<h2><SPAN name="CHAPTER_XXI" id="CHAPTER_XXI"></SPAN>CHAPTER XXI.</h2>
<h3>MY FIRST GOLD CLAIMS.</h3>
<div class="figleft"> <ANTIMG src="images/dc.png" width-obs="56" height-obs="150" alt="C" title="C" /></div>
<p class="firstp">HRISTMAS is over for another year,
and this is December twenty-sixth
with its daily winter routine. After I
had given the two men their breakfast,
I went out for a walk upon the
beach. A few snowflakes fell upon my
face as I walked, and it was not cold
but pleasant. There was a red and
glowing, eastern sky, but no sunshine,
and I looked out over the ice to see if
possibly the girls were returning. Seeing nothing
of them, I went home again. About two o'clock
M. came in, saying that they could be seen far out
upon the ice, and we must build the fires and get
dinner started, which we then did. Soon Alma
came riding on a reindeer sled, with a native driver,
getting in ahead of the others, who arrived half an
hour later.</p>
<p>Mr. H. has come with two of his assistants and
Miss E. by reindeer team from the Home on their
way to the station, where the animals are herded in
the hills, and all had a good lunch. After spending
two hours in packing, talking and resting, they left
again, Miss E. on a sled behind a reindeer, which
was driven by a native, and which tore up the snow<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_293" id="Page_293"></SPAN></span>
in clouds as he dashed over the ice northward to
the hills. I ran out upon the cliff to see them on
their way, being quite contented that it was not
myself.</p>
<p>I have learned that the five persons who drifted
out to sea on the ice were brought back by the
wind and tide, and escaped safely to land, after being
at sea several days, but were unharmed, and
went on to Nome. I was very glad to hear this,
as they have had a narrow escape from death.</p>
<p>Friday, December twenty-eighth: The musician
and his friend who was bitten by the mad dog
called this forenoon at the Mission to get the man's
wounds dressed by Mary, the nurse. His hands
are much better, but the wounded leg may yet give
him trouble. Mary did her best for the man, who
seems to be growing more cheerful, and we do all
possible to encourage and help him, lending him
reading matter of various kinds with which to pass
his time. A good many are going to the New
Year's party at Council, among them the captain
and his wife, and the musician; but I shall not go,
though both commissioners have urged me to accept
their invitations, and did not enjoy overmuch
my refusals. I was playing ball with Jennie and
Charlie before our lessons today when the party
started out with the dog-teams, for the nights are
very moonlight and clear, and they can travel for
many hours. A cousin of Mollie's, by name Ageetuk,
went with her. Jennie is to stay with her<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_294" id="Page_294"></SPAN></span>
auntie until her mamma's return, and I will give her
the afternoon lessons just the same, only at her
auntie's house. When the lesson was finished I led
Charlie to Ageetuk's house, where her mother cares
for him in the night time, and left Jennie with her
auntie, Apuk. This woman has a neat little cabin
of three small rooms, furnished in comfortable
fashion, with a pretty Brussels rug covering the
floor of her best room, in which is a white iron
bedstead, a good small table with a pretty cover,
a large lamp, white dimity curtains at the windows
over the shades, and in the next room there are
white dishes upon the shelves.</p>
<p>Sunday, December thirtieth: It is ten weeks yesterday
since we arrived at Golovin, or Chinik, as
is the Eskimo name for the settlement, and pronounced
Cheenik, a creek of the same name flowing
into the bay a mile east of this camp. During
the day I went to look after Jennie and brought
the child home with me, giving her candy and nuts,
and playing for her on the organ.</p>
<p>This evening we all went out upon the ice for a
walk. We took the trail to White Mountain, going
in a northwesterly direction, and enjoyed it very
much. We passed the cliff, and the boats, the snow
creaking at every step, and the moonlight clear
and beautiful. We were out for two hours, and felt
better for the fresh air and exercise. All old timers
say that it is bad for one's health to remain indoors
