At Skagway quite a number of miners came on board, bound for home. One
hears from them many sad tales of the Klondike. One man aboard is dying
of consumption and scurvy, contracted in the mining region. A purse is
being made up to enable him to reach his home in Toronto, Canada. He
hopes to live to see his wife and child. An impromptu entertainment in
the salon netted one hundred and fifty dollars for the sick miner.
Another tale not quite so pathetic is that of Mike McCarty, of San
Francisco. He bought a claim and paid all the money he possessed for
it. When he went to have the lease recorded he was told that it was not
legal, that the property was not his, but still belonged to the Queen.
“Damn the Quane,” said Mike, “I bought it and paid me money for it. The
Quane has nothing to do with it at all.” Then he was informed that some
one had sold the claim to him under false pretense and besides losing
it he would get three months’ imprisonment for insulting the Queen.
“Faith and how could I insult the Quane when I niver see her?” queried
Mike. “All right,” said the magistrate, “you go up for three months and
the claim still belongs to the Queen.” “Damn the Quane,” said Mike,
as he was taken away to his cell. Mr. McCarty is on his way home, a
ragged, penniless, but a wiser man.
These miners are bringing down a great deal of gold. One man who has
made sixty-five thousand dollars in mining is taking two children to
Seattle to be educated.
One lady has her bustle stuffed with paper money, another her dress
skirt interlined with five and ten dollar bills.
Gold may be converted into paper money in Dawson City at the rate
of fifteen dollars per ounce. Its actual value runs from sixteen to
eighteen dollars per ounce.
Living is quite high at Dawson, owing to the long distance over
which freight must be carried. Coal oil sells at seven dollars for a
five-gallon can, bread at fifty cents a loaf, beefsteak at two dollars
a pound, candles at one dollar each. This is an item in household
expenses, as during the winter months it is twilight only from eleven
o’clock in the morning to two o’clock in the afternoon. Candles are
used for lights in the mines.
There is plenty of gold in Alaska, but one must go equipped to
withstand the winters and prepared to work his claim properly. Mining
in Colorado and California is not mining in the Klondike. For various
reasons mining in the Klondike is much more expensive than in either of
the other places. The British mounted police are very vigilant, so that
miners lose but little by thieving.
We arrived at Juneau at eleven o’clock at night. The sun having just
set it was still daylight. Nearly the entire population was at the
wharf, eager to learn the news of the outside world. We repaired to
the opera house, where we attended an impromptu political meeting.
The mayor presided and Judge Delany, judge of Alaska under Cleveland,
set forth in a forcible manner the needs of Alaska. The speaker said
that this rapidly growing child seemed to be somewhat neglected by
legislators, mainly because Congress does not know her needs. “First
of all,” said he, “we want the boundary line settled. We want every
foot of land called for in our treaty with Russia in 1867. Until
the discovery of gold in the Klondike England had never questioned
her treaty made with Russia in 1825. But when gold is discovered up
comes England and plants her flags on our territory. Our government
sent out troops and forced them back to the original line. Now let
Congress settle it once for all. It interferes with business and
until this question is settled we don’t know where we are ‘at.’ Next
we want better school facilities. In Juneau we have two hundred and
forty children of school age and room for only forty. This state of
things exists all over Alaska. If Congress will give us half as much
attention as is bestowed on the seal we promise to ask no more. We want
some sort of government. We have no government and are not represented
in Congress. Next we want more judges and more courts, instead of one
judge and one district as now. We think that Alaska should be divided
into three districts.”
Congressmen Warner, Dazill, Payne and Hull replied in short speeches
and the meeting adjourned just at dawn, one o’clock. The opera
house is lighted with electric lights and heated with a furnace. It
has a parquet, dress circle and boxes, and is a model from an
architectural point of view. The acoustic properties of the hall are
beyond criticism.
[Illustration: STEAMER QUEEN LEAVING JUNEAU.]
Leaving Juneau to carry on the struggle of leading Alaska to statehood,
we board our good ship, the Queen, weigh anchor, and sail away.
The upper deck is the salon, the reception hall, the library. Here we
leave our steamer rugs and chairs. Here we come for a better view of
the mountains and the sea. Here we meet our friends. Here we may take
a book and, snugly ensconced, pass a quiet hour. Many of us, however,
found it difficult to read a single line or to enjoy our rugs and
chairs for long at a time, for just as your companion has tucked you
all snugly in, exclamations of surprise and delight from some other
part of the vessel lures you away, as the ship turns her prow this way
and that, now steaming straight ahead, as if she meant to knock that
mountain from its seat, and now quickly changing her course, giving us
a magnificent view down a fiord.
Everyone is reading, “David Harum,” and their comments are quite as
interesting as the book itself.
Sweet Sixteen--“O, I do just love John and Mary, but that stupid old
David is so tiresome.”
A critic--“Literature, indeed. Where’s the plot? You couldn’t find it
with a telescope.”
A judge--“Served his good-for-nothing brother just right.”
Pious looking old gentleman--“Good man, David, but he lacked religion.”
Business man--“Too soft hearted; ought to have kicked that idiot Timson
out long before he did.”
An old farmer lays down the book and laughs until the tears roll down
his weather-beaten cheeks. “Now, there’s a man as is a man. Knows all
about farmin’ and tradin’ horses, he, he; traded horses myself, he, he,
he; best book ever read, he, he, he.”
The first interesting sight to greet us on our way south was a group of
small rocky islands, where more than a hundred eagles were fishing. Out
they would fly by twos and threes, seize a fish in their talons, return
to the rocks and proceed to eat him.
From Dixon’s Entrance to Milbank Sound lie the Alps of America, a
double panorama of unbroken beauty two hundred miles in length. Green
slopes reflected in greener waters. The shores rise perpendicularly
from a thousand to fifteen hundred feet, above which snow-clad
mountains rise as high again. Tall trees climb and cling to these rocky
walls like vines and cascades come gliding out from snowbanks and go
hurrying and singing to the sea, some like delicate silver threads
winding down, others dashing mountain torrents.
[Illustration: ALPS OF AMERICA.]
Late in the evening a mist Jötun rose out of the sea and enveloped us,
and the ship lay at anchor for several hours. The next morning the sun
shone clear and bright. The clouds lay on the water like a veil of rare
old lace flecked with pearls, diamonds and sapphires, caught up here
and there by unseen hands and wreathed about the mountains’ snowy brows.
Scene after scene of wild beauty greets the eye at every turn of the
vessel’s prow. Wild deer and fawn come down to the water’s edge and
stand gazing at our ship. We ran into a school of whales disporting
in the water and scattered them right and left. Flock after flock
of wild ducks skim the water, to light in yonder cove. Flock after
flock, battalion after battalion of wild geese swing along overhead,
led by an old commodore, giving his commands with military precision,
“Honk, honk,” until the very air quivers with their joyous shouts and
greetings. The cormorant is your true diver. Down he goes, a ripple,
and the water is smooth again. While you are lost in speculation as to
where he will reappear up he comes in some placid spot away beyond. If
you guess that he will come up at your right he is sure to appear much
further to your left. If you guess that he will remain under water two
minutes he is likely to remain five. In fact he never does the thing
you expect of him at all, but like Thoreau’s loon on Walden pond, he’ll
lead you a merry chase if you board your canoe and attempt to follow
him.