MAY KELLOGG SULLIVAN IN ALASKA DRESS.

Copyright, 1902
By MAY KELLOGG SULLIVAN

All Rights Reserved

CONTENTS.

[Pg 7]

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.[Pg 8]

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.

[Pg 9]

A WOMAN WHO WENT—TO ALASKA.

CHAPTER I.

UNDER WAY.

Y 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[Pg 10]
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[Pg 11]
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.

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[Pg 12]
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.[Pg 13]
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.

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[Pg 14]
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[Pg 15]
laps of some women who were laughing at them.

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[Pg 16]
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[Pg 17]
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.

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[Pg 18]
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.

[Pg 19]

CHAPTER II.

MIDNIGHT ON A YUKON STEAMER.

HE 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[Pg 20]
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[Pg 21]
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[Pg 22]
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.”

UPPER YUKON STEAMER.

[Pg 23]

CHAPTER III.

DAWSON.

Y 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[Pg 24]
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[Pg 25]
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.

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,[Pg 26]
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[Pg 27]
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?”[Pg 28]

“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[Pg 29]
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.[Pg 30]

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[Pg 31]
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.[Pg 32]

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,[Pg 33]
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.

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.[Pg 34]

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[Pg 35]
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.

[Pg 36]

CHAPTER IV.

THE RUSH.

INCE the discovery of gold by George
Carmack on Bonanza Creek in September,
1896, the growth of this country
has been phenomenal, more especially
so to the one who has visited and
is familiar with Dawson and the Klondyke
mining section.

As to the entire yield of gold from
the Klondyke Creeks, none can say
except approximately; for the ten per
cent. royalty imposed by the Canadian government
has always met a phase of human nature which
prompts to concealment and dishonesty, so that
a truthful estimate cannot be made.

The Canadian Dominion government is very
oppressive. Mining laws are very arbitrary and
strictly enforced. A person wishing to prospect
for gold must first procure a miner’s license, paying
ten dollars for it. If anything is discovered, and he
wishes to locate a claim, he visits the recorder’s
office, states his business, and is told to call again.
In the meantime, men are sent to examine the locality
and if anything of value is found, the man wishing
to record the claim is told that it is already
located. The officials seize it. The man has no way
of ascertaining if the land was properly located,
and so has no redress. If the claim is thought to[Pg 37]
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,[Pg 38]
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[Pg 39]
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[Pg 40]
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[Pg 41]
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!

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.[Pg 42]

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[Pg 43]
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[Pg 44]
(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,[Pg 45]
is Fort Cudahy, containing the stores and warehouses
of one of the large companies, as well as a
post-office.

EAGLE CITY, ON THE YUKON, IN 1899.

But we were soon off again, steaming along between
hills yellow with fading poplar leaves and
green streaked with pines. Many rocky spurs towered
grandly heavenward, with tops, like silvered
heads, covered with newly fallen snow. The Yukon
is here very crooked and narrow, and abrupt banks
hedged our steamer in on all sides.

Next morning early we arrived at Eagle City,
Alaska. We were now in Uncle Sam’s land, and
breathed more freely. We felt at home. We cheered
and waved our handkerchiefs to the blue uniformed
soldiers on the river bank who had come to see us.

We went ashore and called upon lieutenant L.,
lately from his home in Connecticut and campaigning
in Cuba. Taking us into a log house near by,
he pointed out forty thousand rounds of ammunition
and one hundred and fifteen Krag-Jorgensen
rifles of the latest pattern.

Here were stationed one hundred and fifteen
men, some of them at that time out moose hunting
and fishing. Captain Ray, an old white-haired gentleman,
stood outside his cabin door. At Eagle we
saw the new government barracks just being finished,
the logs and shingles having been sawed at
the government saw-mill near by, at the mouth of
Mission Creek.

We were particularly struck with the very youthful[Pg 46]
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.[Pg 47]

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.

[Pg 48]

CHAPTER V

AT THE ARCTIC CIRCLE.

E were now at the Arctic Circle. For
three days we had no sunshine, and
flurries of snow were frequent. The
mountain tops, as well as the banks
and sand-bars of the river, were spread
with a thin covering of snow; enough
at least to give a wintry aspect. This
added to the leaden sky above, made
the warmth of big coal fires acceptable
indoors, and fur coats comfortable on
the decks.

At Fort Yukon the low water prevented our landing.
We were told, however, that the place contained
one hundred log houses, as well as an old
Episcopal Mission, in which Mrs. Bumpus had lived
and taught the natives for twenty years. Many of
the Eskimo girls are trained as children’s nurses
and make very satisfactory ones.

Into the Yukon Flats empty the Porcupine
River, Birch Creek and other streams. Fort Yukon
was established by the Hudson Bay Company many
years ago, all supplies coming in and shipments of
furs going out by way of the McKensie River and
the great Canadian Lakes.

Toward evening one day, while the stevedores
were busy handling wood, we went ashore and visited[Pg 49]
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.

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[Pg 50]
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[Pg 51]
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,[Pg 52]
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[Pg 53]
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.

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[Pg 54]
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.[Pg 55]
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[Pg 56]
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[Pg 57]
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.

[Pg 58]

CHAPTER VI

COMPANIONS.

UT there were passengers arriving at
St. Michael each day from different
points bound for Nome.

At last the side-wheeler “Sadie” was
to leave for Nome, and what a commotion!
Men in fur coats, caps and mittens,
leading dogs of all colors and
sizes, some barking, but all hustled
along with no thought of anything except
to reach Cape Nome as quickly
as possible. At last they were off. A rough, and in
some instances a drunken lot, but all hopefully
happy and sure that they would “strike it rich” in
the new gold fields. Many, no doubt, were going
to their death, many to hardships and disappointments
undreamed of, while a few would find gold
almost inexhaustible.

Still we waited day after day for the ocean
steamer “Bertha.” One Sunday morning we
looked from the hotel windows to see a clear, cold
sky, with sun and high wind. About ten o’clock
we heard a steamer whistling for assistance. She
was small and used for errands by one of the steamship
companies. Still none went to the rescue,
as the gale was terrific. A steam tug started out,
but she passed by on the other side, not caring to
act the part of good Samaritan to a rival. In a[Pg 59]
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[Pg 60]
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.[Pg 61]

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[Pg 62]
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[Pg 63]
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[Pg 64]
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[Pg 65]
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.

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.[Pg 66]

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[Pg 67]
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[Pg 68]
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[Pg 69]
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

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,[Pg 71]
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[Pg 72]
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.

UNALASKA.

[Pg 73]

CHAPTER VII.

GOING TO NOME.

NE 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[Pg 74]
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.[Pg 75]

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[Pg 76]
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[Pg 77]
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[Pg 78]
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[Pg 79]
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.[Pg 80]

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.

STEAMSHIP ST. PAUL.

[Pg 81]

CHAPTER VIII.

FRESH DANGER.

T 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.[Pg 82]

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[Pg 83]
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[Pg 84]
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[Pg 85]
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[Pg 86]
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[Pg 87]
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.[Pg 88]

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.[Pg 89]

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,”[Pg 90]
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[Pg 91]
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.[Pg 92]

“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[Pg 93]
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.

[Pg 94]

CHAPTER IX.

NOME.

HE 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[Pg 95]
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.[Pg 96]
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,[Pg 97]
I offered a little prayer of thanks to our good
Father, and hurried away.

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[Pg 98]
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[Pg 99]
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[Pg 100]
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,[Pg 101]
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[Pg 102]
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[Pg 103]
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[Pg 104]
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.

LIFE AT NOME.

[Pg 105]

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[Pg 106]
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;[Pg 107]
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[Pg 108]
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.

[Pg 109]

CHAPTER X.

THE FOUR SISTERS.

T 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[Pg 110]
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[Pg 111]
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[Pg 112]
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[Pg 113]
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,[Pg 114]
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?”[Pg 115]

“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[Pg 116]
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[Pg 117]
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[Pg 118]
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.[Pg 119]

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[Pg 120]
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[Pg 121]
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[Pg 122]
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.[Pg 123]

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[Pg 124]
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[Pg 125]
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?[Pg 126]
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[Pg 127]
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[Pg 128]
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[Pg 129]
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[Pg 130]
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.”

[Pg 131]

CHAPTER XI.

LIFE IN A MINING CAMP.

S 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.[Pg 132]

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:[Pg 133]

“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[Pg 134]
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[Pg 135]
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[Pg 136]
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[Pg 137]
five hundred thousand dollars were taken in three
months.

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[Pg 138]
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[Pg 139]
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[Pg 140]
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[Pg 141]
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,[Pg 142]
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,[Pg 143]
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[Pg 144]
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[Pg 145]
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.[Pg 146]

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[Pg 147]
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[Pg 148]
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.

[Pg 149]

CHAPTER XII.

BAR-ROOM DISTURBANCES.

IRLS, 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.[Pg 150]

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[Pg 151]
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[Pg 152]
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[Pg 153]
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?”[Pg 154]

“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
shade hung at the window. It was ceiled with
boards around and overhead. I asked if she would
put up a window shade. She said she would when
her husband returned, as she expected him in a few
days from Norton Sound.

After talking with the little woman she seemed
to wish me to take the room, assuring me that
there were only quiet, decent people in the house,
and the saloon below was closed each day at midnight.
There was a billiard table and piano in the
bar-room; but no window shades, shutters nor
screens of any sort, she said. Her own room was
next this one, and she was always there after nine
o’clock in the evening, so I need not feel timid.

Upon reflection, I took the room, and paid the
rent. My things could not stand in the street, and
I must have a place in which to sleep at night. It
was high and dry, and far enough away from the
surf, so that I need not fear being washed out.
I would not be in my room during the day, and it
was only for a few weeks anyway. It suited my
needs better than anything I could find elsewhere,
and as for furnishings, I could do without.

I went back to my work, and had my baggage
and cot sent to the room. I could settle things in
a few minutes in the evening before retiring.

The surf still boomed upon the beach, and rain[Pg 155]
and mist continued all day, but without wind. For
hours the waters kept close to our floors, but did
not quite reach them. Floating wreckage washed
up at our feet, and two lighters, loose from their
moorings, lodged beside the warehouse at the
mercy of the surf. We were in constant fear that
they would shove the warehouse off the piles
against our buildings, and that would be, without
doubt, the finale.

In the meantime there was “a rush” indoors
such as we never before had. Many carried hearts
saddened by the loss of friends or property. Some
had not slept for days. At the tables, at one
time, sat two beggars, and a number of millionaires.
Some who had reckoned themselves rich a
few days previous were now beggared. The great
wreck of the night before was going rapidly to
pieces. With a mighty force, the still angry breakers
dashed high over the decks of the ship. Masts
and rigging went down hourly, and ropes dangled
in mid-air, while men unloading coal and lumber
worked like beavers at windlass and derrick, which
creaked loudly above the noise of the waters.

More and more was the ship dismantled. When
the storm cleared, and the sun came out next day,
the scene was one of wondrous grandeur. Nothing
more magnificent had I ever before beheld.
Great masses of water, mountain high, rolled continually
landward, their snowy crests surmounted
by veils of mist and spray, delicate as the tracery[Pg 156]
on some frosted window pane. As the sun lifted
his head above the horizon, throwing his beams
widely over all, each mist-veil was instantly transformed
into a thing of surpassing beauty. It could
only be compared to strings of diamonds, rubies
and pearls. With a fairy’s witchery, or a magician’s
spell, the whole face of the waters was
changed. Each wrecked craft along the shore,
partially buried in sand, masts gone, keel broken,
and anchor dragged, with the surf breaking over
all, was transformed under the brilliant sunshine,
until no painting could be more artistically beautiful.
Under the fascination of it all we forgot the
anxiety, the labor, and suspense of the last days and
weeks, and every moment of interval between work
we spent at our door next the beach, or after the
falling of the tide, further out upon the sands.

Many wrecks lay strewn along the beach.
Schooners, barges, and tugs lay broken and helpless.
Untold quantities of debris, lumber, pieces
of buildings, tents, boxes, and barrels, all testified
to the sad and tremendous havoc made by this
great storm.

In my little room I rested quietly when my day’s
work was done. The landlady had taken down an
old black shawl I had pinned to the window, and
hung a green cloth shade of ugly color, and too
wide by several inches. It was better than no
shade, and I said nothing. For a bed I had my
own cot; for a washstand, a box. At the head of[Pg 157]
my cot stood two small boxes, one above the other,
and upon these I placed my clock, matches, pincushion,
brush and combs, while below were stowed
away other little things. A few nails on the wall
held my dresses, but my trunk remained packed.
A candle, tin wash basin, and bucket completed
my room furnishings, simple and homely enough to
satisfy the asceticism of a cloistered nun or monk.

On September twenty-seventh there fell the first
snow of the season. A little had for days been lying
upon the hilltops of Anvil, but none nearer. The
only fire in my room was an oil lamp upon which
I heated water upon going home at night; but with
plenty of blankets and wool clothing I was comfortable
with the window open.

One evening while going to my room I heard
some one singing in the bar-room. I hurried up
the stairs on the outside of the building, which was
the only way of entrance to the second floor, and
entered my room. Depositing my lighted lantern
upon the floor, I listened. The singing continued.
It was a youthful woman’s voice. I would see for
myself. Going quietly out the door, and down part
way to a window crossed by the stairs, I sat down
upon a step and looked into the room below. It
was the big bar-room. It was pleasant and warm,
with lights and fire. Upon the bright green cloth
of the billiard table lay a few gay balls, but no
game was then in progress. The big piano waited
open near by. The bartender stood behind the[Pg 158]
bar, backed by rows of bottles, shining glasses and
trays. A mirror reflected the occupants of the
room, some of whom were leaning against the
counter in various attitudes, but the central figure
stood facing them.

It was a beautiful young girl who was singing.

A few feet from, and directly in front of the girl,
was her companion, a well dressed and good looking
young man a little older. Both were intoxicated,
and trying to dance a cake walk, accompanying
themselves by singing, “I’d Leave my Happy
Home for You.”

She was singing in a tipsy, disconnected way the
senseless ditty, swaying back and forth to the imaginary
music. Beautiful as a dream, with dark
hair, and great melting eyes, her skin was like
lilies, and each cheek a luscious peach. Her tall,
graceful figure, clad in long, sweeping black draperies,
with white jeweled fingers daintily lifting her
skirts while she stepped backward and forward,
made a picture both fascinating and horrible.

I sat gazing like one petrified. The girl’s laugh
rang through the room. “I’d Leave my Happy
Home for You, ou—ou,” she was singing still,
weaving and swaying now from side to side as if
about to fall. Her companion approached and attempted
to place his arm about her shoulders, but
she gave him a playful push which sent him sprawling,
at which she shouted in great glee, dropping
her drapery and flinging her lovely arms above her[Pg 159]
head. How the diamonds sparkled on her little
hands I How the men in the bar-room clapped,
swearing she was a good one, and must have another
drink. Someone gave an order, and the bartender
handed out a small tray upon which stood
slender-necked amber-colored glasses filled to the
brim.

