snowslide urged on by a mighty wind. In an instant's time a hundred men and women were brushed, like flies from a ceiling, off the face of the mountain into their death below, leaving a space cleared of all to the bare earthwhere only a few seconds before had stood the patient toilers on the trail.
Only one thing remained for the living to do, and that was to drop all else and rescue, if possible, the dying and engulfed ones. This they did. When the wind had died away the snow in the air cleared, and hundreds of men threw themselves into the rescue work. Many were injured but lived. Some were buried in snow but found their way to light again. One man was entirely covered except one arm which he used energetically to inform those above him of his whereabouts. He was taken out unharmed, and lived to welcome the writer of this to Dawson, where he carted and delivered her trunk faithfully.
But Carrie N. had remained at Sheep Camp and was safe. Then her experience in nursing stood her in good stead; and while men brought the dead to camp, she, with others, for hours performed the services which made the bodies ready for burial. It was a heart-rending undertaking and required a cool head and steady hand, both of which Carrie N. possessed. Two men of her party thus lost their lives, and it was not until days afterward that the last of the poor unfortunates were found. Nearly one hundred lives were lost in this terrible disaster, but there were undoubtedly those whose bodies were never found, and whose death still remains a mystery.
S
INCE the discovery of gold by George Carmack on Bonanza Creek in September, 1896, the growth of this country has been phenomenal, more especially so to the one who has visited and is familiar with Dawson and the Klondyke mining section.
As to the entire yield of gold from the Klondyke Creeks, none can say except approximately; for the ten per cent. royalty imposed by the Canadian government has always met a phase of human nature which prompts to concealment and dishonesty, so that a truthful estimate cannot be made.
The Canadian Dominion government is very oppressive. Mining laws are very arbitrary and strictly enforced. A person wishing to prospect for gold must first procure a miner's license, paying ten dollars for it. If anything is discovered, and he wishes to locate a claim, he visits the recorder's office, states his business, and is told to call again. In the meantime, men are sent to examine the locality and if anything of value is found, the man wishing to record the claim is told that it is already located. The officials seize it. The man has no way of ascertaining if the land was properly located, and so has no redress. If the claim is thought tobe poor, he can locate it by the payment of a fifteen dollar fee.
One half of all mining land is reserved for the crown, a quarter or more is gobbled by corrupt officials, and a meagre share left for the daring miners who, by braving hardship and death, develop the mines and open up the country.
"Any one going into the country has no right to cut wood for any purpose, or to kill any game or catch any fish, without a license for which a fee of ten dollars must be paid. With such a license it is unlawful to sell a stick of wood for any purpose, or a pound of fish or game." The law is strictly enforced. To do anything, one must have a special permit, and for every such permit he must pay roundly.
The story is told of a miner in a hospital who was about to die. He requested that the Governor be sent for. Being asked what he wanted with the Governor, he replied: "I haven't any permit, and if I should undertake to die without a permit, I should get myself arrested."
It is a well-known fact that many claims on Eldorado, Hunker and Bonanza Creeks have turned out hundreds of thousands of dollars. One pan of gravel on Eldorado Creek yielded $2100. Frank Dinsmore on Bonanza Creek took out ninety pounds of solid gold or $24,480 in a single day. On Aleck McDonald's claim on Eldorado, one man shoveled in $20,000 in twelve hours. McDonald,in two years, dug from the frozen ground $2,207,893. Charley Anderson, on Eldorado, panned out $700 in three hours. T. S. Lippy is said to have paid the Canadian government $65,000 in royalties for the year 1898 and Clarence Berry about the same.
On Skukum Gulch $30,000 were taken from two boxes of dirt. Frank Phiscator of Michigan, after a few months' work, brought home $100,000 in gold, selling one-third of his claim interests for $1,333,000, or at the rate of $5,000,000 for the whole.
When a man is compelled to pay one thousand dollars out of every ten thousand he digs from the ground, he will boast little of large "clean-ups"; and for this reason it is hard to estimate the real amount of gold extracted from the Klondyke mines.
Captain James Kennedy, an old pioneer and conservative mining man, estimates the output for the season of 1899 as $25,000,000, or fifty tons of dust and nuggets.
