sixty more miners and $800,000 in gold. This was the largest find of the
precious mineral that had been made anywhere in the world, and Seattle
followed the example of San Francisco in going gold-crazy. Immediately
hundreds of people took passage on the outward bound steamers, and
hundreds more were turned away because of lack of room. Ships set out
from all the seaports along the Pacific coast of the United States, and
from the Canadian ports of Victoria and Vancouver. As in the old days
of 1849 men gave up their business to seek the gold fields, but now they
had to travel to a wilder and more desolate country than California had
been.
There were many ways of getting to the Klondike country. Those who
went by ocean steamer had to transfer to flat-bottomed boats to go up
the Yukon River. This was the easiest route, but the boats could only
be used on the Yukon from June until September, and the great rush of
gold-seekers came later that autumn. A second route was by the Chilkoot
trail, which had been used for many years by miners going into the
country of the Yukon. Over this trail horses could be used as far as
the foot of the great Chilkoot Pass, but from there luggage had to be
carried by hand. Another trail, much like this one, was the White Pass
trail, but it led through a less-known country than the Chilkoot, and
was not so popular. The Canadian government laid out a trail of its
own, which was called "the Stikeen route," and which ran altogether
through Canadian territory. Besides these there were innumerable other
roads through the mountains, and along the rivers; but the farther men
got from the better known trails the more danger they were in of losing
their way, or suffering from hunger and hardships.
Towns blossomed along the coast of Alaska almost over night, but they
were strange looking villages. The ships that landed at Skagway in the
summer of 1897 found a number of rough frame houses, with three or four
larger than the rest which hung out hotel signs. The only government
officer lived in a tent over which flew the flag of the United States.
The passengers landed their outfits themselves, for labor was scarce,
and found shelter wherever they could until they might start on the
trail.
No one seemed to know much about the country they were going through,
but fortunately most of the men were experienced woodsmen. They loaded
their baggage on their packhorses, and started out, ready for any sort
of country they might have to cross. Sometimes the trail lay over
miry ground, where a false step to the right or left would send the
horses or men deep into the bog; sometimes it led up steep and rocky
mountainsides, where a man had to guard his horse's footing as carefully
as his own; and much of the way was in the bed of an old river, where
each step brought a splash of mud, and left the travelers at the end
of the day spattered from head to foot. The journey was harder on the
horses than on the men. The heavy packs they carried, and the wretched
footing, caused them to drop along the road from time to time, and then
the travelers had to make the best shift they could with their luggage.
Had the men journeyed alone, or in small companies, they would have
suffered greatly, but the Chilkoot trail was filled with miners who
were ready to help each other, and to give encouragement to any who
lagged behind. At Dyea they came to an old Alaskan settlement, an Indian
trading post, where a number of native tribes lived in their little
wooden cabins. These men were the Chilkats, the Stikeen Indians, and the
Chilkoots, short, heavy men, with heads and eyes more like Mongolians
than like American Indians. Both men and women were accustomed to
painting their faces jet black or chocolate brown, in order to protect
their eyes and skin from the glare of the sunlight on the snow. The
traveler could here get Indians to act as guides, or if he had lost his
horses might obtain dogs and sleds to carry some of his packs.
Each of the little settlements through which the travelers went boasted
of a hotel, usually a frame building with two or three large rooms. Each
day meals were served to three or four hundred hungry travelers at rude
board tables, and at night the men would spread their blankets on the
floor and lie down to sleep. But as the trail went farther inland these
little settlements grew fewer, and the men had to find whatever shelter
they could. From Dyea they pushed on through the Chilkoot Pass, where
the cliffs rose high above them. The winds blew cold from the north, and
the mists kept everything wet. In the Pass some men turned back, finding
the trip too difficult. Those who went on met with increasing hardships.
They came to a place called Sheep Camp, where a stream of water and
rocks from the mountain top had swept down upon a town of tents and
carried them all away. Stories of similar happenings at other places
were passed from mouth to mouth along the trail. More men turned back,
finding such accidents a good excuse, and only the most determined stuck
to the road.
In time they came to a chain of lakes and rivers. The travelers stopped
to build rude boats and paddles, and navigated them as best they could.