As the girl quickly tossed off the liquor, I
groaned aloud, awaked from my trance, and fled
to my room, where I bolted the door, and fell upon
my knees. God forgive her! What a sight! I
wanted to rush into the bar-room, seize the young
girl, and lead her away from the place and her
companions, but I could not. I had barely enough
room for myself. I had little money. What could
I do for her? Absolutely nothing. If I went in
and attempted to talk with her it would do no good,
for she was drunk, and a drunken person cannot
reason. The men would jeer at me, and I might
be ejected from the place.

Finally I went to bed. At midnight the singing
and shouting ceased, the people dispersed, the bartender
put out the lights, and locked the doors.

For the first time since reaching Nome, my pillow
was wet with tears, and I prayed for gold with
which to help lift these, my sisters, from their awful
degradation.

It was well towards midnight, and I had been
asleep for some time. My subjective mind, ever
on the alert as usual, and ready to share enjoyment[Pg 160]
as well as pain with my objective senses, began
gradually to inform me that there was music in the
air. Softly and sweetly, like rippling summer waters
over mossy stones, the notes floated upward
to my ears. The hands of an artist lay upon the
keyboard of the instrument in the room beneath.

I listened drowsily.

With the singing of brooks, I heard the twitter
of little birds, the rustle of leaves on the trees,
and saw the maiden-hair nodding in the glen. I
was a little child far away in the Badger State.
Again I was rambling through green fields, and
plucking the pretty wild flowers. How sweet and
tender the blue skies above! How gentle the far-away
voice of my mother as she called me!

They were singing softly now,—men’s voices,
well trained, and in sweetest harmony:

They sang the whole song through, and I was
now wide awake.

Familiar songs and old ballads followed, the
master hand at the keys accompanying.

“We are going outside on the Ohio tomorrow,”
said one in an interval of the music, “and then,
ho! for home again, so I’m happy,” and a momentary
clog dance pounded the board floor.[Pg 161]

“Have a drink on it, boys?” asked a generous
bystander who had been enjoying the music.

“No, thanks, we never drink. Let’s have a
lively song now for variety,” and the musician
struck up a coon song, which they sang lustily.
Then followed “America,” “Auld Lang Syne,” and
“‘Mid Pleasures and Palaces,” the dear old “Home,
Sweet Home” coming with intense sweetness and
pathos to my listening ear. No sound disturbed
the singers, and others filed quietly out when they
had gone away. “God bless them, and give them
a safe voyage home to their dear ones,” I breathed,
with tears slipping from under wet lashes, and a
great lump in my throat.

“Thank God for those who are above temptation,
even in far-away Alaska,” and again I turned, and
slept peacefully.

[Pg 162]

CHAPTER XIII.

OFF FOR GOLOVIN BAY.

Y October twelfth the weather began
to be quite wintry, with snow flurries,
cold wind, and a freezing ground. All
now felt their time short in which to
prepare for winter, change residence,
and get settled. After many days of
planning, in which eight or ten persons
were concerned, it was finally decided
that we should go to Golovin Bay.
The head missionary, and one or
two of his assistants from that place, had been with
us part of the time during the great storm, so we
were quite well acquainted, and we would be near
the Mission.

The “boys,” as we called the young men for
short, would build a cabin in which the funds of the
women were also to be pooled. Three of the boys
had gone, some weeks before, to Golovin to assist
in the erection of a new Mission Home, twelve
miles further down the coast; but as a shipload of
mission supplies had been lost at sea, including
building materials, their work was much hampered,
and it was not expected that the new home would
be completed, though sadly needed for the accommodation[Pg 163]
of the constantly increasing numbers
of Eskimo children for which it was intended.

In this case, no new helpers could be added to
the missionary force, though Miss L., a tall, intelligent
young woman, was to be placed in the Home
kitchen as cook, and would accompany us to Golovin.
It was decided, then, that the restaurant be
closed immediately before the last boat left Nome
for Golovin, as it would be impossible to get there
after the last steamer had gone until the ice was
solid, and winter trails were good over the hills.
Most of us did not care to remain so long where
we were, and made ready to sail on the small coast
steamer “Elk,” scheduled to leave Nome October
eighteenth.

On the evening of the sixteenth the doors of the
“Star” were formally closed. We had had a rush
up to the last moment, and all hands were completely
tired out. It had been a long pull, and a
steady pull, and the thought uppermost in the
minds of us four women was to get to Golovin and
rest. Even Alma sighed for a vacation from hard
work, feeling that the roadhouse, if they opened
one, must wait until she was rested.

Mary wished to remain at Nome for a while, and
come later by dog-team when the trails were good.
She would take a day after we had gone to finish
storing away the “Star” outfit for the next summer,
and make the rooms tidy, afterwards visiting
acquaintances, and doing shopping.[Pg 164]

For two days after closing the “Star” we were
busy as bees, but at a change of occupation. We
bought food supplies, coal-oil, and warm clothing,
receiving parcels of the latter, including yarns for
winter knitting, at the hands of the stewardess of
the “St. Paul,” who had kindly made our purchases
in San Francisco at better prices (for us) than we
found at Nome. Some bought furs, when they
could find them, though these were scarce and
costly, and each person carried his own bedding.
Letters to the outside were written and posted,
mails collected, freight and other bills paid, and
tickets secured on the steamer.

For my own part, I now found some kindly
helper with strong arms whenever I had a trunk,
bag, or box to lift or transfer, and no remuneration
for services thus rendered beyond a smiling,
“thank you very much,” was ever accepted.

What a strong, hearty, clean, and good-natured
lot were these Swedes. How helpful, sympathetic,
and jolly withal. It was easy for them to see the
clear, bright side of everything, and to turn an innocent
joke on themselves occasionally; for one told
on another is never so effective and enjoyable as a
joke on oneself; but there were often those with
tears in their eyes, and a homesick feeling at their
heart upon bidding farewell to friends who were
leaving for the outside.

With the approach of a long, hard winter in
the Arctic, so unknown and untried by many, with[Pg 165]
a distance of thousands of miles of ocean soon
to roll between them, it was many times difficult to
say a careless good-bye. For those remaining in
Alaska, who could foresee the future? Was it to
be a fortunate and happy one, or would it disclose
only misfortune, with, perchance, sickness and
death? Would these partings be followed by future
happy meetings, or were they now final? Who
could tell?

Among those constantly sailing for the outside
were those who left regretfully, and those who left
joyfully; there was the husband and father returning
to his loved ones with “pokes,” well filled with
nuggets, and the wherewithal to make them more
happy than ever before.

There were those returning to sweethearts who
daily watched and waited longingly for their home-coming
which would be more than joyful. There
were those leaving who would come again when
the long winter was over, to renew their search for
gold already successfully begun; and they were
satisfied.

There were many who left the gold fields with discouragement
depicted upon their every feature.
They had been entirely unable to adapt themselves
to circumstances so different to any they had before
known, and they had not possessed the foresight
and judgment to decide affairs when the
critical moments came. Perhaps a fondness for
home, and dear ones, pulled too persistently upon[Pg 166]
the heartstrings; nothing here looked good to them,
and they went home disgusted with the whole
world. Unless a man or woman can quickly adjust
himself or herself to changed conditions, and has a
willingness to turn his or her hand to any honorable
labor, he would better remain at home, and allow
others to go to Alaska.

If a man goes there with pockets already well
lined, intending to operate in mining stocks, he
still needs the adjustable spirit, because of the
new, crude, and compulsory manners of living. He
must be able to forget the luxury of silver spoons,
delicate hands, soft beds, and steam heat; enjoying,
or at least accommodating himself to the use of
tin spoons, coarse food, no bed, and less heat, if his
place and circumstances for a time demand such
loss of memory.

A bountiful supply of hopefulness is also necessary,
in order, at times, to make the darkness and
discomfort of the present endurable, and this will
wonderfully cheer and create patience. Thousands
of persons who were ill qualified in these
and other respects had journeyed to Alaska, only
to return, homesick, penniless, and completely discouraged,
who never should have left their home
firesides.

Not so with the Swedish people. They are accustomed
to a cold climate, hard work, and conditions
needing patience and perseverance, without
great luxuries in their homes, and being strong[Pg 167]
and hearty physically, they are well fitted, both by
nature and practice, for life in the new gold fields
of Alaska. There were more reasons than one for
their success in the far Northwest, and a little
study of cause and effect would disclose the truth,
when it will be found that it was not all “luck”
which made so many successful.

Our last day at Nome is a confused memory of
trunks, boxes, bags, barrels, dog-teams, tickets,
bills, lunches, tables, dishes, and numerous other
things. Tramping hurriedly through busy, dirty
streets, and heavy, sandy beach, with arms loaded
with small baggage (we had neither parrots nor
poodles) making inquiries at stores and offices,
doing innumerable errands, saying good-byes, and
having good-luck wishes called after us; and then,
when the sun had disappeared for the day, and
night was almost upon us, we turned our backs
upon our summer camp, and hastened to our winter
home.

At the water’s edge small pieces of ice washed
up and down with a clicking sound upon the sands,
as if to give us notice of approaching winter, but
the ocean was almost as smooth as a floor. No
breath of wind disturbed the surface, and only
a gentle swell came landward at intervals to remind
us of its still mighty, though hidden, power.

Then we were all in readiness to leave. A little
boat was drawn upon the sand. Into it all small
baggage was tossed. It was then pushed out[Pg 168]
farther by men in high rubber boots standing in the
water.

“I cannot get into the boat,” laughed Little
Alma, “I will get my feet wet.”

“Not if I can help it,” answered a stalwart sailor,
who immediately picked her up bodily and set her
down in the boat, repeating the operation three
times, in spite of the screams and laughter of Miss
L., Ricka and myself. Ricka and I were only of medium
height, but Miss L. was a good six-footer,
and when we were safely in the boat, and she had
been picked up in the sailor’s strong arms, if she
did not scream for herself, some of us did it for
her, thinking she would certainly go head first into
the water; but no, she was carefully placed, like
the rest of us, in the boat.

After getting settled, and the final good-byes
were waved, the men sprang in, those on shore
pushed the boat off; we were again on the bosom
of old Behring Sea. Smaller and fainter grew all
forms upon the shore. Darker and deeper grew
the waters beneath us. The lights of a few belated
steamers, twinkled in the distance, their reflections,
beautiful as jewels, quietly fixed upon the
placid waters. Like a thing of sense, it seemed to
me, the great ocean, full of turmoil, rage, and fury
so recently, it would show us, before we left, how
lamblike, upon occasions, it could be; and all old
scores against it were then and there forgotten.

A dark form soon lay just before us. “Where[Pg 169]
is the ‘Elk,'” I asked of a sailor rowing, looking
about in the gathering darkness which had rapidly
fallen.

CLAIM NUMBER FOUR, ANVIL CREEK, NOME.

“There it is,” pointing to a black hulk which
lay sullenly, without a spark of light visible, close
to us.

“But do they not know we are coming? Have
they no light on board? How can we get upon
deck?” we asked anxiously.

“O, they will bring a lantern, I guess,” laughed
the sailor, then thinking to put us at our ease, he
called lustily as he rested himself at his oars. Not
getting a reply, he shouted again.

Presently two men appeared with as many
lanterns.

“Here, you fellows, get a move on, and help
these ladies on board, will you? Were you asleep,
hey?”

“Wall, no, not ‘zactly, sah, but I’se done been
working hard today,” it was the colored cook replying,
as he rubbed his sleepy eyes.

“Haul up alongside this dory,” said the other
man as he put his lantern down, “and let the ladies
get into that first, then we’ll help ’em up here.”

With that we climbed out as we best could in
the darkness, one after another, the boys assisting,
until we all stood laughing in the little cabin, and
counted noses.

“Are we all here?” asked Mr. G., who, as usual
had a thoughtful care over all.[Pg 170]

“All here, I think, but the baggage. How about
that?” said I.

“I’ll see to that,” and he was already on deck,
while I continued counting.

“Alma, Ricka, Miss L., Mr. G., Mr. L., Mr. B.,
and myself—the lucky number of seven. How
fortunate we are. We are sure to have good luck.
Too bad Mary is not here, but then we would not
be seven,” and we were all laughing and talking at
the same time.

In the cabin there was only one lamp, and that
was swung over the table, looking in all its smoky
smelliness as if it had hung there for ages without a
scrubbing. The table was covered with dirty
dishes scattered upon an oilcloth spread. The
room smelled of fish, tobacco, and coal-oil, and we
were obliged to go to the door now and then for
fresh air. There was no fire, nor heat, neither was
there a place for any. Rows of berths in two tiers
lined each side of the cabin, but they were supplied
with mattresses only. Dark curtains hung on
wires before the berths, and these would furnish us
with our only privacy on the trip.

Finally we selected our berths, assorted our luggage,
and sat down to rest. We were disappointed
in the “Elk.” She was not a “St. Paul,” that was
certain. The colored cook soon entered. His
apologies were profuse.

“Hope de ladies will ‘scuze de state ob dis year[Pg 171]
room, but I’se done been mighty busy today, and
will hab tings fine tomorer.”

“That’s all right, Jim, if you only give us a good
dinner tomorrow. Can you do it?” asked Mr. L.

“Yas, sah, dis chile good cook when de tings
are gibben him to cook, but when dere’s no taters,
no fresh meat, no chicken, no fruit, den it’s mighty
hard to set up fine meals. Dat’s de truf!” and Jim
nodded his woolly head emphatically at the frequent
undesirable state of his larder.

“Prices high heah, sah, but dis old man almos’
fru wid de business; de las’ trip ob de ‘Elk’ dis
summah, an’ I’se glad of it,” and he disappeared in
the galley carrying his arms full of dishes.

When the table was cleared and Jim had spread
an old and much rumpled red cover over it, I took
from my basket a small square clock, and winding
it up with its little key, started it going. It was a
musical clock I had purchased when in Nome, of
a small boy about to leave for the outside. It had
been given him by a lady, and he had grown tired
of it, his mind being so much upon his contemplated
long journey. He would sell it for three dollars,
he said, and I paid the money, needing a time
piece, and having none. So now the little music
box ticked off its music to the entertainment of all.

However, we were all tired and the place was
cold, so after we had taken our last look at the
lights of Nome, scattered as they were along the
shore for miles in the darkness, we turned in for[Pg 172]
the night, all dressed as we were, and drew the curtains
around us. The long, deep-toned whistle of
the “Elk,” had sounded some time before, and we
were headed east, making our way quietly over the
smooth waters.

Another chapter of our lives had begun. What
would the end be, I wondered.

During the night I was awakened by men running
and shouting on deck. The steamer stopped.
Somebody went out to inquire the cause. In a little
while he returned, saying that four men had been
picked up, nearly frozen, in an open boat which
was leaking badly, and they were found just in time.
Dry clothes, with food and hot drinks, and they
would be all right again; so I turned over and tried
to sleep, but the men lounged about, smoking and
talking with the captain a good share of the night,
so that sleep was almost out of the question.

