<h2><SPAN name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI"></SPAN>CHAPTER VI</h2>
<h3>COMPANIONS.</h3>
<div class="figleft"> <ANTIMG src="images/db.png" width-obs="56" height-obs="150" alt="B" title="B" /></div>
<p class="firstp">UT there were passengers arriving at
St. Michael each day from different
points bound for Nome.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_59" id="Page_59"></SPAN></span>
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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_60" id="Page_60"></SPAN></span>
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."</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_61" id="Page_61"></SPAN></span></p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>There was much discussion over the rights of
those claiming mining lands located by the power<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_62" id="Page_62"></SPAN></span>
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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>Our trouble had now begun. We were overjoyed
at making a start at last, but under what<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_63" id="Page_63"></SPAN></span>
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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_64" id="Page_64"></SPAN></span>
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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>Away in the distance to the north lay the famous<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_65" id="Page_65"></SPAN></span>
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.</p>
<div class="figcenter"><SPAN name="i74" id="i74"></SPAN> <SPAN href="images/074.jpg"><ANTIMG src="images/074t.jpg" width-obs="254" height-obs="400" alt="" title="" /></SPAN> ESKIMOS.</div>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_66" id="Page_66"></SPAN></span></p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>Many tales of interest now reached our ears, but
not many can here be given.</p>
<p>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<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_67" id="Page_67"></SPAN></span>
miners toiled day after day washing out the
precious gold.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>Willie died one day in his mother's arms, while
her hot tears fell like rain upon his face.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>Passengers for San Francisco were now coming
on board with their luggage. Several men were<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_68" id="Page_68"></SPAN></span>
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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_69" id="Page_69"></SPAN></span>
weather during the eight hundred and fifty miles to
Unalaska.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"As though an angel in his upward flight,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Had left his mantle floating in mid-air."<br/></span>
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_70" id="Page_70"></SPAN></span></div>
</div>
<p>All, all, greeted the eye of the worn voyager most
restfully.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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,<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_71" id="Page_71"></SPAN></span>
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."</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>Then, after many days out from Unalaska we<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_72" id="Page_72"></SPAN></span>
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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<div class="figcenter"><SPAN name="i83" id="i83"></SPAN> <SPAN href="images/083.jpg"><ANTIMG src="images/083t.jpg" width-obs="400" height-obs="296" alt="" title="" /></SPAN> UNALASKA.</div>
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