too much in Alaska, and people should get<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_295" id="Page_295"></SPAN></span>
out every day for exercise. There is far more danger
of getting scurvy by remaining in the house
too much than from any kinds of food we have to
eat, and none of us wish to be ill with that troublesome
disease.</p>
<p>About five o'clock Miss E. came in with a native
from the station where the reindeer are kept, having
grown tired of staying in a native hut with the
Eskimo women while the missionary was busy at
work. She started early this morning when the
weather was fine. Lincoln, the experienced native
who came with her, knew the way perfectly, and
they expected to make the twelve or fifteen miles
and get into the Mission early, but the weather
suddenly changed, as it knows so well how to do
in this country, the wind blew, snow fell and drifted
and though they came safely through the hills, they
lost their way upon the bay while crossing to
Chinik, and wandered for hours in the snow storm.</p>
<p>Having no lunch, tent, nor compass, and no
extra furs, they found themselves in a disagreeable
plight, especially as the snow was very soft and
wet. They kept on traveling, however, until they
were satisfied that they were going in circles, as do
all when lost in a snow storm, and were making no
progress; then they halted.</p>
<p>Here they were overtaken by two white men,
lost like themselves, who, when the matter had
been talked over, would not follow the native,
thinking they knew better than he the way to<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_296" id="Page_296"></SPAN></span>
Chinik, and they went off by themselves. Miss E.
says that both she and Lincoln had given up hope
of getting here today, but she knelt upon the ice
and prayed that they might find their way safely,
then trusted that they would do so, and started.
After going on for a time in the storm, they saw a
small, deserted cabin not far from them which Lincoln
instantly recognized as one upon the point of
land only a quarter of a mile west of Chinik, and
they were happy.</p>
<p>They soon came into the Mission, full of gratitude,
though wet, tired and hungry, for it is so
warm that there is water on the ice in places, and
the snow is very heavy. They had only one deer
with them.</p>
<p>The two lost men came into camp an hour after
Miss E. arrived, having gone past the cabin and
camp, and southward too far in their reckoning. It
is never safe to travel without a compass of some
sort in this country. Mr. H. and his two men have,
besides attending to the herd, staked some gold
claims while away, not far from our claims. The
wind has died down, and there is no snow falling
tonight at half-past eight.</p>
<p>This is New Year's Eve, and the girls and boys
are singing, and having a good time in the sitting-room
while I write. We are going to sit up to
watch the old year out and the new year in, and
have a little song service at midnight.</p>
<p>This is the last day of nineteen hundred, and a<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_297" id="Page_297"></SPAN></span>
memorable year it has been. How many new
scenes and how great the changes through which
we have passed! What will the New Year bring?
Where will we be next year at this time? It is
probably better that we do not know the future.</p>
<p>New Year's Day, nineteen hundred and one.
This has been a good day all around, after our midnight
watch meeting, when seven of the eight persons
present took a part, and we sang many songs
with the organ. At half-past twelve I retired, but
the others remained up until two o'clock.</p>
<p>This evening the storekeeper and two others
from White Mountain called to see if we did not
care to go out coasting on the hill behind the Mission,
and five or six of us went. When we got to
the top of the hill the wind was so strong that I
could hardly stand, and after a few trips down the
Hill we gave it up, part of our number going out to
walk upon the ice, and the rest of us going indoors.
The men were invited into the Mission,
and stayed for an hour, chatting pleasantly, as
there is no place for them to go except to the saloons.
It is a great pity that there is no reading
room with papers and books for the miners, with
the long winter before them, and nothing to do.