The most commendable thing about the Canadian Government is their strict enforcement of order. Stealing is an almost unheard of thing, and petty thieving does not exist. Mounted police in their brown uniforms and soldiers in their red coats are everywhere seen in and around Dawson, and they practice methods, which, to the uninitiated, make them very nearly omnipresent.
While walking down street in Dawson one morningabout nine o'clock, I passed a group of men all wearing sober faces. "They're done for now," said a rough miner, glancing in the direction of the Barracks, where a black flag was fluttering at the top of a staff.
"How so?" asked another, just come up to the group.
"Three men hung over there, an hour ago. They're goin' to bury 'em now," and the speaker twitched his thumbs first toward the Barracks, then farther east, where a rough stretch of ground lay unused. Here could be seen policemen and soldiers, evidently in the midst of some performance not on their daily routine.
A number of prisoners wearing the regulation garb of convicts,—pantaloons of heavy mackinaw, one leg of yellow and the other of black,—were carrying long, rough boxes, while others were digging shallow graves.
Upon inquiry I found that what the miner had said was true. Three prisoners, two of them Indian murderers, with another man notoriously bad, had indeed been hung about eight o'clock that morning in the barracks courtyard. In less than two hours afterward they were interred, and in as many days they were forgotten.
By the middle of July, 1899, the steamers leaving Dawson on their way down the Yukon to St. Michael and the new gold fields at Nome, were well filled with those who were anxious to try their luckin Uncle Sam's territory where they can breathe, dig, fish, hunt, or die without buying a license.
By August the steamers coming from St. Michael brought such glowing accounts of the Nome gold fields, that while few people came in, they carried as many out as they could accommodate.
By September the rush down the Yukon was tremendous, and of the twelve thousand people in Dawson many hundreds left for Nome.
When, after six weeks spent in curiously studying conditions and things,—not to say people,—in the great mining camp, it was decided that I should accompany my brother down the Yukon to Cape Nome, and so "out" home to San Francisco, I felt a very distinct sense of disappointment. The novelty of everything, the excitement which came each day in some form or other, was as agreeable as the beautiful summer weather with the long, quiet evenings only settling into darkness at midnight.
In September came the frosts. Men living in tents moved their little Yukon stoves inside, and brought fresh sawdust and shavings from the mills for their beds. Others packed their few possessions into small boats, hauled down their tents, whistled to their dogs, and rolling up their sleeves, pulled laboriously up the swift little Klondyke to their winter "lays" in the mines.
Hundreds were also leaving for the outside. Steamers, both large and small, going to White Horse and Bennett, carried those who had joyfullypacked their bags and smilingly said good-bye; for they were going home to the "States." How we strained our eyes from our cabin window or from the higher bank above, to see the people on the decks of the out-going boats. How the name of each tug and even freight-carrier became a familiar household word, and how many were the conjectures as to whether "she" would get through to White Horse Rapids in the low water before a freeze-up!
A KLONDYKE CLAIM.
One day our own steamer came. She was a magnificently equipped river boat called the "Hannah," belonging to the Alaska Commercial Company, and had cost one hundred thousand dollars. This was to be her last trip for the season, and with us it was "home now, or here all winter," and we made ready to leave. My kodak had been emptied and filled again, calls on acquaintances made, and good-byes said. My battered and broken trunk, which, at the hands of the English customs officials had suffered much, had now to be repaired and put to a good long test. This box was in a state of total collapse; rollers all gone, covering torn and bent, screws and nails lost, sides split, bottom entirely dropped out, but it must go; so my big brother was wheedled into putting it into some kind of shape again, and it came out stronger than before.
No lunches were needed. The cuisine of the Hannah was said to be as perfect as could be in this far away corner of the globe, and we trusted to that.
On September sixteenth the Hannah sounded her whistle—all was hurry and bustle, and such a sight! If hundreds had stood on the docks to welcome us as we entered the city, there were thousands now. It was pleasant. We felt flattered, especially as the band struck up our own national airs, giving us a medley of "Yankee Doodle," "America," "Tramp, Tramp, Tramp," and "When Johnny Comes Marching Home." They felt constrained, however, to wind up with "Sweet Marie," and rag-time dances, one old fellow in slouch hat and with a few drinks too many, stepping the jigs off in lively and comical fashion.