The rivers were full of rapids, and it was only by a miracle that the
little clumsily-built skiffs went dancing over the waters safely, and
escaped the jutting rocks on either bank. In the rivers there was good
trout fishing, and in the wild country good hunting, and Indian boys
brought game to the tents at night. To the trees at each stopping-place
papers were fastened, telling of the marvelous adventures of the miners
who had just gone over the trail. As they neared Dawson City they found
the Yukon River more and more covered with floating ice, and travel by
boat became harder. After a time the oars, paddles, gunwales, and all
the baggage in the boats was encrusted with ice, and the boatmen had to
make their way slowly among the floes. Then they came to a turn in the
river, and on the bank saw a great number of tents and people. "How far
is it to Dawson?" the boatman would call. "This is Dawson. If you don't
look out you'll be carried past," the men on shore answered. Paddles
were thrust into the ice, and the boat brought to shore. The trip from
Seattle had so far taken ninety-two days.
Food was scarce in Dawson, and men were urged to leave as soon as they
could. Winter was now setting in, and the miners traveled with dog teams
and sleds to the place where they meant to camp. Little work could be
done in the winter, and the time was spent in preparing to work the
gold fields in the early spring. All through the cold weather the men
talked of the fortunes waiting for them, and when the warm weather came
they staked out their claims and set to work. Stories of fabulous finds
spread like wild-fire, and those who were not finding gold rushed to the
places that were proving rich. That summer many new towns sprang up, and
in a few weeks the Bonanza and Eldorado mines made their owners rich,
and all the tributaries of the Klondike River were yielding a golden
harvest.
When men found land that they thought would prove rich they made haste
to claim it. Sometimes wild races followed, rivals trying to beat each
other to the government offices at Dawson in order to claim the land.
Frequently after such a wild race the claim would amount to nothing,
while another man, who had picked out some place that no one wanted,
would find a rich lode and make a fortune from it. Then there would be
great excitement, for sudden wealth usually went to the miner's head.
He would go down to Dawson, and spend his money freely, while every
one in the town would crowd around him to share in his good luck. One
of the most successful was a Scotchman, Alexander McDonald. At the
time of the Klondike strike he was employed by a company at the town of
Forty-Mile. He had a little money and began to buy separate pieces of
land. He could not afford the rich ground, but managed to purchase more
than forty claims through the Klondike. At the end of that first season
his fortune was said to be $5,000,000, and might well have been more, as
all his claims had not been fully worked. He was called "the King of the
Klondike," and pointed out to newcomers as an example of what men might
do in the gold fields.
That was only the beginning of the story of the Alaskan gold fields,
and each year brought news of other discoveries. But the one season of
1897 was enough to prove the great value of Alaska, and to show that the
United States had done well to buy that great territory from the Czar
of Russia. Yet gold is only a small part of its riches, and even should
the fields of the Klondike yield no more of the precious mineral, the
seals, the fur trade, and the cities springing up along its coast are
worth much more than the $7,000,000 paid for it. It is still a land of
adventure, one of the few waste places that beckon men to come and find
what wealth lies hidden within its borders.
XIV
HOW THE "MERRIMAC" WAS SUNK IN SANTIAGO HARBOR
In the small hours of the morning of June 3, 1898, the _Merrimac_, a
vessel that had once been a collier in the United States Navy, slipped
away from the war-ships of the American fleet that lay off the coast
of Cuba, and headed toward the harbor of Santiago. The moon was almost
full, and there was scarcely a cloud in the sky. To the northwest lay
the _Brooklyn_, her great mass almost white in the reflected light. On
the northeast the _Texas_ loomed dark and warlike, and farther away lay
a ring of other ships, dim and ghostly in the distance. Ahead was the
coast of Cuba, with an outline of mountains rising in a half-circle
beyond the harbor. Five miles across the water Morro Castle guarded the
entrance to the harbor, in which lay a fleet of the Spanish Admiral
Cervera.
