A Woman who went to Alaska
by May Kellogg Sullivan · English · Gutenberg #22409 · 535,159 chars · public domain (US)
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Title: A Woman who went to Alaska
Author: May Kellogg Sullivan
Release date: August 26, 2007 [eBook #22409]
Language: English
Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/22409
Credits: Produced by Malcolm Farmer, Stephen Blundell and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A WOMAN WHO WENT TO ALASKA ***
Produced by Malcolm Farmer, Stephen Blundell and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by the Library of Congress)
[Illustration: MAY KELLOGG SULLIVAN IN ALASKA DRESS.]
A WOMAN WHO
WENT ----
TO ALASKA
By May Kellogg Sullivan
ILLUSTRATED
Boston:
James H. Earle & Company
178 Washington Street
_Copyright, 1902_
_By MAY KELLOGG SULLIVAN_
_All Rights Reserved_
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER PAGE
I Under Way 9
II Midnight on a Yukon Steamer 19
III Dawson 28
IV The Rush 36
V At The Arctic Circle 48
VI Companions 58
VII Going to Nome 78
VIII Fresh Danger 81
IX Nome 94
X The Four Sisters 109
XI Life in a Mining Camp 131
XII Bar-Room Disturbances 149
XIII Off For Golovin Bay 162
XIV Life at Golovin 184
XV Winter in the Mission 199
XVI The Retired Sea Captain 215
XVII How the Long Days Passed 231
XVIII Swarming 247
XIX New Quarters 261
XX Christmas in Alaska 275
XXI My First Gold Claims 292
XXII The Little Sick Child 311
XXIII Lights and Shadows of the Mining Camp 325
XXIV An Unpleasant Adventure 340
XXV Stones and Dynamite 354
XXVI Good-bye to Golovin Bay 374
XXVII Going Outside 379
Transcriber's Note
Obvious printer errors have been corrected. All other
inconsistencies remain as printed.
A list of illustrations, though not present in the original, has
been provided below:
MAY KELLOGG SULLIVAN IN ALASKA DRESS.
DAWSON, Y. T.
CITY HALL AT SKAGWAY.
PORCUPINE CANYON, WHITE PASS.
MILES CANYON.
UPPER YUKON STEAMER.
FIVE FINGER RAPIDS.
GOING TO DAWSON IN WINTER.
A KLONDYKE CLAIM.
EAGLE CITY, ON THE YUKON, IN 1899.
YUKON STEAMER "HANNAH."
FELLOW TRAVELERS.
ESKIMOS.
UNALASKA.
STEAMSHIP ST. PAUL.
NOME.
LIFE AT NOME.
CLAIM NUMBER NINE, ANVIL CREEK.
CLAIM NUMBER FOUR, ANVIL CREEK, NOME.
MAP OF ALASKA.
ESKIMO DOGS.
WINTER PROSPECTING.
AT CHINIK. THE MISSION.
CLAIM ON BONANZA CREEK.
ON BONANZA CREEK.
SKAGWAY RIVER, FROM THE TRAIN.
PREFACE
This unpretentious little book is the outcome of my own experiences and
adventures in Alaska. Two trips, covering a period of eighteen months
and a distance of over twelve thousand miles were made practically
alone.
In answer to the oft-repeated question of why I went to Alaska I can
only give the same reply that so many others give: I wanted to go in
search of my fortune which had been successfully eluding my grasp for a
good many years. Neither home nor children claimed my attention. No good
reason, I thought, stood in the way of my going to Alaska; for my
husband, traveling constantly at his work had long ago allowed me carte
blanche as to my inclinations and movements. To be sure, there was no
money in the bank upon which to draw, and an account with certain
friends whose kindness and generosity cannot be forgotten, was opened up
to pay passage money; but so far neither they nor I have regretted
making the venture.
I had first-class health and made up in endurance what I lacked in
avoirdupois, along with a firm determination to take up the first honest
work that presented itself, regardless of choice, and in the meantime to
secure a few gold claims, the fame of which had for two years reached my
ears.
In regard to the truthfulness of this record I have tried faithfully to
relate my experiences as they took place. Not all, of course, have been
included, for numerous and varied trials came to me, of which I have not
written, else a far more thrilling story could have been told.
Enough has, however, been noted to give my readers a fair idea of a
woman's life during a period of eighteen months in a few of the roughest
mining camps in the world; and that many may be interested, and to some
extent possibly instructed by the perusal of my little book, is the
sincere wish of the author.
MAY KELLOGG SULLIVAN.
A WOMAN WHO WENT--TO ALASKA.
CHAPTER I.
UNDER WAY.
My first trip from California to Alaska was made in the summer of 1899.
I went alone to Dawson to my father and brother, surprising them greatly
when I quietly walked up to shake hands with them at their work. The
amazement of my father knew no bounds,--and yet I could see a lot of
quiet amusement beneath all when he introduced me to his friends, which
plainly said:
"Here is my venturesome daughter, who is really a 'chip off the old
block,' so you must not be surprised at her coming to Alaska."
Father had gone to the Klondyke a year before at the age of sixty-four,
climbing Chilkoot Pass in the primitive way and "running" Miles Canyon
and White Horse Rapids in a small boat which came near being swamped in
the passage.
My brother's entrance to the famous gold fields was made in the same
dangerous manner a year before; but I had waited until trains over the
White Pass and Yukon Railroad had been crossing the mountains daily for
two weeks before myself attempting to get into Alaska's interior. At
that time it was only a three hours' ride, including stops, over the
Pass to Lake Bennett, the terminus of this new railroad, the first in
Alaska. A couple of rude open flat cars with springless seats along the
sides were all the accommodation we had as passengers from the summit of
White Pass to Lake Bennett; we having paid handsomely for the privilege
of riding in this manner and thinking ourselves fortunate, considering
the fact that our route was, during the entire distance of about
forty-five miles, strewn with the bleaching bones of earlier argonauts
and their beasts of burden.
Naturally, my traveling companions interested me exceedingly. There were
few women. Two ladies with their husbands were going to Dawson on
business. About eight or ten other women belonging to the rapid class of
individuals journeyed at the same time. We had all nationalities and
classes. There were two women from Europe with luggage covered with
foreign stickers, and a spoken jargon which was neither German nor
French, but sounded like a clever admixture of both.
Then there was the woman who went by the name of Mrs. Somebody or other
who wore a seal-skin coat, diamond earrings and silver-mounted umbrella.
She had been placed in the same stateroom with me on the steamer at
Seattle, and upon making her preparations to retire for the night had
offered me a glass of brandy, while imbibing one herself, which I
energetically, though politely, refused. At midnight a second woman of
the same caste had been ushered into my room to occupy the third and
last berth, whereupon next morning I had waited upon the purser of the
ship, and modestly but firmly requested a change of location. In a
gentlemanly way he informed me that the only vacant stateroom was a
small one next the engine room below, but if I could endure the noise
and wished to take it, I could do so. I preferred the proximity and
whirr of machinery along with closer quarters to the company of the two
adventuresses, so while both women slept late next morning I quietly and
thankfully moved all my belongings below. Here I enjoyed the luxury of a
room by myself for forty-eight hours, or until we reached Skagway,
completely oblivious to the fact that never for one instant did the
pounding of the great engines eight feet distant cease either day or
night.
[Illustration: DAWSON, Y. T.]
A United States Judge, an English aristocrat and lady, a Seattle lawyer,
sober, thoughtful and of middle age, who had been introduced to me by a
friend upon sailing, and who kindly kept me in sight when we changed
steamers or trains on the trip without specially appearing to do so; a
nice old gentleman going to search for the body of his son lost in the
Klondyke River a few weeks before, and a good many rough miners as well
as nondescripts made up our unique company to Dawson. Some had been over
the route before when mules and horses had been the only means of
transportation over the Passes, and stories of the trials and dangers of
former trips were heard upon deck each day, with accompaniments of oaths
and slang phrases, and punctuated by splashes of tobacco juice.
On the voyage to Skagway there was little seasickness among the
passengers, as we kept to the inland passage among the islands. At a
short distance away we viewed the great Treadwell gold mines on Douglass
Island, and peered out through a veil of mist and rain at Juneau under
the hills. Here we left a few of our best and most pleasant passengers,
and watched the old Indian women drive sharp bargains in curios, beaded
moccasins, bags, etc., with tourists who were impervious to the great
rain drops which are here always falling as easily from the clouds as
leaves from a maple tree in October.
Our landing at Skagway under the towering mountains upon beautiful Lynn
Canal was more uneventful than our experience in the Customs House at
that place, for we were about to cross the line into Canadian territory.
Here we presented an interesting and animated scene. Probably one
hundred and fifty persons crowded the small station and baggage room,
each one pushing his way as far as possible toward the officials, who
with muttered curses hustled the tags upon each box and trunk as it was
hastily unlocked and examined. Ropes and straps were flung about the
floor, bags thrown with bunches of keys promiscuously, while transfer
men perspiring from every pore tumbled great mountains of luggage hither
and thither.
[Illustration: CITY HALL AT SKAGWAY.]
Two ponderous Germans there were, who, in checked steamer caps enveloped
in cigar smoke of the best brand, protested vigorously at the opening of
their trunks by the officers, but their protests seemed only the more to
whet the appetites of these dignitaries. The big Germans had their
revenge, however. In the box of one of these men was found with other
things a lot of Limburger cheese, the pungent odor of which drove the
women screaming to the doors, and men protesting indignantly after them;
while those unable to reach the air prayed earnestly for a good stiff
breeze off Lynn Canal to revive them. The Germans laughed till tears ran
down their cheeks, and cheerfully paid the duty imposed.
Skagway was interesting chiefly from its historical associations as a
port where so many struggling men had landed, suffered and passed on
over that trail of hardship and blood two years before.
Our little narrow gauge coaches were crowded to their utmost, men
standing in aisles and on platforms, and sitting upon wood boxes and
hand luggage near the doors.
It was July, and the sight of fresh fruit in the hands of those lunching
in the next seat almost brought tears to my eyes, for we were now going
far beyond the land of fruits and all other delicacies.
"Pick it up, old man, pick it up and eat it," said one rough fellow of
evident experience in Alaska to one who had dropped a cherry upon the
floor, "for you won't get another while you stay in this country, if it
is four years!"
"But," said another, "he can eat 'Alaska strawberries' to his heart's
content, summer and winter, and I'll be bound when he gets home to the
States he won't thank anyone for puttin' a plate of beans in front of
him, he'll be that sick of 'em! I et beans or 'Alaska strawberries' for
nine months one season, day in and day out, and I'm a peaceable man, but
at the end of that time I'd have put a bullet through the man who
offered me beans to eat, now you can bet your life on that! Don't never
insult an old timer by puttin' beans before him, is my advice if you do
try to sugar-coat 'em by calling 'em strawberries!" and the man thumped
his old cob pipe with force enough upon the wood box to empty the ashes
from its bowl and to break it into fragments had it not been well
seasoned.
Upon the summit of White Pass we alighted from the train and boarded
another. This time it was the open flat cars, and the Germans came near
being left. As the conductor shouted "all aboard" they both scrambled,
with great puffing and blowing owing to their avoirdupois, to the rear
end of the last car, and with faces purple from exertion plumped
themselves down almost in the laps of some women who were laughing at
them.
[Illustration: PORCUPINE CANYON, WHITE PASS.]
We had now a dizzy descent to make to Lake Bennett. Conductor and
brakeman were on the alert. With their hands upon the brakes these men
stood with nerves and muscles tense. All talking ceased. Some of us
thought of home and loved ones, but none flinched. Slowly at first, then
faster and faster the train rolled over the rails until lakes, hills and
mountains fairly flew past us as we descended. At last the train's speed
was slackened, and we moved more leisurely along the foot of the
mountains. We were in the beautiful green "Meadows" where pretty and
fragrant wild flowers nodded in clusters among the tall grass.
At Bennett our trunks were again opened, and we left the train. We were
to take a small steamer down the lakes and river for Dawson. We were no
longer crowded, as passengers scattered to different boats, some going
east to Atlin. With little trouble I secured a lodging for one night
with the stewardess of the small steamer which would carry us as far as
Miles Canyon or the Camp, Canyon City. From there we were obliged to
walk five miles over the trail. It was midsummer, and the woods through
which we passed were green. Wild flowers, grasses and moss carpeted our
path which lay along the eastern bank of the great gorge called Miles
Canyon, only at times winding away too far for the roar of its rushing
waters to reach our ears. No sound of civilization came to us, and no
life was to be seen unless a crow chanced to fly overhead in search of
some morsel of food. Large forest trees there were none. Tall, straight
saplings of poplar, spruce and pine pointed their slender fingers
heavenward, and seemed proudly to say:
"See what fortitude we have to plant ourselves in this lonely Northland
with our roots and sap ice-bound most of the year. Do you not admire
us?" And we did admire wonderingly. Then, again, nearing the banks of
Miles Canyon we forged our way on up hill and down, across wet spots,
over boulders and logs, listening to the roar of the mighty torrent
dashing between towering, many-colored walls of rock, where the volume
of water one hundred feet in width with a current of fifteen miles an
hour, and a distance of five-eighths of a mile rushes insistently
onward, as it has, no doubt, done for ages past. Then at last widening,
this torrent is no longer confined by precipitous cliffs but between
sparsely wooded banks, and now passes under the name of "White Horse
Rapids," from so strangely resembling white horses as the waters are
dashed over and about the huge boulders in mid-stream. Here many of the
earlier argonauts found watery graves as they journeyed in small boats
or rafts down the streams to the Klondyke in their mad haste to reach
the newly discovered gold fields.
After leaving White Horse Rapids we traveled for days down the river. My
little stateroom next the galley or kitchen of the steamer was
frequently like an oven, so great was the heat from the big cooking
range. The room contained nothing but two berths, made up with blankets
and upon wire springs, and the door did not boast of a lock of any
description. Upon application to the purser for a chair I received a
camp stool. Luckily I had brushes, combs, soap and towels in my bag, for
none of these things were furnished with the stateroom. In the stern of
the boat there was a small room where tin wash basins and roller towels
awaited the pleasure of the women passengers, the water for their
ablutions being kept in a barrel, upon which hung an old dipper. To
clean one's teeth over the deck rail might seem to some an unusual
undertaking, but I soon learned to do this with complacency, it being
something of gain not to lose sight of passing scenery while performing
the operation.
[Illustration: MILES CANYON.]
At Lake La Barge we enjoyed a magnificent panorama. Bathed in the rosy
glow of a departing sunset, this beautiful body of water sparkled like
diamonds on all sides of us. Around us on every hand lay the green and
quiet hills. Near the waters' edge they appeared a deep green, but grew
lighter in the distance. Long bars of crimson, grey and gold streaked
the western horizon, while higher up tints of purple and pink blended
harmoniously with the soft blue sky. As the sun slowly settled the
colors deepened. Darker and darker they grew. The warm soft glow had
departed, and all was purple and black, including the waters beneath us;
and as we passed through the northern end or outlet of the lake into
Thirty Mile River we seemed to be entering a gate, so narrow did the
entrance to the river appear between the hills.
At night our steamer was frequently tied up to a wood pile along the
banks of the river. No signs of civilization met our eyes, except,
perhaps, a rude log hut or cabin among the trees, where at night, his
solitary candle twinkling in his window and his dogs baying at the moon,
some lonely settler had established himself.
The Semenow Hills country is a lonely one. Range upon range of rolling,
partly wooded, hills meet the eye of the traveler until it grows weary
and seeks relief in sleep.
Five Finger Rapids was the next point of interest on our route, and I am
here reminded of a short story which is not altogether one of fiction,
and which is entitled: Midnight on a Yukon Steamer.
CHAPTER II.
MIDNIGHT ON A YUKON STEAMER.
The bright and yellow full moon drifted slowly upward. The sun had just
set at nine in the evening, casting a warm and beautiful glow over all
the lonely landscape, for it was the most dreary spot in all the dreary
wilderness through which the mighty Yukon passes.
The steamer had tied up for wood, and now the brawny stevedores with
blackened hands and arms were pitching it to the deck.