How I wished for fresh air! How I hated the
tobacco smoke! But we could say nothing, for the
men had no beds, no other place to sit, and it was
too cold on deck. We must be patient, and I was
patient, feeling thankful that the lives of the four
men had been saved, if each one did smoke like a
volcano and come near choking us to death.

After a while there was another commotion.
What now? Their five dogs had been left in the
leaking dory, which was trailing behind us, the boat
was swamping, and the animals were almost
drowned. They were whining, crying, and soaking[Pg 173]
wet; so the “Elk” was again stopped, the dogs
taken on board, along with some of the miners’
outfits, and we again started on our way.

The men said their dory had been blown ten
miles out to sea by a wind many hours before, and
had then sprung a leak, wetting their food, and
threatening them with destruction, when the “Elk”
appeared and took them aboard in the night.

“Wall, yes, we had given ourselves up for lost,
though none said much about it,” remarked one of
the saved men next day, in speaking of their experience.
“Some one mentioned God Almighty,
I believe, and I could almost have spoken to Him
myself, but it does look like He had done something
for us, don’t it?” said the miner, laughing
quietly, in a pleased, relieved way as he finished.

We were exceedingly glad for their deliverance
from a watery grave, but we pitied ourselves for
our discomforts, until we pictured ourselves in their
forlorn condition, far out from land, at night, in a
leaky boat, without food and freezing; then I found
myself feeling really grateful for the privilege of
sailing on the “Elk,” and not discontented as at
first. We would get fresh air enough this winter,
no doubt, to drive away all remembrances of the
air in the little steamer’s cabin, which was cold as
well as foul. There were no windows or ports that
we could see; there was doubtless a closed skylight
somewhere, but to keep warm even in our berths
required management. In my hand luggage I carried[Pg 174]
a bright woolen Indian blanket, a souvenir of
St. Michael the year before, in which I now rolled
myself, already dressed in my warmest clothing
and heavy coat.

A light-weight grey blanket was loaned me by
the cook, who had purloined it from the pilot’s
bunk, he being on duty and not needing it that
night. This I was rather chary of using, for reasons
of my own, but it was that or nothing, only
the mattress being underneath. On my head I
wore a pink crocheted affair, called sometimes a
“fascinator,” which was now used simply and solely
for service, I assured my friends, and not from any
lighter motive,—but my feet! How I should keep
them comfortable while on board was a question.
With my feet cold I would be perfectly miserable,
and although I wore wool hose and high, stout
laced boots, I soon found on going aboard the
“Elk” that to be comfortable I must make a
change.

I said nothing, but turned the situation well over
in mind. At last I found a solution. Going to my
bags once more, on the aside I drew out my new
reindeer skin muckluks, or high fur boots, and
looked at them. What enormous footgear, to be
sure. Could I wear those things? I had put five
good, hard-earned dollars into them, and they were
said to be warm and very comfortable when worn
properly, with hay in the bottoms, and Arctic socks[Pg 175]
over one’s hose, but I had no hay and could not
get any.

I had the socks in my trunk, but that was in the
hold of the ship, or somewhere out of my reach.
I held the muckluks in my hands, and slowly turned
them round. Suddenly a bright thought came. I
would pull them on over my shoes. I did it. They
went on easily. I drew the strings attached at the
back of the ankle forward over the instep, crossed
them, carried them back, crossed them a second
time and tied them in front, in order to use up the
strings so they would not trip me in walking. Just
below the knees I pulled a woolen drawstring which
was run into the green flannel, inch-wide heading,
and tied this loosely; then I studied them. Shades
of my buried ancestry! What a fright! My own
mother would never know me. I wanted to scream
with laughter, but could not, for I had performed
the operation in a most surreptitious manner, behind
closed doors (bunk curtains), after the others
had retired.

I had no compunctions of conscience as to putting
my shoes upon the bed, for the mattress was
both sombre and lonely, and as for the muckluks,
they had never been worn by man (and were surely
never made for woman). The most that I could
do was to lie back upon my bed, cram my fascinator
into my mouth, and struggle to suppress my
risibles.

After a time I succeeded, and lay enjoying the[Pg 176]
new sensation of feet and limbs warm and cozy as
if in my mother’s warm parlor at home; and then
I slept.

Next morning I kept my berth late. My sleep
had been much broken, and the place was cold.
The bad air had taken my appetite, and there were
already too many in the small cabin for convenience.
Four or five men and three women besides
our own party of seven, crowded in between the
dining table and the berths, filled the small cabin
quite beyond comfort.

The main question in my mind, however, was
how to prevent the company from seeing my feet.
I would put off the evil hour as long as possible,
for they were sure to laugh heartily when they saw
my muckluks, and to take them off—I would not.
Some one brought me a sandwich finally, inquiring
at the same time for my health, but I assured them
it was first class,—I was only resting. Watching
my opportunity, toward noon I slipped out of my
berth quietly and made myself ready for dinner,
keeping my feet well out of sight, for cook Jim had
promised a fine spread for the two o’clock meal.

When it came I was ready. It is said that hunger
is a good sauce, and I believe this is true, for otherwise
I could never have eaten the dinner that day.
Upon a soiled and rumpled white (?) cloth Jim
placed his “big spread,” which consisted of whole
jacketed boiled and baked potatoes, meat stew (no[Pg 177]
questions allowed), dried prunes stewed, biscuits,
and fourth rate butter, with tea and coffee.

MAP OF ALASKA.

At only one camp was there a stop made. There
were two or three passengers on board for Bluff
City, a new and prosperous mining camp, composed
chiefly, though so late in the season, of tents.
Lumber and supplies of different kinds had to be
put off. As the entrance to the hold of the ship
where the stores were kept was in our cabin, we had
plenty of fresh air while the doors were all open,
along with the mustiness from below, for several
hours. However, I managed to keep pretty comfortable
and snug in “fascinator” and muckluks,
enveloped as I was in my Indian blanket.

Hearing a bluff, hearty voice which sounded
familiar, I looked around, and in walked a man
whom I had seen at St. Michael the fall before.
He had charge of the eating house there, where my
brother and I had taken our meals for two weeks.
I had not forgotten his kindness in giving me sore
throat medicine when there had been nothing of the
sort to buy, and I was suffering.

This man remembered me well, and sat down to
chat for a little while with us. He was a miner now,
and a successful one, he said, for he was taking out
“big money” from his lay on Daniels Creek, only
five minutes’ walk from the beach. I had been informed
of his good fortune before meeting him, so
was ready with congratulations.

He told me of his cabin building, his winter’s[Pg 178]
stores and fuel, and seemed in high spirits. Of
course I could not ask him what he meant by “big
money,” or what he had taken from his claim, although
it would not here, as in the Klondyke, be
a breach of etiquette to inquire. After a few minutes
chat the man bade us good-bye, and descended
to the small boat alongside, which was to carry him
and his freight ashore.

It was nearly dark by this time, and another
night must be passed on board. Some were complaining
of the cold. Others were shuffling their
feet to get them warm.

“My feet are awfully cold,” said Alma, moving
them uneasily about. “Aren’t yours, Mrs. Sullivan?”

“Not at all,” I replied, trying to look unconcerned,
at the same time putting my feet further
under my skirts, which were not the very short
ones I had worn at Nome. “You know what having
cold feet in this country means, I suppose,
Alma?”

“O, I am not in the least homesick, if that is
what you mean. I am perfectly happy; but—”
(here she glanced down upon the floor in the direction
of my feet) “what have you over your shoes,
any way, to keep so warm, Mrs. Sullivan?”

There was no help for it, and the muckluks had
to come to light, and did. At sight of them they
all shouted, and Alma laughed till the tears ran
down her cheeks.[Pg 179]

“And you have had these on all day without our
seeing them? Where have you kept your feet, in
your pocket?” she persisted.

“Well, no, not exactly, but of course, under the
circumstances, you could hardly expect me to hang
a signboard out to call attention to them, could
you?” I laughed.

“I should say not. Will we all look like that in
muckluks? Is there nothing else we can wear this
winter? They will make our feet look so awfully
large, you see?”

“That’s the way we will all look, only a good
deal worse, for some of us have no skirts to cover
them with, as you have,” spoke up Mr. G. for the
first time.

“I thought the ‘Elk’ leaned to the land side
more today than usual,” said Mr. B. with a twinkle,
“but now it is explained.”

“Bad boy! My muckluks were on that side of
the ship from the first, only they were in my bag
for a while. They are no heavier now than they
were then. You shall have no supper,” said I, with
mock severity.

So I kept the fur boots on, in spite of their jokes,
wondering what they would say when I arrived at
Golovin and removed my fascinator (another surprise
I was keeping for them), and contented myself
by thinking I had the laugh on them, when they
complained of cold feet, and my own were so perfectly
comfortable.[Pg 180]

At last, on the morning of October twentieth,
with the sun just rising over the snowy hills surrounding
the water, the cliffs on both sides of the
entrance standing out clear and sharp in the cold
morning light, and with one ship already there, we
dropped anchor, being in Golovin Bay. The settlement,
a score of houses, a hotel, a flagstaff or two,
and the Mission.

I now waked the girls, who turned out of their
bunks, dressed as they had been since coming on
board the “Elk,” and we made ready to go ashore.
We were out in deep water, still some distance from
the beach, and must again get out into a small boat,
probably for the last time this year. Not all could
get into the boat; we must take turns, but we were
bundled into it some way, and soon we were upon
the sands, a dozen feet from dry land. Again we
were transferred by one man power, as at Nome,
to the sands, which were here frozen quite hard,
and upon which I had the sensation, at first, of
walking with a gunboat attached to each foot.

Some one conducted us to the Mission House,
only a few hundred yards from our landing place,
while the boat went back to the “Elk” for the
others. Miss E., who had come up on the “St.
Paul” with us, and now the housekeeper here,
came running out to welcome all cordially. By her
we were shown into the cozy little parlor, so tidy,
bright and warm that we immediately felt ourselves
again in civilization. Soon Mr. H., the head[Pg 181]
missionary, whom I had already met in Nome,
came in with Miss J., the teacher of the Mission
children. She also had spent some days with us at
Nome. These all made us very welcome, and our
party of seven was soon sitting together before a
good, smoking hot breakfast, to which we did real
justice.

When entering the house I had, upon first removing
my wraps and “fascinator,” given my
friends another surprise equal to the one of the
muckluks on the steamer. The day before leaving
Nome I had (surreptitiously again) made a visit to
the hairdresser, and when I left her room I appeared
another woman. My head now, instead of
being covered with long, thin hair, done up hastily
in a twist at the back, had short hair and curled all
over, a great improvement, they all voted, when
the first surprise was over.

My hair, all summer, had been like that of most
women when first in Alaska, falling out so rapidly
that I feared total baldness if something was not
done to prevent. This was the only sure remedy
for the trouble, as I knew from former experience,
and as I again proved, for it entirely stopped coming
out. Ricka soon followed my example, and we,
with Miss J., who had been relieved of her hair by
fever the year before, made almost a colony of
short-haired women, much to the amusement of
some of our party.

After we had eaten our breakfasts, several of us[Pg 182]
set to work at writing letters to send out to Nome
by the “Elk,” which would remain a few hours unloading
freight, as this might be our last opportunity
for many weeks, or until the winter mails
were carried by dog-teams over the trails. We fancied
our friends on the outside would be glad to
hear that we had arrived safely at Golovin, and our
pens flew rapidly over the paper. These letters,
finally collected, were placed in the hands of one
of the “Elk’s” crew for mailing at Nome, and the
steamer sailed away.

Not all, however, wrote letters. The business
head of the “Star” firm had not been idle, nor writing
letters, and while I wrote Alma was deeply engaged,
well seconded by Ricka, in making arrangements
with Mr. H. by which we could remain in
this Mission House all winter. Before noon it was
decided that we should stay, assisting the missionaries
all in our power until such time as they could
move to their new station, as soon as the ice was
firm enough in the bay to travel upon and the
Home was far enough toward completion. It was
impossible to finish the building now, but so far as
practicable it would be made habitable, and all
necessary and movable articles of furniture would
be carried to the Home, though many large pieces
would be left for our use.

This arrangement included our party of seven,
Mary at Nome, and the three boys at work at this
time on the new Home building, and would do[Pg 183]
away with all necessity for building a cabin, lumber
being expensive and good logs scarce.

This intelligence came just in time for insertion
in our home letters sent away on the “Elk,” and it
was a day of rejoicing for at least seven persons
(Miss L. was to go to the Home, but Mary was to
come to us from Nome), who already considered
themselves a “lucky number.”

[Pg 184]

CHAPTER XIV.

LIFE AT GOLOVIN.

UR first duty after arriving at Golovin
was to look up our freight, which
seemed to be in a general mix-up. Each
person was searching on the beach
and in the warehouse for something.
For my part, I was greatly concerned
over the probable loss of a case of
coal oil, and a box containing wool
blankets, feather pillow, and other
things too precious to lose after paying
freight, especially as some of the articles could
not be replaced, and all were useful and necessary.
The “Elk’s” crew had dumped the freight promiscuously
upon the frozen sands, considering
their duty at that point done, and no assurance was
given us that the freight was all there, or that it
was in good condition. The risk was all ours. We
could find it or lose it—that did not concern the
“Elk.” As we had no idea as to the honesty of
the community in which we had come to reside, and
little confidence in some of the “Elk’s” passengers
who were also receiving freight, we visited the
beach a number of times during the first two days.
While at Nome and packing up to leave I had
remembered the story of the person who, going to[Pg 185]
market, put all the eggs into one basket, and for
that reason, when an accident occurred, she lost
the whole lot; while, if she had placed them in two
baskets, one-half might have-been saved. For this
reason I then packed my blankets in two boxes,
and now as one was missing I was glad I had done
so, for to be entering upon a cold, long winter
without woolen blankets would be hard lines indeed.

The first day was spent by the boys in hauling
baggage and freight into the old school house,
near the mission, which was to be our store room
for a time. This building was made of logs, sod
and mud plaster, with small doors and windows,
and thatched roof, now overgrown with grass and
weeds.

It had long-been deserted, or given over to
storing purposes, as the new school and church
building was put up alongside, and was being used
at the present time. We would unpack as little as
possible, while the Mission family remained, as their
house was too small to accommodate comfortably
so many. Mr. H. was like the old woman who lived
in a shoe, for he really had such a family that he
was puzzled as to what disposition he should make
of them. However, the men were all lodged in the
new school building, as it was vacation time, and
no session; trunks and baggage, except bedding,
were put in the store house.

The Eskimo children and the women occupied[Pg 186]
the second floor of the mission. Mr. H. had his
room on the first floor, oftentimes shared with
some visiting missionary or friend, and I was the
best lodged of all. The big velvet couch in the sitting-room
by the fire was allotted to me, and I slept
luxuriously, as well as comfortably. The newest
and most modern article of furniture in the establishment,
this couch, was soft, wide, and in a warm,
cozy corner of the room.