To steer directly for Morro Castle would be to keep the _Merrimac_ full
in the moon's path, and to avoid this she stood to the eastward of the
course, and stole along at a slow rate of speed. The small crew on
board, a commander and seven men, were stripped to their underclothes
and wore life-preservers and revolver-belts. Each man had taken his
life in his hand when he volunteered for this night's work. They wanted
to sink the _Merrimac_ at a narrow point in the harbor, and bottle up
the Spanish fleet beyond it.
As they neared the great looming fortress of the Morro it was impossible
to keep the ship hidden; the sentries on the castle must see the dark
object now, and wonder what she intended. The _Merrimac_ gave up its
oblique course, and steered straight ahead. The order "Full speed!" went
from Lieutenant Hobson, a naval constructor in command, to the engineer.
Foam dashed over the bows, and the long shape shot for the harbor
entrance, regardless of what the enemy might think or do. Soon the Morro
stood up high above them, the moon clearly revealing the great central
battery that crowned the fortress top.
The Spanish guns were only five hundred yards away, and yet the enemy
had given no sign of having seen the _Merrimac_. Then suddenly a light
flashed from near the water's edge on the left side of the entrance,
and a roar followed. The _Merrimac_ did not quiver. The shot must have
fallen astern. Again there was a flash, and this time the crew could
hear the splash of water as the projectile struck back of them. Through
their night-glasses they saw a picket boat with rapid-fire guns lying
close in the shadows of the shore. Her guns had probably been aimed at
the _Merrimac's_ rudder; but so far they had missed their aim. With a
rapid-fire gun to reply the _Merrimac_ might have demolished the other
boat in half a minute, but she had no such equipment. She would have
to pass within a ship's length of this picket. There was nothing to do
but pay no heed to her aim at the _Merrimac's_ rudder, and steer for
the high wall off Morro Castle, where the deep-water channel ran close
inshore. "A touch of port helm!" was the order. "A touch of port helm,
sir," came the answer; and the vessel stood toward the wall.
There came a crash from the port side. "The western battery has opened
on us, sir!" reported the man on the bridge to Hobson. "Very well; pay
no attention to it," was the answer. The commander knew he must take the
_Merrimac_ at least another ship's length forward, and wondered if the
enemy would give him that much grace. A shot crossed the bridge, and
struck. No one was hurt. They had almost reached the point where they
were to stop. Another moment or two, and over the engine telegraph went
the order, "Stop!" The engineer obeyed. The _Merrimac_ slowed off Morro
rock.
A high rocket shot across the channel entrance. From each side came the
firing of batteries. Hobson and his men were too busy to heed them. The
_Merrimac_, still swinging under her own headway, brought her bow within
thirty feet of the rock before she righted. Another ship's length, and
she would be at the point where her commander had planned to take her;
then the stearing-gear stopped working, and she was left at the mercy of
the current.
The ship must be sunk before the current could carry her out of the
course. This was done by exploding torpedoes on the outside of the
vessel. Hobson gave the order, and the first torpedo went off, blowing
out the collision bulkhead. There was no reply from the second or third
torpedoes. Hobson crossed the bridge, and shouted, "Fire all torpedoes!"
In the roar of the Spanish batteries his voice could hardly be heard.
Meantime the guns on the shores back of the harbor were pouring their
shot at the black target in the moonlight, and the din was terrific.
Word came to Hobson that some of the torpedoes could not be fired, as
their cells had been broken. The order was given to fire the others, and
the fifth exploded promptly, but the remaining ones had been shattered
by Spanish fire and were useless. The commander knew that under these
circumstances it would take some time for the _Merrimac_ to sink.
The important point was to keep the ship in the center of the harbor;
but the stern-anchor had already been cut away. Hobson watched the bow
move against the shore-line. There was nothing to do but wait and see
where the tide would swing them.
The crew now gathered on deck. One of them, Kelly, had been dazed by
an exploding shell. When he had picked himself up he started down
the engine-room hatch, but found the water rising. Then he remembered
the _Merrimac's_ purpose, and tried to reach the torpedo of which he
had charge. The torpedo was useless, and he headed back to the deck,
climbing up on all fours. It was a strange sight to see him stealing up,
and Hobson and some of the others drew their revolvers, thinking for the
moment that he must be an enemy who had boarded the ship. Fortunately
they recognized him almost immediately.
