A TEN-THOUSAND-MILE RACE
Persistent rumors of gold in the Tchuktche peninsula--Count
Unarliarsky--I am called to Vladivostok to fit out an
expedition--Our vessel arrives off Indian Point--Charging
through the ice-floes--A meeting with Eskimos--Our
prospecting proves fruitless--We meet the rival expedition
in Plover Bay--Their chagrin--The end.
The winter following my explorations in Northeast Siberia I spent in
the United States, during which time the papers contained frequent
reports of rich finds on the Siberian coast, opposite Cape Nome. The
company that had employed me still believed that there was gold to be
found in this region, and were determined to test the matter
thoroughly. The papers stated that the Russian Government had granted
to Count Unarliarsky the mining rights to the whole Tchuktche
peninsula, which is the extreme northeastern portion of Siberia,
between the Anadyr River and the Arctic Ocean. From St. Petersburg we
learned that the Count must present the papers of his franchise to the
Governor at Anadyr before he could legitimately take possession.
Any claims staked out before that time would be valid, according to
Russian law. In order to present his papers before the Governor, the
Count would have to wait till navigation opened up late in May, for
the town of Anadyr lies far up the river of that name, and is
ice-locked till well into the summer.
[Illustration: Russian Miners.]
I received a cablegram to hurry out to Vladivostok, and make ready to
start at an hour's notice. It was the intention of our company to
charter a steamer for four months, and, with thirty Russian miners,
steam with all speed toward the north, make a hasty examination of the
beaches in question, and even though there might be American miners
there (who would be without Government permission), we were to stake
out claims and then hurry to Anadyr and file our papers before the
Governor should have so much as heard of the existence of the Count.
In all this we were well within the law, and, as our company had
already spent a large sum of money in the work, it was but right to
use every legal means to establish a claim to at least a portion of
the field.
Through our agent at St. Petersburg we were kept informed of the
movements of our rivals. Our agent in San Francisco was instructed to
inform me, by cable, as to what steamer the Count chartered, her speed
and equipment. Meanwhile I was busy looking up a vessel, and after
great difficulty, secured the Russian steamer _Progress_, Captain
Gunderson. I provisioned her for six months, filled her up with coal
enough for five months' steaming, and by June 3 everything was ready.
The previous day I had received a cablegram from San Francisco,
stating that the rival expedition, under the management of Count
Bogdanovitch and George D. Roberts, an American mining engineer, would
sail from that port on June 6. Their speed was ten knots, and they
would stop at Nome and one or two other United States ports. They were
in no hurry, and were entirely in ignorance of our existence. Their
boat was the _Samoa_, a Puget Sound lumber vessel. We could make
eleven knots an hour, and had a slightly shorter route to follow than
they. Furthermore, _we knew_, and they did not. We learned that at
Plover Bay, on the Russian side, they were to meet a Russian gun-boat
named the _Yakut_, which would help to drive away any American miners
who might surreptitiously have opened up claims on the Siberian side.
Of these rumor said that there were some three thousand.
At five o'clock in the afternoon of June 3 we turned our prow seaward,
but, after going a hundred yards, a bolt gave way in the engine, and
we had to lay up for repairs. I chafed at the enforced delay, but the
next morning we were off. Before we had cleared the entrance of the
long, winding bay, we ran into a heavy fog-bank, and, after feeling
our way along for a while, we were obliged to drop anchor again. When
the fog lifted we found that we had passed within a hundred yards of a
rocky promontory, and had escaped only by good luck. It was not till
the next day that we reached the open sea, and six days later we were
riding at anchor in the harbor of Petropaulovsk. At that point I put
off four men to open up a copper vein that I had located the first
time I had passed that way. After having filled our water-tanks again,
we pushed toward the north. In Bering Sea we found it still cold and
foggy, but we kept the vessel up to her eleven knots, even at the risk
of suddenly encountering ice. By keeping a sharp lookout and
frequently taking the temperature of the water, we lessened the danger
as much as possible.