To the passengers, of whom there were a goodly number, time hung
heavily, and the younger ones had proposed a dance. Musical instruments
were not numerous, but such as there were, were brought out, and two
non-professionals with an accordion and a banjo, were doing their very
best.
A small number of sober ones were to be seen on deck pacing restlessly
back and forth, for the ruthless mosquito was distinctly on evidence,
and threatened to outgeneral the quiet ones, if not the orchestra and
the hilarious dancers.
On the upper deck, a lady, clad in warm cloak and thick veil, walked
tirelessly to and fro. A big stump-tailed dog of the Malemute tribe at
times followed at her heels, but when she had patted his head and
spoken kindly to him he appeared satisfied, and lay down again with his
head between his paws. Then sounds from the dancers below, the shrill
laughter of the women mingled with the strum of the banjo and the wheezy
accordion seemed to disturb the dog's slumber, and he would again pace
up and down at the lady's heels.
At times there would come a lull in the tumult, and the click of the
glasses or crash of a fallen pitcher would make a variety of
entertainment for the lady and her dog on the upper deck; but the short
and dusky midnight was well passed before the dancing ceased and partial
quiet and order were restored.
Two figures remained near the stern of the boat. One, a young woman with
a profusion of long auburn hair, the other a man with flushed face and
thick breath.
"I cannot tell now which one it will be," said the girl coquettishly,
"but if you wait you will see."
"No more waitin' in it," he growled. "I have waited long enough, and too
long, and you must choose between us now. You know we will soon be at
'Five Fingers,' and you must be good or they may get you," with a wicked
leer and clutch at her arm calculated to startle her as she carelessly
sat on the deck rail.
"I'm not afraid of 'Five Fingers' or any other fingers, and I'm not
afraid of your two hands either," making her muscles very tense, and
sitting rigidly upright, "and you can't scare me a bit; I'll do as I
like, so there!"
By this time the moon shone high above the tops of the tall slender
pines, and spread its soft light over all the swift and swirling waters.
To the west, the hills faded first from green to blue, then to purple,
and lastly to black, silhouetted as they were against the quiet sky.
The swift flowing current pushed the waters up among the weeds and
bushes along the river's edge and the loose rocks were washed quite
smooth. Now and then might be heard the bark of a wood-chopper's dog
stationed outside his master's cabin, and the steady thud of the steamer
never stopped. At two o'clock it was growing light again, and still the
young man pleaded with the girl on the deck. She was stubborn and
silent.
Swiftly now the boat neared the "Five Fingers." Only a few miles
remained before the huge boulders forming the narrow and tortuous
channels called the "Five Fingers" would be reached, and the face of the
pilot was stern. It was a most dangerous piece of water and many boats
had already been wrecked at this point.
Suddenly above the noise of the waters and the steamer's regular
breathing there arose on the quiet air a shrill shriek at the stern of
the boat.
The lady on the upper deck had retired. The captain was sleeping off his
too frequent potations, and only the pilot on the lookout knew that the
scream came from a woman; but it was not repeated.
The pilot's assistant was off watch, and his own duty lay at the wheel;
so it happened that a guilty man who had been standing by the deck rail
crept silently, unnoticed, and now thoroughly sobered, to his stateroom.
His companion was nowhere to be seen.
A small steamer following next day in the wake of the first boat, came
to Five Finger Rapids.
"See the pretty red seaweed on the rocks, mamma," cried a little boy,
pointing to the low ledge on the bank of the east channel.
Those who looked in the direction indicated by the boy saw, as the
steamer crept carefully up to the whirlpool, a woman's white face in the
water, above which streamed a mass of long auburn hair, caught firmly on
the rocks.
Standing by the side of his pilot, the captain's keen eye caught sight
of the head and hair.
"It's only Dolly Duncan," he said, with a shrug of his shoulders. "No
one else has such hair; but it's no great loss anyway; there are many
more of such as she, you know."
[Illustration: UPPER YUKON STEAMER.]
CHAPTER III.
DAWSON.
By this time we had passed the Hootalingua, Big Salmon, Little Salmon
and Lewes rivers, and were nearing the mouth of Pelley River, all
flowing into one stream from the east and uniting to form the Upper
Yukon. Many smaller rivers and creeks from the west as well as the east
empty into this river which gathers momentum and volume constantly until
it reaches a swiftness of five miles an hour between Five Finger Rapids
and Fort Selkirk.
This latter fort is an old Canadian Post where mounted police and other
officers and soldiers are stationed. Never shall I forget my first
experience at Fort Selkirk. We arrived about one o'clock in the
afternoon and were told that our steamer would remain there an hour,
giving us all a chance to run about on shore for a change. Taking my
sunshade, and attracted by the wide green fields dotted with pretty wild
flowers of various colors, I rambled around alone for an hour, all the
time keeping our steamer in plain sight not many hundred yards away.
Curious to learn the meaning of a group of peculiar stakes driven into
the ground, some of which were surrounded by rude little fences, I made
my way in a narrow path through the deep grass to the place, and soon
discovered an Indian burial ground. There were, perhaps, twenty little
mounds or graves, a few much sunken below the level as if made long
years before, but all were marked in some manner by rude head boards.
These were notched, and had at one time been fancifully stained or
colored by the Ayan Indians, the stains and funny little inscriptions
being, for the most part, obliterated by the elements. Dainty wild roses
here nodded gracefully to each other, their pretty blooms being weighted
down at times by some venturesome, big honey bee or insolent fly; both
insects with many others, some of them unknown to me, buzzing
contentedly in the sunshine overhead.
Daisies and buttercups grew wild. Flowering beans and peas trailed their
sprays upon the ground. Blue bells, paint brush, and other posies fairly
bewildered me, so surprised was I to find them here in this far
Northland. Without this happiness and cheer given me by my sweet little
floral friends I might not have been so well prepared to endure the
rudeness that was awaiting me.
Upon my return to the steamer I found all in confusion. I could see no
signs of departure and no one of whom I cared to make inquiries. Men and
women were coming and going, but none appeared sober, while many with
flushed faces were loudly laughing and joking. A few Canadian police in
red coats scattered here and there were fully as rollicking as any,
and the steamer's captain and purser, arm in arm with a big, burly
Canadian official, were as drunk as bad liquor could well make them.
[Illustration: FIVE FINGER RAPIDS.]
Going to my stateroom I sat down to read, and, if possible, hide my
anxiety. As there was no window or other ventilator, and it was a warm
day, I could not close the door. While sitting thus the doorway was
darkened, and looking up I saw before me the drunken Canadian official,
leering at me with a horrible grin, and just about to speak.
At that instant there stepped to his side the tall form of the only
really sober man on board--the Seattle lawyer, who, in his most
dignified manner motioned the officer on, and he went; the gentlemanly
lawyer, tossing his half-consumed cigar overboard in an emphatic way as
if giving vent to his inward perturbation, marched moodily on. Catching
a glimpse of his face as he passed, I concluded that the situation was
fully as bad or worse than I had at first feared. Already we had been
several hours at Fort Selkirk and should have been miles on toward
Dawson.
The captain and crew were too drunk to know what they were doing, and
they were hourly growing more so. Many were gambling and drinking in the
salon or dining room and others came from the liquor store on shore a
few rods away. The voices of the women were keyed to the highest pitch
as they shouted with laughter at the rough jokes or losing games of the
men, while red-faced, perspiring waiters hurried back and forth with
trays laden with bottles and glasses. Now and then the crash of a fallen
pitcher or plate, followed by the shrieks of the women would reach me,
and looking through the great cracks in the board partition which was
the only thing separating me from the drunken crowd, I could see most of
the carousal, for such it now was.
My anxiety increased. I feared the danger of a night on board in a tiny
stateroom, without lock or weapon, and entirely alone.
"Mr. H----," said I quietly, a little later, to the man from Seattle, as
I stepped up to him while he smoked near the deck rail. "When do you
think the steamer will leave this place?"
"Tomorrow, most likely," in a tone of deep disgust.
"Do you not think that the captain will push on tonight?" I asked in
great anxiety.
"I doubt if there is a man on board with enough sense left to run the
engine, and the captain--look there!" pointing to a maudlin and
dishevelled Canadian wearing a captain's cap, and just then trying to
preserve his equilibrium on a wooden settle near the railing. "It would
be a blessing if the brute tumbled overboard, and we were well rid of
him," said the gentleman savagely in a low tone. Then, seeing my
consternation, he added: "I'll see what can be done, however," and I
returned to my room.
What should I do! I knew of no place of safety on shore for me during
the night if the steamer remained, and I dared not stay in my stateroom.
I had no revolver, no key to my door. I might be murdered before
morning, and my friends would never know what had become of me. There
was no one on board to whom I could appeal but the lawyer, and he might
be powerless to protect me in such a drunken rabble. With a prayer in my
heart I made my nerves as tense as possible and shut my teeth tightly
together. It was best to appear unconcerned. I did it. Suggesting away
all fright from my face I watched proceedings in the dining room through
the cracks in the wall. It was a sight such as I had never before seen.
It was six o'clock and dinner was being served by the flushed and
flustered waiters. Probably a hundred persons sat at the tables in all
stages of intoxication. Hilarity ran high. Most of them were wildly
jolly and gushingly full of good will; but all seemed hungry, and the
odors from the kitchen were appetizing.
I now hoped that the dinner, and especially the hot tea and coffee would
restore some of these people to their senses in order that they might
get up steam in the engines and pull out of this terrible place before
they were too far gone. Dinner was well over in the dining room and I
had not yet eaten. A waiter passed my door. He stopped.
"Have you eaten dinner?"
"No, I have not."
"Don't you want some?"
"Well, yes. I think I could eat something."
"I'll bring you some." And he was gone.
A few minutes later he entered my stateroom with a big tray, and putting
it upon the edge of the upper berth he left me. I ate my dinner from the
tray while standing, and felt better.
An hour afterward the drunken officials had been coaxed into going
ashore; the furnace in the engine room was crammed with wood; the
partially sobered pilot resumed his place at the wheel; the captain had
pulled himself together as best he could under the threats of the lawyer
from Seattle, and the steamer moved away from the bank, going with the
current swiftly towards Dawson. Nothing of further importance occurred
until next morning when our steamer pulled up alongside the dock at
Dawson. It was Monday morning, the thirtieth of July, 1899, and the
weather was beautifully clear. I had been fourteen days coming from
Seattle. Hundreds of people waited upon the dock to see us land, and to
get a glimpse of a new lot of "Chechakos," as all newcomers are called.
Soon after landing I met upon the street an old Seattle friend of my
parents, who knew me instantly and directed me to my father. This man's
kind offer to look up my baggage was accepted, and I trudged down
through the town towards the Klondyke River, where my father and brother
lived. I had no difficulty in finding father, and after the first
surprise and our luncheon were over we proceeded to find my brother at
his work. His astonishment was as great as my father's, and I cannot
truthfully state that either of them were overcome with joy at seeing me
in Dawson. At any other time or place they undoubtedly would have been
delighted, but they were too well acquainted with conditions to wish
another member of their family there in what was probably then the
largest and roughest mining camp in the world. The situation that
presented itself was this. Instead of finding my relatives comfortably
settled in a large and commodious log cabin of their own on the banks of
the Klondyke River, as they had written they were, I found them in the
act of moving all their belongings into a big covered scow or barge
drawn close to the river bank and securely fastened. Cooking utensils,
boxes, bags of provisions consisting of flour, beans and meal, as well
as canned goods of every description, along with firewood and numerous
other things, were dumped in one big heap upon the banks of the Klondyke
River near the barge.
The small sheet iron box with door and lid, called a Yukon stove, had
been set up close in one corner of the living room, which in size was
about eight by ten feet. Two bunks, one above the other in the opposite
corner, had been lately constructed by father, who at the moment of my
arrival was busy screwing a small drop leaf to the wall to be used as a
dining table when supported by a couple of rather uncertain adjustable
legs underneath.
The meaning of all this commotion was not long to find. Father and
brother had, along with many more as peaceable and law-abiding citizens,
been ordered out of their log cabins, built at a great out-lay of time,
money and strength, so that their homes should be pulled down in
accordance with an order given by the Governor. This land, as the city
had grown, had increased in value and was coveted by those high in
authority. No redress was made the settlers, no money was paid them,
nothing for them but insulting commands and black looks from the
Canadian police enforcing the order of the governor.
"Never again," said my father repeatedly, "will I build or own a home in
the Klondyke. This scow will shelter me until I make what money I want,
and then good-bye to such a country and its oppressive officials."
Other men cursed and swore, and mutterings of a serious nature were
heard; but there was nothing to be done, and the row of comfortable,
completed log cabins was torn down, and we settled ourselves elsewhere
by degrees. A bunk with calico curtains hung around it was made for me,
and I was constituted cook of the camp. Then such a scouring of tins,
kettles and pails as I had! Shelves were nailed in place for all such
utensils, and a spot was found for almost everything, after which the
struggle was begun to keep these things in their places. Then I baked
and boiled and stewed and patched and mended, between times writing in
my note book, sending letters to friends or taking kodak pictures.
I was now living in a new world! Nothing like the town of Dawson had I
ever seen. Crooked, rough and dirty streets; rude, narrow board walks or
none at all; dog-teams hauling all manner of loads on small carts, and
donkeys or "burros" bowing beneath great loads of supplies starting out
on the trail for the gold mines.
"Don't do that!" shouted a man to me one day, as I attempted to
"snap-shot" his pack train of twenty horses and mules as they passed us.
Two of the animals had grown tired and attempted to lie down, thus
causing the flour sacks with which they were loaded to burst open and
the flour to fly in clouds around them. "Don't do that," he entreated,
"for we are having too much trouble!"
Some of the drivers were lashing the mules to make them rise, and this
spread a panic through most of the train, so that one horse, evidently
new to the business and not of a serious turn of mind, ran swiftly away,
kicking up his heels in the dust behind him. There were also hams and
sides of bacon dangling in greasy yellow covers over the backs of the
pack animals, along with "grub" boxes and bags of canned goods of every
description. Pick axes, shovels, gold pans and Yukon stoves with bundles
of stove pipe tied together with ropes, rolls of blankets, bedding,
rubber boots, canvas tents, ad infinitum.
There was one method used by "packers," as the drivers of these pack
trains were called, which worked well in some instances. If the animals
of his train were all sober and given to honestly doing their work, then
the halter or rope around the neck of a mule could be tied to the tail
of the one preceding him, and so on again until they were all really
hitched together tandem. But woe unto the poor brute who was followed by
a balky fellow or a shirk! The consequences were, at times, under
certain circumstances, almost too serious to be recounted in this story,
at least this can be said of the emphatic language used by the packers
in such predicament.
One warm, bright day soon after my arrival in Dawson, and when order had
been brought out of chaos in the scow--our home--I went to call upon an
old friend, formerly of Seattle. Carrie N. was three or four years
younger than myself, had been a nurse for a time after the death of her
husband, but grew tired of that work, and decided in the winter of 1897
and 1898 to go into the Klondyke. A party of forty men and women going
to Dawson was made up in Seattle, and she joined them. For weeks they
were busily engaged in making their preparations. Living near me, as she
did at the time, I was often with Carrie N. and was much interested in
her movements and accompanied her to the Alaska steamer the day she
sailed. It was the little ship "Alki" upon which she went away, and it
was crowded with passengers and loaded heavily with freight for the trip
to Dyea, as Skagway and the dreaded White Pass had been voted out of the
plans of the Seattle party of forty.
[Illustration: 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 earth where 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.
CHAPTER IV.
THE RUSH.
Since 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 to be 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 morning about 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 luck in 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
joyfully packed 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!
[Illustration: 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
number of 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.
[Illustration: 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 youthful appearance 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.
CHAPTER V
AT THE ARCTIC CIRCLE.
We 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 visited an 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.
[Illustration: 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 through a 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 been made, 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 the steamer 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.
[Illustration: 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 more quickly 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 commanded fine 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 the eating 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.
CHAPTER VI
COMPANIONS.
But 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 a few 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 in all 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 power of 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 what conditions! 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 toppled into 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 famous new 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.