There is a crying need for something in this line,
and if they do not employ their time pleasantly and
profitably, they will spend it unprofitably in some
saloon or gambling place. I wish I had a thousand
good magazines to scatter, but I have none.<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_298" id="Page_298"></SPAN></span></p>
<p>I gave Jennie her lesson, and amused both children
for a time this afternoon. Yesterday the snow
drifted badly, and I fear the people who went to
Council will not have a good trail on the way
home.</p>
<p>January second: It is pleasant to have a corner
by myself in which to write and be sometimes
alone. The little northeast corner room where I
sleep has a tile pipe coming up from the kitchen,
making the room warm enough except in the coldest
weather. It has a north window with no double
one outside, and when the wind comes from the
north I expect it will be extremely cold. From this
window I can see (when the glass is free from frost)
out upon the trail to Nome and White Mountain.
Today there is water on the ice, and it has been
raining and blowing. Three of the boys returned
from a four days' prospecting trip to the west, and
as two of them had been sick the whole time since
they left here, they came in wet, tired and hungry,
without having much good luck to relate. I told
them it was something to get back at all again,
and they agreed heartily, while eating a hot supper.
An hour later and Mr. H. with the visiting preacher
came in from the reindeer station, and their staking
trip, in the same condition as the three boys had
been; so a supper for them was also prepared.</p>
<p>Our kitchen looks like a junk shop these days,
and a wet one at that, for the numbers of muckluks,
fur parkies, mittens, and other garments hung<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_299" id="Page_299"></SPAN></span>
around the stove to dry are almost past counting,
and the odor is stifling; but the clothing must be
dried somewhere, and there is no other place. An
engine room would be the very best spot I know
for drying so many wet furs, and I wish we had
one here.</p>
<p>In speaking to one of the men today about prospecting
my claim, I told him I would furnish the
grub, but he said very kindly, "I wouldn't take any
grub from you. I've got enough, and shall be at
work there any way, so it won't take long to sink
some holes in your claim," which I thought was
very good of him. I hope they will "strike it"
rich.</p>
<p>January third: A wet, sloppy, snowy day, our
"January thaw," Mr. H. says. I took the two children
out on the sled upon the ice and pushed at the
handle-bars until I was reeking with perspiration,
afterwards giving Jennie her lesson at her auntie's.</p>
<p>There are twelve of us under the Mission roof
tonight, including Miss E. and the native.</p>
<p>January fourth: These are great days. We have
a houseful of men, nine in all, and some are getting
ready to leave tomorrow to do some staking of
claims up near the station. M. said if the musician
were only here, and they could get a dog-team, he
would like to get him to go with him on a staking
trip not far away. This man returned soon afterward,
and M. wanted me to ask him if he would go.
I did so, and he replied that he would go, and furnish<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_300" id="Page_300"></SPAN></span>
dogs if possible; but the ones he tried to get
were engaged, and that plan fell through, much to
his discouragement. Learning this, I determined
to go to the captain at the hotel, and see if I could
procure dogs from him for the trip. He said yes,
I could have his best dogs, and that a mail carrier
is here resting who will lend us his dogs, so that
was all arranged.</p>
<p>Location papers then had to be written out, grub
boxes packed, a tent looked up, and many things
attended to before they left, so that others in camp
got an inkling of what was being done and wanted
to go along. Then M. and the musician decided to
put off going until midnight, when they would
sneak quietly out of camp with their dogs and
scamper away among the hills without the others
knowing it, but it could not be done, and two or
three sleds followed them at midnight in the moonlight,
as is the custom with Alaska "stampeders."</p>
<p>January fifth: Mollie asked me today to go with
her to visit her fox traps, and I immediately decided
to go. We started about half-past one in the
afternoon, on foot past the cliff, but when we had
gone a short distance Mollie stopped to call back
to the house. Some native boys were cutting wood
at the north door, and she motioned one to come
to her. When he came, she spoke to him in Eskimo,
and he, assenting to what she said, ran back
again.</p>
<p>"I tell Muky to come with dog-team, bring us<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_301" id="Page_301"></SPAN></span>
home, you get tired by and by," she said thoughtfully,
as we trudged on again over and through the
snow. The woman wore a reindeer parkie, short
skirt, and muckluks, and carried a gun on her
shoulder. The snow was quite a foot deep, with
a crust on top which we broke at almost every
step, and which made it hard walking. On we
"mushed," past the cliff, the boats, and out upon
the ice. The traps had been set by Mollie a week
before on the northeast shore of the bay among
a few low bushes, and this was our objective point.