Our pride was perceptibly lessened afterward, when we learned that we had on board a dance hall outfit, and the band belonged to the Monte Carlo saloon!
We were now in the midst of a group, cosmopolitan beyond our wildest dreams. Pushing their way through the crowd to the gangplank came men, women and dogs, carrying grips, kodaks, tin cash boxes, musical instruments, army sacks, fur robes, and rolls of blankets. Struggling under the weight of canvas tents, poles, Yukon stoves and sleds, as well as every conceivable thing, they climbed the stairway to the deck. Here, and in the main saloon, all was deposited for the time being.
There was a woman with a fine grey cat, for which she had been offered fifty dollars, wrapped in a warm shawl, much to pussy's disgust. A numberof women had dogs and were weeping, probably at leaving other canines behind. Several persons carried little grips so heavy that they tugged along—evidently "Chechako," or paper money, was more scarce with them than dust and nuggets.
As freight, there was a piano, many iron-bound boxes containing gold bullion, securely sealed and labeled, and tons of supplies for the consumption of the passengers, of whom there were now five hundred.
Then the whistle again sounded—the gangplank was hauled in, handkerchiefs fluttered, the band struck up "Home Sweet Home"—we were headed down the Yukon River and toward the Arctic Circle.
We had now a journey of seventeen hundred miles before us. We were to traverse a country almost unknown to man. We were two of a party of five hundred persons, the majority of whom, if not actually desperadoes, were reckless and given over to the pursuit of gold regardless of the manner of its getting. There were loose characters of the town by hundreds; there were gamblers running a variety of games both day and night; there were dance house girls and musicians; there were drunks and toughs, and one prize fighter. No firearms or knives were seen, though many, no doubt, had them.
With the enormous amount of gold on board(for the steamer's safe was overflowing, and the purser's room well packed with the precious stuff), with the numbers of hard characters we carried, and the now increasing remoteness from centres of government, there were dangers, we were forced to confess, but which we only admitted in whispers.
Three hours after leaving Dawson we were taking on wood at Forty Mile. This is the oldest camp on the Yukon River, and the early home of Jack McQuestion. The river banks were lined with canoes; many natives stood looking at us from the shore, and while stevedores handled the wood, many passengers visited the town. It was not long before they came back with hands full of turnips, just pulled from the ground, which, had they been the most luscious fruit, could not have been eaten with more relish.
I then tried to buy one of a young man, but he had evidently been long away from such luxuries, for he refused to sell; afterward, his gallantry getting the better of him, he politely offered me one-half of the vegetable, which I took with thanks.
As my brother peeled the precious turnip, I asked him how long since he had eaten one. "Two years," he promptly replied. Knowing that he was especially fond of such things, I ate a small slice, and gave him the remainder. It is needless to say he enjoyed it.
To the right of the landing at Forty Mile, just across a small stream which runs into the Yukon,is Fort Cudahy, containing the stores and warehouses of one of the large companies, as well as a post-office.
EAGLE CITY, ON THE YUKON, IN 1899.
But we were soon off again, steaming along between hills yellow with fading poplar leaves and green streaked with pines. Many rocky spurs towered grandly heavenward, with tops, like silvered heads, covered with newly fallen snow. The Yukon is here very crooked and narrow, and abrupt banks hedged our steamer in on all sides.
Next morning early we arrived at Eagle City, Alaska. We were now in Uncle Sam's land, and breathed more freely. We felt at home. We cheered and waved our handkerchiefs to the blue uniformed soldiers on the river bank who had come to see us.
We went ashore and called upon lieutenant L., lately from his home in Connecticut and campaigning in Cuba. Taking us into a log house near by, he pointed out forty thousand rounds of ammunition and one hundred and fifteen Krag-Jorgensen rifles of the latest pattern.
Here were stationed one hundred and fifteen men, some of them at that time out moose hunting and fishing. Captain Ray, an old white-haired gentleman, stood outside his cabin door. At Eagle we saw the new government barracks just being finished, the logs and shingles having been sawed at the government saw-mill near by, at the mouth of Mission Creek.
We were particularly struck with the very youthfulappearance of our soldiers, and their wistful faces as they watched our preparations for departure.