From being lodged above a bar-room in Nome,
I had come to a parlor in the Mission, and I was
well pleased with the changed atmosphere, as well
as the reduction of charges; for, whereas I had paid
five dollars per week for my small, unfurnished
room there, I now paid nothing, except such help
as I could give the women in the house.

I felt, too, that I had earned, by my hard work
during the summer, all the rest and comfort I could
get, and I thoroughly enjoyed the change. Where
among the drones and laggards is one who can find
such sweets as well-earned rest and comfort after
labor? What satisfaction to feel the joy all one’s
own. None assisted in the earning, and consequently
none expected a division of reward. It was
all my own. If this is selfishness, it is surely a refined
sort, and excusable.

I was not, however, the only one in the Mission
who enjoyed a well-earned rest. Each one of our
party of seven had worked for months as hard
and harder than I, and all found a vacation as pleasing,[Pg 187]
while the Mission people had the same round
of work and as much as they could accomplish all
the year round.

The day after our arrival at Golovin was Sunday.
The weather was clear and sunny, but cold. We
were now not only to have a vacation ourselves, but
could give our working clothes a rest as well, and
I took great pleasure in unearthing a good black
dress which was not abbreviated as to length, surprising
my friends by my height, after being in
short skirts so long. It was really Sunday now,
and we wore our Sunday clothes for the first time
in months, not having had an opportunity for Sabbath
observance in the work we had done at Nome.

To complete our enjoyment of the good day,
there was the organ in the sitting-room, and upon
my first entering the room, and seeing the instrument
I had drawn a deep sigh of inward delight.
To find an organ, yes, two of them, for there was
also one standing in the schoolroom, or little
church, was to feel sure of many bright and happy
hours during the coming winter, and I felt more
than ever that for strangers in the Arctic world we
were, indeed, highly favored.

It was not long before I discovered that with at
least two of our party of seven music was a passion,
for Ricka, as well as Mr. B., could never have
enough, and it was a pleasure to see the real and
unaffected delight upon their faces when I played.
We were really quite well supplied with musical instruments,[Pg 188]
for there were now in the Mission two
guitars, one mandolin, a violin and a few harmonicas,
besides the two organs, while as for vocalists
everybody sang from Mr. H. down to the Eskimo
boys, girls and the baby.

But this day’s climax was the three o’clock dinner,
prepared by Miss E. Could anything be more
restful to three tired restaurant workers than to sit
quietly in easy chairs, allow others to prepare the
meal and invite them to partake, without having
given a thought to the preparation of the same,
gaining, as we did, a knowledge of what was coming
only by the pleasant odors proceeding from the
kitchen? Certainly not, and the increased appetite
that comes with this rest is only a part of the enjoyment.
So when we were seated at the table on
Sunday, the second day of our arrival at Golovin,
before us fresh roast mutton, baked potatoes,
stewed tomatoes, coffee, bread and butter, with
pickles, and a most delicious soup made of dried
prunes, apricots, raisins and tapioca for dessert, we
were about the happiest people in Alaska and appreciated
it immensely. What bread Miss E. did
make, with slices as large as saucers, not too thin,
snowy, but fresh and sweet. What coffee from the
big pot, with Eagle brand cream from the pint can
having two small holes in the top, one to admit air
and the other to let the cream out. Nothing had
tasted so good to us since we had come home, as
hungry children, from school. As then, we were[Pg 189]
care-free, if only for a little while, and we were a
jolly, happy crowd.

In the evening, when the children were once in
bed, we all gathered in the sitting-room for music,
stories and plans for the future, including the placing
of a few new strings on the musical instruments
and tuning of the same. Mr. H. had gone to the
Home the afternoon before, so there had been no
preaching service as ordinarily in the little schoolhouse
across the road. The boys were talking of
going to the Home across the bay next day in a
boat, but a wind came up which finally developed
into a stout southwester, and Monday was a most
disagreeable day. Alma worked on a fur cap, to
practise, she said, on some one before making her
own. Ricka mended mittens and other garments
for the boys, while I sewed on night clothes for
the little Eskimo baby.

The child was probably between three and four
years old, but nobody knew exactly, for she was
picked up on the beach, half dead, a year before,
by the missionary, where she was dying of neglect.
Her mother was dead, and her grandfather was
giving her the least attention possible, so that she
was sickly, dirty and starved. She had well repaid
the kind people who took her into the Mission,
being now fat and healthy, as well as quite intelligent.
She was a real pet with all the women immediately,
being the youngest of this brood of
twenty youngsters and having many cunning little[Pg 190]
ways. In appearance she looked like a Japanese,
as, in fact, all Eskimos do, having straight black
hair, and eyes shaped much like those of these people,
while all are short and thick of stature, with
few exceptions.

Among this score of little natives there were
some who were very bright. All were called by
English names, and Peter, John, Mary, Ellen and
Susan, as well as Garfield, Lincoln and George
Washington, with many others, became familiar
household words, though the two last named were
grown men, and now gone out from the Mission
into houses of their own.

As to the dressing of these children, it was also in
English fashion, except for boots, which were always
muckluks, and parkies of fur for outside garments,
including, perhaps, drill parkies for mild
weather, or to pull on over the furs, when it rained
or snowed, to keep out the water. As the weather
grew more severe, heavy cloth or fur mittens were
worn, and little calico and gingham waists and
dresses were discarded for flannel ones.

The children, for weeks after our arrival, ran out
often to play, bareheaded and without wraps, having
frequently to be reminded when the weather
was severe, to put them on. In the kitchen they
had their own table, where they were separately
served, though at the same time as their elders at
another table in the room. To preserve the health
of the little ones, not taking entirely away their native[Pg 191]
foods of seal meat and oil, tom-cod (small fish),
reindeer meat and wild game, these were fed to
them on certain days of the week, as well as other
native dishes dear to the Eskimo palate, but they
were well fed at all times, and grew fat and hearty
as well as happy.

As we sewed contentedly in the sitting-room on
Monday the storm continued, snowing and blowing
a gale from the southwest, which, though not disturbing
us even slightly, we felt sure would be bad
for those at sea and at Nome; our own experiences
at that place giving us always a large sympathy for
others in similar plight. Long afterwards we
learned that in this storm the “Elk” had been
blown ashore at Nome, and was pretty thoroughly
disabled, if not entirely wrecked, and we wondered
if poor cook Jim had “done been mighty busy, sah,
gittin’ tings fixed” ever since.

When evening came the children and Baby Bessie
were put to bed; work, indoors and out, was
finished for that day, and we were twelve in the
sitting-room, as merry a crowd as one could find
in all Alaska. Miss J. had taken a lesson on the
organ in the afternoon and was all interested in
making progress on that instrument, assuring her
friends who declared she would never practise her
lessons, that she certainly would do so, as they
would afterwards learn.

The winds might sigh and moan, and whirl the
falling snow in the darkness as they liked; waters[Pg 192]
congeal under the fingers of the frost king, closing
the mouth of innumerable creeks, rivers, and bays;
but here under cover we had light, health, warmth
and food, without a single care. In my cozy, soft
bed under the blankets, the firelight playing on the
walls, the fine organ open and ready for use, I lay
often with wide open eyes, wondering if I were myself
or another.

In one corner of the room stood a case containing
books enough to supply us with reading matter
for a year, those printed in Swedish being, of
course, of no use to me, but a variety of subjects
were here presented in English, ranging from
Drummond’s “Natural Law in the Spiritual
World” to nursery rhymes for the children. Volumes
on medicine, law, science, travels, stories,
ethics and religion—all were here for the instruction
and edification of inmates of the Mission. In
another corner there was a large case of medicines,
and here were remedies in powders, liquids, salves
and pills, drawers filled with lint, bandages, cotton,
and books of instruction teaching the uses of all.
Even surgical instruments were found here, as well
as appliances for emergencies, from broken and
frozen limbs, mad-dog bites, and “capital operations,”
to a scratched finger or the nose-bleed.

This outfit was for the use of any and all, without
charge, who should be so unfortunate as to
require assistance of this sort in this region. Without
money and without price, the only case of remedies[Pg 193]
for many miles around, this Mission provided
for all suffering ones who applied, and during the
winter many were relieved and assisted toward recovery.

In the third corner of this room stood the large
cabinet organ, nearly new, and in good condition.
Instruction books, hymnals, “Gospel Hymns,”
small collections of words without music, Swedish
songs—all were here in abundance.

The fourth corner contained my couch-bed. A
heating stove, made of sheet iron, a table with its
pretty spread, a large student lamp, easy chairs, a
pretty ingrain rug covering the floor, window
shades and lace curtains, with pictures and Scripture
texts upon the wall, completed the room furnishings,
making a homey place, which for years
had been a haven of refuge for the homeless Eskimo
children. Besides these, it had given food,
shelter and clothing to many a white-faced wanderer,
who came penniless, hungry and cold, perhaps
ill and starving.

About seven years before this unpretending, now
weather-beaten house had been erected, and the
kindly little dark-eyed man put in charge was at
once at home. He was blessed with rare versatility
and patience, as well as a great heart of love
for all mankind, including the dark-skinned, seal-eating
races of the Arctic.

From a door-latch to a baby’s cradle, from a log-house
to a sail-boat rigged with runners on the
ice, he planned, contrived and executed, principally[Pg 194]
for others, for years. Here we found, in one room,
from his hands a bedstead, a table, and a washstand
commode, all made in white wood, of regulation
size, shape and pattern, though without
paint or staining. Relegated now to an upper
room, since the velvet couch had arrived, was a
long, wooden settle, with back, ends and sliding
seat, the latter to be pushed forward upon legs and
made into double bed at night.

One day in the winter, when searching for open
places under the roof through which the snow was
sifting, wetting the ceiling of the room below, I
found in the attic a number of curious things, and
among them a child’s cradle. Not all the thought
of the good man had been given to the needs of
the “grown-ups,” but the small, weak and helpless
ones of his flock had received their equal share of
attention. The cradle was well made with solid
high sides and ends, and curved upper edges,
swinging low and easily upon its two strong rockers.
All was smooth, well finished, and rounded,
though there was no paint nor varnish, these articles
being doubtless unprocurable and not deemed
strictly essential. Near by were the remnants of a
white fox robe fitting the cradle. It was made of
baby fox skin, fine, soft and pretty. A flannel lining
with a pinked-out edge completed what had
once been a lovely cover for baby, whether with
white face or black, and I fell to wishing I might
have seen the complete outfit in its former days.[Pg 195]

From the rafters of the attic hung articles of
wearing apparel of curious make and pattern,
sometimes of skins of the wild reindeer or spotted
seal. Of old mittens and muckluks there were
numbers, still preserved for the good they had
done or might yet do at piecing out somewhere.
There were things for which I had not yet learned
the uses, but might do so before the cold winter
had passed. There were also many fur skins, and
new articles of value stored in the attic.

Tuesday, October twenty-third, the weather was
not cold, but snow fell part of the day, and it grew
dark about half-past four in the afternoon. The
gale of Monday had subsided, and the sky was
overcast. The steamer “Sadie” of the Alaska Commercial
Company surprised us by coming into
Golovin, and again suddenly we fell to letter writing
in order to send them out by her, remaining several
hours as she always did to unload freight and
baggage, for this would positively be our last
steamer. Outside the boys worked as industriously
as we women. In the old log-house, a hundred feet
from our door, was the building now used for a
woodshed. Here, upon a big “double-decker”
saw-buck, two of the boys, with the big saw between
them, worked away, hour after hour, at the
great logs of driftwood brought from the beach, as
this was the only kind of fuel here used, and much
was needed for the winter fires.

When I had finished my work of sewing, and it[Pg 196]
grew too dark to thread needles, between that hour
and the one for the lamp lighting, I was usually
seated at the organ, and our music was not all
Hymns from the Hymnals, certainly. There were
marches and polkas, and sprightly waltzes, too, and
nothing was ever tabooed, though these classic
selections were always omitted on Sunday. None
ever minded how long I sat at the organ, or how
many times a day a certain piece was played, and
a few could never be sated; but I took good care
that my work never lagged, and a duty was never
neglected for such pleasure, thereby making it always
the recreation and enjoyable exercise it was
intended to be and not tiresome.

Miss J. now took a lesson on the instrument
each day for a half hour after the lamps were lighted,
and as she had already had a few lessons, and
could play a few hymns, she was much interested
in acquiring a further knowledge which would be
helpful in church and Sunday school services. Miss
E., too, thought of beginning lessons if she could
find time from her manifold duties as house-mother
of the numerous flock, and did take a few lessons
before they moved away.

In the evening there was always singing, for
some were sure to be present then, who had been
absent during the day. Perhaps Mr. H. had arrived
with a Christian native from the Home, to
spend the night before going back on the morrow,
with supplies of some sort for the completion of[Pg 197]
his new house. He now headed the two establishments
and vibrated between them, simply camping
at the new place and enjoying everything of home
life possible in the Mission. At jokes and repartee
he was as good as the best of them, and always enjoyed
a laugh like the youngest.

A level head and firm hand had this Swedish missionary
of long experience. From a dozen or more
years at Yakutat, in southern Alaska, where he had
done invaluable work for that Mission, he had
come about two years before to Golovin Bay, and
now had, besides the Eskimo children in that place,
over four hundred government reindeer in charge.
For these he kept a number of experienced and
trusty native drivers, and these either lived in his
Mission or with their families near at hand, as a
few of them now were married.

This herd of animals was kept upon the hills
where the reindeer moss grew in plenty, for they
could not, and would not, eat anything else if they
literally starved to death, and they were now five
miles away. To remove this great family of a
score and more with their belongings over the ice,
a distance of twelve miles in winter by dog-team,
getting settled in a large frame building, unplastered,
and upon a bleak, unprotected shore,
was an undertaking which would have discouraged
most men; especially as a shipload of needed supplies
for their new Home, including furniture, had
been lost at sea, leaving them short of many such[Pg 198]
necessities. But this was not all. The whole reindeer
herd and their drivers, with their several families,
were also to be moved near the new Home,
and to fresh moss pastures.

Near the Home was a good-sized creek of fresh
and pure water, which ran singing along through
the hills to the ocean, and for this reason the site
had been selected and built upon.

[Pg 199]

CHAPTER XV.

WINTER IN THE MISSION.

HE first few garments I made for
Little Bessie were not a great success.
I had told Miss E. that I would be delighted
to assist her in any way that I
could, never dreaming what would
come; and she being more in need of
warm clothing for the children than
anything else, with rolls of uncut flannels,
and baskets piled high with materials
to be made into underwear, said
immediately that I might help with their sewing.