The tide was bearing them to the center of the channel when there came
a blasting noise and shock. A mine had exploded beneath them. "Lads,
they're helping us!" cried the commander. But the mine did not break the
deck, and the ship only settled a little lower. For a moment it seemed
as if the coal might have closed the breach made by the explosion, but
just as the crew feared that they were to be carried past the point
chosen for sinking the current from the opposite shore caught them,
and the _Merrimac_ settled crosswise. It was now only a matter of time
before she would sink in the harbor.
The crew could now turn their attention to themselves. Hobson said to
them, "We will remain here, lads, till the moon sets. When it is dark
we will go down the after-hatch, to the coal, where her stern will
be left out of water. We will remain inside all day, and to-night at
ebb-tide try to make our way to the squadron. If the enemy comes on
board, we will remain quiet until he finds us, and will repel him. If
he then turns artillery on the place where we are, we will swim out
to points farther forward." He started toward the bow to reconnoiter,
but was persuaded not to expose himself to the enemy's fire. One of
the men discovered a break in the bulwarks that gave a good view, and
Hobson stood there. The moon was bright, though now low, and the muzzles
of the Spanish guns were very near them. The crew, however, remained
safely hidden behind the rail. From all sides came the firing, and
the Americans, lying full length on the _Merrimac's_ deck, felt the
continual shock of projectiles striking around them. Some of the crew
suggested that they should take to the small boat, but the commander
knew that this would be certain destruction, and ordered them to remain.
Presently a shot struck the boiler, and a rush of steam came up the deck
near where they lay. A canteen was passed from hand to hand. Hobson,
having no pockets, carried some tourniquets around his left arm, and a
roll of antiseptic lint in his left hand, ready in case any of his crew
were wounded.
Looking through the hole in the bulwarks the commander saw that the
_Merrimac_ was again moving. Sunk deep though she was, the tide was
carrying her on, and might bear her some distance. There seemed to be
no way in which they could make her sink where she was. Two more mines
exploded, but missed the ship, and as she floated on it became evident
that they could not block the channel completely. But shortly the
_Merrimac_ gave a lurch forward and settled to the port side. Now the
Spanish _Reina Mercedes_ was near at hand, and the _Pluton_ was coming
close inboard, but their guns and torpedoes did not hasten the sinking
of the collier. She plunged again and settled in the channel.
A rush of water came up the gangway, and the crew were thrown against
the bulwarks, and then into the sea. The life-preservers helped to
keep them afloat, but when they looked for the life-boat they found
that it had been carried away. A catamaran was the largest piece of
floating wreckage, and they swam to this. The firing had now stopped.
The wreckage began to drift away, and the crew were left swimming about
the catamaran, apparently unseen by the enemy. The men were ordered to
cling to this rude craft, their bodies in the water, their heads hidden
by the boards, and to keep quiet, as Spanish boats were passing close
to them. All the crew were safe, and Hobson expected that in time some
Spanish officers would come out to reconnoiter the channel. He knew that
his men could not swim against the tide to the harbor entrance, and even
had they been able to do so it would have been too dangerous a risk, as
the banks were now lined with soldiers, and the water patrolled by small
boats. Their hope lay in surrendering before they were fired upon.
The moon had now nearly set, and the shadow of the high banks fell
across the water. Boats rowed by Spanish sailors pulled close to the
catamaran; but acting under orders from their commander the crew of the
_Merrimac_ kept well out of sight. The sun rose, and a new day came.
Soon the crew could see the line of distant mountains, and the steep
slopes leading to Morro Castle. A Spanish torpedo-destroyer was heading
up the harbor, and a bugle at one of the batteries could be heard across
the waters. Still the Americans clung to the catamaran, although their
teeth were chattering, and they had to work their arms and legs to keep
warm.
[Illustration: SPANISH BOATS PULLED CLOSE TO THEM]
Presently one of the men said, "A steam-launch is heading for us, sir!"