The lieutenant had said that life in Cuba, or in almost any old place was preferable to that at Eagle, with the long winter staring them in the face, and we could see that the poor fellow longed for home. We were quite touched, but tried to cheer him as best we could.
Circle City, on a big bend of the river from which it derives its name, was reached the following evening. Here all hands crowded over the gangplank and into the stores. In less time than it takes to write it, these places were filled with miners, each man pulling away at his strong, old pipe, the companion of many weary months perhaps; while over the counters they handed their gold dust in payment for the "best plug cut," chewing gum, candy, or whatever else they saw that looked tempting. Here we bought two pairs of beaded moccasins for seven dollars.
As a heavy fog settled down upon us, our captain thought best to tie up the steamer over night, and did so. Next morning by daylight we saw the offices of the United States marshal; both log cabins with dirt roofs, upon which bunches of tall weeds were going to seed. We hoped this was not symbolical of the state of Uncle Sam's affairs in the interior, but feared it might be, as the places seemed deserted.
Many of the one thousand cabins at Circle were now vacant, but it is the largest town next to Dawson on the Yukon River.
During the whole of the next day our pilots steered cautiously over the Yukon Flats.
This is a stretch of about four hundred miles of low, swampy country, where the Yukon evidently loses its courage to run swiftly, for it spreads out indolently in all directions between treacherous and shifting sand-bars, fairly disheartening to all not familiar with its many peculiarities.
We now learned for the first time that we were practically in the hands of three pilots, two of whom were Eskimos, one of them on a salary of five hundred dollars per month. This man was perfectly familiar with the entire river, being an expert pilot, as he proved during this trip to the satisfaction of all.
Owing to the near approach of winter, and the extremely low water at this point, the captain, crew, and many others, wore anxious faces until the Flats were well passed. Should our steamer stick fast on a sand-bar, or take fire, we might easily be landed; but to be left in such a bleak and barren place, with cold weather approaching, snow beginning to fall, no shelter, and only provisions for a few days, with traveling companions of the very worst type, and no passing steamers to pick us up, we would indeed meet a hard fate, and one even the prospect of which was well calculated to make strong men shudder.
W
E were now at the Arctic Circle. For three days we had no sunshine, and flurries of snow were frequent. The mountain tops, as well as the banks and sand-bars of the river, were spread with a thin covering of snow; enough at least to give a wintry aspect. This added to the leaden sky above, made the warmth of big coal fires acceptable indoors, and fur coats comfortable on the decks.
At Fort Yukon the low water prevented our landing. We were told, however, that the place contained one hundred log houses, as well as an old Episcopal Mission, in which Mrs. Bumpus had lived and taught the natives for twenty years. Many of the Eskimo girls are trained as children's nurses and make very satisfactory ones.
Into the Yukon Flats empty the Porcupine River, Birch Creek and other streams. Fort Yukon was established by the Hudson Bay Company many years ago, all supplies coming in and shipments of furs going out by way of the McKensie River and the great Canadian Lakes.
Toward evening one day, while the stevedores were busy handling wood, we went ashore and visitedan Eskimo family in their hut. It was built on the high river bank among the trees, quite near the steamer's landing. On the roof of the hut, there lay, stretched on sticks to dry, a large brown bear skin. Near by we saw the head of a freshly killed moose, with the hoofs of the animal still bloody.
YUKON STEAMER "HANNAH."
As we stooped to enter the low door of the cabin, we felt the warmth from the fire in the little Yukon stove which was placed in the corner of the room. Next to this was a rude table, on which lay a quarter of moose meat, looking more or less tempting to travelers living on canned goods.
A bed stood in one corner, upon which two or three little children were playing, and upon a pile of rags and skins on the floor sat an old Eskimo woman, wrinkled and brown. These were her children and grandchildren, and she was spending her life on the floor of the cabin, watching the little ones play around her, for she was paralyzed.
There were no chairs in the cabin, and but few rude utensils and playthings. A box or tin can, which had contained provisions, was now and then utilized.
After a few moments with the Eskimos, we backed out into the open air again, for the atmosphere of the hut was peculiar, and not altogether agreeable to our southern olfactories. It reminded us of Mrs. Peary's description of native smells in Greenland.