When we reached the first trap, which was buried
in snow, but found by a certain shrub which Mollie
had in some way marked and now recognized, I
threw myself upon the snow to rest and watch her
movements.</p>
<p>Around us we saw plenty of ptarmigan tracks,
but no signs of foxes. A foot below the snow's
surface, Mollie found her trap, and proceeded to
reset it. Carefully covering the trap with a very
little light snow and smoothing it nicely over, she
chipped off bits of reindeer meat from a scrap she
had brought with her, scattering them invitingly
around.</p>
<p>The scene about us was a very quiet one and
wintry in the extreme. Long, low hills stretched
out on every side of the bay, and the whole earth
was a great snow heap. The sky and cloud effects
were charming, fading sunshine on the hilltops
making them softly pink, and very lovely; but with<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_302" id="Page_302"></SPAN></span>
deep reddish purple tints over all as the sun-ball
disappeared.</p>
<p>One after another, four fox traps in different
places were reset by Mollie, while I mushed on
behind her.</p>
<p>At last we saw the dog-team and Muky coming
on the bay. Five dogs he had hitched to his sled,
and each wore a tiny bell at its throat, making a
pretty din as they trotted. When the woman had
finished her trapping, we both climbed into the
sled, the native running and calling to the dogs,
and they started for home. It was not a long ride,
probably not more than a mile and a half as we
went, but while tramping through the snow crust
to the traps it seemed much longer.</p>
<p>I now thoroughly enjoyed the novel ride. In the
dusky twilight the dogs trotted cheerfully homeward,
obeying the musical calls of their driver, and
the little bells jingled merrily. Darker and more
purple grew the skies until they tinted the snow
over which we were passing, and by the time we
had halted before the hotel door it was really night.</p>
<p>By the clock it was fifteen minutes past four and
the thermometer registered fifteen degrees below
zero. Then we toasted our feet before the big
heater, removed and shook out our frosty furs, and
answered the two children's questions. To these
Mollie gave her explanations in Eskimo, and I told
of the ptarmigan tracks I had seen on the snow
drifts.<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_303" id="Page_303"></SPAN></span></p>
<p>Sunday, January sixth: Yesterday I moved into
the little southeast room which was formerly Miss
J.'s. It has pretty paper on the walls, and a small
heater in one corner, besides a single cot, and I
soon settled quite comfortably. The room with
the bunks was needed for the men, of whom there
are so many most of the time. The room I now
have has a south window, but not a double one, and
gets heavy with frost, which remains on the panes;
but I can have a fire when I want one, as the stove
burns chips and short wood, of which there are
always quantities in the shed. B. tells me to use
all the wood I want, as there is no shortage of fuel,
nor men to haul and cut it, which I think is very
kind. A little fire while I am dressing nights and
mornings, however, is all I shall try to keep
burning.</p>
<p>Miss J. came with Ivan, bringing several native
children to visit their parents for a few hours, but
took them back with her after supper when the
meeting was over, which she had held in the
kitchen. We had sixteen to supper, including natives.
Afterward we went down to the beach to
see the party off for the Home. Ivan led the dogs,
five in number, hitched to the big sled. Miss J.
ran alongside, the visiting preacher at the handle
bar, and the little children on the sled. After watching
them off, we came home and then took a walk
of a mile out upon the ice on the White Mountain
trail, which was in fairly good condition. There<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_304" id="Page_304"></SPAN></span>
were six of us. When we got back to the house,
I played by request on the organ, for the three
Swedish visitors from Council.</p>
<p>The weather is bright and beautiful, and sixteen
degrees below zero.</p>
<p>Monday, January seventh: The boys came in
from their stampede to the creeks, and M. says
they staked us all rich if there is anything good in
the ground. My claim is Number Ten, below Discovery,
on H. Creek, and sounds well, if nothing
more. Of course we women are all much elated,
and talk of "our claims" very glibly, but a few
sunken prospect holes will tell the story of success
or failure better than anything else.</p>
<p>This has been a busy day in the house until I
went at half-past two in the afternoon to Mollie's
to find her ill in bed with a very bad throat. I gave
Jennie and Charlie two hours of my time, and went
home, to return in the evening at Mollie's request.
