THROUGH CHILKOOT PASS.
As Frank Mansley's words rang through the tent they were followed by
the awful roar of the descending avalanche, and all awoke on the
instant. But no one could do anything to save himself. They could only
cower and pray to Heaven to protect them.
Something struck the side of the tent, like the plunge of a mountain
torrent, yet it was not that, nor was it the snow. Tim McCabe knew its
nature, and catching his breath, he called:
"It's the wind of the avalanche! That won't hurt ye!"
The wonder was that it did not blow the canvas like a feather from its
path; but the tent held its position, and the appalling rush and roar
ceased with more suddenness than it had begun. The throbbing air became
still.
Jeff Graham, who had not spoken, struck a match, and holding it above
his head, peered around the interior of the tent, which he observed had
sagged a good deal from the impact of the avalanche's breath, though
the stakes held their places in the snow. He saw Frank Mansley standing
pale with affright, while Roswell, sitting on the edge of his couch,
was equally startled. Ike Hardman had covered his face with his
blanket, like a child, who thus seeks to escape an impending danger.
Incredible as it may seem, Tim McCabe was filling his pipe in the
gloom, preparatory to a smoke.
"Be aisy," was his comment, as he struck a match and held it above the
bowl; "we're as safe as if in 'Frisco, and a little safer, for it's
whin ye are there ye are liable to have an airthquake tumble the
buildings about yer hid."
"Wasn't that an avalanche?" asked the amazed Frank.
"It was that, but it didn't hit us. If we had put up the tint a little
beyant and further to the right, we'd've been mashed flat."
He spoke the truth. The enormous mass of snow, weighing thousands of
tons, had toppled over and slid down the mountain-side with a roar like
Niagara, but stopped short, just before reaching the tent. Some of the
feathery particles sailed forward and struck the canvas, the greatest
effect being produced by the wind, but the monster was palsied before
he could reach forward and seize his victims.
When the situation became clear, every one uttered expressions of
gratitude, but the boys were not relieved of all fear. What had taken
place might occur again.
"Not a bit of it," was Tim's reassuring reply. "I've obsarved the
things before, and we shan't be bothered agin to-night. Take me advice
and go to sleep, which the same is what I shall do mesilf as soon as I
finishes me smoke."
The shock, however, had been too great for all to compose their nerves
at once. Jeff was the first to succumb, having faith in the assurance
of his friend, and Ike Hardman soon followed him in the land of dreams.
Frank and Roswell lay for a long time talking in low tones, but finally
drowsiness overcame them, and with the pungent odor of Tim's pipe in
their nostrils they sank into slumber, which was not broken until Jeff
called to them that breakfast was waiting.
The melted snow furnished what water they needed to drink and in which
to lave their faces and hands. Then, before eating, they hurried
outside the tent to survey the snowy mountain that had come so near
swallowing them up. They were filled with amazement when they looked
upon the vast pile, amid which were observed many chunks and masses of
ice, several that must have weighed hundreds of pounds, lying on the
snow within a few yards of the tent. Had one of these been precipitated
against the shelter, it would have crushed the inmates, like the charge
from the most enormous of our seacoast guns. It was a providential
escape, indeed, for our friends, and it was no wonder that they
continued to discuss it and to express their gratitude to Heaven, that
had mercifully shielded them while they slept.
Standing at Sheep Camp, they saw the summit towering thirty-five
hundred feet in front, though Chilkoot Pass, which they were to follow,
is five hundred feet lower. The task of climbing to the summit of this
pass is of the most trying nature conceivable, and many gold-seekers
have turned back in despair. Terrific weather is often encountered, and
men have been held in camp for weeks, during which the crest of the
mountains was hidden by clouds and tempests, and the whirling snow and
sleet were so blinding that they hardly ventured to peep out from their
tent. The weather was such as has baffled the most intrepid of
explorers for centuries in their search for the North Pole.
Our friends were unusually fortunate in being favored with good
weather, there being hardly any wind stirring, while, more wonderful
than all, the sun shone from an unclouded sky, in a section where the
clear days average less than seventy degrees in the course of the
entire year.
No one who has ever climbed Chilkoot Pass will forget it. Some, alas!
who have made the attempt never succeeded in reaching the other side,
but perished in the frightful region; while many more have become
disheartened by the perils and difficulties and turned back when on the
threshold of the modern El Dorado. At the foot of the pass our friends
met two men, bending low with the packs strapped to their shoulders,
and plodding wearily southward. Tim called to them to know what the
trouble was, and received a glum answer, accompanied by an oath that
they had had enough of such a country, and if they ever lived to reach
New York, they would shoot any man who pronounced the word "Klondike"
in their presence.