She then brought a piece of Canton flannel, and
the shears, and put them into my hands, saying that
I might make two pairs of night-trowsers for the
baby. My heart sank within me in a moment. I
made a desperate effort to collect myself, however,
and quietly asked if she had a pattern. No, she
had none. The child, she said, kicked the cover
off her in the night so often, and the weather was
growing so cold, that she and Miss J. thought a
garment of the trouser description, taking in the
feet at the same time, would very well answer her
needs, and this I was requested to originate, pattern
and all. Whatever should I do? I could
more easily have climbed Mt. McKinley! If she[Pg 200]
had told me to concoct a new pudding, write an
essay, or make a trip to Kotzebue, I should not
have been so much dismayed; but to make a garment
like that, out of “whole cloth,” so to speak,
from my own design—that was really an utter impossibility.

“O, well,” she said, “I am sure you can do this
well enough. It is not such a very particular job;
just make something in which to keep the child
warm nights, you know. That is all I care for,”
kindly added she, as she closed the door behind
her and went back to the kitchen.

Finally I appealed to Alma. She was busy.
She had never cut out anything of the sort, neither
had Ricka nor Miss L., but I being a married woman
was supposed to have a superior knowledge
of all such things. I admitted that I might have a
theory on the subject, but a “working hypothesis,”
alas, I had none.

Still I hung around Alma, who was an expert
dressmaker of years’ standing in San Francisco.

“No, I can’t cut them out, really; but why don’t
you make a pattern from some garment on hand?”

Here was an idea. Something to build upon.

“But there are the feet, and the waist?” I said
still anxiously.

“O, build them on to your pattern,” she said
carelessly; as if anyone with half an eye and one
hand could do that sort of building, and she left
the room for more important matters.

There was nothing else for me to do. I secured[Pg 201]
a suit of the baby’s clothing throughout, and, taking
the cloth, the shears, and an old newspaper,
I went upstairs to Miss J.’s room and closed the
door. I wanted to be alone. I longed to have
my dear old mother there for just one short hour,
for in that time I felt certain she would have cut
out these as well as other garments, enough to
keep us for weeks sewing, as her own babies had
kept her at one time.

However, there was no help for me, and I went
to work. For an hour I cut and whittled on that
old newspaper, along with a number of others, before
I got a pattern that I fancied might do.
Then I submitted it to Miss J. herself, who told me
to go ahead and cut it out. It appeared all right,
so far as she could see. Then I cut, and basted,
and tried the garment on Bessie. It was too wide
across the chest, too short in the legs, and the
feet were monstrosities. What was to be done,
I asked of the others?

“Make new feet, and sew them on around the
ankle,” said Miss J., thoughtfully, surveying her
little charge from all sides, as the child stood first
on one foot, then on the other, “then you can
lengthen the legs a little if you want to,” careful not
to offend by criticising abruptly, but still feeling
that the height of the gearing should be increased.

“Dear me, that’s easy enough,” suggested Alma,
“just put a wide box plait down the front, like that
in a shirtwaist, and it will be all right.”[Pg 202]

“The back can be taken out in the placket,” and
Ricka folded and lapped the cloth on the little
child’s shoulders, and then we called Miss E. from
the kitchen. After making a few suggestions in a
very conservative way, as if they did not come
readily because the garment was just about right;
she left the room hastily, saying her bread would
burn in the oven; and I thought I heard her giggling
with Miss L. in Swedish until she ran away
out into the woodshed, ostensibly for an armful of
wood; though if her bread were already burning I
wondered what she wanted of more fire.

I did not blame her; I laughed too. The
little child looked exceedingly funny as she stood
there in that wonderful garment, with black eyes
shining like beads, and face perfectly unsmiling, as
she nearly always looks, wondering why it was we
were laughing.

October twenty-fourth the boys worked all day at
making the house more comfortable for winter,
nailing tar paper upon the north side, where some
clapboards were missing, putting on storm or
double windows outside of the others, and filling
the cracks with putty. A couple of the boys also
worked at hauling supplies of apples and potatoes
from the warehouse by dog-team, putting the eatables
into the cellar under the kitchen, which was
well packed in with hay. This cellar was a rude
one, and in summer frequently filled with water
from the surface and the hill above the house,[Pg 203]
making it not altogether wholesome at times, but
by management, it was still being used for some
things, and of course, in cold weather, it made no
difference, for everything was solidly frozen.

Snow enough had fallen by this time, a little
coming quietly down every few hours, to make fair
roads for the sleds, the ground being quite hard;
while Fish River and adjoining creeks were fast
freezing over, as were also the waters of the bay.

In the evening Mr. H. came in, and we all
gathered in the sitting room, some sewing, some
mending, but all chatting pleasantly. The missionary
had just been informed, he told us, of a
gold strike on the Kuskokquim River, some one
having only recently returned from St. Michael,
and brought the report. From that place men
were leaving for the new diggings each day, and it
might or might not prove a bona fide strike. With
reindeer, on a good winter trail, this distance
would not be a formidable trip, Mr. H. told us.

This was the information we wanted to hear, and
it probably started a train of golden dreams that
night in more than one head, which was long in
stopping, especially when he informed us that
every acre of land around us was then staked out
in quartz claims, though no extensive prospecting
had yet been done, and we were pleased at finding
ourselves “so near” even though we were “yet
so far.”

Today was a birthday for Mr. G., and he was[Pg 204]
teased unmercifully for his age, but would not give
it, so those who had known him the longest tried
their best to figure it out from incidents in his life
and from narratives of his own, and made it out to
their satisfaction as about thirty-two years, though
he refused (like a woman) to the very last, to tell
them if they were guessing correctly.

The next day it still snowed a little at intervals
between clouds and sunshine, and all “tenderfeet”
were more comfortable indoors. Miss E. and
Ricka had gone the day before with the boys and
Mr. H. to the Home on a scow-load of lumber,
though we feared it was pretty cold for them without
shelter on the water; but with the wind in the
right direction, they wanted to attempt it, and so
started. They were to look the new building over
for the first time, Miss E. being much interested in
the inside arrangement of rooms, naturally, as it
was to be her home and field of labor, and rightly
thinking a womanly suggestion, perhaps, might
make the kitchens more handy.

In their absence the rest of us continued our
sewing, Miss L. taking Miss E.’s place in the
kitchen, with help from the larger Eskimo girls at
dish washing. The latter were docile and smiling,
and one little girl called Ellen was always exceedingly
careful to put each cup and saucer, spoon
and dish in its proper place after drying it, showing
a commendable systematic instinct, which Miss E.
was trying to foster.[Pg 205]

Between times, their school not yet being in session,
they played about, either up in their rooms if
it was too stormy outside, or out of doors if the
weather permitted; though, for that matter, they
seldom hesitated to do anything they wished on
account of the weather, as it was not so cold to
the natives as to us. They played with balls, both
large and small, and sleds of all descriptions; and
if the latter were not to be had, or all in use, a
barrel stave or board would be made to answer the
same purpose. It was a rush past the window
down the hill, first by a pair of muckluked feet,
then a barrel stave and a boy, sometimes little
Pete, and sometimes John. One barrel stave
would hold only one coaster, and there were usually
enough for the boys, but if by chance the little
girls laid hands upon the sleds before they did,
the staves were then their only resource. If a child
rolled, by accident, upon the ground, it never
seemed to matter, for in furs he was well protected.
The snow was soft, and he, being as much at home
there as anywhere, seemed rather to like it.

If he was seen to fall, it was the signal for some
other to roll and tumble him, keeping him under as
long as possible, and it was a frequent sight to see
three or four small boys tumbling about like kittens,
locked in each other’s arms, and all kicking
and shouting good-naturedly. Snowballing, too,
was their delight, and their balls were not always[Pg 206]
velvety, either, as the one stopping its course could
affirm.

These children did little quarreling. I cannot
remember seeing Eskimo boys angry or fighting,
a thing quite noticeable among them, for nowhere
in the world, perhaps, could the same number of
white children be found living so quietly and harmoniously
together as did these twelve little dark-faced
Eskimos in the Mission.

Our days were now growing much shorter, and
it was necessary to light the lamps at four o’clock
in the afternoon, the sun having set some time before.
The sunset skies were lovely in bright and
tender colors, reflecting themselves as they did in
the water of the bay, and tinting delicately all surrounding
hilltops. What a beautiful sight it was,
and how sadly we remembered that very soon the
water would have disappeared under the solid ice,
there to remain for long months imprisoned. Little
did we then know that the heavenly beauty of the
Arctic sky is never lacking, but close upon the departure
of one season, another, no less beautiful,
takes its place.

Diary of October twenty-sixth: Alma and I
called today upon two neighbors in the old schoolhouse
next the church, by name Dr. H. and wife.
They claim to have come from Dawson not very
long ago, being shipwrecked on the way, and losing
their outfit. She seems a chatty, pleasant little
body, and inclined to make the best of everything,[Pg 207]
her hard lot included, and she is baking and selling
bread to the miners. She is a brave little woman,
and could teach many a pampered and helpless
one lessons of great usefulness and patience. Miss
L. is ill with quincy and suffering very much, so
Alma makes the bread.

I have just made four large aprons for Miss J.,
cutting them out and making them, and they look
really well, so I am quite proud of myself, especially
as Ricka has “set up” my knitting on
needles for me, and I am going to make some
hose. I usually knit evenings, between times at
the organ, for my new yarn received from San
Francisco is very nice, and will make warm winter
stockings.

Saturday, October twenty-seventh: We have
four inches of snow on the ground, and more coming.
Miss L. is quite ill with her throat, and did
not get up today. Alma, too, is very pouty, with
a swollen, pudgy face, and feels badly. They both
say they think they took cold coming from Nome
on the “Elk,” and I don’t doubt it, for I would
have done so myself only for my great caution in
taking care of my newly shingled head and in applying
a thorough dose of fur muckluks to my feet,
but, thanks to them, I am the most “chipper” one
at present.

Miss J. had Dr. H. examine Bessie today, and he
says she has bronchitis, but told the teacher what
to do for her.[Pg 208]

The two girls came back from the Home with
Mr. H. and Mr. L. about four o’clock after we had
begun to be worried about them. They were hungry,
and Alma and I got dinner for them, when
Mr. H. started back immediately in a small boat
alone, after it had begun to grow dark. We begged
him not to attempt it, but he insisted on going, as
he must be there tomorrow to push the work on
the building, and the ice is floating, so he fears it
will freeze the bay over. The sun shone out beautifully
for three or four hours, and it is just one
week today since we landed in Golovin, a most
pleasant week to us all (pattern making not included).

Later.—I helped with the housework and made
two more aprons for Miss J. There is nothing like
feeling of some use in the world, is there?

Sunday, October twenty-eight: A clear, bright
morning, growing cloudy about noon, and dark at
four in the afternoon, when lamps were lighted.
We had a long, restful day indoors, both Miss E.
and Ricka being very lame from their long walk
of fifteen miles over the stony beach and tundra
covered hills from the Home, Mr. H.’s boat being
too small for four persons. By water the distance
is called a dozen miles, but by land and on foot it
is much farther, as the girls have found by sad
experience; and they were very glad it was Sunday,
and they could rest. Miss E. said laughingly that
we would play we were at home in the States again,[Pg 209]
and so she spread the breakfast table daintily in the
sitting-room, with white cover, pretty embroidered
centre-piece, and snowy napkins, bringing real
comfort to our hearts, accustomed as we had been
for so many months to bare necessities and none
of the luxuries. A fashionable breakfast hour for
Sunday in the States was also affected in order to
make the plan complete, and because the mornings,
growing darker as they are continually doing, nobody
felt in haste to leave their beds. Of course
every one wore his Sunday clothes and I put on
my very best waist of olive green satin with a good
black skirt, which had a little train, thereby effectively
hiding my uncouth feet, still clad as they are
in the ungainly muckluks.

The ice is moving in the bay, and we hear that
still another steamer may come in, so we can send
mail out to Nome, and write to have in readiness.
There have been no church services today, as Mr.
H. is away at the Home, but we had music and
singing frequently, and Swedish hymns all evening,
which I play, but do not understand.

Monday, October twenty-ninth: This has been
a bright, sunny morning until a little after noon,
when it grew cloudy, as it often does. Miss E. was
still very lame from her long tramp of last Saturday,
and Ricka and I assisted in the kitchen. Alma
has cut out a pretty brown cloth dress for Miss J.
and is making it. Miss L.’s throat is better, and
she is out of her room again, after a siege of severe[Pg 210]
suffering with quinsy, which caused a gathering.
About nine in the evening Mr. H. came in from
the Home, having walked the whole distance, a
boat being now unsafe in the floating ice. After
drinking some hot coffee, he related to us his adventure
of Friday night in the Peterborough canoe.
He had left us quite late in the afternoon of that
day to go to the Home, and it was already beginning
to grow dark. For a while, he said, he found
open water, and made good time at the paddle,
but presently found himself alongside of and soon
after crowded by floating ice.

It was young ice, and he did not have much fear
of it. He kept on paddling, but finally found himself
entirely surrounded, and manage as he would,
he could not free his canoe. A breeze came up
from the north, which pushed him along with the
ice out toward sea, for he was near the mouth of
the bay. There was nothing to do but wait. For
an hour he waited.

It was well on towards midnight, and he could
see no escape. The missionary, in relating the incident
to us, did not dwell upon this part of his
story, but he said he had given himself up for lost,
and only prayed and waited. By and by the breeze
died away, the ice quietly parted, and drifted away
from him, and he paddled safely ashore.

Tuesday, October thirty: A brand new experience
today—that of watching the natives and others
fish through the ice. Little holes are made in the[Pg 211]
ice, which is now quite strong in the north end of
the bay near the cliff, and the Eskimos sit there
patiently for hours, fishing for tom-cod. These are
small fish, but quite tasty, one of the principal
means of subsistence for the natives, and are also
much used by others. No pole is needed on the
line except a short one of three or four feet, and
when a bite is felt by the fisherman, the line is
quickly drawn out, given a sudden twitch, which
frees the tom-cod, and he is summarily dispatched
with a few raps from the fishing stick kept at hand
for the purpose.

Several river boats, including small steamers, are
laid up under the cliff for the winter, dismantled
of loose gear and light machinery, and I did get a
few views which should prove of some value. The
weather was good all day, the sun setting at three
in the afternoon, and it being nearly dark an hour
later. Mr. H. dressed himself from top to toe in
furs, hitched three dogs to a sled, took a lunch for
himself, a few supplies of eatables for the Home
camp to which he was going, and started out, on a
longer, but we trusted a less venturesome and dangerous
route than by Peterborough canoe. Our
evening was pleasantly, and at the same time more
or less profitably spent by our party in the sitting-room,
Alma sewing on Miss J.’s new dress, Ricka
and I knitting, and the others either mending or
busying themselves at something. This something
frequently covers a good deal of ground, for with[Pg 212]
one or two of the boys it means pranks or
roguishness of some sort, which really enlivens the
whole household and keeps our risibles from growing
rusty by disuse.