Some of the Russian miners on board were set to work making a large
United States flag, with which to decoy natives on board, for they can
scarcely be induced to go on board a Russian ship, because of the
rough treatment they frequently receive. On June 14 the temperature of
the water suddenly dropped from forty to thirty-four degrees, which
showed plainly that we were nearing ice. We slowed down, and half an
hour later sighted an iceberg through the mist. As our vessel was of
steel and without compartments, a very slight blow would put us _hors
de combat_, so we took every precaution. There were but two life-boats
for a crew of seventy men in all, many of whom would be likely to make
trouble in case of accident. The ship's officers and I always had our
revolvers handy for any emergency.
On the 16th we arrived off Cape Chaplain, or Indian Point, as the
Americans usually call it. Between us and the shore there lay a band
of ice at least thirty-five miles broad. We tried to discover an
opening in it, but without success. We therefore headed for St.
Lawrence Island, which lies near Bering Strait and belongs to Uncle
Sam. As soon as we had cast anchor the natives came off to see us. The
men were small but stocky, and looked much like North American
Indians. Their women are rather good-looking, but are accustomed to
tattoo as soon as they reach the age of womanhood. We found that about
two thirds of the tribe were suffering either from the measles or the
grippe. The mountains that loomed up in the background were used as
burial-places. The dead were laid there, exposed, and the dogs and
wild animals soon disposed of them. The higher the rank of the dead
man the higher he was placed on the mountain.
Dr. Lorego of the Presbyterian Mission came off to see us, and
courteously invited us ashore. It was an invitation that I gladly
accepted. Through him I learned from the natives they were unaware
that any American miners had landed on the Siberian side.
[Illustration: Picked up on the Ice off St. Lawrence Island.]
As we were about to weigh anchor and go in search of an opening in the
ice by which we could reach the Asiatic shore, a steamer loomed up
through the fog. She dropped anchor near us, and I found, to my
delight, that she was the ex-United States cutter Corwin, which, at
that time, belonged to the _Corwin_ Trading Company. On board were
several American miners from Nome, who were bound for Indian Point,
where they firmly believed gold was to be found. The captain of the
_Corwin_ kindly offered to guide us through the ice, and, if
necessary, to lend us an ice pilot. I therefore contracted with him,
for five hundred dollars, to cut a channel through the ice to Indian
Point. We learned that there is always a narrow strip of water between
the ice and the shore up and down the coast at that season. As the
wind was rising I hurried back to my vessel and asked our captain to
make ready to follow the _Corwin_, but within an hour a gale was
raging, and the _Corwin_ signaled us to follow her under the shelter
of the island.
It was a beautiful sight to see Captain West of the _Corwin_ handle
his vessel as easily as though it were a rowboat on a lake. He had
spent twenty years in the Arctic seas, and knew his business
thoroughly. Before our anchor was fairly up he was steaming away
before the gale a mile in advance. We followed him around the point of
the island to a sheltered nook, and there dropped anchor to await the
cessation of the storm.
The next morning the day broke fine and clear. Captain West affirmed
that to see a perfect summer day one must go to the far north. The
_Corwin_ took the lead, and a five-mile run brought us to the edge of
the ice-pack. There the _Corwin_ slowed down, and we ran as close
alongside as was safe. Captain West shouted through the megaphone,
"Good-morning. I find the ice pretty heavy, but it is loose, and with
care you will be able to follow us." He then sent to us Captain
Coffin, an old-time whaling captain, whom he happened to have with him
on the _Corwin_, to act as ice pilot for our boat. Captain Coffin has
a record of over forty years in the north seas. As I was anxious to
have the experience of smashing through the ice on an icebreaker, I
went aboard the _Corwin_. The _Progress_ followed about six lengths
behind.
The _Corwin_ has twelve feet of solid green-heart timber in her bows,
four feet of the same on the sides, and two feet aft. She is
barkentine rigged, a hundred and twenty feet long, with a speed of
nine knots. She is twenty-four years old, all but one of which have
been spent in Arctic waters.
