GREAT NEWS AT WRANGELL
Boat after boat had come up, stopped for a night, and dropped down
the river again, carrying from ten to twenty of the goldseekers who
had determined to quit or to try some other way in; and at last the
time had come for me to say good-by to Burton and all those who had
determined to keep on to Teslin Lake. I had helped them buy and sack
and weigh their supplies, and they were ready to line up once more.
As I led Ladrone down toward the boat, he called again for his
fellows, but only strangers made reply. After stowing him safely away
and giving him feed, I returned to the deck in order to wave my hat
to Burton.
In accordance with his peculiar, undemonstrative temperament, he
stood for a few moments in silence, with his hands folded behind his
back, then, with a final wave of the hand, turned on his heel and
returned to his work.
Farewells and advice more or less jocular rang across the rail of the
boat between some ten or fifteen of us who had hit the new trail and
those on shore.
"Good-by, boys; see you at Dawson."
"We'll beat you in yet," called Bill. "Don't over-work."
"Let us know if you strike it!" shouted Frank.
"All right; you do the same," I replied.
As the boat swung out into the stream, and the little group on the
bank faded swiftly away, I confess to a little dimness of the eyes. I
thought of the hardships toward which my uncomplaining partner was
headed, and it seemed to me Nature was conspiring to crush him.
The trip down the river was exceedingly interesting. The stream grew
narrower as we approached the coast range, and became at last very
dangerous for a heavy boat such as the _Strathcona_ was. We were
forced to lay by at last, some fifty miles down, on account of the
terrific wind which roared in through the gap, making the steering of
the big boat through the canyon very difficult.
At the point where we lay for the night a small creek came in.
Steel-headed salmon were running, and the creek was literally lined
with bear tracks of great size, as far up as we penetrated. These
bears are said to be a sort of brown fishing bear of enormous bulk,
as large as polar bears, and when the salmon are spawning in the
upper waters of the coast rivers, they become so fat they can hardly
move. Certainly I have never been in a country where bear signs were
so plentiful. The wood was an almost impassable tangle of vines and
undergrowth, and the thought of really finding a bear was appalling.
The Stikeen breaks directly through the coast range at right angles,
like a battering-ram. Immense glaciers were on either side. One
tremendous river of ice came down on our right, presenting a face
wall apparently hundreds of feet in height and some miles in width. I
should have enjoyed exploring this glacier, which is said to be one
of the greatest on the coast.
The next day our captain, a bold and reckless man, carried us through
to Wrangell by _walking_ his boat over the sand bars on its
paddle-wheel. I was exceedingly nervous, because if for any reason we
had become stuck in mid river, it would have been impossible to feed
Ladrone or to take him ashore except by means of another steamer.
However, all things worked together to bring us safely through, and
in the afternoon of the second day we entered an utterly different
world--the warm, wet coast country. The air was moist, the grasses
and tall ferns were luxuriant, and the forest trees immense. Out into
a sun-bright bay we swept with a feeling of being in safe waters once
more, and rounded-to about sunset at a point on the island just above
a frowzy little town. This was Wrangell Island and the town was Fort
Wrangell, one of the oldest stations on the coast.
I had placed my horse under bond intending to send him through to
Vancouver to be taken care of by the Hudson Bay Company. He was still
a Canadian horse and so must remain upon the wharf over night. As he
was very restless and uneasy, I camped down beside him on the
planks.
I lay for a long time listening to the waters flowing under me and
looking at the gray-blue sky, across which stars shot like distant
rockets dying out in the deeps of the heavens in silence. An odious
smell rose from the bay as the tide went out, a seal bawled in the
distance, fishes flopped about in the pools beneath me, and a man
playing a violin somewhere in the village added a melancholy note. I
could hear the boys crying, "All about the war," and Ladrone
continued restless and eager. Several times in the night, when he
woke me with his trampling, I called to him, and hearing my voice he
became quiet.
I took breakfast at a twenty-five cent "joint," where I washed out of
a tin basin in an ill-smelling area. After breakfast I grappled with
the customs man and secured the papers which made Ladrone an American
horse, free to eat grass wherever it could be found under the stars
and stripes. I started immediately to lead him to pasture, and this
was an interesting and memorable experience.
There are no streets, that is to say no roads, in Wrangell. There are
no carriages and no horses, not even donkeys. Therefore it was
necessary for Ladrone to walk the perilous wooden sidewalks after me.
This he did with all the dignity of a county judge, and at last we
came upon grass, knee deep, rich and juicy.
Our passage through the street created a great sensation. Little
children ran to the gates to look upon us. "There goes a horsie,"
they shouted. An old man stopped me on the street and asked me where
I was taking "T'old 'orse." I told him I had already ridden him over
a thousand miles and now he was travelling with me back to God's
country. He looked at me in amazement, and walked off tapping his
forehead as a sign that I must certainly "have wheels."