The commander looked about, and saw a large launch, the curtains aft
drawn down, coming from around a point of land straight toward the
catamaran. As it drew near the launch swerved to the left. When it was
about thirty yards away Hobson hailed it. The boat instantly stopped
and began to back, while some riflemen appeared on the deck and took
position for firing. No shot followed, however. Hobson called out
again, asking whether there were any officers on the boat, and adding
that if there were he was ready to surrender himself and his American
sailors as prisoners of war. The curtain at the stern was lowered, a
Spanish officer gave an order, and the rifles dropped. The American
commander swam to the launch, and climbed on board, being helped up by
the Spanish officer, who turned out later to be no other than Admiral
Cervera himself. Hobson surrendered for himself and his crew. The launch
then drew close to the catamaran, and the sailors clinging to it
were pulled on board. Although the Spaniards knew that the _Merrimac's_
men had bottled up their war-ships in the harbor, they could not help
praising their bravery.
The Spanish launch took them to the _Reina Mercedes_. There the men were
given dry clothes and food. Although all were scratched and bruised only
one was wounded, and his wound, though painful, was not serious. The
American officer was invited to join the Spaniards at breakfast, and
was treated with as much courtesy as if he had been an honored guest.
Afterward Hobson wrote a note to Admiral Sampson, who was in command
of the American fleet. The note read: "Sir: I have the honor to report
that the _Merrimac_ is sunk in the channel. No loss, only bruises. We
are prisoners of war, being well cared for." He asked that this should
be sent under a flag of truce. Later in the day the Americans were
taken from the war-ship in a launch, and carried across the harbor to
Morro Castle. This course brought them within a short distance of where
the _Merrimac_ had sunk, and as Hobson noted the position he concluded
that the plan had only partly succeeded, and that the channel was not
completely blocked.
Landing at a small wharf the Americans were marched up a steep hill that
led to the Morro from the rear. The fortress stood out like one of the
mediæval castles of Europe, commanding a wide view of sea and shore.
The road brought them to the bridge that crossed the moat. They marched
under the portcullis, and entered a vaulted passage. The American
officer was shown into the guard-room, while the crew were led on. A
few minutes later Admiral Cervera came into the guard-room, and held
out his hand to Hobson. The admiral said that he would have liked to
send the American's note under a flag of truce to his fleet, but that
this had been refused by the general in command. He added, however, that
some word should be sent to inform their friends of the safe escape of
the _Merrimac's_ men. Hobson was then led to a cell in the tower of
the castle. As the jailer stopped to unlock the door Hobson had a view
of the sea, and made out the line of the American battle-ships moving
in two columns. He was told to enter the cell, which was a bare and
ill-looking place, but a few minutes later a Spanish captain arrived
with apologies, saying that he hoped soon to provide the Americans with
better quarters.
A little later furniture was brought to the cell, and food, cigars,
cigarettes, and a bottle of brandy provided for the American officer. In
fact he and his men fared as well as the Spanish officers and soldiers
themselves. The governor of the fortress sent a note to ask what he
could do to improve Hobson's comfort. Officers of all ranks called to
shake hands with him, and express their admiration for his courage.
That first night in the castle, after the sentries had made their
rounds, Hobson climbed up on his cot-bed and looked through a small
window at the top of the cell. The full moon showed a steep slope from
the fortress to the water, then the wide sweep of the harbor, with a
picket-boat on duty as it had been the night before, and beyond the
boat the great Spanish war-ships, and still farther off the batteries
of Socapa. It was hard to believe that only twenty-four hours before
the center of that quiet moonlit water had been ablaze with fire aimed
at the small collier Hobson had commanded. As he studied the situation
he decided that the _Merrimac_ probably blocked the channel. The enemy
would hesitate a long time before they would try to take their fleet
past the sunken vessel, and that delay would give Admiral Sampson time
to gather his ships. Even if the channel were not entirely blocked
the Spanish ships could only leave the harbor in single line and with
the most skilful steering. Therefore he concluded that his perilous
expedition had been successful.
Next morning a Spanish officer brought him news that a flag of truce had
been carried to Admiral Sampson with word of the crew's escape, and that
the messengers had been given a box for Hobson, and bags of clothes,
some money, and other articles for him and his crew. The men now dressed
again in the uniform of American marines, were treated as prisoners of
war, and lived almost as comfortably as their captors.