Wednesday, October thirty-one: I find no difficulty
in running the sewing machine here, which
is a new and good one, and I like to use it very
well. Just how they could get along without it is
more than I can tell, with so much sewing to do for
each of the children, not to mention the others who
are waiting to come into the Mission at the earliest
possible moment. During the day Mr. L. busied
himself usefully in several ways as he always does,
and finally mended Miss J.’s guitar. After supper
we counted ourselves and found six women and a
lot of children, but he was the only man in the
establishment, the others being at the Home, and
we hazed him considerably, all of which was taken
most good-naturedly. The bay is freezing more
and more each day, with an increasing depth of
snow upon the ground.

A very unpleasant day as to weather was Friday,
November second. Snow, high tide, and wind from
the south, which blew the water further yet upon
the beach; but we sewed all day, though I did not
get much accomplished. I gave Miss E. her first
lesson on the organ today. Alma is making herself
a new dress skirt, as she has Miss J.’s wool
dress nearly finished, and it looks exceedingly well,
fitting, as some one remarks, “like the paper on[Pg 213]
the wall.” Alma likes dressmaking, and does it
well, but draws the line at baby clothes.

Each day Miss J., the teacher, is now holding a
little prayer meeting in the kitchen for the natives.
When the supper is cleared away, one of the boys
goes out and rings the bell, which is only a big,
iron triangle hung under three posts in the ground.
A piece of iron is picked up and put through the
triangle, hitting it on both sides, and making a
ringing, vibrating sound which calls in the natives,
who come immediately, just as they are, and range
themselves on the benches along the walls. Those
who can sing sit at the long table upon which are
the lamps and English song books, those used being
principally Gospel songs. One of the grown
boys called Ivan is a very fair singer, and loves
music of all kinds. He is the interpreter for all
meetings, understanding English and speaking it
quite well. None of the Eskimos are taught Swedish—nothing
but English.

Miss J. reads a song which she wishes them to
learn, and Ivan interprets it into Eskimo, verse by
verse, afterwards singing it. Tunes are learned
more quickly than words, but they get the meaning
from Ivan. Then Miss J. reads the Scripture, Ivan
interpreting verse by verse. She next offers prayer
in English, and calls upon some older native Christian
to pray in his language, after which they sing
several songs with which they are familiar. Having
selected beforehand some passage from the[Pg 214]
Bible, she reads and expounds that, being interpreted
by Ivan; there is a short benediction and
the meeting is over. They seem to like very well
to come, and are never eager to go, but say little,
not being great talkers, even in their own tongue.

When the last Eskimo has departed, and the
children are settled in bed, the cozy hour of the
day has arrived. For a good, old-fashioned tale of
love, fright and adventure, there is no time like a
winter’s night, when the wind shrieks down the
chimney and whirling snow cuddles into corners
and crannies. When supper is over, and the
kitchen is well cleared, the women of the house
may take their yarn and bright needles, while the
men toast their feet at the fire and spin—other
yarns, without needles, which are, perhaps, not so
essential, but far more entertaining to listeners.

This is what we did that winter at Chinik, the
home of the Eskimo, in that far away spot near the
Arctic Sea. There were tales of the Norsemen
and Vikings, told by their hardy descendants sitting
beside us, as well as the stories of Ituk and
Moses, the aged, called “Uncle,” Punni Churah,
big Koki, and “Lowri.”

To the verity of the following narrative all these
and many others can willingly vouch.

[Pg 215]

CHAPTER XVI.

THE RETIRED SEA CAPTAIN.

ANY years ago, close under the
shadow of old Plymouth Rock, there
was born one day a fair-skinned, blue-eyed
baby. Whether from heredity, or
environment, or both, the reason of
his spirit will perhaps never plainly
appear, but as the child grew into
manhood he seemed filled with the
same adventurous aspirations which
had actuated his forefathers, causing
them to leave their homes in old England, and
come to foreign shores. Scarcely had he passed
into his teens before he was devouring tales of pirates,
and kindred old sea yarns, and his heart was
fired with ambition to own a vessel and sail the
high seas. Not that he thirsted for a pirate’s life,
but a seafaring man’s adventures he longed for
and decided he must have.

Under these conditions a close application at his
desk in the village school was an unheard-of consequence;
and, having repeatedly smarted under the
schoolmaster’s ferule, not to mention his good
mother’s switches plucked from the big lilac bush
by her door, he decided to run away to the great
harbor, and ship upon some vessel bound for a
foreign land.[Pg 216]

This he did. Then followed the usual hard,
rough life of a boy among sailors in distant ports;
the knotted rope’s end, the lip blackening language
and curses, storms, shipwrecks and misfortunes;
all followed as a part of the life so hastily chosen
by the adventurous young lad, until he acquired
familiarity with all that appertained thereto, and he
was a man.

Years passed. To say that fortune never came
to him would not be true, because she is always a
fickle dame, and cannot change her character for
sailor men. So it came about that he finally stood
on the captain’s bridge of different sorts of craft,
and gave orders to those beneath him.

And a typical sea captain was he. Gruff when
occasion required, rollicking as any when it
pleased him, he was generous to a fault, and a man
of naturally good impulses. If he drank, he was
never tipsy; if he swore, he always had reason;
and thus he excused himself when he thought of
his good old mother’s early Bible teaching.

From Montevideo to Canton, from Gibraltar to
San Francisco, from Cape of Good Hope to the
Arctic Ocean; thus ran his itinerary year after year.
Crossing Behring Strait from Siberia in the summer
of 18—, he landed, with his little crew, at Cape
Prince of Wales, for the purpose of trading with
the natives. The furs of the animals of this region
were found to be exceptionally fine, thick and
glossy, and the Eskimos easily parted with them.
For flour, tobacco and woolen cloth they willingly[Pg 217]
gave their furs to the sailors, who looked admiringly
upon the skins of the polar bear, sea otter,
beaver, silver, black and white fox, as well as those
of many other animals. These furs were sold in
San Francisco, and other trips were made to the
Arctic Northwest.

Along the south coast of the Seward Peninsula
there are few bays or natural harbors. Golovin
Bay is one of them. Here for many years the Eskimos
have subsisted upon the fine fish and game.
The flesh and oils of the white whale, seal and
walrus being principally sought for, the natives
came to this bay from all directions.

After many years of wandering, and when the
ambitions of the captain for a seafaring life had
been satisfied, an incident occurred which changed
the current of his life and decided him to settle permanently
at Golovin Bay.

During his visits on the peninsula his attention
had been directed to a bright and intelligent young
Eskimo woman, lithe and lively, a good swimmer,
trapper and hunter. Like a typical Indian, she
had a clear, keen eye, steady nerves and common
sense. She was a good gunner and seldom missed
her mark. She was fearless on land or sea, loved
her free out-door life, and was a true child of
nature. Her name was Mollie.

One day in the early springtime, nearly a dozen
years ago, when the winter’s ice was still imprisoned
in the bays and sounds of Behring Sea,[Pg 218]
though the warm sun had for weeks been shining
and already seams appeared upon the ice in many
places, the captain attempted the trip by dog-team
from St. Michael to Golovin Bay. With him were
four trusty natives, and three dog-teams, the animals
being of the hardy Eskimo breed, and well-nigh
impervious to cold, their long, thick hair
making an effective protection.

His men were experienced, knowing the country
perfectly, including a knowledge of winter trails
and methods of traveling such as all Eskimos possess,
and though the weather was not just what the
captain might have wished, he decided to make the
start, and left St. Michael in good shape for the
long trip. The strong sleds with high-back handle
bar and railed sides were firmly packed with
freight, which was securely lashed down. The dogs
were driven in pairs, eleven to a sled, the eleventh
being in each case a fine leader and called such, besides
having his own Eskimo name, as did also the
four men who were warmly dressed in furs from
head to foot. These natives were familiar with
little English, but as the captain had made himself
acquainted with their language they had no difficulty
in making each other understood.

Early in the evening of that day they reached
the Mission station of Unalaklik, on the mainland,
about fifty miles northeast of the island, where they
spent the night. In this settlement were white
traders, as well as missionaries and numbers of[Pg 219]
Eskimos, it being an old port of considerable importance.

In the cold grey morning light Punni Churah
and the men called to the malemutes, patting their
furry heads and talking kindly to them, for many
a weary, long mile of snow trail stretched northward
for them that day before they could rest and
eat. Only at night, when their day’s work was
done, were these faithful creatures ever fed on seal,
fish, whale, or walrus meat, for otherwise they
would be drowsy, and not willing to travel; so
they were called early from their snow beds in a
drift or hollow, where they liked best to sleep, and
made ready for the start.

Dressed in their squirrel skin parkies, with wide-bordered
hoods upon their heads, reindeer muckluks
on their feet and mittens of skin upon their
hands, stood Ah Chugor Ruk, Ung Kah Ah Ruk,
Iamkiluk and Punni Churah, long lashed whips in
hand, and waiting.

On one of the sleds, dressed and enveloped in
furs, sat the captain, before giving the order to
start. At the word from him, the dogs sprang to
their collars, the little bells jingled, and away they
all dashed. Team after team, over the well-trodden
trail they went, keeping up a continuous and
sprightly trot for hours, while behind at the handle
bars ran the natives, and rocks, hills and mountains
were passed all unnoticed.

That night another Eskimo village was reached,[Pg 220]
and sixty miles of snow trail were left behind.
Shaktolik lay on the shore southeast of a portage
which would have to be made over a small point
of land jutting out into Norton Bay.

During the night a storm came up which would
necessarily much impede their progress, being
called in the western world a “blizzard.” This
storm fiend, once met, is never forgotten. None
but the man in the Arctic has seen him. None
know so well how to elude him. Like a Peele, or a
“tremblor” this Arctic king gathers his forces,
more mighty than armies in battle, and sweeps all
opponents before him. To resist means death. To
crouch, cower or bow down to this implacable lord
of the polar world is the only way to evade his
wrath when he rides abroad, and woe to the man
who thinks otherwise.

Not long had the wind and snow been blowing
when the little train prepared to move. Ahead
they could see the sled tracks of other “mushers”
(travelers by dog-team), and the captain concluded
to hurry along, notwithstanding that Ah Chugor
Ruk shook his head, and spat tobacco juice upon
the ground, and Ung Kah Ah Ruk demurred stoutly
in few words. Punni Churah thought as the rest,
but would go ahead if the captain so ordered, and
they headed northwest for the portage.

On the dogs trotted for hours. The snow and
sleet were blinding, the wind had risen to a gale.
The dogs traveled less rapidly now, and their faces[Pg 221]
were covered with frost, the moisture freezing as
they breathed.

By this time the natives wanted to camp where
they were, or head about northeast for another
Eskimo village called Ungaliktulik, which would
make the journey longer by twenty-five miles, but
the captain decided to keep on as they were going.

By the middle of the afternoon the gale had increased
to fury, causing the thermometer to fall
with great rapidity, while the snow was blinding.
The dogs were curling up in the wind like leaves
before a blaze.

Ah Chugor Ruk was ahead with his team. His
leader suddenly halted.

“Muk-a-muk!” cried the Eskimo.

“Muk!” echoed Punni Churah, running up
alongside to look, and then back to the captain’s
sled, where he shouted something loudly in order
to be heard above the storm.

An ice crack crossed their trail. There was no
help for it. There it lay, dark and cold—the
dreaded water.

In the blinding blizzard they could not see the
width of the chasm. It was too wide for them to
bridge; it was death to remain where they were—they
must turn back, and they did so. The wind
was not now in their faces as before, which made
traveling some easier, but they had not gone far
when: “Muk-a-muk!” from Punni this time, who
was ahead.[Pg 222]

Again the dogs stopped. Again Punni Churah
came back, and reported.

They were adrift on a cake of ice. Wind from
the northeast was blowing a hurricane, carrying
them on their ice cake directly out to sea; but the
snow was drifting in hummocks, and in one of
them the natives began digging a hole for a hut.
When this was of sufficient size, they pitched a sled
cover of canvas over it, made the sleighs fast outside,
and crawled underneath. Once inside their
temporary igloo, they made a fire of white drilling
and bacon, taken from the sled loads of merchandise;
melted snow for water, and boiled coffee, being
nearly famished. Then for hours they all slept
heavily, the dogs being huddled together in the
snow, as is their habit, but the blizzard raged
frightfully, and drove the dogs nearer the men in
the hut.

Crawling upon the canvas for more warmth, the
poor, freezing creatures, struggling for shelter,
with the weight of their bodies caused the hut to
collapse, and all fell, in one writhing heap, upon
the heads of the unfortunates below. Howling,
barking, struggling to free themselves from the
tangle, the pack of brutes added torment to the lot
of the men; but the storm raged with such terrific
force that all lay as they fell, until morning, under
the snow.

None now disputed the storm king’s sway. All
were laid low before him. With the united fury of[Pg 223]
fiends of Hades, he laughed in demoniacal glee at
the desperation of the Arctic travelers under his
heel. The whole world was now his. Far from the
icy and unknown wastes of the interior, around
the great Circle and Rockies, riding above the
heads of rivers and mountains, he came from the
Koyuk and Koyukuk. Like a child at play, as if
weary of so long holding them in his cold embrace,
he drove the massive ice floes out into
ocean, only, perhaps, in childish fitfulness, to bring
them back directly, by gales quite contrary.

When morning dawned, the captain and his men
crawled out of the crushed snow hut, and, with
hard work, made a new cave in the snow drift,
burying the sleighs in the old one. The dogs were
starving, and, to appease their appetites, were
purloining bacon from the sled’s stores; but Providence,
for once, was kind to them, and a large, fat
seal of several hundred pounds weight was shot
that day on the edge of the ice cake upon which
they were camped, and this gave them food and
fuel. Dogs and natives were then well fed on the
fresh seal meat and blubber, their natural and
favorite viands. From tin dishes upon the sleds,
the natives made little stoves, or lamps, using drilling
for wicks, seal oil for fuel, and their coffee was
made. Among the stores on the sleds were canned
goods, beans, sausages, flour and other things,
and on these the captain subsisted.

Day after day passed. The storm gradually died[Pg 224]
away, and the sun came out. Then watches were
set to keep a lookout, and the captain took his
turn with his men. Walking about in the cold
morning air, he could see the mainland to the
northwest, many miles away, and his heart sank
within him. Would he ever put his foot upon that
shore again? How long could they live on the ice
cake if they floated far out in the Behring Sea? To
him the outlook was growing darker each day,
though the natives seemed not to be troubled.

Nearly two weeks passed. One night the captain
was awakened by a hand on his shoulder. It
was Ung Kah Ah Ruk. The wind, he said, was
blowing steadily from the southwest, and if it continued
they might be able to reach the shore ice
and the mainland. Anxiously together then they
watched and waited for long, weary hours, getting
the sleds loaded, and in readiness for a start; then,
with bitterest disappointment, they found the wind
again changed to the southwest, which would carry
them out to sea as before.

What were they to do? This might be their best
and only chance to escape. The shore ice lay near
them, but, as yet, beyond their reach. This treacherous
wind might continue for days and even
weeks. From experience they knew that the wind
blew where he listed, regardless of the forlorn creatures
under him, and with the thermometer at forty
degrees below zero, as it was, swimming was out
of the question. The crack appeared a dozen or so[Pg 225]
feet in width, and escape was only possible by
reaching the other side.