[Illustration: ESKIMOS.]
Passengers now went ashore to visit the camps, but to my great
disappointment I was not allowed to do so on account of the tremendous
surf. When, after watching others, seeing their little boats tossed like
cockle shells upon the sands, and hearing how thoroughly drenched with
salt water many of the people were while landing, I gave it up, and
remained on board.
For five days we lay anchored outside, while stevedores loaded supplies
from the "Bertha" on barges towed ashore by the side-wheeler "Sadie."
For hours the wind would blow and the breakers and surf run so high that
nothing could be done; then at sundown, perhaps, the wind would die
away, and men were put to work unloading again. The calls of those
lifting and tugging, the rattle of pulleys and chains, never were
stilled night or day if the water was passably smooth, and we learned to
sleep soundly amid all the confusion.
Next morning the steamer "Cleveland" cast anchor near the "Bertha."
Presently we saw a small boat lowered over the side and two women were
handed down into it, four men following and seating themselves at the
oars. The ship on which the women had first sailed had been wrecked on
St. George's Island; from there they were rescued by the revenue cutter
"Bear," transferred to the "Cleveland," and were now going ashore at
Nome, their destination. As they passed us we noticed that they sat
upright in the middle of the lifeboat, the hoods of their cloaks drawn
quite over their heads. We were told that one of these women had come to
meet her lover and be married, and we felt like cheering such heroism.
Next day the bodies of several men were picked up on the beach near
town. They had started for Cape Prince of Wales in a small boat and been
overtaken by disaster. Many were dying of fever on shore, and nurses,
doctors and drugs were in great demand.
Many tales of interest now reached our ears, but not many can here be
given.
One of the first American children to open his eyes to the light of day
in this bleak and barren place--Nome City--was Little Willie S. His
parents lived in a poor board shack or house which his father had built
just back of the golden beach sands. Here the surf, all foam-tipped,
spread itself at the rising and falling of the tides, and here the
miners toiled day after day washing out the precious gold.
It was here that Willie's papa, soon after the baby came, sickened and
died. He had worked too long in the wind and rain, and they laid him
under the tundra at the foot of the hill.
For a time the baby grew. The mother and child were now dependent upon
the community for support, but the burly and generous miners did not
allow them to want. Willie was a great pet in the mining camp; the men
being delighted with a peep of his tiny, round face and pink fingers.
The little child could have easily had his weight in gold dust, or
anything else, had he wanted it. Big, shining nuggets had already been
given him to cut his teeth upon when the time came, but that time never
came.
Willie died one day in his mother's arms, while her hot tears fell like
rain upon his face.
Then they laid him to sleep beside his papa under the tundra, where the
shining wheat-gold clung to the moss roots and sparkled as brightly as
the frost and snow which soon covered everything.
When spring came Willie's mamma found the baby's tiny grave, and put
wild flowers and grasses upon it, and there they nodded their pretty
heads above the spot where Willie and his papa quietly sleep.
Passengers for San Francisco were now coming on board with their
luggage. Several men were brought on board on spring beds, being ill
with no contagious disease. A box containing the body of a man, who had
shot himself the day before, was placed upon the hurricane deck, lashed
down, and covered with tarpaulins. Strong boxes of gold bullion, with
long, stout ropes and boards attached in case of accident, were stowed
away in as safe a place as could be found. Copies of the first issue of
the "Nome News" were bought at fifty cents a copy; size, four pages
about a foot square. Beach sand and pebbles, were handed about in many
funny receptacles,--pickle jars, tin cans, flour sacks,--any old thing
would do if only we had the pleasure of seeing the golden sand.
One night about three o'clock the barge brought the last passengers and
freight. The water was smooth, the moon shone brightly, there was no
wind, and the captain and his mate gave their orders in quick, stern
tones. They were in haste to leave. They had lingered here too long
already. All were soon hustled on board; the "Sadie" and her barges
moved away; we took a last, long look at Nome as she stretched herself
on the golden sands of the beach under her electric lights; the "Bertha"
whistled, stuck her nose into the rollers and steamed away.
A more majestic old body of water than Behring Sea would be hard to
find; and we remember it with thanksgiving, for we had no storms or
rough weather during the eight hundred and fifty miles to Unalaska.
Right glad was I that we were fortunate in having a pleasant little
party of eight or ten persons, and our evenings were spent in visiting,
spinning yarns, and singing songs, while some hours each day were passed
on the hurricane deck. Here we became familiar with the sea phrases
commonly used, and watched the old salts "bracing the mast arms,"
"hoisting the jibs," or "tacking," and could tell when we had a "cross
sea," a "beam sea," or a "sou' wester." As we neared Unalaska on the
Aleutian Islands, the sea became rough, and we had more wind, but we
joyfully sighted high hills or rocks to the east, and bade good-bye to
old Behring. For three and a half days he had behaved well, and never
will we quietly hear him maligned.
Unalaska, sweet isle of the sea! How beautiful she looked to our eyes
which had only seen water for days! Its bold and rocky cliffs, its
towering peaks snow capped; its sequestered and winding valleys, and
bright, sparkling waterfalls; its hillsides in all the artistic shades
of red, brown, yellow, green, purple, black and white; its water in all
the tints of blue and azure, reflecting sky that looked
"As though an angel in his upward flight,
Had left his mantle floating in mid-air."
All, all, greeted the eye of the worn voyager most restfully.
Clusters of quaint red buildings were soon seen nestling under the
mountain--that was Dutch Harbor, and a mile farther on we arrived at the
dock at Unalaska. We would be here twenty-four hours taking on fresh
water, coal, and food, they told us, and we all ran out like sheep from
a pen, or school children at intermission. We drank fresh water from the
spring under the green hillside; we bought apples and oranges at the
store, and furs of the furrier; we rowed in a skiff and scampered over
the hills to Dutch Harbor; we watched jelly-fish and pink star-fish in
the water; we saw white reindeer apparently as tame as cows browsing on
the slopes; we visited an old Greek church, and were kept from the very
holiest place where only men were allowed to go, retaliating when we
came to the cash box at the door--we dropped nothing in; we climbed the
highest mountain near by, and staked imaginary gold claims after
drinking in the beauties of the views which encompassed us; we snapped
our kodaks repeatedly, and then, having reached the limit of our time
and strength, wended our way back to the steamer now ready to sail.
Leaving the harbor, we all stayed on deck as long as possible trying to
fix the grandeur of the scenery in our minds so it could not slip away,
and then Priest Rock was passed, we had turned about eastward, and were
in Unimak Pass. Here the wind blew a gale from the west, on account of
which we were obliged to go below to our staterooms after watching the
sailors lash everything on the hurricane deck well down in case of
storm. After a few hours we left the Pass, with its precipitous cliffs,
its barren and rocky slopes, its cones of extinct volcanoes, its rough
and deep water, and headed due southeast for "Frisco."
Many unpleasant people and things we found on board as we proceeded, for
not all of these had been left at Nome; but with a philosopher's
fortitude we studied to overlook everything disagreeable, and partly
succeeded. That our efforts were not a complete success was due partly,
at least, to our early education and large stock of ideality, and we
were really not so much to blame.
The remainder of our journey was somewhat monotonous, broken only by
drunken brawls at midnight on deck, waking us from sound slumbers; or
the sight of a whale spouting during the day. Sometimes a breeze would
spring up from the wrong direction, rolling us for a few hours, causing
us to prefer a reclining posture instead of an upright one, and giving
our complexions a still deeper lemonish cast; sometimes we were well
inclined to feed the fishes in the sea, and did not; but at all times we
were thankful that matters were no worse.
Then, after many days out from Unalaska we began to look for land.
Seagulls and goonies had followed in the wake of our ship, and rested
themselves each day aloft in the rigging. Sails were now and then seen
in the distance, like the spreading white wings of enormous swans
gliding quietly over the bosom of the deep, and we realized that we were
nearing land. In the darkness one night there came to us a little white
boat containing three men,--one was a pilot to guide us safely through
the beautiful Golden Gate; the light on Point Bonita was sighted--we
were almost home.
We were now six weeks out from Dawson and twenty-one days from Nome; we
had no storms, accidents or deaths on board, and carried five hundred
passengers, as well as three million dollars in gold. I had been away
from home four months without a day's illness, and during my trip
through Alaska had traveled seventy-five hundred miles, nearly one-half
of this distance alone.
[Illustration: UNALASKA.]
CHAPTER VII.
GOING TO NOME.
One beautiful day in the spring of 1900 I sailed again for Alaska--this
time for Nome from San Francisco. An English family consisting of the
mother, one son and a daughter were to accompany me, and we had spent
weeks in making our preparations. We were taking supplies of clothing,
food, tents and bedding sufficient to last until some of our numerous
plans of work after our arrival brought in returns. My hope was to meet
my father there, for he had written that he thought he should go to the
new gold fields, where he could do beach mining.
I was not above doing any honest work, and felt confident that I could
make my way if I could gain an entrance into that country. The English
people were all workers, and I had known them for ten years or more.
Our steamer was the good ship "St. Paul," belonging to the Alaska
Commercial Company, and was advertised to sail on May twenty-fifth. When
I laughingly called the attention of one of the owners of the ship to
the fact that that date fell upon Friday, and many persons objected to
sailing upon that day, he postponed the starting of the "St. Paul" to
May twenty-sixth, and we left the dock on Saturday afternoon amid the
cheers and hand-waving of thousands of people who had come to see the
big boat off for Nome.
The steamer was well fitted out, spick and span in fresh carpets and
paint, and crowded to the utmost capacity for comfort. Every stateroom
was full; each seat at the tables occupied. Not a foot of space above or
below decks was left unused, but provision was made for all, and the
ship was well manned.
I was now much gratified to learn that there were many on board whom I
had met before; that the steward, stewardess and several of the waiters
had been on duty on the steamer "Bertha" during my trip out from Alaska
the fall before, while I was upon speaking terms with a dozen or more of
the passengers with whom I had traveled from the same place. Of
passengers we had, all told, four hundred and eighty-seven. Of these
thirty-five were women. There was only one child on board, and that was
the little black-eyed girl with her Eskimo mother and white father from
Golovin Bay whom I had seen at St. Michael some months before, and who
was now going back to her northern home. She wore a sailor suit of navy
blue serge, trimmed with white braid, and was as coy and cunning as
ever, not speaking often to strangers, but laughing and running away to
her mother when addressed.
From the day we sailed from San Francisco until we reached Nome I missed
no meals in the dining salon, a pace which my English friends and others
could not follow, for they were uncomfortably ill in the region of their
digestive apparatus for several days. I slept for hours each day and
thoroughly enjoyed the trip.
During the nine days' sail from San Francisco to Unalaska, a distance of
two thousand three hundred and sixty-eight miles, I studied well the
passengers. We had preachers on board, as well as doctors, lawyers,
merchants and miners, and there were women going to Nome to start eating
houses, hotels and mercantile shops. There were several Swedish
missionaries; one, a zealous young woman from San Francisco, going to
the Swedish Mission at Golovin Bay.
This young person was pretty and pleasant, and I was glad to make her
acquaintance as well as that of three other women speaking the same
tongue and occupying the next stateroom to mine. The last named were
going to start a restaurant in Nome. As they were sociable, jolly, and
good sailors for the most part, I enjoyed their society. They had all
lived in San Francisco for years, and though not related to each other,
were firm friends of long standing and were uniting their little
fortunes in the hope of making greater ones.
The young missionary was a friend to the other three, and I found no
better or more congenial companions on board the ship than these four
honest, hard-working women, so full of hope, courage and good sense as
well as Christianity. Little did I then think that these people, placed
by a seeming chance in an adjoining stateroom, were to be my
fellow-workers and true friends, not only for the coming months in that
Arctic land to which we were going, but, as the sequel will show,
perhaps for years to come.
Not many days had passed when we found that we had on board what few
steamers can boast of, and that was an orchestra of professional
musicians among the waiters. These were men going, with all the others,
to seek their fortunes in the new gold fields, working their passage as
waiters on the ship to Nome, where they intended to leave it. Three
evenings in the week these musicians, with the help of several singers
on board, gave concerts in the dining salon, which, though impromptu,
were very enjoyable.
A sweet and trained singer was the English girl of our company, and she
sang many times, accompanied by the stringed instruments of the
musicians, much to the delight of the assembled passengers. When she
sang, one evening, in her clear sympathetic voice the selection, "Oh,
Where Is My Wandering Boy Tonight," there was not a dry eye in the room,
and the mind of many a man went back to his old home and praying mother
in some far distant state, making him resolve to write oftener to her
that she might be comforted with a knowledge of his whereabouts and
welfare. These evenings were sometimes varied by recitations from an
elocutionist on board; and a practised clog dancer excited the risibles
of the company to the extent that they usually shouted with laughter at
his exhibition of flying heels.
Day after day passed. Those who were continually seasick had diversion
enough. It was useless for us to tell them a pathetic tale of some one,
who, at some time, had been more ill than they, because they would not
believe a word of it, and it was equally useless to recommend an
antidote for mal de mer such as theirs. "No one was ever so ill before,"
they said. They knew they should die and be buried at sea, and hoped
they would if that would put an end to their sufferings. We tried at
last to give them comfort by recommending out of former experiences
ship's biscuit, dry toast and pop-corn as remedies, but only received
black looks as our reward. We then concluded that a diet of tea, coffee
and soup was exactly such a one as the fishes would recommend could they
speak, these favorite and much used liquids keeping up a continual
"swishing" in one's interior regions, and causing one to truthfully
speak of the same as "infernal" instead of internal. But they were all
tree physical as well as free moral agents and decided these things for
themselves.
At last we entered the Japan current and the weather was warmer and
more enjoyable. On Monday, June fourth, we saw from the deck a few
drifting logs and a quantity of seaweed, and these, with the presence of
gulls and goonies flying overhead, convinced us that we were nearing
land.
We were not mistaken. After eating an excellent six o'clock dinner we
went above to find ourselves between high, rocky cliffs, which loomed up
into mountains not far distant, and we knew we were again at the
Aleutian Islands and in the rough waters of Unimak Pass. As we drew
nearer and entered the harbor so well land-locked, the sun dipped low
into yellow-red western waters, thereby casting long shadows aslant our
pathway so delicately shaded in greens.
The little hamlet of Dutch Harbor nestled cosily at the foot of the
mountains which bordered the bay, and here numbers of ships lay anchored
at rest. Passing along easily beyond another high mountain, we were soon
at the dock of Unalaska, beside other great ships in port. Both groups
of craft were evidently waiting for the ice to clear from Behring Sea
before proceeding on their way northward, and we counted sixteen ships
of different kinds and sizes, the majority of them large steamers. All
were loaded with passengers and freight for Nome. Scout boats had
already been sent out to investigate and find, if possible, a passage
through the ice fields, and the return of these scouts with good news
was anxiously watched and waited for, as the most desired thing at that
time was a speedy and safe landing on the supposedly golden beach sands
of Nome.
At Unalaska we spent four days taking on fresh water and coal, during
which time passengers visited back and forth from the waiting steamers,
many persons having friends on other boats and each having a curiosity
to see if they were faring as well or ill as he, comparing notes as to
the expense of traveling with the different companies, etc. Passengers
on the "St. Paul" agreed that they had "no kick comin'," which was one
of the commonest slang phrases, intended to mean that they had no fault
to find with the Alaska Commercial Company and their steamer "St. Paul."
All were well cared for and satisfied, as well they might be, with the
service of the ship's men.
Leaving Unalaska the sun shone clear and cold upon the mountains where
in places the sides looked black from the late fires started in the deep
tundra by miscreants. The tops of the mountains were covered with snow.
Down deep gorges dashed mountain waters of melting snow and ice,
hurrying to leap off gullied and rocky cliffs into the sea. Their
progress was never impeded. No tree nor shrub obstructed the way with
gnarled old trunks, twisted roots, or low hanging branches, for none
grow in Unalaska, and the bold dignity and grandeur of the mountains is
never diminished by these lesser objects.
