CHAPTER VIII.

NOV. 12, 7 o'clock a. m.—Great excitement prevails. The "Flying Dutchman" returned down the Kowak last night. He is the German who passed on about twelve days ago to learn all the news and gather mail. He brings us good news, such news as makes the heart of a gold-hunter in the Arctics palpitate with emotion. He met a man above the Par River, one hundred and seventy-five miles east of us, who had just come over from the head waters of the Koyukuk River to get a sled-load of provisions. This man reported that gold in large quantities had been found on a branch of the Koyukuk near the head of this river, and that he and others had staked out rich claims. The "Flying Dutchman" also reported that six of our boys from the upper Penelope Camp had already started with sleds for that region, and that Dr. Coffin had reached the Penelope Camp in safety and was now on his way back to give us the news. We expect his party to-night. This news, if true, changes the whole aspect of things. We have heretofore had no assurance that gold had been found in this country, and we believed ourselves to be the victims of "fake" stories. What a change of feeling in our camp! Although this report may also be a fake, we will enjoy these happy expectations until further developments. One thing is true, and that is that our boys above here have started a party to the head of the Koyukuk, and must have learned something favorable. When the doctor and the rest get back to-night we shall certainly know all about it.

It was just a day or two ago that I was writing a discouraging entry. So hope follows despair, and again despair may follow on the heels of hope, with gold-hunters.

We have two sleds now nearly finished, so that if the doctor confirms the news, we will be ready to start immediately for the Koyukuk in the teeth of an Arctic winter. Let it growl: What care gold-hunters for old Boreas? We are in high spirits. Last night we had what is denominated with us "a high old time." We yelled, and danced, and sang impromptu songs, such as the following, which needs the camp conditions to give it the true ring:

The Flying Dutchman came round the bend,Good-by, old Kowak, good-by;Shouting the news to all the men,Good-by, old Kowak, good-by.Gold is found on the Koyukuk,The people here will be piechuck (Eskimo for "gone").The "Penelope" gang have made a sleigh,And part are now upon the way.If you get there before I do.Stake a claim there for me, too.We'll start right now with spade and shovel,And dig out gold to beat the devil.

The Flying Dutchman came round the bend,

Good-by, old Kowak, good-by;

Shouting the news to all the men,

Good-by, old Kowak, good-by.

Gold is found on the Koyukuk,

The people here will be piechuck (Eskimo for "gone").

The "Penelope" gang have made a sleigh,

And part are now upon the way.

If you get there before I do.

Stake a claim there for me, too.

We'll start right now with spade and shovel,

And dig out gold to beat the devil.

This immortal song proves that we are a lively crowd. With the banjo and autoharp as accompaniment, we demonstrate a "good time" while we feel like it.

Meanwhile, until further news, we shall continue to get ready between the songs. Brown and I and the two Harrys are making a sled.

Last Sunday we had a good-sized congregation for morning "services." Twenty-five white men were present, but only a few natives. We were wondering why the Eskimos were not coming, and Harry Reynolds went up to the village to see. He found them all playing poker. Harry finally persuaded two men to come, after they had won all the stakes. The rest kept on playing. Natives who cannot speak a word of English—and very few can—know how to play cards, and can read the numbers in their own language and count up faster than we. They play for lead, cartridges, tobacco, etc., but the stakes are never very large, owing to their limited means. Yesterday our cabin was full of Eskimos all day.

A couple of young men got hold of our crokonole board, starting in at ten in the morning and playing without a stop until ten at night. And they can play well, too; better than we can. We found that they were playing for tobacco, am! that in the house of a half-way missionary outfit who have just completed a chapel for the regeneration of the natives! A previously-prepared quid of tobacco, which may have done service as the stake for other games in the past, was enjoyed by the winner of each game, until he in turn was defeated, when the quid reverted to the original winner, and so on back and forth all day.

Native Visitors.