The poor woman was suffering severely, and I did
what I could for her, rubbing her throat with camphorated
oil and turpentine and wrapping it in
thick, hot flannels. Then I assisted her to bed,
rubbing her aching bones, and left her less feverish
than when I went in. The thermometer is above
zero, and the weather is pleasant.</p>
<p>Two men from Topkok came in to see the Recorder's
books, and searched all through them
without finding what they wanted and expected to
find, and then went away with sober and disappointed<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_305" id="Page_305"></SPAN></span>
faces. "Curses not loud but deep" come
to our ears each day about the Commissioner's
work of recording, and many say he is now deep
in dissipation at Nome, instead of attending here
to his business as he should. Miners declare him
unfitted in every way for his position, and affirm
that they will depose him from office.</p>
<p>I went out this morning and bought a student
lamp at the store, paying six dollars and a half
for it. This, with my case of coal oil, will light
my room nicely, besides giving a good deal of heat.</p>
<p>The Marshal and men are home from the Koyuk
River, after four weeks of winter "mushing," and
say nothing about their trip. They did not manage
to pull harmoniously together, and Mr. L. returned
before them.</p>
<p>January ninth: When I went today to the hotel
to teach my pupils, I found the men in the room
cleaning the big heater, and ashes and dirt drove us
out of the place, so we went upstairs to another
room in which Mollie sometimes sews, and where
we found her at work on a white parkie for the musician.
I played with Jennie for a time before the
lesson, and Ageetuk came in on an errand, while
Polly, the Eskimo servant, jabbered in a funny way
and wabbled over the floor like a duck, as is her
habit when walking. This girl is short, fat and
shapeless, with beady black eyes, and a crafty expression,
certainly not to be relied on if there is
truth in physiognomy.<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_306" id="Page_306"></SPAN></span></p>
<p>At the hotel all is excitement and bustle, getting
the men off for the Kuskokquim River, where the
new strikes are reported. Strong new sleds have
been made by the natives, grub is being packed and
dogs gotten into condition, besides a thousand
other things which must be done before the expedition
is ready to start. Seeing them make such extensive
preparations reminded me that perhaps I
might get the men to carry my paper and stake
something for me, so, plucking up my courage, I
asked the promoter of the expedition, whom I
know, if I could do this, and was readily given permission.
In a few minutes paper, pen and ink were
brought in, a clerk was instructed to draw up the
paper in proper shape, which he did, and it was
signed and witnessed in due form, Mollie subscribing
her name as one of the witnesses. For this I
tendered my heartiest thanks, and ran home with a
light heart, already imagining myself a lucky claim
owner in a new and rich gold section on the Kuskokquim.
The party of five men are to leave tomorrow
morning for the long trip of several hundred
miles over the ice and snow.</p>
<p>Mollie advises me to have another pair of muckluks
made smaller, and to keep these I am wearing
for traveling, when I will wear more inside them,
so I will take my materials over tomorrow and she
will have Alice cut and sew them for me. I hope
they will not make my feet look so clumsy as do
these, my first ones.<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_307" id="Page_307"></SPAN></span></p>
<p>January tenth: This was a cold and windy morning,
so the men at the hotel could not start out for
the Kuskokquim as they intended. Some men
came to the Mission to see if they could rent the
old schoolhouse to live in, the doctor and his
plucky little wife having left some weeks ago for a
camp many miles east of Chinik. After looking it
over, the men have concluded to take it, and move
in soon. There are no buildings to buy or rent in
this camp, nor anything with which to build, so it
is hard lines for strangers coming to Chinik. This
afternoon Alma went over with me to the hotel to
stitch on Mollie's sewing machine, and I carried
the deerskin for my new footgear which Alice will
make acceptably, no doubt, as she is very expert.</p>
<p>Mr. H., two natives and two white men, were
here to supper tonight on their way to Nome
by dog-team, and are wishing to start at three in
the morning in order to make the trip in two days.