[Illustration: Natives at Indian Point, Siberia.]
When all is ready Captain West mounts to the crow's-nest to con the
ship, and Captain Forrest, another old whaler, is on the bridge. The
wheel is in the hands of two intelligent Boston sailors. Captain West
sings out, "One bell--starboard--steady!" and we are off. It looks as
if it were going to be a ticklish business for the _Progress_, with
only half an inch of steel to withstand the pressure of the loose
bergs, but I say to myself that with Captain Coffin in the
crow's-nest, and the _Corwin_ in the lead, it is ten to one that she
comes through without even knocking the paint off.
As we gather speed I hurry to the stern to see how the _Progress_ is
coming on. She winds her way beautifully between the bergs, in and out
through the passage which we are making.
Some of the ice the _Corwin_ can push to one side or the other, but
when this is not possible she backs up in order to get good headway,
and charges the obstruction, and strikes it fairly between the eyes.
She comes to a dead stop, and quivers from stem to stern with the
tremendous impact. A rending, grinding noise is heard, and the berg
which challenged us is a berg no longer; and its fragments are
brushed aside as we push our way through. Captain West laughingly
calls from above, "Get out of the way, if you don't want to get hit."
So on we go, backing and turning, and plunging and wriggling through
the ice.
As we were thus engaged I espied a seal, about three hundred yards off
our starboard bow, and, seizing a Winchester, I let drive. The captain
called down, "Killed; good shot." I should have done well to rest on
my laurels, for though I had above forty more shots that day I did not
kill anything.
By six o'clock we were through the ice and in open water again, with
Indian Point, or Cape Chaplain, dead ahead. Almost immediately we were
boarded by the natives, who called out:
"Hello, hello, how d'ye do?"
We answered in kind. Then, after a string of lurid oaths in bad
English, they said:
"Plenty man cough--make die--you got medicine?" But to our question as
to how many people there were in their village they replied:
"Don't know."
"Why, can't you count?"
"No; Siberia side all d--n fools." At which we were forced to smile.
"Say, you got chaw tobacco?" I could not remain deaf to this appeal,
so I cut up a cigar and watched it go into their mouths. Then, after
I had taken their photograph in a group, we all went ashore, where
I found a few native skin huts and one or two houses built with timber
which they had obtained in trade from whalers. These were modeled
after the houses that the whalers or missionaries had erected.
[Illustration: Eskimo Village, East Cape--Northeastern Point of Asia.]
Indian Point is a long, low spit of land, and is a freak of nature,
being nothing more nor less than a moraine in the sea. The great
icebergs ground here and melt, dropping the stone and gravel which
they have brought from some distant bay where they were born.
Kovarri, the old chief of the tribe, came aboard, and we interviewed
him. He said there were no American miners on the Siberian side. We
did not believe him implicitly, but found later that he had told the
truth. We succeeded in hiring a noted native pilot to show us along
the coast. He was named "Shoo Fly," and came of very mixed parentage.
These natives were all large, strong, and hearty, and were good
sailors, having had experience on many United States whalers, which
recruit their crews among these men before going up into the Arctic
Sea. These fellows are splendid oarsmen, and as good as Americans at
chasing whales. They speak a little English, especially the bad words,
and chew as much tobacco as they can lay their hands on, while as for
drink, they are crazy for it. The natives just to the south of them
are very different, for they have not come in contact with the whalers
to so great an extent.
I shipped a boat's crew of these men, and steamed north to St.