The Indians seldom spit out the tobacco juice, but swallow it. They seem to have cast-iron stomachs. When they smoke, they draw the smoke into their lungs and retain it several seconds before exhaling. I have many times watched an Indian inhale a great puff of smoke, but I have never seen it return again. Whether they swallow it, as they seem to do, or what becomes of it, I do not know. The women and even little children all smoke. I saw a funny sight last summer down near the Mission, and only regret that the camera was not along. A little "kid" about four years old, without a stitch of clothing on, except an officer's old cap, was strutting around the camp with an immense corn-cob pipe in his mouth, and he knew how to smoke, too. The question is, where did he get the pipe?

At noon yesterday there were six or eight Eskimo men and one woman sitting around in the cabin, and as usual at meal-time C. C. gave them something to eat. Among the other viands were some beans and a bowl of gravy. This gravy had been made from the juice of fried bear meat, but it did not have a shred of the meat in it. C. C. passed around this varied mess in bowls to the natives. They began to eat with relish, when one of the men suddenly demanded of C. C. in a stern voice whether there was any bear in the "cow-cow" (food).

C. C. said at first there was not, but the Indian tasted it again and looked suspiciously at C. C. who suddenly remembered the bear juice and admitted there was "a little." The woman at once threw down her food and the men fell to talking earnestly. They said that bear meat would kill a woman if she ate it, but it was perfectly safe for men. It is awful to think of; how we might have been held up for murder in that desolate land, and hung by a raw-hide rope to the dome of the Arctic Circle. It is a fact that this woman died two weeks afterward. The natives hold many superstitions as to when and what to eat. No Indian woman was allowed to do any sewing in the village yesterday because there was a man very sick in one of the igloos. Should they dare to sew it might cause his death.

It is half-past seven now, and C. C. has got up and is starting the breakfast. It is beginning to be quite light outside and I willgo out and examine my traps before breakfast.

Entrance to Native Igloo.

Sunday. Nov. 13.—The wind has blown from the north constantly for two days and is increasing. The doctor and the boys are not back either, so they must have stopped at some camp on the way down. They are wise to do that. I went out on the river awhile this evening, and could scarcely stand up against the wind. And the sand was blowing in clouds across the ice from the opposite side of the river. It has been at even zero all day. In spite of the bad weather there was a large attendance at church this morning, there being thirty-two white men present. There were two from "Ambler City." thirty-six miles up the Kowak, and two or three from the Jesse Lou Camp twelve miles below us, while nearly all the Hanson boys came up. Those from up the river came down on skates yesterday and spent the night at the Guardian Camp, four miles above us. They had seen nothing of the doctor and his party. Services were held in the new chapel for the first time. And it was a great success; the chapel, I mean. The room was comfortably filled and was quite warm. A great blazing fire in the stone fireplace on one side made it cheerfully warm, and a great square opening in the roof, covered with an almost transparent walrus gut skin, admitted plenty of light. The service consisted mainly of familiar hymns, accompanied by the orchestra. The orchestra consists of the autoharp, played by C. C., the clarionet by Lyman of the Iowa Camp, the banjo by Harry Reynolds, and the violin by Normandin of the Hanson Camp. The music is fine, too. It alone is a big attraction for men up in this country, as very few thought of bringing musical instruments. C. C. made a short talk, and so did Mr. Dozier of the Hanson Camp. After the regular service a social hour was spent. This was the first religious meeting since leaving the States, for several of the men. It is very nice. I think, to have these Sunday meetings, if only for the social enjoyment. Rumor has come to us by way of the Yukon and Koyukuk that the Spanish war is at an end, and that the Philippines and Cuba are free. How we would like to know the details! But alas! by the time we do get them they will be as stale as last year's gingerbread.

Nine men accepted our invitation for dinner, and our house might be said to be full. C. C. had prepared for such an emergency, and a big roast of bear with stuffing, fried venison and pies without limit made a feast that everyone enjoyed. We are all "prodigal sons," the only difference being that we are having our "fatted calf" all the way along. Two of the men declared that this was the first time they had eaten pie since leaving home. There is nothing like pie to bring a fellow to his home senses.

Those who have visited all the camps on the Kowak, say that ours is the largest and most comfortable house on the river. I think this is the case but we are not the only ones who enjoy its comforts and hospitality.