Their strait was a desperate one. The captain
decided to make the leap. Removing his furs, he
rolled them tightly, and threw them across the
chasm. It was now a positive dash for life, as
without his furs he would soon perish with the
cold.

He made the run and leaped. At that instant
one of the natives, from intense interest, or from
a desire to assist, gave a loud Eskimo whoop,
which startled the captain, and he missed his footing,
falling forward upon the ice, but with his
lower limbs in the water.

The natives now bestirred themselves and threw
to the captain a large hunting knife and rifle, attached
to their long sled lashings. With a good
deal of exertion, the captain crawled upon the ice,
and with the knife he chopped a hole, and inserted
the rifle barrel, fastening the lashings to it and
holding it firmly in place. The natives then pulled
with united strength on the line, bringing the ice
cake slowly up toward the captain until within a
few feet of the shore ice, when, using a sled for a
bridge, they and the dogs crossed safely over, without
so much as wetting their feet. To all, this was
a matter for great rejoicing, and no regretful farewells
were given to the ice floe which had been
their prison house so long. They were not yet out
of danger, however, for the shore ice upon which[Pg 226]
they stood might, in the gale, at any moment be
loosened and carry them, like the other, out into
the ocean. So with all haste possible, they proceeded
to get away. Punni Churah brought the
captain’s fur sleeping bag and robes, in which he
was stowed away in one of the sleds, though his
wet clothing was now frozen. There was no time
nor place to make a change, with the thermometer
nearly forty degrees below zero.

Hours afterward they reached the mainland.
How good once more to step foot on terra firma!
The dogs barked, and the natives hallooed cheerfully
to each other, for they were now going home.
A deserted native village was soon entered, an
igloo in passable condition taken possession of,
and the dogs tied up for the night.

The natives now worked rapidly and cheerfully,
two putting up their camp stove, another bringing
snow for water with which to make the coffee, and
Punni Churah looking after the captain, who tried
to remove his clothing, but to no purpose. Muckluks
and trousers were frozen together, and as fast
as the ice melted sufficiently they were cut away.
Contrary to his expectations, he was not severely
frozen, a white patch, the size of his hand, appearing
upon each limb above the knee. With these
they did the best they could, and dry clothing from
the sleds was put on.

Their supper that night was a feast of rejoicing.
They were now on the home trail, and would soon[Pg 227]
be among friends. One more day of travel and
their long, hazardous, and eventful trip of two hundred
miles over an Arctic waste would be successfully
accomplished. As they rolled themselves in
their furs at midnight for a few hours of needed
rest and sleep, they could almost fancy themselves
at home again and happy. The dogs huddled in
the snow outside, now and then barking in their
usual way, but the tired men in the igloo did not
hear them, for their sleep was oblivion, after the
strain of the last two weeks.

Next morning, after traveling for several hours,
a halt was made, and a lunch was taken in an Eskimo
camp; but the captain, by this time, was suffering
from exposure and frosted limbs, the trail
was bad, and he concluded to hurry on ahead of
the teams. The way was familiar, and only one
low mountain, called the Portage, was to be
crossed. It was early in the day, and his teams
would follow immediately; so on his snowshoes the
captain hastened toward home.

God help the man who travels alone in the Arctic
in winter! Little matters it if the sun shines brightly
at starting, and the sky appears clear as a summer
pool. In one short hour the aspect of all may
be changed, heavens overcast, snow flying, and
wind rapidly driving. Under the gathering darkness
and whirling snowflakes the narrow trail is
soon obscured, or entirely obliterated, the icy wind
congeals the traveler’s breath and courage simultaneously,[Pg 228]
he becomes confused and goes round and
round in a circle, until, benumbed by the frost, he
sinks down to die. This was what now happened
to the captain.

Another storm was upon him when he reached
the hill portage, and as he expected his natives momentarily,
and beyond this point the trail was
good, so that he could ride behind the dogs, he
waited until they should come up to him. Hour
after hour he waited. Night came on, and the blizzard
increased in severity. Hungry, cold and already
frost-bitten, he must spend the night on the
mountain alone. Still he listened for the bells on
the malemutes, and the calls of his Eskimo drivers.

They did not come. Nothing but snow, and the
shriek of that storm king whose rage he had so
recently encountered while drifting to sea on the
ice floe, and from whom only cruelty was ever
expected, now whistled in his ears.

He knew he must keep on walking, so removing
his snowshoes he stuck one in the snow drift and
fastened a seal rope at the top. Taking the end of
this in his hand, he circled round and round for
hours to keep himself moving. At last he grew
weary, and closed his eyes, still walking as before.
It was more pleasant to keep his eyes closed, for
then he saw visions of bright, warm rooms, blazing
fires and cozy couches, and smelled the odors
of appetizing foods. There were flowers, sweet
music and children, and he was again in far-off
sunny lands.[Pg 229]

He grew drowsy. He would only rest a little in
a soft white drift, and then go on again. Making
a place in the bank with the snowshoe, while the
wind whistled horribly and the whirling snow bewildered
him, he lay down to——

Some men, one night, drove their dog-teams into
Chinik. They had come from St. Michael, two
hundred miles over the trail. They said the captain
and his party left there many days before them,
and by this they were surely dead, unless drifted
out to sea, which really meant the same thing, as
no man could live upon the ice during the recent
great blizzard. An Eskimo woman heard what
they said. She was a cousin to Punni Churah, but
she said nothing.

An hour later, the woman and two men with
dogs and sleds left Chinik for the Portage, going
east. It was storming, but it was not dark, and
they knew each foot of the way. At first, on the
level, the woman rode in one of the sleds, but when
it grew hilly, she trudged behind. Her sharp eyes
now keenly searched every dark or obscure spot
along the hillside trail. The wind lessened somewhat,
and the moon came out behind the clouds.

The dogs finally stopped, throwing back their
heads and howling; then, in more excitement, gave
the short, quick bark of the chase.

The natives began poking about with sticks in
the drifts, and Mollie (for it was she) soon found
the unconscious man in the snow.[Pg 230]

Quick work then they made of the return trip.
They were only a few miles from home now, and
the malemutes seemed to comprehend. Every nerve
in their bodies tingled. Every tiny bell on their
harnesses jingled, and the fleet-footed natives sped
rapidly behind. The dogs needed no guidance, for
they were going home, and well knew it. The
voice of big Ituk, as he gave out his Eskimo calls,
the sleigh-bells, and the creak of the sled runners
over the frosty snow, were the only sounds heard
on the clear morning air.

The life of the captain was saved.

The sequel of his story is not long. With the
best care known to a native woman, brought up
near and inside a Mission station, the captain was
tended and brought back to life, though weeks
passed before he was well. In fact, he was never
strong again, and, needing a life-long nurse, decided,
with Mollie’s consent, to take her for his
wife, and so the missionary married them. Then
they settled permanently at Golovin Bay, where a
trading post was already established, and where
they are living happily to this day.

[Pg 231]

CHAPTER XVII.

HOW THE LONG DAYS PASSED.

N Saturday, November third, began a
great sewing of fur caps, children’s
clothes, and also garments for the
teacher. For the caps, a pattern had
to be made before beginning, but
Alma and not I did it. About four in
the afternoon Mr. H., Mr. G. and Mr.
B. came in from the Home, having
worked all day at collecting driftwood
as they came along, piling it upon end
so it will not be buried in the snow, for that is the
only fuel we will have this winter, and it must be
gathered and hauled by the boys.

While in the sitting room after supper three
gentlemen and the wife of one of them called to
spend the evening from the A. E. Company’s
establishment. One was the manager and head of
the company’s store here, another was his clerk,
and the man and his wife were neighbors.

We soon found out that the young clerk had
been up the Koyuk River prospecting, and wanted
to go again. The boys want to go there themselves,
and we gathered considerable information
from our callers regarding the country, manner of
getting there, the best route, etc., and spent a pleasant
evening, as they seemed also to do.[Pg 232]

Sunday, November fourth, was marked as the
first time of holding church service in the schoolhouse
since our arrival, and a good number were
present. Twenty-two Eskimos and ten white people
made a cozy little audience for Mr. H. and his
interpreter, Ivan. I played the organ, and they all
sang from Gospel songs. For some reason a
lump would come up in my throat when I played
the old home songs that I had so many times
played under widely differing circumstances, thousands
of miles away; but under the current of sadness
there was one also of thanksgiving for protection
and guidance all the way.

It was a motley crowd listening to the preacher
that day, from various and widely separated countries,
Sweden, Norway, Finland, United States,
Alaska and possibly some others, were represented
at this service as well as at the one of the evening
held in the Mission House which needed no extra
lights nor warming. A few more natives came in
at this time, and Mollie, the captain’s wife, was
there with her mother. Again I played the instrument,
while the rest sang. The little sitting-room
and hall were crowded, seats having been brought
in from the kitchen, and some were standing at
the doors. One old Eskimo woman seemed in
deep trouble, for she wiped her eyes a great deal,
and she, with some others, were very dirty, at least
if odors tell stories without lying.

Monday, November fifth: This has been a fine[Pg 233]
day, and brought with it a new lot of experiences.
I took a few kodak views of a dog-team and fur-dressed
people in front of the Mission. After supper
four neighbors came (the same who called on
us the other evening) with their horse to take us
out for a moonlight ride, and it proved a very novel
one. A big, grey horse, with long legs supporting
his great hulk, and carrying him away up above us
as we sat on the sled; the conveyance, a home-made
“bob” sled upon which had been placed
rough boards piled with hay and fur robes for the
comfort of passengers, and the harness home-made
like the “rig,” was ingeniously constructed of odds
and ends of old rope of different colors which the
men assured us, when interrogated upon the point,
were perfectly strong and secure.

In it were knots, loops, twists, and coils, with
traces spliced at great length in order to keep us
clear of the horse’s heels, but which frequently got
him entangled, so that he had to be released by the
footman (the clerk). When this occurred, the latter,
with an Indian war-whoop, leaped off the sledge,
flourished and cracked his big “black snake”
whip in air to encourage the animal to run faster,
and I, sitting with the driver on the front seat,
gripped for dear life the board upon which I sat.
No Jehu, I feel sure, ever drove as did our driver
tonight, assisted by the whooping footman with
his black snake. Through drifts and over the pond,
which was frozen, down steep banks to the beach,[Pg 234]
through snow deep and still deeper, helter-skelter
they drove, skurrying, shouting, urging the poor
beast on until he was wild of eye, short of breath,
weary in limb, and reeking.

Overhead the air was clear as crystal, stars
bright, and a perfect full moon shining with brilliant
whiteness over all. Only the jingle of the
bells upon the horse, the shrieks of our footman
and driver, and the laughter of the passengers on
the “bob” broke the stillness of the quiet, frosty
air, which, in its intense purity and lightness
seemed fairly to vibrate with electricity as we
breathed.

November sixth: I have spent the day at making
a warm winter hood for myself. Finding that
Mr. H. had grey squirrel skins, I bought six of
him for twenty-five cents apiece, for a lining for
hood and mittens. The hood I made pretty large
every way, sewing two red fox tails around the
face for a border to keep the wind off my face, as
is the Eskimo fashion.

During the day G. and B. went out over the
beach to collect driftwood for winter, and G. came
home finally without his companion. It was
thought that B. went on to the Home, as he found
himself not so far from that as from the Mission,
where he would probably remain all night, and
come over next day. Two natives, with as many
reindeer and sleds, came for flour and other things,
taking Mr. H.’s trunk of clothing with them for[Pg 235]
the missionary. The little Eskimos were delighted
to see the deer, and ran out to them, petting and
talking to them. Then they rattled on among
themselves about the animals, inspecting and feeling
of their horns, patting their fat sides, calling
their names, and showing their pleasure at seeing
the pretty creatures in various ways. I did not
know which were of most interest, the deer with
long, branching antlers, sleek spotted sides and
funny heads, or the group of odd little Eskimo
children, with their plump dark faces, dressed in
furry parkies and boots, tumbling gleefully around
in the snow.

Wednesday, November seventh: The weather
is beautifully clear and sunny today, with charming
sky effects at sunrise and sunset. Red, yellow and
crimson lines stretched far along the eastern horizon,
cut by vertical ones of lighter tints, until a
big golden ball climbed up higher, and by his increased
strength warmed the whole snowy landscape.
A few hours later, this great yellow ball,
looking bright and clear-cut, like copper, sank
gently beneath the long banks of purple-red clouds
massed in artistic and majestic confusion. Everything,
at this time, was enveloped in the cooler,
quieter tints of purple and blue, and hills, peaks,
and icy bay all lay bathed in exquisite color.

The two Eskimos brought the reindeer back
from the Home today, stopped for lunch, and then
went on their way to the herd again. Ricka, Alma[Pg 236]
and Miss J. went out as far as the cliff for a ride
on the sleds behind the deer, but I felt safer indoors.
Ricka says when the animals dashed over
the big bank, out upon the ice near the cliff, she
thought her last hour had come. At first the deer
trotted steadily along on the trail, but going faster
and faster they rushed headlong through the drifts,
dragging the sleds on one runner, and tearing up
the snow like a blizzard as they went, until it
seemed to the two girls, unused to such riding as
they were, that the animals were running away,
and they would be certainly killed.

Miss J. was quite used to this kind of traveling,
and made no outcry, but Alma and Ricka finally
got the natives to stop the deer and let them get
off and walk home, saying it might be great fun
when one was accustomed to it.

The sleds used by the natives are called reindeer
sleds because made especially for use when driving
deer. They are close to the ground, and very
strongly built, as they could not otherwise stand
the wear and tear of such “rapid transit.” Side
rails are put on, but no high handle-bar at the back,
and when a load is placed upon the sled it is lashed
securely on with ropes or thongs made of seal or
walrus hide; otherwise there would be no load before
the journey was completed.

Mr. H. says he has long experience with them,
but never feels quite sure that an animal will do
what is wanted of him, though when driven by natives
who are well used to their tricks and antics,[Pg 237]
especially if the animals have reached mature age,
they make good travelers, and get over the ground
very fast. A hundred miles a day is nothing to
them if the snow is not too deep and their load
reasonable.

Men and dog-teams are coming into camp from
Nome each day now, and say that the trails are in
first-class condition. We hope for mail soon from
Nome. Mr. H. came, bringing with him a Swedish
preacher who is wintering here, though not officially
connected with the Mission. He is a sweet
singer, liking well to accompany his Swedish songs
upon the guitar or organ, for he plays both instruments.

Mr. L. left at six in the morning for the Home,
walked there and back, and arrived at six in the
evening. He went to ask Mr. H. if he and the
others could have reindeer with which to go to
Koyuk River on a prospecting trip. He gave his
consent and they think of starting next week. They
think there may be some good creek up there that
would do to stake, and the clerk is going with
them.