The short path back to our steamer lay througha poplar grove, and under our feet was spread a carpet of brown and yellow leaves, which, in the cool night air, smelled ripe and woodsy.
Next came Fort Hamlin, where we again saw some of Uncle Sam's boys, and where we trudged out through the soft light snow and took some kodak views.
Rampart City was reached in the early evening. One long row of houses upon the south bank of the Yukon, near the mouth of the Big Minook Creek constitutes the town. Here empty the Little Minook, Alder, Hunter, and many other gold-bearing creeks, and a bustling town sprung up only to be almost depopulated during the Nome excitement.
By this time several inches of snow had fallen, and the ground was freezing. We managed here to climb the slippery steps of the log store building in the dusk and buy a pound of ordinary candy, for which we paid one dollar.
Again we were in deep water. This time so very smooth that the hills, peaks, trees and islands were all mirrored on its surface, and very beautiful.
The days were now quite short. About five in the afternoon the electric lights were turned on through the steamer, fresh coal again piled on the fires, and we reminded ourselves how comfortably we were traveling.
Then the dinner bell rang, and we sat down to dinner. Some attempt at decoration had beenmade, for tall glasses stood in the centre of the tables filled with ripe grasses and pretty autumn leaves, but, strange to relate, we were more interested in the contents of our soup plates and what was to follow. The cold and bracing air during our short walks on deck had given us all famous appetites, and we relished everything.
After hot soup with crackers, we ate of fresh fish, three kinds of canned meats, baked or boiled potatoes, with one other kind of vegetable, canned tomatoes, corn or beans. Side dishes consisted of pickles, olives, cheese, sardines, canned fruits, fancy crackers or biscuits, and afterward came pudding and pie. These last were made from various canned fruits, and with the rice, sago or tapioca pudding, formed most enjoyable desserts. On Sunday nuts and raisins or apples were added to the menu.
If we ate with keen appetites, we were not too much occupied to take note of the passengers around us. Nearly opposite sat a beautiful woman with a profusion of auburn hair piled high on her head. She was fashionably dressed in black silk or satin, and her white fingers were loaded with costly rings. As she handed a dish to the man beside her, her diamonds and other gems sparkled brightly. Her companion, much older, had a hard and villainous face. A heavy frown of displeasure habitually rested upon his brow, and his glance was shifting and evasive. He was a professional gambler,kept his game running continually, and was going to Nome.
At the end of the table sat a tall and pleasant mannered young Englishman, with blue eyes and ruddy cheeks. He represented mining interests in the Klondyke amounting to millions, and was on his way to London. He was fond of wine, and consorted chiefly with those who were fast bringing him down to their level.
There was the girl with pretty black eyes, lady-like movements, low voice, and exquisite toilettes. A blue-eyed, pretty little blonde, with infantile complexion, small hands and feet, and wearing a tailor-made suit attracted considerable attention. She was fond of cigarettes and smoked many times a day, though she only looked "sweet sixteen." They were both dance-house girls.
There was a young and handsome Englishman in the triggest of dude toggery, but having a squaw wife and three children, as well as older men at the head of similar broods.
The long tables were spread two or three times at each meal, as several hundred people were to be fed.
A different class, and a worst one if possible, was met with at these late meals. Do you see that short, fat woman over there with the bleared eyes, and the neck of a prize fighter? She is a Dawson saloon keeper, and is now on her way to Nome.
But there were a number of people on thesteamer not properly belonging to this set, and after supper a few usually gathered in one corner to listen to each other's experiences in the far Northwest. Some were tales of hardship, sickness and death; some of hair-breadth escapes from the jaws of an Arctic winter, or from shipwreck. One told of having, two years before, paid $175 for five sacks of flour in the Klondyke; selling the same, a few days later, for $500. Stories of rich strikes were related; how one man, while drunk, was persuaded by his associates to trade a valuable claim for one apparently worthless; his indescribable feelings the next day and until he had prospected the so-called worthless claim, when it proved ten times richer than the first one.
FELLOW TRAVELERS.