As our ship sailed out into Behring Sea we were closely followed by the
steamer "George W. Elder," whose master, an old friend of our captain,
had decided to follow in our wake, he being less familiar than the
latter with Alaskan waters, and having confidence in the ability of his
friend to successfully pilot both ships to Cape Nome.
[Illustration: STEAMSHIP ST. PAUL.]
CHAPTER VIII.
FRESH DANGER.
At this plan all the passengers appeared pleased. We were now entering
upon the most dangerous part of our voyage. No one knew what was before
us. If our ship should receive serious damage from the ice floes or
bergs with which we were almost sure to come in contact, it would be
well if we were accompanied by a sister ship which could render
assistance. If she were in trouble and we unharmed, we could lend a
helping hand to her; and so none murmured at the unique arrangement.
Nothing, however, was seen of the much dreaded ice until about noon on
Sunday, June tenth. The air had been steadily growing colder so that
woolen clothing and fur wraps were in demand. Men thrust their hands
into their pockets, or drew on gloves while they stamped their feet upon
deck to keep themselves warm in the open air. Soon to our right lay a
great semi-circular field of ice, in places piled high, looking cold,
jagged and dangerous. In the distance those having field-glasses saw two
clumsy, slow-moving objects which they could easily distinguish as polar
bears on floating cakes of ice.
By the latter we were soon surrounded, and were obliged, slowly and
cautiously, to pick our way through towards the narrowest spot, or where
the nearest open water could be seen beyond. Floating ice now lay all
around us, appearing only a few feet above the water; below it the bergs
extended many times that distance. Sometimes they were small and looked
harmless enough; but many were large, massive, and full of death-dealing
power if urged against the sides of a ship by the wind or struck
accidentally. Carefully we picked our way along, watched as we were by
every soul aboard the "Elder" following, until we had successfully made
our way through the ice pack and glided out into the blue waters beyond.
Then came a great shout from the throats of spectators on both ships,
and praises for the master and his crew who were doing such good work
were loudly sung.
Immediately our manoeuvres were repeated by the "Elder," and we watched
her with interest equal to their own; then as she passed the danger
point and swung safely through the ice bergs and out, both ships, like
fresh, uncaged birds, sped lightly and swiftly over the water northward.
In a few hours we were awakened from afternoon naps by the ringing of
the ship's bell and found ourselves again surrounded by floating bergs.
A man in the bow was taking soundings with lead and line, calling out
every few seconds. "No bottom! No bottom!" and then hauling in the lead
again as the ship crept carefully along. From submerged floes there was
now the greatest danger, but we gradually drew away from all floating
ice and sailed safely away as before.
Each Sunday on board the "St. Paul" had been marked by some religious
service conducted by one of the preachers, while an improvised quartet
of voices led the singing. June tenth service had been held in the
forenoon, when a short sermon had followed the singing of a few familiar
old hymns by the assembled passengers. Now in the early evening, while I
sat with a few friends in the dining salon rehearsing hymns for the
coming service, suddenly the ship's bell rang out upon the still night
air. Instantly there came a jar, a quiver, and all rushed out upon deck
to see what had happened. We had been rudely jostled by an unseen ice
floe while the eyes of the pilot had been occupied by the ones visible.
Several times this happened. We were in the midst of a sea of ice floes.
There was no visible egress ahead; we must back out, if possible, as we
had come.
Soon our steamer was stopped for the night, and religious services were
begun in the dining salon. About one hundred persons were present. Our
quartet sang five or six selections, "Rock of Ages" and "Throw Out the
Life-line" among others. The preacher offered prayer, read Scripture
promises, and spoke feelingly for twenty minutes. He talked of our lives
being only short spans, the length of which depends upon the will of
God; and it is the duty of each soul, he said, to be prepared to meet
its Maker.
It was a solemn moment for all. Outside the ice drifted slowly about,
thick fog settled over us, the ship's whistle sounded, and night came
on. The loneliness increased.
When the speaker had closed his remarks he asked that the quartet sing
"Nearer My God to Thee," and we sang it. Sweet and firm was the voice of
the English girl now, and when, with uplifted arm and softly spoken
benediction, the minister dismissed us, it was to go upon deck feeling
stronger and much comforted.
There was yet no breath of wind stirring. For this we thanked a kind
Providence, for, had the wind risen, our lives would have been in
jeopardy indeed. In that case the massive ice cakes would have been
blown swiftly and heavily about to crush all ships like egg-shells and
send them to the bottom of the sea.
For breakfast we ate yellow corn-bread and bacon with a relish such as
it never gave at home, and even those who had been seasick for days were
beginning to "get away" with their rations. At eight in the morning the
anchor with its rattling chain was dropped and we lay in an open spot.
An hour later there was no perceptible motion of the ship, the sea was
smooth as a carpet, and our tired captain had gone to bed. For
forty-eight hours he had not slept, nor scarcely left the bridge, and
the rest was badly needed.
Two days we lay anchored in a dead calm, waiting for the passing ice to
open a way for us through to Nome. Three ships lay near us, as well as
two larger ones out farther in the ice-fields; but the fog hung grey and
persistent over our heads and we could do nothing but wait. Another
concert was given by the musicians, and as the steamer lay gently
rocking upon the waters of the great sea, through the open front windows
there floated out to our sister ship the sweet and pleasing strains of
the violins and mandolins.
Were they telling in lively allegretto movements of our safe landing on
golden shores, and of our successful achievements followed by a safe and
happy return to home and loved ones? Or were the adagios mournfully
predicting perils, coming disaster and death? Who could tell? For
myself, I felt that whatever came to me would be in accordance with the
will and wish of a Higher Power, and it would be all right in any case.
My choice was, of course, from the human standpoint, for life, happiness
and success in the pursuit of gold; but this with me was not an
obstinate nor rebellious sentiment. Should all these good things be
denied me, I could say, it is well. I felt satisfied that the way for my
going to Alaska had been wonderfully opened by an Unseen Influence which
I had been taught from earliest childhood to recognize, and this
belief, which was a firm and abiding one, held me calm and contented.
Night after night I slept in my berth as soundly as though at home in my
bed, and not even the sudden jolt and quiver of the icebergs coming
often into collision with the ship caused me to waken.
The night of June twelfth, about eleven o'clock, just after having
retired, but being still awake, I heard a sudden and piercing scream.
The English madam with me, being still dressed, rushed upon deck to find
out the cause of the disturbance. Rushing towards her with pale and
frightened face was her daughter who had been lunching in the dining
salon. An iceberg of immense proportions and greater height than usual
had struck the ship with a crash, coming up suddenly and most
unexpectedly from underneath the fog bank so that the watchful pilot was
taken unawares. The English girl said the berg, when alongside the ship,
reached the height of the upper deck and appeared like a huge mountain
of ice from her place at the window. It was consternation at the sight
of what was apparently sure and speedy destruction which had caused the
woman's scream.
Investigation was immediately made of the ship's plates, which, though
considerably dented by the ice, were still, thanks to a kind Providence,
intact; and again I settled myself for the night and slept.
Next day men were restless. They wanted to be on their way to Nome. It
was not for this that they had paid a large price for their tickets and
assurances that they would arrive early at Nome; and they agreed that
there was no more danger in steaming ahead than in lying anchored with
the ice bumping into us and liable to break through the ship's sides at
any moment.
"Will you sign a petition to the captain asking that he proceed on his
way to Nome without further delay?" asked a friend of me while the "St.
Paul" was anchored and the ice still drifting around us.
"They are circulating such a petition, and have a good many signers, or
those who are willing to sign it, and I wanted to know how you feel
about it," said my friend.
"What is the matter with the captain? Did they not announce their
confidence in him by coming aboard this steamer, and has he done
anything to cause them to lose faith in his ability to pilot them safely
through? Has he not brought them on their voyage thus far without
accident?" I asked.
"Oh, yes, certainly."
"Then I, for one, shall abide by the captain's judgment, and remain
anchored here so long as he sees fit to order it. You can say to the
others that I will sign no petition," said I.
Whether my decision and firmness in the matter had any weight with
others, I know not; but the petition was dropped, and the captain
probably never knew that such a thing had been proposed.
The morning of June thirteenth the sun shone out clear and bright. Great
fields of ice surrounded us, and many other ships were also hemmed in at
different places. The "Elder" lay contentedly beside us. It was not so
cold when the fog had lifted, and the clearer atmosphere made it
possible to see for many miles over the berg-strewn waters. Men were
walking restlessly about on deck trying to keep their impatience down
and their hands and feet warm. They feared that other ships with
hundreds of passengers would land at Nome before they could, and that
would mean loss, perhaps in many ways, to them. We were less than two
hundred miles from Nome and could easily make the run in a day if
allowed a free sea.
By this time the face of the steward began to show anxiety and he
watched the horizon with interest. Serving, as he did, nearly fifteen
hundred meals daily, he feared a shortage of supplies if the ship was
delayed many days longer. Ten sacks of flour, and fifteen hundred pounds
of meat were used daily, and other things in proportion. For breakfast
one day ninety dozen eggs were fed to the people.
High overhead the stars and stripes were now hoisted to announce our joy
at being delivered from so many dangers, and at leading the way for
others to follow. No one could pass us, and we would, after all, be
among the first, if not the very first, to reach Nome.
The captain looked jaded and worn, but happy and relieved, being able
now to get some of the much-needed rest so long denied him when in the
ice fields. When congratulated by the passengers upon his skill, for by
this time they had entirely forgotten their discontent of the previous
days and were willing to give him and his crew due praise, he smiled and
thanked them kindly, then went away to rest.
Early next morning anchor was dropped at Nome. At last we had reached
our destination. We had traveled thirty-one hundred and thirty-nine
miles in nineteen days and could have done it in much shorter time had
it not been for the ice. Several small ships lay at anchor before us,
but we were immediately followed by many large steamers bringing
thousands of people to Nome. The weather was splendid. Many of the
passengers were in such haste to reach shore than they left without
breakfast; but we waited until ten in the morning before boarding the
"lighter," and I donned a dress suitable to the occasion. This was cut
short, and was worn with high, stout boots, leggings, warm coat, cap and
veil, with extra wraps for the trip of two miles to shore.
Certainly we now presented a very unique spectacle. We were really a
sort of Noah's Ark collection, with the roof of the Ark omitted. Women
in abbreviated skirts, long rubber boots, golf capes, caps and sweaters;
men covered in long "raglans," fur coats, "jumpers," or whatever
happened to be at hand; and all rushing pell-mell in the direction of
the lighter, by means of which they hoped to land on the golden beach of
Nome. Baggage there was in stacks. There were boxes, grips, trunks, army
sacks; everything but babies, bird cages and band wagons. Passage for an
automobile had been engaged in San Francisco, but at the last moment the
lady accompanying the big machine was suddenly indisposed and obliged to
allow the "St. Paul" to sail without her.
The sea was now quite rough. The lighter was brought close alongside.
The rope ladder was thrown over the side of the ship with its lower end
dangling upon the lighter's deck, and we were told we could now go
ashore.
This was the moment for which we had longed, and all were ready, like
Cassibianca, minus the fire and peanuts. The fat widow of the company
tied her bonnet more tightly under her chin, clutched at her pudgy
skirts, and grasping the deck rail, placed her foot upon the rope ladder
to descend.
"Don't look down!" shouted some one to her, fearing she might grow dizzy
if she did so.
"Don't hurry; take your time!" called out another.
"Keep cool and you're all right!" instructed another, at which time the
widow, with fluttering veil, pale face and eyes starting from their
sockets with fright reached the lowest round of the ladder and stepped
to the deck of the lighter. Her bonnet was awry, the belt of her dress
had become unfastened, while her skirts were twisted around her in some
unaccountable way and her teeth chattering; but she only drew a long
sigh as she sank in a limp heap upon an army sack marked with big black
letters, and said gaspingly: "This is terrible!" Others followed her
example. Some protested they would rather stay on the ship or go back to
San Francisco than scramble down that "beastly rope ladder" swaying as
it did back and forth with every motion of the ship to which it was
attached. For myself, I had never posed as especially courageous, and
wondered how I should get on. But I said nothing. From watching the
others I had learned that to "make haste slowly" was a good method to
follow in the present case, as a misstep without a firm hand grip upon
the sides of the ladder while descending would be likely to send one
without warning into the yard wide gulf of boiling waters between the
ship's side and the lighter, as the barge was literally dancing
attendance upon the vessel in the rough sea.
Finally everything was ready. All passengers had left the ship. The
lighter was crowded to the last inch of space; baggage and freight along
the sides, and passengers in the middle, sitting wherever they could
find a box or bag upon which to sit. A tug boat made fast to the
lighter--we said good-bye to the "St. Paul" and moved away.
"We are bidding good-bye to all comforts now!" exclaimed an old Nomeite
dubiously, "for we won't find any on shore; leastwise not unless it has
improved more in the last ten months than I think it has. It was a tough
place enough last summer, and that's no josh either!" looking around him
at the ladies of the party and evidently wondering what they would think
of the celebrated mining town.
Many by this time looked sober, but it was not a hard camp that they
feared. They had expected to find a typical camp with all the attendant
evils usual in such a place, and now they were almost there. In fact
they looked out over the heaps of baggage towards shore at the long fine
of white tents, buildings of every description from a board shack to a
hotel or large store, and it seemed good in their eyes--very good. For
some unseen reason, as the barge, following as it did at the end of the
long line from the tug, rode first upon the top of a big breaker and
then below in the trough, there was a decided longing on the part of
some to be on land. It did not much matter where it was--Europe, Asia,
Africa or "any old place"; but as for this "confounded, zig-zaggin',
heavin' old hulk which is tryin' its best to take us to Honolulu
sideways--I want no more of it!" growled one man.
"Give me Nome or I die!" gasped another.
"No more big water in mine for two years, and mebbe by that time they
will have air ships to fly in," muttered a little man as he lay on his
back among a pile of bags and gulped at something in his throat he was
trying to keep down.
So the barge bobbed up and down among the breakers, riding to the crest
of a wave with a gliding, graceful motion, only to reach out beyond it,
and then, as the waters underneath receded, dropping heavily with a thud
and a splash, making one feel that he was being dealt with most
unceremoniously.
The same thing was again and again repeated, until we rode as close to
the shore as the tug could take us, then the line was cut, a rope was
thrown us from shore, and with a steam windlass or other contrivance, we
were hauled upon the sands.
Then a gangplank was speedily pushed out over the intervening watery
space which the passengers took their turns in crossing until all stood
upon the beach; a few, to be sure, with wet feet, damp clothing and
soggy tempers if some vicious, big breaker in parting had dashed its
white foam-tipped waters over their heads, but all glad and thankful to
arrive in Nome at last.
CHAPTER IX.
NOME.
The man who had predicted that we would find no comforts in Nome proved
himself a true prophet. There were none. Crowded, dirty, disorderly,
full of saloons and gambling houses, with a few fourth-class restaurants
and one or two mediocre hotels, we found the new mining camp a typical
one in every respect. Prices were sky high. One even paid for a drink of
water. Having our newly found Alaska appetites with us, we at once, upon
landing, made our way to an eating house, the best to be found.
Here a cup of poor tea, a plate of thin soup and questionable meat stew
with bread were served us upon nicked china, soiled table linen and with
blackened steel knives and forks, for the enormous sum of one dollar a
head; which so dumbfounded us that we paid it without a murmur, backed
out the door and blankly gazed into each other's faces.
"Such prices will ruin us!" gasped the madam.
"That table linen! Ugh!" shuddered the young man.
"Fifteen cents in California for such a meal!" growled the English girl
in her matter-of-fact way, and with wide distended eyes; while I found
such amusement in watching the three faces before me that I barely
found breath to remind them of the two tons of nice things in their own
packing cases at the landing.
"If only they are soon landed," groaned madam, and we set off at our
best gait to find the cases.