We have jolly times each evening singing, visiting
and knitting. My black stocking grows under
my needles a few inches each day, and will be warm
and comfortable footwear under my muckluks
surely.

November eighth: Some ptarmigan were brought
in today, which are the first birds of the kind I have[Pg 238]
seen, and they are beautiful. They look like snow-white
doves, only larger, with silky feathers and
lovely wings. They are soon to be cooked, for
they are the Arctic winter birds and make good
eating. We are all blessed with ravenous appetites.

A man was killed with a club last night in a
drunken brawl, in a hotel near by. He only lived
a few hours after getting hurt, but it is said that
the other killed him in self defense. Both the
United States marshal and the commissioner were
away at the time. It is a pity they were not at
home, for the affair, perhaps, would then have been
prevented. There are probably not more than one
hundred white persons in the camp altogether, but
there must be fully half as many Eskimos, and they
are always coming and going. There are several
saloons (one kept by a woman), a large hotel and
one or two smaller ones, besides two or three company’s
stores and a few log cabins and native huts,
besides the Mission.

The boys want to get off as soon as possible for
Koyuk, but fear they will have to go to Nome for
camp stoves and pipe, as there are none to buy
here. They brought wood from the beach today
on the sleds, and there is no lack of fuel here, nor
of strong, willing arms to gather it. It seems a
long, long time to wait without hearing from the
home folks. I wonder how it seems to them. I
only wish they could see how comfortably and[Pg 239]
happily we are situated, and what jolly times we
have, for it would do their hearts good. Few are
so favored in all Alaska, of that I am certain.

Saturday, November tenth: I have sewed all
day on a canvas coat for Mr. B., Alma helping with
the cutting. He wants it to put on over his fur
parkie to keep the snow and rain off it, and has
himself made the loops and fastenings. He whittled
out the buttons from small pieces of wood,
twisted cord to loop over them, and put them all
firmly on the coat so that it looks well, and will
be serviceable. I put a good-sized hood of the
same, with a fur border around the face, on the
coat, and it will be a good garment to hunt ptarmigan
in, for it is the color of snow, and the birds
cannot see him.

The visiting preacher has had an experience in
being in the water, and from it has contracted
rheumatism in one limb, which he is nursing, so
he sits by the fire and plays and sings for us while
we sew. He is very pleasant, and all seem to like
him. The weather is not cold and Miss J. and Mr.
H. started out with reindeer for the Home at
seven in the morning. It was a singular sight to
see them when leaving. All the little natives in
fur parkies stood around, watching. The two
sleds were loaded with baggage, and Miss J. sat
on the top of one of them, holding the rope that
went under the body of the deer and around his
Head and horns for a harness. This deer was tied[Pg 240]
to the back of the sled in front of him, and Mr. H.
went ahead having hold of the rope that was fastened
to the first deer.

Sunday, November eleventh: We are having a
heavy and wet snow storm. All stayed in until
three in the afternoon, when we attended church
service in the schoolhouse. I played the organ,
the Swedish preacher read the Scriptures, and Ivan
interpreted. We sang hymns and songs, and the
hour was enjoyed by all, though the preacher did
not feel quite well enough acquainted with the English
to preach in that tongue, and Mr. H. was away.
There were about twenty natives present, and ten
or twelve white people, Miss E. remaining at home
to get the dinner. I went in thought over the great
waters to my southern home, where today the
churches are decorated with palms and floral beauties,
and I saw the friends in their accustomed
seats—but I was not there. Thousands of miles
away to the frozen north we have come, and little
do we know if we shall ever see home again. Tears
came to my eyes, but I kept them hidden, for none
shall say I am homesick; I am glad to be here. I
have faith to believe that the Father’s loving watch-care
will be still further extended, and I shall reach
my homeland and friends some time in the future.

November thirteenth: Weather is warm, wet,
and sunny. Water is running in the bay and snow
is soft under foot. I worked this afternoon on a
mitten pattern for myself, assisted by Alma. Evidently
pattern making was intended for others to[Pg 241]
do, for though my spirit is as willing as possible,
the flesh is very weak in that direction; but I did
finally get a mitten, thumb and all, that looks not
half bad. This was banner day for my laundry
work, and my handkerchiefs have been ironed for
the first time since I sailed from San Francisco.
Heretofore I was in luck to get a time and place
in which to wash them. At half-past four o’clock in
the afternoon, when it was too dark to sew longer,
Alma, Ricka and I went out upon the beach to
meet the boys who had been gathering wood, and
we walked a half mile over the rough trail of ice
blocks, drifts and hummocks.

We floundered on through all until we saw them
coming, and then sat resting on some logs until
they came up. Two of Mr. H.’s dogs, Fido and
Muckaleta, had followed us, and ran at our heels
playing in the snow, which was more than one
foot deep in places. The boys had found a long
ladder on the beach, probably from some wreck,
and they had brought it on the sled with the wood.
It was most difficult work hauling the sled over the
uneven trail, and all were puffing and perspiring
when they reached home.

A little prayer meeting was afterwards held in
the kitchen during which Mr. H. and Miss J.
came in from the Home with reindeer, tired and
hungry. We spent a pleasant evening visiting,
singing and knitting.

A man has come from Nome, and says that the[Pg 242]
steamer bringing Mission supplies from San Francisco
was obliged during the last hard storm to
throw some of its cargo overboard, and part of the
Mission’s stores were thus lost. All are sorry to
hear this, as it means a shortage of necessary
things, like furniture for the Home, where much is
needed.

November fourteenth: Miss J. has taken in two
more little Eskimos, a girl and a boy. First of all,
she cuts their hair close to their heads, then each
has a good bath in the tub, and they are dressed in
clean clothing from head to foot, and fed plentifully.
This was their program, and they look
very happy after it, and evidently feel as well and
look better. This boy seems to be about ten years
old, and the girl a little older, but it is not customary
among the Eskimos to keep account of
their ages, and so nobody really knows how old
any one is.

Alma has cut over a big reindeer skin parkie
for the visiting preacher, and a fur sleeping bag for
Miss J., while Ricka has made a fine cap for Mr.
H. of dog’s skin, lined with cloth. This morning
when the men went out to the hills where their two
reindeer had been tied in the moss, the animals
were gone, and Ivan returned fearing that they
had been stolen, but when Mr. H., G. and B.
went to look, they found no men’s footprints, and
concluded that they had broken away and gone
back to the herd, as their tracks went in that direction.[Pg 243]
Mr. H. went on after them, and the two
boys came home wet with perspiration from
floundering about in the deep, soft snow, and wearing
their heavy rubber boots. I gave them coffee
when they got back.

I have sewed on my new mittens, and done some
knitting, besides tending the baby, who runs
quickly from one thing to another like any other
mischievous child, getting into first one thing,
and then some other, which must be coaxed away
from her by management. I usually do this by
giving her some new plaything, if I can possibly
find any article she has never yet had. A box of
needles, buttons and thread she likes best of anything
I have yet found, and a grand reckoning
day will come before long when Alma finds the
little Eskimo has been amusing herself with her
property.

Mr. G. found a part of somebody’s outfit, consisting
of clothing and tin dishes, on the beach today.
Miss J. held a little meeting again in the
kitchen for the natives after supper, and is very
happy over having the two new little Eskimos.

This is our fourth week in the Mission, and pleasant
and happy ones they have been, at least, if
there have been vexations to some, they have succeeded
admirably in keeping them out of sight.

November fifteenth: The weather is still warm,
wet and slippery under foot. This morning a
young man called from Nome, with a letter from[Pg 244]
Mary, saying she is coming by dog-team as soon as
the trails are good.

The commissioner called today to get the
preacher to officiate at the funeral of the man who
was killed, but it was postponed until tomorrow,
because the grave could not be finished before
dark. The commissioner sat for half an hour,
and chatted in the sitting room.

November sixteenth: All hands are at work now
for the children, and overalls, waists and shirts for
the little boys as well as garments for the girls are
on the docket. The big boys fished, and got smelt
and tom-cod. B. sewed at mittens for himself,
and G. took the church organ to pieces to clean
and repair it. Mr. M., who has been at work on
the Home, has come here to spend the winter.
I wish he would set to work and catch some of the
mice which infest the house, and run over me
when I am asleep in the night time.

A meeting for the natives in the house again tonight,
and the doors had to be left open on account
of the pungent seal oil perfume from the
garments of the Eskimos.

The man who was killed was buried today in
the edge of the little graveyard on the hillside.
The Swedish preacher was asked to go to the
grave, and he did so, reading a Psalm, and offering
a prayer. Only four or five men were present.
It is a stony, lonely place, without a tree in
sight; the few scattering graves having only[Pg 245]
wooden slabs for head boards. Being just above
the beach, the spot commands a view of the bay
in front, but it is now all a snow and ice desert,
and the most dreary place imaginable. Very little
was known of the murdered man, and no good
could be said of him, but it is supposed that he
has a wife and children somewhere.

What a dreadful ending! Will his family ever
know what has become of him, and is his mother
still living? If so, I hope they may never learn
of his horrid death and worthless life in Alaska.
He was never conscious for a moment after being
hurt, so they know nothing as to where to write to
his relatives. It makes one shudder to think of it!
He may have been a good and bright child, beloved
by parents and brothers, but the drink curse
claimed him for its own.

The weather is clear, with sunshine and frost.
The visiting preacher has been making himself useful
for a few days by helping us in cutting out overalls
and blouses for the Eskimo boys. Down on
his knees upon the floor, with shears, rolls of
denim, and a pair of small trousers to pattern by,
he has wielded the little steel instrument to good
purpose, and encouraged and assisted us greatly.

With their new clothes, the children are all quite
well pleased, for they are fresh and sweet. The
missionaries are trying very hard to teach them
cleanliness among other things, and they sometimes
come and stand in the doorway and look at[Pg 246]
us sewing, their faces always good natured, and
showing more or less curiosity. When told to
run away to play, they obey quickly, and little Pete
and the others like to keep the wood boxes filled
to help us. The older girls being from ten to
twelve years of age, are often caring for and amusing
Bessie, and she is fond of them, until, like any
other child, she cannot have her own way, and
then she disapproves of them by kicking and
screaming till Miss J. comes to settle the business.

[Pg 247]

CHAPTER XVIII.

SWARMING.

RCTIC explorers have always found it
a difficult matter to keep pleasantly
and profitably employed during the
long winter months, and I have often
wondered how it would be with ourselves.
So far, there seems to be no
scarcity of employment for all hands,
neither is there any prospect of it.
For the men there is always the beach-wood
to collect, haul and saw up into
firewood, not to mention the splitting with an
axe, which is, I believe, as hard work as any of
it, and there is water to bring in barrels each day
or two from Chinik Creek, a mile away, for drinking
and cooking purposes. The barrels are put
upon sleds and hauled by the men themselves, or
by the dogs if they happen to be here, and are not
at work. As to the reindeer, of course there can
be no such thing as making them haul either wood
or water, for none could be found steady enough,
and should the experiment be tried, there are ten
chances to one that not a stick of wood would remain
upon the sleds, nor a drop of water in the
barrels, while the distance between creek and
Mission was being made.[Pg 248]

Of course there is always enough for women to
do if they are housekeeping, and with sewing, knitting
and what recreation we take out of doors, we
fill in the time very well. It is much better and
pleasanter to be employed, and the time passes
much more rapidly than when one is idle, and I
for one enjoy the change of work and the winter’s
outlook immensely. Compared to what we have
done in Nome during the summer, this is child’s
play, and the boys who have worked at real mining
say the same thing.

November seventeenth: We have had our first
lady visitor today who came from White Mountain
about fifteen miles away. She is the lady
doctor who brought Miss J. through typhoid fever
last fall, and is much at home here. She was sent
for by a sick woman in the hotel, and will spend the
night with Miss J., who is very kind to her. The
visiting preacher left for the Home this morning
very early, going with a native and reindeer. Mr.
L. and B. were called in to the jury trial of the
murderer who killed the man in the hotel the other
night, and they got home late. The girls were out
upon the ice in the evening for exercise, getting
tired of being indoors all day long, and needing
fresh air. When all were in at half-past eleven in
the evening, coffee and crackers were taken by all
but me, but I have had to leave off drinking coffee,
taking hot water with cream and sugar instead. B.
says he thinks the latter too stimulating.

ESKIMO DOGS.

[Pg 249]

This has been a bright and cold Sunday for
November eighteenth. Mr. H. walked in to nine
o’clock breakfast from the Home, coming by dog-team,
and looked well dressed and smiling. No
service was held until evening, so we went out for
a walk upon the hill behind the house. B. and L.
left us to go and examine some wood that natives
were hauling away from the beach, thinking it was
some of theirs, for each stick is marked, so they
know their own; but it proved not to be their wood,
and the two then came home another way.

While out, we walked through the small burial
ground, and saw the new-made grave of the murdered
man. O, how desolate was that spot! A
few mounds, stones, snow and bleak winds forever
blowing. Here we read a headboard, upon which
was the name and age of good old Dr. Bingham
of New England, who died here years ago, and
whose wife planted wild roses upon the grave. I
wonder if we will see them in bloom next summer,
or will we be under the snow ourselves like these
others.

For our dinner today we ate fried tom-cod,
baked potatoes, tomatoes, pickles, bread and butter,
and rice pudding. I feel positive that nothing
could have tasted better to our home folks in the
States who have more fruit and vegetables than
did this plain and homely meal to us, eaten with
the heartiest appetites gotten out of doors while
walking in the snow. The ice in the bay is getting[Pg 250]
firmer, and will continue to grow thicker all winter,
being in the spring at breaking-up time many feet
through, no doubt, as it was in Minnesota in the
Red River of the North when I lived there. I
am glad that I am a cold climate creature, and was
born in winter in a wintry state, for I will be
sure to endure Alaska weather better than I otherwise
would.

This evening we had service again in the church
or schoolhouse, and the room was quite filled.
The woman doctor was there, also the storekeeper
and the United States Marshal, besides our own
family, and a good many natives. Mr. H.
preached, and was interpreted in Eskimo as usual.
I wish some of my fastidious friends on the outside
could have seen the cosmopolitan company of
tonight.

The refined and serious face of the storekeeper,
the black-eyed doctor (woman), the fair-faced
Swedes, and the square-jawed, determined official,
made a striking contrast to the Eskimos dressed in
fur parkies, and smelling of seal oil. Many of the
latter continually carry small children on their
backs underneath their parkies, a heavy belt or
girdle of some sort keeping the youngster from
falling to the ground, but the smaller ones are seldom
brought out in the evening. These women
squat upon the floor as often as they sit upon a
chair, and when a baby cries from hunger he is
promptly fed on ahmahmuk, (mother’s milk,) regardless[Pg 251]
of the assembled company. With an
Eskimo mother nothing comes before the child’s
wishes, and if the latter only succeeds in making
his desires known to her, she will obey them to the
letter. That there are unruly Eskimo youngsters,
goes without saying, as a child does not need a
white skin to help him understand this, and arrange
his tactics accordingly.