A little middle-aged Norwegian woman told her story with great gusto. She had sailed from Seattle two years before with Mayor Woods' expedition, getting as far as a point on the Yukon River two hundred miles below Rampart City. Here the low water prevented their going farther. She, in company with others, made her way to Rampart as best she could, rested and "outfitted" for a trip to Dawson over the ice. Finally, with sleds and provisions, eight dogs and four men, she started. It was a journey of about eight hundred miles. Before leaving Rampart she experimented with fur sleeping bags, and finally made one in which she could sleep comfortably on the ice and snow. Rice and tea were their staple articles of diet, being morequickly prepared in hasty camps at night, and being found most nourishing. After a perilous trip of thirty-five days in the dead of winter, they reached Dawson in good shape, two days ahead of a party of men with whom a wager had been made. With these, and similar stories, we whiled away the long evening hours by the fire. Many short stops were made along the river. A few little settlements were passed during the night. At Holy Cross and Russian Mission we saw flourishing Catholic schools for the natives.
The Yukon was now getting wider and wider, the water was shallow and more shallow, then suddenly we felt a heavy jar. The big stern wheel refused to move,—we were stuck fast on a sand-bar! Here we remained all day, dreading a hard freeze which was liable to settle down upon us at any time, fixing our boat and us in the ice indefinitely. But we were now in the Aphoon, or eastern mouth of the Yukon, and near enough to Behring Sea to get the benefit of the tides; so that in the early evening we again heard the thud of the big machines,—the steamer quivered,—the stern wheel again revolved,—we had entered the Behring Sea!
By four o'clock next morning we were in St. Michael Bay, having covered the sixty miles from the mouth of the river during the night. Snow was falling heavily through which we saw the lights of the harbor, and a number of vessels at anchor.By daylight we counted eleven ships and two revenue cutters lying under the lee of the island.
Breakfast was served on board, and an hour later we went ashore. We now sought the steamer company's hotel, and had no difficulty in getting good rooms and seats at table; for we were still in their care, having bought through tickets to San Francisco. Here we were to wait for the ocean steamer "Bertha," which was now nearly due from that place, and we anxiously watched the weather signs hoping all would be favorable, and that she would very soon put in her appearance.
Our hotel was a new frame building of about forty rooms, lighted by electricity, having large halls, pleasant double parlors overlooking the bay, with a good view of incoming ships from the north. Just across the street stood an old block house or fort containing the funny little cannon used by the Russians over a hundred years ago. The antiquated lock on the door, the hundreds of bullet holes in the outer walls, were all quaintly interesting.
Half a mile south were stores, a hotel, another large company's dock, and in good weather we tramped over there or north the same distance to the headquarters of a third company. These three were small settlements by themselves, and constituted, with their employees, natives and dogs, the whole population of St. Michael. Good sidewalks connected these different stations and commandedfine and extensive views of the surrounding water.
St. Michael, as an island, is not large, and is entirely without trees or timber. However, there is deep, wet moss or tundra everywhere, as one soon discovers to his sorrow if he attempts to leave the plank walks. St. Michael Bay, lying between the island and the mainland on the east, is a fine body of water. The coast line is well defined with ranges of mountains zigzagging their cold and snowy peaks, blue tinted or purple during the day, and pink in the setting sun.
St. Michael is the windiest place on earth. After a few days spent in studying the native dress of the Eskimos, and in trying to adapt my own dress to the freakish breezes I concluded that if I stayed at St. Michael I should dress as they did. If I started for the eating room with my hat properly placed on hair arranged with ever so much care, a heavy beaver cape, and dress of walking length, I was completely demoralized in appearance five minutes later on reaching the mess-house. With a twisting motion which was so sudden as to totally surprise me, my dress was wound around my feet, my cape was flung as if by spiteful hands entirely over my head, causing me to step in my confusion from the plank walk; while my hat was perched sidewise anywhere above or on my shoulder. One unfortunate woman wearing an overskirt covering a striped cambric sham, was seen daily struggling, with intense disgust on her face, up the steps of theeating house, with her unruly overskirt waving wildly in the wind.
But this wind did not keep the Eskimo women and children at home. Dressed in their fur parkies, which are a sort of long blouse with hood attachment, short skirts and muckluks, or skin boots, they trotted down to the beach daily to fish, standing on the wet and slippery rocks, regardless of wind, spray or snow. Here they flung their fish lines out into the water and hauled the little fish up dexterously; when, with a curious twitch they disengaged the finny fellows and tossed them into a big pan. Little Eskimo children ran on in front of their mothers, and shaggy dogs followed close behind at the smell of the fish.