But we did not succeed. The freight was being unloaded from the ship, we
were told, as rapidly as it was possible to handle it, but one lighter
and small tug boat in a very rough sea, unloading a ship two miles off
the beach, must have time; and we waited. Only two or three lighters
were to be had at Nome. Other large steamers were being unloaded, and
hundreds of people were hourly being landed upon the beach. There was no
shelter for them anywhere, every building was full, and confusion was
badly confounded. To make matters worse it began to rain. If we could
only find our freight and get our tents, beds, supplies, etc., we would
be all right, but it would be impossible that day we found, after making
repeated excursions through the freight house and numberless inquiries
at the office.
Something must be done, but what? I now remembered some Dawson
acquaintances in town made the fall before while coming down the Yukon
River with my brother. To one family of these I made my way. They were
in the grocery and bakery business on a prominent corner on First street
and their signboard caught my eye.
Blessings on the heads of kind Mr. and Mrs. M. of Nome City! They were
delighted to see me. They lived back of the store in one room, which
contained their bed, stove, cupboard, baby-organ, table, chairs and
trunks; but they also owned a one-room shack next door, which was vacant
for a few days, being already rented to a dentist who would make some
repairs before taking possession. I could bring my friends and baggage
into this without charge, if I wished, until we secured our freight,
Mrs. M. said kindly, and I pressed her hand in real gratitude with many
thanks.
"I am almost ashamed to show you the room," said the kind little woman,
as she unlocked the door of the shack and stepped inside, "but it is
better than no shelter in this rain, and you can have a fire in the
stove," pointing to a small and rusty coal heater in one corner. "I wish
I had some blankets or fur robes to lend you, but everything I have is
in use. You are welcome to bring in as many friends as you like if they
will share the poor place with you; and you are quite safe here, too,
for you see the barracks are just opposite," pointing across the muddy
little alley down which a few boards had been laid for a sidewalk; "and
the soldiers are here to keep order, though they do sometimes find it
rather a hard job."
Then I thanked the little woman again most heartily, and, as I took from
her hands the door-key and stepped outside into the rain to bring my
waiting friends and baggage from the freight house, I offered a little
prayer of thanks to our good Father, and hurried away.
[Illustration: NOME.]
At the steamer's landing all was hurly-burly and noise. It was now late
in the afternoon, still raining at intervals, and muddy under foot,
though the weather was not cold. Finding my English friends I told them
of Mrs. M.'s kindness and offer of her room, which they were well
pleased to accept with me, and we gathered up our luggage and started
for the place. Passing through the freight house on our way to the
street, madam said, pointing to the figures of two woman huddled in a
corner:
"See! Judge R. from the St. Paul has not found a room yet, and Mrs. R.
and her friend, the nurse, are sitting there, waiting for the judge to
return! His wife is nearly sick, and they have no idea where they can
get a room. Judge R. has been looking hours for one without success,"
she said, in a sympathetic tone.
"Let us speak to them," said I, going over to where the ladies sat.
Hearing their story, and seeing for myself that both women were cold,
hungry and disheartened, I decided on the spot to share Mrs. M.'s
hospitality with them; made the proposal, which they very thankfully
accepted, and we trailed off up the street laden with luggage.
Then madam's son was found, informed of the situation, asked to bring
Judge R. and a few loaves of bread from the shop, along with the
remaining luggage, to our new camping place in the little board shack
near the barracks.
Seeing us arrive, and that the three elderly ladies looked worn and
travel-stained, Mrs. M. urged us to come into her room and take tea and
crackers which she had already placed upon the table. This invitation
the older ladies gladly accepted, while the English girl and myself
looked after our new lodgings.
Here now was a state of things indeed! The entire stock of luggage for
seven grown persons was soon deposited in the middle of the floor. The
room of which the shack consisted was about eight by ten feet square,
set directly upon the ground, from which the water oozed at every step
of the foot. Two small windows, a front and back door, with the small
stove--that was all. These were our accommodations for the night, and
perhaps several nights and days.
Then we two set to work with a will. We swept the floor, we gathered
sticks for a fire, we threw boards down outside the door upon which to
walk instead of in the mud, a pail of water was brought from a hydrant
after paying twenty-five cents for it, and a box was converted into a
table. Luggage was sorted, lunch baskets were ransacked, while tin cups,
coffee pot, knives, forks and spoons were found, with a fresh white
cloth upon which to spread the food.
When Judge R. finally appeared, it was supper time. He carried a tin
fry-pan under one arm, a bag containing one dozen eggs, and a few slices
of ham on a paper plate, for which articles he had paid the goodly sum
of one dollar and seventy-five cents.
Waving the fry-pan above his old grey head, the jolly judge shouted:
"See, the conquering hero comes! Oh, but I'm hungry! Say, how in the
world did you get this place? I hunted four mortal hours and failed to
find a shack, room, or tent for the night. Four thousand people landed
here today, and still they come. Jerusalem crickets! What a crowd!
Everybody is in from Dan to Beersheba! We will have fifteen thousand
people here soon if they don't stop coming, and no shelter for 'em!"
Then changing his tone and glancing toward his wife:
"And how is my dear little wifey by this time?" tenderly patting Mrs.
R.'s white hand, which belonged to a woman tipping the beam at two
hundred.
"Aren't you glad we came? I am." Then rattling on without giving his
wife a chance to speak, for her eyes had filled with tears:
"I think I've got a 'case' already. Claim number four on D. Creek jumped
last winter while owner was away--jumper won't leave--talked with owner
today--think I'll get the job," said the hopeful old judge, sitting on
an empty cracker box and eating bread and cheese from his fingers.
"Eat your supper, dear," to his wife, who was taking nothing, "and you
shall have a bed tonight--the best in Nome City. See! There it is now,"
pointing to a big roll of dark brown canvas done up with a few varnished
sticks.
"A folding cot--new patent--good and strong. (It'll need to be strong to
hold you up, won't it, dearie?) Now, please take your tea like a good
girl, to brace up your courage. Or would you like a drop of sherry?"
To all this Mrs. R. shook her head, but she did not speak, neither did
she attempt to eat, for there was a big lump in her throat which
prevented.
The rest of our party enjoyed the supper. Some sat on boxes, others
stood up, but we ate ham and eggs, bread, butter and cheese, tea and
crackers, pickles, jellies and jams, as being the greatest "comforts" we
could find in the camp, and we made them speedily disappear.
At last the supper things were cleared away, and remaining food repacked
in the baskets. The patent cot was unrolled, set up and made ready for
Mrs. R., who was the only one favored with a bed. The others finally
faced the proposition and prepared, as best they could, their chosen
floor spaces for their beds.
All slept in their clothing, for we had no bedding and the night was
cold. The two men were banished to the outer air, where together they
smoked and talked of affairs of the day, while we women unbuttoned our
shoes, took out a few hairpins, cold-creamed our sunburned faces, and
then, between jokes, stories and giggling, we settled ourselves, with
much difficulty and hard snuggling, among our bags, raincoats, steamer
rugs and wraps on the rough board floor for the night.
Coming in later, the judge spread his borrowed fur robe upon the floor
beside his wife's cot, covered himself with one-half of the same,
chuckling as he did so.
"I'm glad my bones are well cushioned with fat, and that I'm old and
tough and like this sort of thing. I say, wife, isn't it jolly?" And the
portly and sunny old judge dropped off to sleep to keep me awake most of
the night by his snoring.
If I slept little that night I did not waste my time. My brain was busy
forming plans of action. It was not wise to have only one plan, for that
one might fail. Better to have several, and some one of these would
probably succeed. I felt a good deal of anxiety to know whether my
father or brother had or would come to Nome. If either or both of them
came I would have no further difficulty because I would work for and
with them, but if they did not come what was I to do?
I had little money. I would not go home. I would work. I was a good
cook, though I had never done such work except for our own home folks. I
knew that cooking was the kind of service most in demand in this country
from women, for my travels in Alaska the year before had taught me
that. I could teach music, and I could paint passably in water colors
and oils; in fact, I had been a teacher of all three, but in Alaska
these luxuries were not in demand. I could not expect to do anything in
these directions, for men and women had come to Nome for gold, expected
to get lots of it, and that quickly. They had no time for Beethoven's
sonatas or water color drawings.
It was now an urgent question of food, shelter and work with all, and
the man or woman who could the quickest devise ways and means, the one
who saw the needs of the time and place and was able to supply those
needs, was the one who could make the most money. Of course, being a
woman, I was unable to do beach mining as could a man, and as many men
expected to do. Those who brought large outfits and plenty of money with
them were immediately obliged to hire help, but it was generally a man's
help, like carpenter work, hauling and handling supplies or machinery,
making gold washers and sluice boxes, or digging out the gold in the
creeks. None of these could I do. On the steamer all these things had
been well talked over among ourselves, for others besides myself were
wondering which way they should turn when they found themselves in Nome.
As to there being any disgrace connected with work of any sort--it never
entered my head. From a child I had been taught that work was honorable,
and especially for a woman housework and cooking were respectable and
healthy service. So I had no pride whatever in the matter; it was only a
question of finding the work, and I did not doubt my ability to find it
somewhere.
On the voyage from San Francisco I had thought well of the three Swedish
women, and believed they would succeed in their proposed plan of
restaurant work. I said to myself that if I were obliged to seek work I
should like to be with them if possible; or, at least, with some of the
"lucky Swedes," as the rich Anvil Creek mine owners were usually
designated. These miners all hired cooks for their camps, as they kept
large numbers of men at work day and night on the Anvil Creek claims,
the season being so short for placer mining in this country. Anvil Creek
was only four miles away and the "Star Restaurant," as my friends had
already named their proposed eating-house, would be headquarters for all
the Scandinavians on Anvil and the entire district. For this reason, and
because the three had so many acquaintances who would bring them
patronage, and because their pleasant faces and agreeable manners always
made friends for them, I felt sure that they would be able to give me
work if they chose and I so desired. Then, too, there were the several
Dawson families of my acquaintance here, and I would find them; possibly
some of them might give me work if I asked them.
However, the first move to be made was to find our freight and baggage,
and a spot upon which to pitch our tents, and the sooner that was done
the better, as the test and cleanest camping places were fast being
appropriated by the newcomers hourly landing. It was not easy to find a
clean, dry spot for a tent, as I had found the day before that the
black, soggy soil was hardly free from frost a foot down, and this made
it everywhere marshy, as the water could not keep down nor run off where
it was level. Some one on the steamer who had been in Nome before had
advised us to pitch our tents on the "Sandspit" at the mouth of Snake
River, as that was the cleanest, driest and most healthful spot near
fresh water that we could find; and my mind was made up that it was to
the Sandspit I would go. Many had been the warnings from friends before
leaving home about drinking impure water, getting typhoid fever and
other deadly diseases, and without having any particular fear as to
these things I still earnestly desired a clean and healthful camping
place.
This, then, was the way I planned during most of the first night after
landing at Nome. If I slept it was towards morning, when I had become
accustomed to the regular and stentorian snores of the old judge; or
when, for a few moments, after turning in his sleep, his snorts and
wheezes had not yet reached their loudest pitch; and when my wishes had
shaped themselves so distinctly into plans for work that I felt relieved
and full of confidence, and so slept a little.
[Illustration: LIFE AT NOME.]
Next day I looked for my father. At the landing, on the streets, in the
stores, at all times I was on the lookout, though it was a difficult
matter to find any one in a crowd such as that in Nome. I saw several
acquaintances from Dawson the year before, and people from different
steamers that I knew, but not my father. At nine o'clock next morning
three of us started out to find the Sandspit, with, if possible, a good
camping spot to which we could take our freight as soon as it was
landed, and part of our number was detailed to stay at the landing while
we investigated. Down through the principal thoroughfare we pushed our
way, now on plank sidewalk, now in the middle of the street if the walks
were too crowded; but going to the west end of town till we came to
Snake River Bridge, where we crossed to the Sandspit. At the toll-gate
we easily passed, as all women were allowed to go over free, men only
being charged ten cents toll. Here we quickly found a clean, dry place
on the river bank a hundred feet below the bridge and two hundred feet
from the ocean, which we chose for our tents. Now arose the question,
would any one have any objection to our pitching our tents temporarily?
Seeing some men striking camp near by we asked them. They told us that
we could get permission, they thought, from an old captain near by on a
stranded boat, now being used as an eating-house, and to him we went. He
was not in.
Going back to the Sandspit, it was decided that I should remain upon
the spot, while my companions went back to the landing. I was to remain
there till some of them came back. This I did, sitting on a box in the
sunshine with my kodak, umbrella and lunch basket beside me for hours.
When madam returned, saying their search for their freight was still
unavailing, I left her in my place and again called upon the captain.
Calling the third time at his boat, I found him and secured his ready
permission to temporarily pitch our tents upon the sands, for he was an
Alderman with adjoining "town lots," he told us.
By six o'clock that afternoon a part of madam's baggage and freight was
found, hauled by dog-team through town to the Sandspit and deposited
upon the ground. Then we bestirred ourselves to get a tent up in which
we could sleep, as I, for one, was determined not to be kept awake by
the judge's snores another night if I had to work till morning. The
others shared my feelings, and we worked like beavers till midnight. By
that time a small tent had been put up, boxes of bedding unpacked, as
well as cooking utensils, oil-stoves and foods, so that we could begin
cooking.
At the continuous daylight we were much pleased. Coming gradually into
it, as we had done on the steamer, we were prepared for it, but the
advantage of a continuous day to a busy, hustling camp like this one,
had not presented itself to us until we ourselves attempted to work half
the night; then we realized it fully. At nine in the evening a
beautiful twilight enveloped all, restful to nerves and eyes, but still
light enough to read by.
At ten o'clock it was lighter, and upon the placid waters of Snake
River, only fifteen feet away, lay quiet shadows cast from the opposite
side, clearly and beautifully reflected. A few small steamers lay
further down stream near the river's mouth, row boats were tied along
the edge of the water, and on the Sandspit below us was a camp of
Eskimos, their tiny canoes and larger skin boats being hauled upon shore
beside them for safety. At midnight the sun was almost shining, the air
was salt, fresh and clear, while the sky seemed to hang low and lovingly
above our heads.
After eating a midnight lunch of our own getting of bread and butter
with hot tea, we deposited ourselves, still dressed, upon the tops of
madam's big packing cases, from which had been taken pillows and
blankets, and slept soundly till morning, notwithstanding the fact that
the hammers of hundreds of carpenters were busy around us all night.
Next morning all felt fresh and invigorated. The sun shone brightly. In
the roadstead two miles away lay several newly arrived steamers, their
deep-toned whistles frequently sounding over the intervening waters. It
was a beautiful sight and welcome sound. How easily the long and
graceful breakers rolled and broke upon the sands. With what music the
foam-tipped wavelets spread their edges, like the lace-trimmed ruffles
on some lady's gown, upon the smooth and glistening beach. How the white
tents everywhere looked like doves of peace just alighted, and the
little boats danced up and down on the river. I was glad to be there. I
enjoyed it. Nothing, not even the hard work, the storms, nor the bitter
Arctic winter which came afterwards ever effaced from my memory the
beautiful pictures of river, sea and sky repeatedly displayed during
those first novel and busy days at Nome.
CHAPTER X.
THE FOUR SISTERS.
It was during the first excitement of the gold discoveries in the
Klondyke that four sisters left their home in Chicago and started for
Dawson. They were young, hopeful, ambitious and handsome. They owned a
town lot in the city, but they had not the means with which to erect a
building upon it, and the money would never be forthcoming if they
remained where they were. The ordinary salary of a working woman in
office or store was not sufficient to allow them more than a trifle
above necessary living expenses, and they could see themselves old,
wrinkled and grey before they could hope to attain their desired object.
Reaching Dawson safely, as they did after weeks of peril and many novel
experiences, they set to work at what seemed to them at the moment the
most lucrative labor of which they were capable. They were fitted for
laundry work only by being well and strong physically, and by having a
willingness to do whatever they first found to do.
This proved to be work at the wash-tub. Here the four women labored
month after month with a will, with the result that at the end of a year
their bank account was not insignificant, they owned several gold
claims, and in all the mining camp there were none who did not respect
the four sisters.
Then came their first dark days. It was midsummer. Down among the grass
roots and between the rocks of the hillside back of the famous camp,
there trickled numerous fresh water springs, pure and cold when they
left their sequestered sources among the seams and fissures, but gaining
nothing of purity when spread out upon the little plain now thickly
dotted with cabins.