I do not expect we shall have so large an attendance again at Sunday services, for to-morrow ten of the Iowa boys, our nearest neighbors, start with heavily loaded sleds to get as far as possible toward the Koyukuk before the snow comes. Others are talking of starting soon, and if more favorable news comes we may all skip out. I would not hesitate a moment to go now if we could be sure as to the snowfall. We have no snowshoes, and it would be disastrous to be snowed in for several months in some desolate place with limited provisions.

Yesterday I made a hood out of a canvas flour sack to be put on outside of my wool hood which mother knit, and it will keep out a good deal of wind. I also put a heavy canvas lining over my woolen mittens and darned several pairs of socks. That is thefirst time I have done any mending since leaving home. Perhaps there is no time in a fellow's life when affectionate remembrance of his human sisters so comes to him as when his garments need repairing. Bless them!—the sisters and mothers, not the garments.

Last week an Indian brought in another bear, a larger one than the Hunt River bear, and we traded for a hind quarter, about forty pounds. The flesh is rather strong, but we eat it with relish. C. C. has the promise of the hide.

Yesterday there was great activity in sled building. Brown's sled is nearly done. Chenetto, a young Eskimo, worked for us most of the day lashing the pieces together. He is an expert. Luckily I traded for a large quantity of walrus-hide string at Cape Prince of Wales. It is about the only material strong enough to lash sleds together.

Last week we nearly all shaved our beards off, which greatly improves the looks of most of us. That was not the cause of their removal. The ice forms in one's moustache and beard in chunks, and is very disagreeable and inconvenient to carry about. C. C. had a specially fine beard and it became him. Mine was long on the chin with rather silky burnsides, and the boys then called me Si Pumpkins. I then shaved off my moustache and all but the long, straggling chin whiskers, and they called me Deacon Greentree. But now I am plain "Joe" again, and they tell me I shall never attempt another beard at risk of disgracing the camp. We have a pair of grocer's scales with our hundreds of other things, and weigh ourselves at times. My weight is 148 pounds as against 127 when I left home last April. This proves that a trip to the Arctics is favorable to health and avoirdupois.

The Leaning Tree that Marked our Camp.

By the way, I saw my first nuggets to-day. "Hard-luck Jim," one of the men from Ambler City, had three small gold nuggets, But they were not taken on the Kowak, alas! They came from Cook's Inlet.

The "Flying Dutchman" gave us a diagram of the Kowak River, with the camps and distances as he judged them when skating up the river. I will record them, beginning at Holtham Inlet. It may be years hence that some other prospecting parties will wend their way into these parts, and, seeing our deserted villages, pause in wonder at the lesson they teach. The first camp is forty miles from the mouth of the Kowak, the Buckeye Camp; then thirty-five miles and the Orphans' House; one-half mile and Sproud's Camp; nine miles. Riley Wreck; nine miles. Faulkenberg Camp; one mile. Lower Kotzebue Camp; twelve miles, Indian Camp; twenty miles, Jesse Lou Camp; twelve miles, Sunnyside; one-half mile. Lower Hanson Camp; three miles, Lower Penelope Camp (our own) and Lower Iowa Camp; four miles, Guardian Camp; thirty miles, Ambler City; three miles, Upper Hanson Camp; fifty miles, Mulkey's Landing; four miles, Camp Riley; four miles, Agnes Boyd Camp; ten miles, Upper Iowa Camp; two miles, Kogoluktuk River, on which, about six miles from the mouth, are the Upper Penelope Camp (our boys) and river boat "Helen"; ten miles, Stony Camp; one and one-half miles, Upper Kotzebue Camp and Kate Sudden gulch; three miles, Farnsworth Camp; three miles, Nugget Camp; eight miles, Upper Guardian Camp; five miles, Davenport Camp; five miles, Leslie D. Camp; eight miles, Ralston Camp; two miles, Par River, Captain Green's Camp. From this point there are camps on to the Reed River, seventy-five miles further up theKowak, but the "Flying Dutchman" did not go farther than the Par River. He reports eight hundred men in winter quarters on the Kowak alone. Thus is this desolate Kowak country peopled with expectant gold seekers, where a year ago a white man's track in the snow was a thing unknown. And what will be the result? Time alone, with the assistance of my note-book, shall record it. And here come the boys, but the doctor's face is not jubilant.

Starting for the Koyukuk.

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