B
UT there were passengers arriving at St. Michael each day from different points bound for Nome.
At last the side-wheeler "Sadie" was to leave for Nome, and what a commotion! Men in fur coats, caps and mittens, leading dogs of all colors and sizes, some barking, but all hustled along with no thought of anything except to reach Cape Nome as quickly as possible. At last they were off. A rough, and in some instances a drunken lot, but all hopefully happy and sure that they would "strike it rich" in the new gold fields. Many, no doubt, were going to their death, many to hardships and disappointments undreamed of, while a few would find gold almost inexhaustible.
Still we waited day after day for the ocean steamer "Bertha." One Sunday morning we looked from the hotel windows to see a clear, cold sky, with sun and high wind. About ten o'clock we heard a steamer whistling for assistance. She was small and used for errands by one of the steamship companies. Still none went to the rescue, as the gale was terrific. A steam tug started out, but she passed by on the other side, not caring to act the part of good Samaritan to a rival. In afew moments the fires of the little steamer were out,—she was sinking. Through a glass we saw three men on the roof of the craft—then they clung to the smokestack. A larger steamer, though herself disabled, finally reached the three drowning men. It was not a moment too soon, for the water was icy, the gale fearful. They were then hauled in, almost exhausted and frozen.
It was a wild day. Soon after noon, one of the two big covered barges in tow by the "Lackme," already loaded for a start for Nome, began to sink. The wind came from the north, and little by little the barge became unmanageable, until at last she was cut loose and deserted. For an hour we watched the barge, until, she too, sank out of sight beneath the waters of the bay.
Small steamers still came straggling in from Dawson crowded with passengers going to the new gold fields, and our tired cooks and stewards in the kitchens were rushed both day and night. Here the price of a meal, to all but those having through tickets to San Francisco, was one dollar, and fifteen hundred meals a day were frequently served.
In this hotel we waited two weeks, patiently at times, restlessly at other times. What would we do if the Bertha failed to appear? Possibly she was lost, and now drifting, a worthless derelict, at the mercy of the winds! Not another boat would or could carry us, tickets on each one having long ago been sold. If we should be frozen inall winter, with no way of letting our friends at home know of our whereabouts for six months, how terrible would be their anxiety, how hard for us in this exposed spot near the Arctic Sea! Many times a day and in the night did this emergency present itself to us, and we shuddered. Each day we climbed the hill a quarter of a mile away to look, Robinson Crusoe like, over the ocean to see if we could discover the "Bertha."
In the meantime, with note book and pencil in hand I often sat in the parlor; and, while occupied to a certain extent, I gathered sundry bits of information regarding the gold fields in this wonderful new Golconda. Two million dollars, it was said, had already been extracted from the beach at Nome, and no estimate could be made on what was still there. The pay streak ran to the water's edge, and even farther, but just how far, no one knew.
Back of this beach spread the tundra, an expanse of marsh, ice and water, which extends some four miles inland. The size of the claims allowed by law is one thousand three hundred and twenty feet in length, and six hundred and sixty feet in width; or about twenty acres of land. The insignificant sum of $2.50 is required to be paid the recorder.
In the York District the area allowed for claims is smaller, being five hundred feet in width, and the length depending on the geographical formation or creek upon which the claim is situated.
North of Nome there are ninety to one hundred miles of gold-bearing beach to be worked, and again to the south a vast stretch of like character extending to Norton Bay. The tundra, which is nothing but the old beach, follows the present shore, and is fully as rich as the surf-washed sands. More productive and larger than all is the inland region traversed by rivers and creeks that form a veritable network of streams, all bordered by gold-producing soil.
Anvil Creek, Sunset Gulch, Snow Gulch and Dexter Creek, near Nome, are all exceedingly rich; one claim on Snow Gulch having been sold for $185,000, and another for $13,000.
Golovin Bay District is situated eighty-five miles east of Nome City, and is large and very rich. Fish River is the principal one in this section, and has innumerable small tributaries running into it, most of which are also rich in gold.