Here in the hurry and rush of the fast growing camp, when fortunes came
quickly, and men lived at a rapid pace, there was little time for
sanitary precautions, and so it presently happened that a shadow, like a
huge black bird of ill omen, suddenly hovered above the camp, sending a
shudder through its entire length. A tiny germ, so small as to pass
unnoticed and unheeded by, and yet withal so deadly as to be called a
plague, crept along, insinuating itself into the streamlets making their
way as best they could to their father, the Yukon; and the fever laid
low many victims.
Early and late had the sisters toiled, never in a half-hearted way, but
untiringly, day after day, until one of their number, being perhaps less
strong, or more weary from work to which she had been unaccustomed, and
more susceptible to disease, was stricken with fever, and after only a
few days' illness, whispered her loving good-byes.
This happened in the summer of 1899, and rumors of the great gold strike
at Nome now reached Dawson. One sister had been persuaded by a member of
the Dawson Bar to make for him a happy home during the remainder of his
life, and she was married.
Again their party numbered the original four, though there were now only
three sisters.
The excitement in Dawson regarding the new Nome gold fields daily
increased, and it was stated by reliable steamer men from St. Michael
that the new strike rivaled that of the Klondyke.
The little party of four decided to go to Nome. In a short time their
business was arranged, sales made, gold claims placed in charge of
agents, and everything made in readiness for their journey to Nome.
It was the middle of September. The last boats were leaving Dawson, both
for points on the Upper Yukon and for St. Michael. People leaving Dawson
by boat in the fall seldom linger beyond the third or fourth week in
September, for then the river may freeze at any time and they be
prisoners in the camp indefinitely.
The lower river steamer "Hannah" was about to push from the dock at
Dawson when a friend introduced me to the three sisters, and during the
following days on board an acquaintance sprung up which I much enjoyed.
Little did we know that this friendship would afterwards be renewed
nearly two thousand miles away, and under circumstances vastly different
from any with which we had before become familiar.
Landing safely from the "Hannah" at St. Michael, a few days were spent
by the sisters waiting for stormy weather to subside, and they then
sailed for Nome. Here they landed during the last days of September,
amid falling snow, bleak winds and boiling surf, upon the sands of the
most inhospitable beach in all that dreary Northland. No tree was to be
seen. Not a rock under whose friendly shelter one might hide from the
storms. There was almost no lumber in the camp with which to build
houses, and no incoming steamers expected. A few rude shacks, tents and
saloons, with two or three companies' buildings--of these was the town
composed. Many were rushing for the steamers in waiting, determined only
upon one thing--to get home to the States. Some carried heavy sacks of
gold, others went empty-handed. There was the summer's accumulation of
filth in the camp, too young as yet for cleanly conditions, and these
brought their sure accompaniment--the fever. Many suffered for weeks
with it, and then died.
Again came the dread plague to the sisters. Scarcely had they unpacked
their trunks or found shelter for the winter when the younger of the
sisters was stricken down. For days she raved in delirium, and all
feared she would die. Night and day they watched anxiously by her
bedside. Everything was done for her recovery and comfort that could be
done in a new and rough camp like the one at Nome; for all who knew the
beautiful little sister loved her well.
Then came the time when all the long and heavy yellow hair had to be cut
from the lovely head in obedience to the doctor's orders. But the little
sister lived. Their prayers were answered, the worst was over, the
danger past.
Then followed long and weary weeks of convalescing, while the winter
storms raged outside the little cabin, and the sun retreated farther
from the Arctic Circle and Nome, but the sisters thanked God, and again
took courage.
Months after came the welcome springtime. With the earliest fine weather
and revival of business in the camp the sisters erected a store building
and warehouse on the beach near by. Into the latter they moved
temporarily, hoping to rent the store to some of the numerous
"tenderfeet" sure to arrive on the first passenger steamers.
It was here I found the sisters on my arrival at Nome from San Francisco
in June, 1900. Little sister was well and strong again, growing a fresh
crop of roses and lilies on her cheeks, and a new head covering of
lovely, wavy yellow hair. On her lips she wore the same sweet, old
smiles, however, and I knew her well by these. Since her recovery from
the fever the hands of the sisters had not been idle, and they had
become expert at sewing furs. This had kept them busy as bees all
winter, and many were the caps, coats, mittens and capes made by their
industrious fingers, which brought them a good income, while their rooms
were always the rendezvous of friends than which a jollier lot could not
be discovered.
Of the good influence going out through the rough mining camp during the
long and dreary winter from the home of these sweet and Christian women,
no account has probably ever been kept, except by the recording angel,
who never forgets.
The day after we landed at Nome I secured work. Not, however, to begin
immediately, which pleased me well, as I should then have a little time
to look for father, inspect the camp, study conditions and take notes
and kodak views.
"Can you cook for a gang of men?" asked Mr. A. kindly smiling down at me
when I had stopped him on the street and asked for work in his camp for
the English girl and myself, as we wished to be together.
"Indeed, I can. I will do my very best, Mr. A., and I feel sure we can
please you. My friend is an extra good cook, as you will discover if you
give us work. Will you try us?"
"I will," he replied.
"At what wages, please?"
"Five dollars per day, each, with board," promptly answered the
gentleman whose two gold claims on famous Anvil Creek made him one of
the richest men in Alaska.
So it was settled. Claim number nine, Anvil, was about seven miles from
Nome, and one of the most noted claims in the district. Mr. A., a former
Swedish missionary at Golovin Bay, had, with his doctor brother, voyaged
to Nome on the "St. Paul" when we did, so we already had a slight
acquaintance with both gentlemen and were pleased to get the work.
Anvil Creek claims had been worked the summer before. Gold had first
been discovered in the fall of 1898 by Mr. Hultberg, a Swedish
missionary, who learned of the precious metal around Nome from the
Eskimos. His mission was stationed at Golovin Bay, and he notified the
Swedes, Brynteson, Hagalin, Lindbloom and Linderberg, who in turn saw G.
W. Price and induced him to go with them, as he was the only one there
experienced in mining. Price was on his way to Kodiak over the ice by
dog-team en route to California, as the representative of C. D. Lane,
the San Francisco mining man and millionaire.
The most of Anvil Creek was staked by this party before they returned to
the mines at Council City, fifty miles up Fish River from Golovin Bay.
"On July second, 1899, a second cleanup was made on number one above
Discovery Claim, Anvil Creek, the property of J. Linderberg. The result
of four men shovelling out of the creek bed from a cut five feet to
bedrock for twenty hours amounted to fourteen thousand dollars in gold
dust. The men shovelled all the gravel from the moss down to bedrock
into the sluice box as it was all pay gravel. The owner refused five
hundred thousand dollars for the property without considering the
offer."
Tierney is authority for the statement that this claim produced four
hundred thousand dollars that season.
From this time the discoverers were known by the sobriquet of the "Lucky
Swedes," for Anvil Creek was all good, there being no really "poor dirt"
in it, and number nine, above Discovery Claim, proved itself, the first
summer, also a banner winner.
It was here that we expected to work, as soon as supplies could be
hauled to the claim, the monotony of bread making and dish washing to be
varied by the new and strange sights on an enormously rich gold claim
not far from the Arctic Circle.
Everywhere around us were carpenter's hammers in operation, and tents
were rapidly going up. We found great difficulty in reserving ground
space enough for another tent, as others found the Sandspit as desirable
for tenting as we did, and elbowed us closely. Along the river's edge
and the beach near by many were digging and panning in the sands
searching for "colors." Dog-teams were hauling freight and baggage, with
their swearing and perspiring drivers at their heels, and while the big
black-snake whips flourished in air above the dogs or upon their
straining backs, the tongues of the faithful brutes hung from their
mouths, and their wide open eyes looked appealingly at bystanders. My
heart ached for the animals, but there were no humane societies in
Alaska.
About five o'clock on Sunday afternoon it began to snow. This was the
first June snowstorm I had ever seen. Our little tent leaked badly, as
it had been hastily pitched, and the snow melted as it fell. Small
rivers of water were soon dropping upon our heads. Rain coats, oil
cloth, and opened umbrellas were utilized to protect the clothing and
the bedding.
An hour of this experience would have been enough for one time, but
troubles seldom come singly, and so the wind began to blow. Donning her
rain coat and rubbers the English girl did her best to tighten ropes and
make the tent taut, for madam's son had not returned from town.
Presently, to our great joy, we saw him coming with a loaded dog-team of
freight, and best of all, with a man friend to assist him, whose strong
arms and broad shoulders were well fitted to tent pitching. Hastily the
cart was unloaded and the large canvas tent unrolled and laid upon the
sand. Stakes were driven, poles adjusted, ropes stretched with much
straining, as the wind whistled more vigorously, and snow still fell;
and the two men, both wet and cold, huddled into the little tent for a
cup of hot tea which was waiting.
Then strong hands opened more boxes and a large oil stove, carpets, rugs
and many other necessary things were hustled into the new tent, as well
as trunks, bedding, and the contents of the small tent, with the
exception of canned goods and such things as water would not injure. The
sands were clean but wet, and if we were thankful for a stout canvas
cover over our heads we would have also been glad of a dry place under
foot. However, carpets and rugs were spread down, stoves lighted, and
the tent door flap fastened as securely as possible.
As well as we could we arranged all for the night, but we expected to
sleep little, for the storm was now fearful. Rain, snow and hail, each
came down by turns, accompanied by a high wind which drove the surf in
roaring rage upon the beach. How thankful we were that we had chosen
this spot instead of one directly in reach of the great rollers with
their mist and spray; though we had the roar and boom of the surf in our
ears continually. Sometimes it seemed that the wind had lulled, and then
with increased violence it again screamed above our heads, threatening
us each moment with disaster.
At midnight a supper of hot macaroni, cocoa, bread, butter and cheese,
with canned meat and jam, was heartily eaten by all, including the
visiting friend from Sitka who had assisted. A low box was used for a
table and we all sat upon the mats, eating from tin cups and plates with
the keenest appetites.
The weather was now awful. The storm had increased until it seemed each
moment that the tent would be torn from its fastenings, and we be left
without any protection whatever. The ropes and stakes had frequently to
be looked after and made stronger. The snow had turned to rain, which
beat heavily upon the stout canvas resisting well the water without
leaking.
By one o'clock the wind showed signs of abating, and we were so much in
need of sleep, that, all dressed as we were, we rolled ourselves in our
blankets and dozed on the rugs close to the oil stoves. For an hour I
lay uneasily dreaming, or listening to the royal cannonading of the
heavy surf upon the beach. From my diary I quote the following extract:
"Monday, four in the morning, June eighteenth, 1900.--It is four in the
morning and we are sitting around the oil stoves in the middle of the
tent. We have just had hot cocoa and crackers. The surf still booms, but
it does not rain, and the wind has died down. We are better off than
many people. Tomorrow we will put up the other tent and get more
settled. We are thankful not to be on the sea beach, where so many are
camped. A. wishes herself home again. People around our tent all night
were talking, moving, afraid of the storm, but the big ships are still
here and they would put out to sea if it were necessary for their
safety. They say we have smallpox in town from the steamer 'Ohio,' and
yesterday Mrs. H., who came up on the 'St. Paul,' was reported to be
dying from pneumonia. The nurse, Mrs. Judge R.'s friend, is caring for
her. Judge R. and wife are still in Mrs. M.'s shack near the barracks.
It has been daylight all night. I hope to hear from father soon, and get
my freight. My friends here have all theirs. The two men are smoking and
talking while I write, and the Eskimo dogs not far away are howling in
their usual interesting nightly manner. I will now try to get a little
more sleep."
We had heard much of beach mining at Nome, but saw little of it. Stories
were told of men who, in the summer of 1899, had taken hundreds of
dollars in gold dust from the beach sands by the crudest methods, and
thousands of men were now flocking into the camp for the purpose of
doing beach mining. They were sadly disappointed. Not, however, because
there was no gold in the beach sands, but because it was so
infinitesimally tiny that they had no means of securing it. No hand
rocker, copper plate, nor amalgam had been used with success, neither
did any of the myriads of prospective miners bring anything with them
which promised better results. Great heaps of machinery called by
hopeful promoters "gold dredgers" were being daily dumped upon the beach
from the ships, signboards were covered with pictures of things similar,
while the papers continually bloomed with advertisements of machines,
which, if speedily secured by the miners, would, according to the
imaginative advertiser, soon cause all to literally roll in riches.
One flaming dodger ran in large letters thus: "Calling millions from the
vasty deep. A fortune in one hundred days. Our dredger will work three
thousand yards of sand in heavy surf at Cape Nome. It will take out
twenty-four thousand dollars in a day. You can make more money with us
than by taking flyers in wild-cat oil schemes, etc." The poster was
illustrated by a huge machine gotten up on the centipede plan; at least,
it resembled that hated insect from having attached to its frame two
sets of wheels of different sizes along the sides like the legs of a
centipede, but with a steam boiler for a head, and a big pipe for a
throat from which the salt water was disgorged to wash out this immense
amount of sand and give the gold to the miner. It did not save the gold.
Thousands of dollars of good, hard-earned money were dumped upon the
beach in the shape of heavy machines of different kinds, which were
worse than useless, and only brought bitter disappointment to their
owners. Men had stripped the beach the summer before of all coarse gold
which had, perhaps, been ages in washing up from the ocean's bed, or
down the creeks from the hills, and only the fine, or "flour gold," as
it was called, remained.
By the newcomers men were cursed for spreading abroad tales of beach
mining of the year before, but this was unjust, for conditions were not
the same. The waters bringing the gold to the beach could not, in one
season, replenish and leave the sands as rich as they had been after
long years, perhaps ages of action, and blame could not rightly be
attached to any one. Almost without exception, the men who did the
cursing were the men who had never been hard workers, and did not intend
to be, and so, after becoming satisfied that the nuggets were not there
to be simply picked up and pocketed, they turned, looked backward, and
went home. It was well for the new camp that they did.
There was also much trouble over real estate. Land was very high in
price. Some Swedes, who, the year before, had paid seven hundred dollars
for a town lot three hundred by fifty feet in size, now sold one-half of
it for ten thousand dollars. It is small wonder, then, where "possession
is nine points of the law" that men who rightfully claimed ground were
ready to fight to keep it, and those who were wrongfully in possession
many times stood guard with firearms.
In pitching our tents upon the sandy beach, especially after gaining
permission of the old captain who told us we would be in the street if
ever a street should be opened through on the Sandspit, but that was not
likely, and he had given us his full and free consent to our camping
temporarily there next his lots, we expected to have no trouble. Here we
miscalculated. Though the captain was kind and reasonable, he had a
partner who was just the reverse, and this person gave us infinite
trouble.
Scarcely had our first load of baggage been put upon the ground when he
began to tramp fussily about at all times of day and night. After our
stakes were driven he would come quietly in the night and pull them up,
so we would find our canvas flapping in the morning breeze when we
waked. Or, after we had retired for the night, he would come with some
other, stand within hearing distance, and threaten us if we did not move
away.
One morning, upon rising, we found that he had moved a long carpenter's
bench directly upon the spot next madam's tent, which I was trying to
reserve for my own tent as soon as I succeeded in getting my things from
the steamer. This disappointed me much, but I said nothing; and when my
tent finally came I pitched it on the other side, with my door directly
opposite hers and only six feet from her entrance.
As to appearance this old man was a jolly sight. He wore long and
tangled hair which had once been curly, but now hung in unkempt and
dirty shreds upon his shoulders, while his hat was an antiquated relic
of a former life in the States. A pair of old trousers generally hung by
one suspender over a colored shirt, which, the summer before, possibly,
had had a wash-tub experience, but not later; his footwear was
altogether unmentionable. He was called well-to-do, and there was no
necessity for him to cut such an abominable figure, so he soon became a
by-word, and was designated as "sour dough." At all events, he was sour
enough, and kept up a continual siege of torment until he received a
temporary quietus.