M. and L. are also here, so we had seven men to
supper. We had fried ham, beans, stewed prunes,
tea, and bread and butter.</p>
<p>This morning it was two degrees below zero,
with a strong, cold wind; tonight it is fourteen degrees
below zero with no wind, and is warmer now
than then. No moonlight till nearly morning, but
the stars shine brightly.</p>
<p>January eleventh: Mary sat up all night baking
bread, and starting the men off for Nome between
three and four in the morning. I got up at nine<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_308" id="Page_308"></SPAN></span>
o'clock and enjoyed the magnificent sunrise. I
went out with Ricka while she tried at the three
stores to find a lining for her fur coat, but one clerk
told us that no provision for women was made by
the companies, and they had nothing on their
shelves she wanted. At the hotel store she found
some dark green calico at twenty-five cents a yard,
which she was obliged to take for her lining.</p>
<p>While I gave Jennie her lesson her mother came
from her hunting, and had shot six ptarmigan, having
hurt her finger on the trigger of the gun.
Mollie studies a little while each day, when Jennie
has finished her lesson.</p>
<p>There is a sick Eskimo woman here now who
was brought in from the reindeer camp yesterday,
and Mollie has her upstairs in the sewing room on
a cot. Mary, the nurse, went over with me to see
her, and says she has rheumatic fever. She seems
to be suffering very much, and cannot move her
hands or limbs.</p>
<p>January twelfth: At eight o'clock today the thermometer
stood at forty-one degrees below zero,
but registered thirty-two degrees during the middle
of the day, and the houses are not so warm as they
have been.</p>
<p>When I called for Jennie at the hotel today I
found her crying with pain in her leg, so she could
not take a lesson, but I sent out for little Charlie
who came running to me with outstretched arms.
He is a dear little child, and I am getting very fond<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_309" id="Page_309"></SPAN></span>
of him. It is some weeks since Jennie first began
crying occasionally with pain, and her parents cannot
understand it, unless it is caused by a fall she
had on the steamer coming from San Francisco
last summer, and of which they thought nothing at
the time. I sincerely hope she is not going to be
very ill, with no doctor nearer than White Mountain.
The sick woman still suffers, though they
are doing what they can for her. The captain requested
me to bring our medical books over, or
send them, that he can look up remedies and treatment
of rheumatic fever, for that is what she no
doubt has.</p>
<p>While seated at the organ an hour later, in came
the storekeeper and his clerk, followed soon after
by the captain and musician. Then we had music
and solos by the last named gentleman, and the
knitting needles kept rapidly flying. At eleven
o'clock they went out into the intense cold, which
sparkled like diamonds, but which pinched like nippers
the exposed faces and hands.</p>
<p>Here is another cold, quiet day, with the thermometer
at thirty-five degrees below zero, and it
is a first class one to spend by the fire. We have
read, slept, eaten, and fed the fires; with only one
man, three girls and myself in the house. At ten
in the evening G. and B. came in from a five days
"mushing" trip on the trails, being nearly starved
and frozen. They were covered with snow and
icicles, their shirts and coats stiff with frost from<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_310" id="Page_310"></SPAN></span>
steam of their bodies, as they ran behind the sled
to keep warm. A hot supper of chicken (canned),
coffee, and bread and butter was prepared in haste
for them, and they toasted themselves until bedtime.</p>
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