Casa de Paga is a tributary of the Neukluk River, and very rich. On Ophir Creek, claim No. four, above Discovery, $48,000 was taken out in nineteen days by the Dusty Diamond Company working seventeen men. On number twenty-nine above Discovery on Ophir Creek, seventeen dollars were taken out a day per man, who dug out frozen gravel, thawed it by the heat of a coal-oil stove, and afterward rocked it.
There was much discussion over the rights of those claiming mining lands located by the powerof attorney; though the majority of men here seemed to believe they would hold good, and many such papers were made out in due legal form.
At last, on the morning of October ninth, the "Bertha" really appeared. It was a clear, cold day, sunny and calm. I ran in high spirits to the top of the hill overlooking the bay to get a good view. Sure enough, there lay the "Bertha" on the bright waters as though she had always been there. How rejoiced everyone was! How relieved were those who intended to remain here because of the additions to the winter's supplies, and how rejoiced were those waiting to get away? How we all bustled about, packing up, buying papers and magazines just from the steamer, sealing and stamping letters, making notes in diaries, taking kodak views, saying good-bye to acquaintances, ad infinitum.
All were willing to leave. Finally on the afternoon of the tenth we were stowed into the big covered barge which was to take us out to the "Bertha." It was cold and draughty inside, so we found a sheltered place in the sun on some piles of luggage, and sat there. As the "Bertha" was reached, a gangplank was thrown over to the barge, which came as close alongside as possible, and up this steep and narrow board we climbed, clinging to a rope held by men on both decks.
Our trouble had now begun. We were overjoyed at making a start at last, but under whatconditions! The river steamer "Hannah" had been a model of neatness as compared with this one. On deck there were coops of chickens, and pens of live sheep and pigs brought from San Francisco to be put off at Nome, as well as a full passenger list for the same place. On the way here a landing had been attempted at Nome, but the surf had been so tremendous that it could not be accomplished, and passengers still occupied the staterooms that we were to have. However, we were temporarily sandwiched in, and, about four P. M., said good-bye to St. Michael.
It was a lovely day and the waters of the bay were very calm. Along shore in the most sheltered places were numbers of river steamers and smaller craft being snugly tucked up for the winter. From three tall flagstaffs on shore there floated gracefully as many American flags as though to wish us well on our long journey out to civilization.
That night on board was simply pandemonium. Hundreds of people had no beds, and were obliged to sit or walk about, many sitting in corners on the floor, or on piles of luggage or lying under or upon the tables. Every seat and berth were taken. Many of the staterooms below were filled from floor to ceiling with flour in sacks for Nome, as well as every foot of space in passage-ways or pantries. Many men were so disorderly from drink that they kept constantly swearing and quarreling, and one man, in a brawl, was almost toppledinto the sea. To make things worse, the stench from the pens of the animals on deck became almost unbearable, and the wind came up, making the water rough.
There was no sleep for us that night. We longed to reach Nome that we might be rid of some of these objectionable things, and hoped for an improvement afterward.
From St. Michael to Nome, the distance is about one hundred and twenty-five miles, and the latter place was reached about eight A. M. A little before daylight we had been startled by a series of four sudden shocks or jars, the first being accompanied by a very distinct creaking of timbers of the ship, so that some of us rose and dressed; but the ship had apparently sustained no injury, and we proceeded on our way. Whether we had struck a rock, or only a sand-bar, we never knew, for the ship's men laughed and evaded our questions; but the passengers believed that the boat had touched a reef or rock, hidden, perhaps, beneath the surface of the sea.
By daylight the animals had been removed to a barge, and soon after breakfast the Nome passengers were taken ashore in like manner, for the surf was so heavy on the beach, and there being no docks or wharves, it was impossible for a large steamer to get nearer.
Away in the distance to the north lay the famousnew gold camp of Nome. Stretched for miles along the beach could be seen the little white tents of the beach miners, back of which lay the town proper, and still back, the rolling hills now partly covered with snow. Not a tree or shrub could be seen, though we strained our eyes through a strong glass in an effort to find them. A few wooden buildings larger than the rest were pointed out as the Alaska Commercial Company's warehouses and offices, near where the loaded barges were tossed by the huge breakers toward the beach.