We three women were sitting in the tent one morning when there came a
voice at the door. Going forward to enquire what was wanted, a man said
gruffly, thrusting a piece of paper into my hand.
"A notice from the chief of police."
"For what?" I inquired.
"For you, to vacate these premises without delay."
"Indeed! Are they to open a street? Will the other campers about here
move also?" I asked.
"I don't know. My orders are that you shall move immediately. See that
you do it," said the man rudely.
While holding the paper in my hands I glanced over it hastily, and saw
the marks of a spurious document. It was poorly constructed, and bore
no official signs. I recognized it as a counterfeit.
"We have had permission from captain S., one of the aldermen, to put our
tents here, and we shall stay unless he orders us away," said I stoutly.
"You have permission from captain S.?" he asked in surprise.
"Yes, sir, from captain S. himself, and you can say to the chief of
police that we shall stay here until the captain orders us to leave,"
saying which I stepped back into the tent.
The man retreated, muttering to himself as he went, for he was utterly
routed, and never returned; neither did we hear any more for some time
about moving our tents. It was as I suspected. Mr. Sourdough had thought
to frighten us away, and the order from the chief of police was utterly
bogus.
Some time afterward, when madam attempted to put a floor into her tent,
"Sourdough" again put in an appearance. He threatened, but she held out,
when the obstinate and perverse old man trotted off down town and
secured an officer and four soldiers to come and put her off. The
officer looked the ground over, inquired if there was room for teams to
pass if necessary, and seeing her tent in line with many others, he
turned to the old man and said:
"This tent takes up no more of the street than the others. This lady has
as much right to be here as any one else. What is the matter with you?
Let the women alone," and he and his soldiers marched away.
Mr. Sourdough tore his hair. He was wild with anger. The floor of
madam's tent went down and stayed.
Each day I was in the habit of giving my Swedish friends a call, and
found them finally ready to set up their restaurant tent. A large floor
was laid on Second street near the post-office, the large canvas
stretched over the frame, tables and seats provided, a corner
partitioned off for a kitchen, dishes placed upon shelves, and they
began serving meals. At this juncture I happened in one day just before
noon and found them rushed with work and unable to fill their meal
orders for lack of help. Mary was peeling potatoes in haste, while
trying to do other things at the same time, and Ricka and Alma were
flying like bees.
"Let me peel those potatoes for you," said I, taking the knife from
Mary's hand; and when she demurred, I told her I really had nothing to
do, and would be glad to assist.
When the potatoes were peeled, dishes were heaped up to be cleaned, and
I quickly washed them, feeling that I was of some service, and not
heeding the surprised looks of a few acquaintances who chanced to catch
a glimpse of me at work in the kitchen through the door.
This I did each day, coming over after I had eaten my breakfast, and
rolling up my sleeves to my elbows, drove them deep into the dish pan
and hot water.
Many were the jolly times we now had. How the jokes flew past each other
over the puddings, and the crisp pies needed almost no other seasoning.
How cheerfully "the boys" brought wood and water and counted it reward
enough if they only received a smile from little Alma. Many a man was
glad enough, too, to render such service for a meal or lunch of hot
coffee and doughnuts, especially such good, big, motherly ones as Mary
made, and there was no lack of men helpers. How the coffee steamed, the
hot bread and meats smoked, and the soup odors tantalized the
olfactories of hundreds of "tenderfeet" with their lusty Alaska
appetites, which were increased by an open air life such as all in those
days were living.
When at last we were summoned to our work, on Number Nine, the Swedish
women pressed my hand cordially, leaving a good-sized bill in it at the
same time, saying: "When you get through on Number Nine come back to us;
we need you." I thanked them gratefully and said good-bye.
The English girl and myself were soon settled in our little tent with
its clean new floor on the hillside of claim Number Nine. No tree was to
be seen on the long, rolling hills, and only an occasional boulder on
some summit like Anvil Peak, perched as a sentinel above us. A few wild
flowers bloomed on the tundra, and the waters of the little stream
gurgled over the soft slate pebbles that strewed its course; but the
season so far was a dry one, and more water was needed before much could
be done at sluicing. Miners were not happy at the prospect of a dry
season, which meant a stoppage of all mining operations, and eagerly
scanned the heavens for rain indications. A small force of men were at
work night and day. On Thursday, July twelfth, eleven hundred dollars in
gold dust was taken from the sluice boxes in the creek, and two days
afterwards twelve thousand dollars, with which the owner of the claim
was much dissatisfied, calling them small clean-ups.
A few hundred feet up stream, on Number Ten, the machinery of C. D. Lane
whirred constantly. On the upper end of Number Nine a small new machine
called a separator was put in by some men from New York who had taken a
lay on the claim; but this scheme was not successful.
Seeing men at work prospecting along the "benches," as the banks of a
stream or hillsides are called by miners, and having a woman's
proverbial curiosity, after my work was done I climbed the hill to
investigate. The prospectors had left after digging a hole about six
feet deep and four square, evidently having satisfied themselves as to
what the ground contained. Into this hole I descended to feel of the
cold, wet earth and inspect the walls.
The miners had reached the frost line and gone, taking with them samples
of pretty white quartz rock, as much of the debris at the bottom of the
hole plainly showed, but whether it contained gold I knew not. As yet I
was a tenderfoot; but something satisfactory was without doubt found
here and in the vicinity, as quartz claims were staked over the placer
claims the whole length of Anvil Creek that summer.
While rambling about in search of flowers during our afternoon rests, we
found many interesting spots. To the northwest, over the high, bare
ridge, lay Snow Gulch, from which fabulous sums had the summer before
been taken, the blue and winding waters of famous Glacier Creek lying
just beyond. Walking through the dry, deep tundra over the hills was
warm, hard work, though we wore short skirts and high, stout boots, and
womanlike, we were always filled to the brim with questions and ready to
rest if we chanced to meet any one, which was not often.
Wherever we went, and whatever the hour, we met with no incivility. Hats
were lifted, and men rested a moment upon their shovels to look after us
as we passed, while frequently some rough miner swallowed the lump in
his throat or wiped a tear, as he thought of his wife, daughter or
sweetheart far away. We were the only women in the mines for miles
around, but felt no fear whatever, and indeed we were as safe there as
at home, and there was no occasion for anxiety.
Life was extremely interesting. Our work was not hard the first few
weeks; after that the force of men was increased. Rich pans of dirt (two
shovels full to a pan) were daily being brought to light. One pan
contained seventy-two dollars and seventy-five cents, one eighty-three
dollars and thirty-five cents. Big, fat nuggets already melted into
wondrous shapes, but iron rusted, as all Anvil Creek gold is, for some
reason, was discovered each day. One nugget tipped the scales at
thirty-nine dollars, one at twenty dollars, and one at fifty dollars,
with many others of like value.
Wednesday, August eighth, the following entry was made in my diary:
"Today has been the banner day for gold dust. The night's cleanup of
twelve hours' work was a big one--three pans full of gold. Later--Still
more yet. A cleanup of nine thousand dollars and three of the largest
nuggets I ever saw has just been made this evening. Two of the nuggets
were long and flat, as large as a tree-toad, and much the shape of one.
The men took the first load of gold dust to town--seventy-five
pounds--but the bank was closed before they could get the remainder
there. The foreman says they are prepared to keep it here safely over
night, however, and I believe they are, judging by the big protuberances
on their hip pockets."
CHAPTER XI.
LIFE IN A MINING CAMP.
As the rains came to facilitate the sluicing, more men were added to the
force shovelling in the creeks, and this made our work heavier. An
exceedingly cranky foreigner, as head cook, presided over the big coal
range in the mess-house, and we women "played second fiddle," so to
speak. However, we all had enough hard work, as a midnight supper for
the second force had to be prepared and regularly served, and at this we
labored alternately.
Strange to relate, the men at the long tables soon began to exhibit a
very great partiality for the dishes prepared by the English girl and
myself, to the end that the foreign fellow's black eyes snapped with
anger, and he swore deeply under his breath.
"He vill eat vat I gif heem. He moose eat it ven he hoongry, else he
starve himsel'. I care not he no like it, he get nothing other!" the
angry man would exclaim, as the untouched plates of the men were scraped
into the waste box. He would then, fearing that we would cook some dish
more palatable to the miners, hide the best food, or forbid us to use
certain ingredients as we wished.
Of the culinary stores provided there never could be a complaint.
Everything that money could buy in the way of fresh meat, potatoes,
onions, canned and dried fruits and vegetables, flour, corn and
oatmeals, were stacked up in the greatest profusion. From canned
oysters, clams and French sardines, to fine cocoa and cream, all was
here found in quantities, after being hauled in a wagon behind powerful
horses over the seven miles of heavy roads from Nome. By the time the
goods reached camp they were almost worth their weight in gold, but one
might have supposed them dirt cheap, for we, as hungry miners and cooks,
were never limited.
Week after week the patient animals and their driver were kept measuring
the distance between the city and the claim, even though the wet tundra
in low places grew sodden and boggy, and the wheels repeatedly sank to
the hubs. At times more horses were attached to haul them out of some
hole, or if these were not at hand, certain heavy cases were dumped off
until the reeking, straining brutes had successfully extricated the
load. Covered with mud and sweat, his high-topped rubber boots each
weighing a number of pounds, and his stomach too empty to allow of
conversation, after a long, hard day's work, the driver of this team
would fling himself upon one of the benches alongside our table and
say:
"Yes, I'm ready to eat anything. Been caved in for two hours."
This young man, as well as the night foreman, was a cousin of Mr. A.,
both farmer boys, honest, kind and true. No oaths fell from their lips,
and no language was used which their own mothers would ever blush to
hear.
The second of these, the foreman, was dressed also in great rubber
boots, dark blue sweater, and broad-brimmed felt hat, with a quick eye
and ear for all around him, though he was a man of few words, which he
weighed well before using. His hip pocket always contained a loaded
revolver, and he was obliged to sleep days after being on duty nights.
To eyes so unaccustomed as ours to the sight, how strange it all looked
at midnight. From the big tent door which faced south and towards Nome
City we could see the blue waters of Behring Sea away in the distance.
Great ships lying there at anchor, lately arrived from the outside world
or just about to leave, laden with treasure, at this long range looked
like mere dots on the horizon. Between them and us there straggled over
the beach in a westerly direction, a confused group of objects we well
knew to be the famous and fast growing camp on the yellow sands. To our
right, as well as our left, rolled the softly undulating hills, glowing
in tender tints of purples and greys, or, if the moon hung low above our
heads, there were warmer and lighter shades which were doubly
entrancing.
Accompanying the low moon twinkled the silver stars with their olden
time coyness of expression. Little birds, not knowing when to sleep in
the endless daylight, hopped among the dewy wild flowers of the tundra,
calling to their mates or nestlings, twittering a song appropriate to
the time and place because entirely unfamiliar.
No other sound was to be heard except the picks of the miners at work in
the stream. No word was spoken unless the foreman gave some order. Those
sleeping in nearby tents must not be wakened, and besides the men at the
shovels and picks did no loitering. There were the long sluice boxes to
be filled with what was once the creek bed, from which the water was now
turned in another direction to await the morning's cleanup of gold.
At that time the water would be conducted into the long boxes to wash
away the dirt and gravel, leaving the heavier gold in the bottom. Either
Mr. A. or his brother, with the foreman, attended to cleaning up the
gold. When all the dirt and gravel, or rock, had been washed out of the
sluices, a whisk broom was used to brush the gold into a corner of the
box, a dustpan conveyed it to broad-mouthed gold pans close at hand, and
these were carried into the kitchen.
Here the pans were placed upon the iron range, big mush spoons were
utilized for stirring, and the precious metal was well dried before
being weighed. As soon as possible afterward it was taken to the Bank of
Nome. A tall, black horse was purchased for this purpose alone, and
after a few such trips the intelligent creature most reluctantly
approached the office where the gold was kept, having learned of the
grievous burden he would have to bear. Sometimes he would snort, throw
himself and pull back, and in every way show his unwillingness to
proceed.
But no shirk was allowed here. The horse was led close to the steps of
the office tent, and a gunny sack tied in the middle brought out by two
men and laid over the back of the unwilling beast. A rain coat or
blanket was flung over the sack, and the man at the halter started for
town, leading the horse, which walked slowly and resignedly after being
compelled to go.
A second man, well armed with revolvers like the first, always
accompanied the pair, and when the three had returned to the claim
another cleanup awaited them. Enormous sums of money were taken from
this claim while we were there, averaging ten thousand to twenty
thousand dollars per day. Seventy men worked for a time when the water
was at its best, part of that number on the day force and part at night.
In August the west bank of the creek was accidentally pricked and found
to be far richer than the bed of the stream. Nuggets worth many dollars
were continually unearthed, the largest one that summer amounting to
ninety dollars. The richest pans contained sixty-four dollars,
seventy-two dollars and seventy-five cents and eighty-four dollars, with
others ranging all the way below.
From a bench claim next to Number Eleven on this creek, and only
one-fourth of a mile above us, great heaps of gold were taken from the
ground, no pan carrying less, it was said, than five hundred dollars.
From seventy men to wait upon when the stream was at high water mark, to
twenty-five when it was lower, at any time our lot was hard. We worked
with chapped, bleeding hands and aching backs. We worked until our tired
limbs sometimes refused to carry us further. By the middle of August the
nights began to grow dark at nine o'clock, and a hold-up or two took
place on the creek. The weather was rainy and cold, with frosty nights
between, and as we were all in tents, and these sometimes leaked, which
did not improve the head cook's temper and he grew almost abusive; we
retired, went to town, and left him alone to meditate. Here he hastily
and angrily for a few days longer tossed up nondescript messes for the
men, which none could eat, and was then discharged in disgrace.
In all there were fifteen placer claims staked on Anvil. Some of these
were scarcely touched that summer, but from those operated fully two
million five hundred thousand dollars were taken in three months.
[Illustration: CLAIM NUMBER NINE, ANVIL CREEK.]
During the six weeks we had spent at Number Nine, many improvements had
been made along the route and in Nome. Where before we had traveled
seven miles we now walked only two, riding on the new narrow gauge
railroad, spoken of there as Mr. Lane's, the remainder of the way.
At Discovery Claim, instead of a few straggling tents, there were eating
houses, saloons, store-houses, a ticket and post-office, and the nucleus
of a town. The cars we boarded were open, flat cars, with seats along
the sides, to be sure, but they were crowded at one dollar per head to
Nome. After waiting a little time for a start, the whistle blew shrilly,
the conductor shouted "all aboard!" and we trundled along behind a
smoky, sturdy engine in almost civilized style.
This was the first railroad in Alaska with the exception of the White
Pass and Yukon road, and will eventually extend to the southern coast
and Iliamna.
Next morning, after spending the night on the Sandspit with madam, I
called, bright and early, upon my Swedish friends in their restaurant.
"Good morning, Mrs. Sullivan!" cried Mary in a hearty voice, as she
stirred the steaming mush on the kitchen range.
"Good morning!" said Ricka more quietly, but with a pleasant, welcoming
smile. "Did you come from Number Nine?"
"Good morning!" from Alma, as she poured a cup of hot coffee for a
waiting customer. "Do you want to help us? We have plenty of work."
"That's what I came for," said I, laying aside my hat and coat. "Will
you lend me an apron till I get mine?" glancing toward the kitchen sink
full of unwashed dishes, and the cupboard shelves quite demoralized.
"I'll lend you six if you will only help us. We are so busy serving
meals we cannot take time to get settled," said Mary. "Yes, we moved
from the tent last week," she said in reply to my question.
"We like this much better. The tent leaked during the hard rains, and
flapped so much in the wind that we were afraid it would come down upon
our heads. We have had this kitchen built on, and shall keep open till
the last boats are gone for the winter. That will be two months longer,
likely," and Mary talked on as she dished up the griddle cakes and the
two others waited upon the tables.
I felt quite happy to have found work so soon, and that too among
friends, and without any particular responsibility attached to the
position. I would dignify my labor, doing it well and acceptably,
carrying always a sunny face and pleasing mood. The work was of a kind
despised by hundreds of women, who, after landing at Nome, had not found
agreeable and genteel situations, and so had gone back home, or, in
some cases, done even worse.