Lawrence Bay. In the steam-launch we explored every portion of the
shore of this bay, but could find no trace of gold, although this was
the very spot that Count Unarliarsky was depending upon to make the
fortune of his company. Then we steamed north into Bering Strait. Here
lie the two islands, "Big Diomed" and "Little Diomed," one Russian and
the other American. After prospecting in vain we returned to the
mainland, and rounded East Cape, and found ourselves, for the first
time, on the waters of the Arctic Ocean. We landed at a little village
built on the steep slope of a high hill. It had just lost one half its
population through measles and the grippe. Corpses were lying about,
half eaten by the dogs. A little child had a leather thong tied
through the eye-holes of a skull, and was dragging it about for a
cart. The child's father said he did not know whose skull it was.
After the dogs had gotten through with it how was he to tell! These
people live in regular Eskimo huts, built of stone, in the shape of a
half-sphere, and with a long tunnel for an entrance, through which
they crawl on hands and knees.
Nothing could be more desolate than the prospect at this point.
Behind the village was a bleak hill. The beach was only fifty feet
wide, and before it lay the grim Arctic Sea. There was only one thing
of beauty, and that was the skin boats of the natives, which were
drawn up on the beach. They were shaped like an American whale-boat,
and were capable of carrying forty men. In these they follow the
ice-pack, and capture seals and walruses, and occasionally a whale. A
few of the natives have secured bomb-guns from the whalers.
Whenever a whaling-vessel completes its cargo and is ready to turn
toward home, it disposes of all its whale-boats to the natives,
taking, in return, whalebone, ivory, and skins. A good boat will bring
one thousand dollars' worth of such goods. The condition of these
natives is pitiable in the extreme. Disease and filth are doing their
work, and it is a wonder that any of them have survived as long as
they have. The whalers sell them spirits at a small price, and, being
utterly without self-control, they speedily become slaves to drink.
The American Government makes no effort to stop this sort of thing,
and the Russian Government can do but little to stop it with a single
little gunboat.
We went as far north as the Arctic Circle, but, finding no gold in the
beach sands nor in the float-rock in the rivers, we turned south
again, and, after picking up some men whom we had left to finish
prospecting St. Lawrence Bay, we continued south, examining the coast
as we went. We looked into Plover Bay, with the expectation of finding
the _Samoa_ there; and not seeing her we steamed out, and, with the
aid of the launch and the native boat crews, examined the southern
part of the Tchuktche peninsula. There were splendid deposits of
steaming-coal, but the general geologic formation made it plain that
there was no gold to be found.
Once more we steamed into Plover Bay, but the _Samoa_ had not yet
arrived, and we determined to wait for her. Two days were spent in the
pleasant occupation of hunting eider-duck and making a short trip into
the interior. On the third day we heard, through the fog, the sound of
a siren whistle. Of course we answered, and an hour later the _Samoa_
came nosing through the fog and picking her way through the light
drift-ice. As soon as her anchor was down I went aboard. As I went up
the gangway I saw half a dozen Russians and as many Americans standing
in a group on the deck. I walked up to them, but before I had time to
introduce myself Count Bogdanovitch said:
"Captain, I am glad to see you. You Have some coal for us, I believe?"
"No; I have not any for you," I said, smiling.
[Illustration: Plover Bay, Siberia, in July.]
"Oh, you are a steam-whaler," and his face fell.
"No, not a whaler," I said.
"Well, then, what are you here for?" he asked, curiously.
"I am on the same errand as you."
As soon as he comprehended he was terribly angry, and apparently
wished me at the bottom of the sea. He turned on his heel and walked
away, without doing me the courtesy of asking me into the cabin,
although it was raining. But one of the Americans stepped forward, and
I was taken to their quarters, where explanations followed. I told
them the situation, how that we had carefully prospected all along the
coast, but had found no gold. I felt I was doing them a favor to let
them know that there was no use in spending time and money in a search
for gold along the Siberian coast of Bering Sea. Whether or not they
believed me I cannot tell, but the next morning we weighed anchor, and
left them there waiting for the arrival of the _Yakut_.
The search for a Siberian Klondike was over.
* * * * *
Transcriber's note:
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
Small capital text has been replaced with all capitals.
Variations in spelling, punctuation and hyphenation have been retained
except in obvious cases of typographical error.