It is a curious fact regarding this famous pass that the snow with
which it is choked is what makes it possible for travel. The snow
sometimes lies to the depth of fifty or sixty feet, and from February,
through May, and often June, its smooth surface allows one to walk over
it without trouble. Should it be fine and yielding, the snow-shoes come
into play, but when the crust is hard, no better support could be
asked. The trouble lies in the steep incline, which becomes more
decided the higher one climbs.
Underneath this enormous mass rush violent torrents of water, which,
hollowing out passages for themselves, leave the snow white arches far
above, over which one walks upon a natural bridge. Later in the season,
when the effects of the warm weather are felt, these arches begin to
tumble in, and the incautious traveller who misses his footing and
drops into one of the huge crevices is lost.
As has been said, the steepness increases as one approaches the top,
the last five hundred feet being like the roof of a house. Bending
forward under their loads, our friends often found their noses within a
few inches of the snow, while masses of rock protruding in many places
added to the difficulties of travel. The combined strength of the party
was required to get a single sled to the top. While one was left
behind, they joined in pushing and pulling the other, with frequent
pauses for rest, until, after hours of the hardest work conceivable,
they succeeded in reaching the summit. Then, resting again, they began
their descent for the other sled. It was fortunate that the crust of
the snow removed the need of using the long snow-shoes, whose make
suggests the bats used in playing tennis, for the men were the only
ones who knew how to handle the awkward contrivances, which would have
proved a sore perplexity for Roswell and Frank.
Under some circumstances it becomes a question which is the harder, to
descend or ascend a steep hill. Despite the utmost care, the whole five
stumbled several times. Roswell felt the chills run through him, and he
held his breath in dismay when he saw himself sliding toward the edge
of a ravine, over which if he fell he would have been dashed to death
on the instant. While desperately trying to check himself, he shouted
for help, but it looked equally fatal for any one to venture near him,
since the slope was so abrupt that he could not check himself.
Jeff Graham was carrying the coil of rope which he had loosened from
the first sled, and, seeing the peril of his young friend, he flung the
end toward him with the skill of a Mexican or cowboy in throwing the
_rita_, or lasso. The youth was slipping downward on his face, with his
terrified countenance turned appealingly to his friends, while he
tried, by jamming his toes and clutching at the surface, to check
himself, and Frank was on the point of going to his help when the end
of the rope struck his shoulder and he seized it with both hands. The
next minute he was drawn back to safety.
"I'm surprised wid ye," remarked Tim McCabe, when the panting youth
stood among them again. "I thought ye were too tired to indulge in any
such foolin'. Whin ye want to slide down hill, make use of the slid
instead of your stummick."
"I don't think I'll want to do any more sliding down hill in this part
of the world," replied the frightened, but grateful youth.
Once more they bent to their work, and pulling themselves together,
succeeded at last in reaching the summit with the second sled, the
whole party utterly used up. Even Jeff Graham sat down on one of the
loads, panting and too tired to speak. When he found voice, he said:
[Illustration: ALL JOINED IN PUSHING AND PULLING ONE SLED.]
"What fools we are! And yet if I went back to 'Frisco, I'd start agin
for the Klondike the next day; so I reckon we'll keep on."
No one responded, for they were so wearied that talking itself was
labor.
Looking to the southwest, they could see the blue shimmer of the
Pacific, where the Gulf of Alaska rolls its white surges against the
dismal shores. Far in the distance a faint line against the sky showed
where a steamer was probably ploughing its way to St. Michael's, with
hundreds of gold-seekers on board, the van of the army that is pushing
toward the Klondike from the West, the South, and the East, until it
would seem that even that immense region must overflow with the
innumerable multitudes, drawn thither by the most resistless magnet
that can make men brave peril, suffering, and death.
Turning in the opposite direction, they saw the mountain slope melting
away in the great valley of the Yukon, with the trail leading through a
narrow, rocky gap, and with naked granite rocks rising steeply to the
partly snow-clad mountains. The party had been fortunate in completing
the ascent in less than a day, when it often requires twice as long.
The first half mile of the descent was steep, when the slope becomes
more gradual. The glare of the snow compelled all to use their glasses,
and seven miles from the summit they reached the edge of timber, where
camp was made.
Freed from all fear of descending avalanches, with plenty of food and
wood for fuel, the exhausted gold-hunters lay down on their blankets,
resting upon more hemlock boughs, and enjoyed the most refreshing sleep
since leaving the steamer at Juneau. It was not until considerably
after daylight that Jeff awoke and started a new fire, with which to
prepare their breakfast, and when that was ready the boys were roused
from slumber.
They were now within three miles of Lake Lindeman, a body of water five
miles in length, and the journey was speedily made. It was on the shore
of this lake that the party expected to build a raft or boat with which
to make the long, rough voyage to the Yukon, but, to their pleased
surprise, they found an old Indian, with a broad scow, anxious to
transport them and their luggage to the foot of the lake. He had
already secured three men and their outfits, but was able to carry the
new arrivals, and Jeff was not long in making a bargain with him.