To be sure, the pay was not large, the work tiresome, and I would be
snubbed by many persons, but I had not come to Alaska for my health.
That was excellent. Then I had good food in sufficient quantities, which
was always a thing to be considered in that country. I had a purpose in
view which I never lost. I would get some gold claims.
The Swedish people were brave and fearless, as well as patient and
strong. I had many acquaintances among them already. I felt they were
good people to stay with, and they were congenial. To be sure, a few
spoke English with an accent, and there were no small, white hands among
them; but if the hearts and lives were clean and true, and so far as I
could judge they were so, I was satisfied.
The missionaries from Golovin, including the young lady who had come up
on the "St. Paul," had, with my three friends here, called at Number
Nine at different times during the six weeks of our stay there. Already
a plan had been considerably discussed which would take a party of us to
Golovin to winter, either in the Swedish mission or near it, and of all
things in mind so far this prospect most pleased me.
We would then be fifty miles from the rich Council City mines on the
Fish River Creeks, and only half that distance from the Topkok diggings,
of which we now heard considerable. Every creek within many miles
around Nome was entirely staked, but in the vicinity of Golovin we might
hope to secure claims, or, at least, be in a good position to learn of
new gold strikes if any were made during the coming winter.
"But we will keep a roadhouse if we go there," said Alma, "and be making
some money. I am sure there will be many people traveling through
Golovin all winter, and we can make a few dollars that way as well as
any one else. Then we will not forget how to cook," and the young woman,
with eyes always open to the main chance for "making money," as she
called it, laughed at the bare possibility of such a thing.
"We might do that and help in the mission, too, there are so many of us.
I would like to work in the mission for a change, I think," said Ricka,
who was very religiously inclined and quiet generally.
"What would you like to do, Mrs. Sullivan?" asked Mary. "You say so
little, and we talk so much. I want to know what you think."
"Well, there are three of you to talk, and I am only one," said I,
laughing, as I placed the cups and saucers, all clean and shining, on
the cupboard shelves. "I should like the mission plan better than
anything, for I have had some experience in mission work; but if they do
not need us there, then I should like the roadhouse well enough, though
I think if eight or ten of us, each having enough supplies for himself
for the winter, should form a club and live under one roof, we could do
so more cheaply and comfortably than any other way, and have a real
jolly, good time in the bargain. These young men, many of them, are
intending to winter here somewhere, and all hate to cook for themselves,
I know, while they would gladly get the wood, water, and shovel snow, if
we did the cooking and housework. None need to work hard, and if a rich
gold strike were reported, somebody might want to go and do some
staking. In that way we might get some gold claims," I reasoned, while
all three listened during a lull in the work.
"That's what we all came to Alaska for--gold claims. I want three,"
remarked Alma with complacency, "and besides, there is plenty of
driftwood at Golovin on the beach which we could have for nothing, and
save buying coal at three dollars a sack as we do here," glancing at the
scuttle near the range reproachfully, as if the poor, inanimate thing
was to blame for prices.
Little Alma was keen at a bargain. There was nothing slow about the grey
matter in her cranium. If there was buying to do, or a commodity to
sell, Alma was the one of the restaurant firm to do it, enjoying well
the bargaining, where she was seldom outwitted.
So in the intervals between meals, or at night when the day's work was
done, we discussed our plans outside the kitchen door next the sea
beach, watching the shipping in the roadstead, admiring the lovely sky
tints left by the setting sun, or gazing at the softly rolling breakers
under a silver-bowed moon.
If we had plenty of hard work, with its not altogether desirable phases,
we also enjoyed much beside the novelty. Some one we knew was always in
from the creeks, principally Anvil, to bring latest news, as well as to
collect the same, and the kitchen as well as the dining-room, was the
constant rendezvous of friends of one or all of us. Those prospecting
among the hills or on the beach at some distance from town came in often
for supplies and to visit the post-office, giving the "Star" a call for
hot coffee, if not a supper, before leaving. Jokes and stories flew
about over the tables, and interesting incidents were always occurring.
Good humor and good cheer flowed on every side along with the cordial
greeting, and tea and coffee, though nothing stronger in the way of
drinks was ever placed upon the tables.
In the kitchen we did not lack voluntary assistants when work pushed, or
there was what we called "a rush." One young man would fill the water
buckets at a neighboring hydrant, another would bring in coal, and some
other would carry away refuse.
Happy, indeed, were the great numbers of dogs fed from the "Star"
kitchen. No beggar was ever turned away. No homeless and discouraged
soul, whether man or woman, sober or drunken, was allowed to leave as
forlorn as he entered. Men often sat down at the tables, who, when
filled with good food and hot drink, in a warm and comfortable room fell
asleep from the effects of previous stimulants and sank to the floor.
When this happened some strong and helpful arm assisted such a one with
friendly advice, to the street.
The two sisters were now our nearest neighbors, the third and married
one having gone with her husband to live in a new cottage of their own
in another part of the town. The eldest of the two had kindly offered me
lodging in the back part of their store building of which our restaurant
rooms were a half, and from which we were only separated by a board
partition. This was a temporary arrangement until I could find something
that suited me close at hand, as I chose to be near my work on account
of going to my room in the evening after my duties were done. The
sisters themselves still lived in their large warehouse a few feet back
from the store, and between it and the surf which rolled ceaselessly
upon the sands.
I was now more comfortably lodged than since I had landed at Nome. My
canvas cot, placed in the back of the store, vacant except for a few
rolls of carpeting, matting and oil cloth on sale by the sisters, stood
not far from the large coal heater in which fire was kept during the
day, making the room warm and dry when I came in at night. Near the
foot of my cot a good window admitted light and sunshine, and a door
opened upon a flight of six stairs into a tiny square yard before one
entered the warehouse, where lived the sisters. This latter building was
made of corrugated iron, on piles, with windows and a door in the south
end looking directly out upon the water only a few feet away, and was
fitted cosily enough for the summer, but not intended for anything
further except storage purposes. A second door in the north end,
opposite the one in the store, and only separated from it by the little
yard was the door generally used. At this time lodgings without fire
were worth dollars a night in crowded Nome, and one's next neighbors
might prove themselves anything but desirable.
Meanwhile we worked steadily. Many of the Anvil Creek mine owners and
their men took meals at the "Star" whenever in town. Some of their
office employees came regularly. Hundreds were "going outside" on boats,
and all was bustle and excitement. At least twenty-five thousand people
had landed at Nome during the summer, and fully one-half of them had
gone home discouraged.
On Sunday, September second, there came up a most terrible storm, which,
for the velocity of its gales, tremendous downfall of rain, terrific
surf, accompanied by great loss of life, as well as length of duration,
had not been equalled for over twenty years. Never before was the
property loss so great on the Behring Sea coast.
By nine o'clock Sunday morning the large steamers at anchor had put far
out to sea for safety. The wind rose, the rain poured. The surf was
growing more rough. At dinner time those who came in reported the dead
bodies of nine men picked up on the beach. They had attempted to land
from a steamer, and their small boat was swamped. One of the men drowned
was the mate of the vessel. For days the storm lasted and our work
increased. It was not long before the continuous rain had penetrated our
little kitchen roof and walls, roughly built as they were of boards, and
from that on we worked in rubber boots and short skirts tucked still
higher. With the storm at its hardest, I donned a regular "sou'wester,"
or water proof hat, rather than stand with the rain dripping upon my
head, and a cape of the same material covered my shoulders.
People living in tents when the storm began--and there were
thousands--had been washed out, or been obliged to leave them, and could
not get their own meals. The "Star" swarmed with hundreds who had never
been there before, as well as those in the habit of coming. Ten days
passed. Sometimes there would be a lull in the storm for a few hours and
we hoped it was over, but the surf ran high and could not return before
the wind again lashed it into fury.
One midnight, when I was sleeping soundly after an unusually hard day's
duties in the kitchen, there came a hasty knock at my door.
"Let me in quick Mrs. Sullivan, the warehouse, we fear, is going. We
must come in here. We will bring some more of our things," and little
sister dropped the armful of clothing she carried and ran back for more.
Sure enough, as I looked, the water surged up under the warehouse to the
foot of the steps. When she returned with another load I offered to
dress and assist them, but she said they would only bring the clothing
and bedding, and I better go back to bed.
Breathlessly the sisters worked for a time, until the tide prevented
them from again entering the warehouse, and they made their bed near me
on the floor. When, after watching the waters, they felt satisfied that
they receded, they retired, weary and troubled, hoping that before
another high tide the storm would have subsided and the danger would be
past.
By September twelfth the surf was the worst we had ever seen it, and
Snake River had overflowed its banks. Most of those on the Sandspit were
obliged to flee for their lives. Hundreds were homeless on the streets.
The town's whole water-front was washed away. Tents not only went down
by hundreds, but buildings of every description were swept away and
flung by the angry surf high up on the sands.
Anchored lighters and barges were loosened from their moorings and came
ashore, as did schooners broken and disabled. Dead bodies were each day
picked up on the beach, which was strewn with wreckage.
One dark night, when the rain had ceased for a time to give place to a
fearful gale which tossed the maddened waters higher and higher, there
appeared upon the horizon a dim, portentous shape. At first it was only
a form, indistinct and uncertain. As we watched longer, it gradually
assumed the semblance of a ship. Keen eyes soon discerned a huge, black
hulk, of monstrous size when riding the crest of the breakers, smaller
and partially lost to sight when buried at intervals in the trough of
the sea.
A ship was drifting helplessly, entirely at the mercy of the elements,
and must soon be cast upon the beach at our feet. Approaching swiftly as
she was, in the heavy sea, as the violence of the wind bore her onward,
lights appeared as signals of distress, telling of souls on board in
fearful danger.
In dismay we watched the helpless, on-coming vessel. We were in direct
line of her path as she was now drifting. If by chance the mountain of
water should, by an awful upheaval, rear the wreck upon its crest at
landing, we would be engulfed in a moment of time. No power could save
the buildings which would be instantly shivered to heaps of floating
debris.
Should we flee for our lives? Or would the wind, quickly, by some
miracle, change its course, and thereby send the menacing vessel to one
side of us or the other? Groups of patrolmen and soldiers everywhere
watched with anxious eyes, and friends stood with us to encourage and
assist if needed.
God alone could avert the awful, impending disaster. He could do so, and
did.
When only a few hundred feet from shore, the huge black mass, rearing
and tossing like a thing of life in the raging sea, swerved to the west
by a sudden veer of the wind, and then, amid the roar of breakers angry
to ferocity, she, with a boom as of cannon in battle, plunged into the
sands of the beach only a hundred and fifty feet away.
The earth trembled. With one long, quivering motion, like some dumb
brute in its death struggle, the ship settled, its great timbers parting
as it did so, and the floods pouring clean over its decks. Then began
the work of rescuing those on board, which was finally, after many
hours, successfully accomplished.
CHAPTER XII.
BAR-ROOM DISTURBANCES.
"Girls, O girls!" shouted Mary from the kitchen door in order to be
heard above the waters, "Do come inside!" Then, as we answered her call
and closed the door behind us, she said: "The danger is over now, and
you can't help those poor people in the wreck. There are plenty of men
to do that. See! it is nearly midnight, and we shall have another hard
day's work tomorrow. Go to bed like good children, do."
"How about yourself, ma?" said Ricka, carrying out the farce of mother
and children as we often did, Mary being the eldest of the four.
"I'm going too, as soon as I get this pancake batter made, for I'm dead
tired. We will hear the particulars of the wreck at breakfast," replied
Mary.
"Poor things! How I pity them. What an awful experience for women if
there were any on board," said sympathetic Ricka, and I left them
talking it over, to roll into my cot, weary from twelve hours of hard
work and excitement.
No anxiety, and no thundering of the breakers could now keep me awake,
and for hours I slept heavily.
Suddenly I was wide awake. No dream or unusual sound had roused me. Some
new danger must be impending. My pulses throbbed. The clock at the head
of my cot ticked regularly, and its hands pointed to four. The sisters
slept peacefully side by side. The whole town seemed resting after the
intense and continued anxiety caused by the storm, and I wondered why I
had wakened.
However, something impelled me to get up, and, rising quietly from my
cot in order not to arouse the others, I went to the south window and
peered out.
My heart fairly stood still.
The waters were upon us! They had already covered the lower steps at the
door not six feet from the cot on which I had slept. I stood motionless.
If I knew that the waters were receding, I would go quietly to bed,
allowing the others to sleep an hour longer; but if they were rising
there was no time to lose. None could reckon on the tides now, for all
previous records had been recently broken. I would wait and watch a few
minutes, I decided, and I wrapped a blanket around me, for my teeth
chattered, and I shivered.
How cruel the water looked as I watched it creep closer and closer. How
quietly now it swept at flood tide up through the piles under the
warehouse, covering the little back yard and the kitchen steps of the
restaurant. With the cunning of a thief it was creeping upon us in the
darkness when we were asleep and helpless.
Would the resistless waters persist in our destruction? Where should we
go in the storm if obliged to fly for our lives?
Twenty minutes passed.
Another step was covered while I watched--the tide was rising.
Crossing the room now to where my friends lay sleeping, I touched little
sister upon the shoulder.
"Wake up! Wake up! The tide is coming,--the water is almost at the door!
I have been watching it for twenty minutes, and I'm sure we ought to be
dressed," said I, trying to keep my voice steady so as neither to betray
my fright nor startle them unnecessarily.
Springing from their bed they hurried to the window and looked out.
"I should say so!" exclaimed the younger lady in dismay.
"These treacherous waters will not give us up. They want us, and all we
possess, and are literally pursuing us, I believe," groaned Miss S., the
older sister, struggling to get hastily into her clothing. "But we must
waken the girls," she said, rapping on the intervening wall, and calling
loudly for the three other women who still slept soundly from fatigue.
With that, we all dressed, and began to pack our belongings; I putting
my rubber blanket upon the floor and rolling my bedding in that. This I
tied securely, and dragged to the street door, packing my bags and trunk
quickly for removal if necessary.
In the restaurant none knew exactly what to do. The water had covered
the back steps, and the spray was dashing against the kitchen door.
Underneath, the little cellar, dug in the dry sand weeks before, and
used as a storing place for tents, chairs, vegetables and coal sacks,
was filled with water which now came within a foot of the floors. From
sheer force of habit, Mary began building a fire in the range, and I to
pack the spoons, knives and forks in a basket for removal. Ricka thought
this a wise thing to do, but Alma remonstrated.
"The water will not come in. You need not be afraid. If it does, we will
only run out into the street, leaving everything. Let us get breakfast
now, the people are coming in to eat," and this very matter-of-fact
young woman began laying the tables for the morning meal. It was six
o'clock. The men soon began to pour into the dining room hungry, wet,
and cold. Many had been out all night assisting in the rescue work or
patrolling the beach, inspecting each heap of wreckage in search of dead
bodies and valuables, for many among the missing were supposed to have
perished in the storm.
Three men engaged in rescuing the survivors of the big wreck of the
night previous, had been swept from the barge alongside, and gone down
in the boiling surf. Searching parties were out trying to locate a
number of men who had started two days before, during a lull in the
storm, against the warnings of friends, for Topkok to the east. They
were never again seen.
I had now to find other lodgings, for the sisters needed their room.
Leaving my work for an hour in the forenoon I tramped about in the mud
looking everywhere within two blocks of the "Star," for I did not wish
to go further away.
After calling at a number of places, I was directed to a small hotel or
lodging house across the street from the "Star," and about one and a
half blocks further east. A man and his wife kept the house, which
consisted of eating room and kitchen on the east side of the lower
floor, and a big bar-room or saloon on the west side. The second floor
was divided by a long narrow hall into two rows of small rooms for rent
to lodgers. The woman showed me a little room with one window on the
west side.
"I wish to rent by the week, as I am expecting to leave town before
long," said I, after telling her my business, and where I was at work.
"What rent do you charge?"
"Five dollars per week, unfurnished," said she.
I caught my breath. The room was about eight feet square, and as bare as
my hand. Not even a
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