As I watched Ladrone at his feed an old Indian woman came along and
smiled with amiable interest. At last she said, pointing to the other
side of the village, "Over there muck-a-muck, hy-u muck-a-muck." She
wished to see the horse eating the best grass there was to be had on
the island.
A little later three or four native children came down the hill and
were so amazed and so alarmed at the sight of this great beast
feeding beside the walk that they burst into loud outcry and ran
desperately away. They were not accustomed to horses. To them he was
quite as savage in appearance as a polar bear.
In a short time everybody in the town knew of the old gray horse and
his owner. I furnished a splendid topic for humorous conversation
during the dull hours of the day.
Here again I came upon other gaunt and rusty-coated men from the Long
Trail. They could be recognized at a glance by reason of their sombre
faces and their undecided action. They could scarcely bring
themselves to such ignominious return from a fruitless trip on which
they had started with so much elation, and yet they hesitated about
attempting any further adventure to the north, mainly because their
horses had sold for so little and their expenses had been so great.
Many of them were nearly broken. In the days that followed they
discussed the matter in subdued voices, sitting in the sun on the
great wharf, sombrely looking out upon the bay.
On the third day a steamer came in from the north, buzzing with the
news of another great strike not far from Skagway. Juneau, Dyea, as
well as Skagway itself, were said to be almost deserted. Men were
leaving the White Pass Railway in hundreds, and a number of the hands
on the steamer herself had deserted under the excitement. Mingling
with the passengers we eagerly extracted every drop of information
possible. No one knew much about it, but they said all they knew and
a good part of what they had heard, and when the boat swung round and
disappeared in the moonlight, she left the goldseekers exultant and
tremulous on the wharf.
They were now aflame with desire to take part in this new stampede,
which seemed to be within their slender means, and I, being one of
them and eager to see such a "stampede," took a final session with
the customs collector, and prepared to board the next boat.
I arranged with Duncan McKinnon to have my old horse taken care of in
his lot. I dug wells for him so that he should not lack for water,
and treated him to a dish of salt, and just at sunset said good-by to
him with another twinge of sadness and turned toward the wharf. He
looked very lonely and sad standing there with drooping head in the
midst of the stumps of his pasture lot. However, there was plenty of
feed and half a dozen men volunteered to keep an eye on him.
"Don't worry, mon," said Donald McLane. "He'll be gettin' fat and
strong on the juicy grass, whilst you're a-heavin' out the
gold-dust."
There were about ten of us who lined up to the purser's window of the
little steamer which came along that night and purchased second-class
passage. The boat was very properly named the _Utopia_, and was so
crowded with other goldseekers from down the coast, that we of the
Long Trail were forced to put our beds on the floor of the little
saloon in the stern of the boat which was called the "social room."
We were all second-class, and we all lay down in rows on the carpet,
covering every foot of space. Each man rolled up in his own blankets,
and I was the object of considerable remark by reason of my mattress,
which gave me as good a bed as the vessel afforded.
There was a great deal of noise on the boat, and its passengers, both
men and women, were not of the highest type. There were several
stowaways, and some of the women were not very nice as to their
actions, and, rightly or wrongly, were treated with scant respect by
the men, who were loud and vulgar for the most part. Sleep was
difficult in the turmoil.
Though second-class passengers, strange to say, we came first at
table and were very well fed. The boat ran entirely inside a long row
of islands, and the water was smooth as a river. The mountains grew
each moment more splendid as we neared Skagway, and the ride was most
enjoyable. Whales and sharks interested us on the way. The women came
to light next day, and on the whole were much better than I had
inferred from the two or three who were the source of disturbance the
night before. The men were not of much interest; they seemed petty
and without character for the most part.
At Juneau we came into a still more mountainous country, and for the
rest of the way the scenery was magnificent. Vast rivers of ice came
curving down absolutely out of the clouds which hid the summits of
the mountains--came curving in splendid lines down to the very
water's edge. The sea was chill and gray, and as we entered the mouth
of Lynn Canal a raw swift wind swept by, making us shiver with cold.
The grim bronze-green mountains' sides formed a most impressive but
forbidding scene.
It was nine o'clock the next morning as we swung to and unloaded
ourselves upon one of the long wharves which run out from the town of
Skagway toward the deep water. We found the town exceedingly quiet.
Half the men had gone to the new strike. Stores were being tended by
women, some small shops were closed entirely, and nearly every
business firm had sent representatives into the new gold fields,
which we now found to be on Atlin Lake.
It was difficult to believe that this wharf a few months before had
been the scene of a bloody tragedy which involved the shooting of
"Soapy Smith," the renowned robber and desperado. On the contrary, it
seemed quite like any other town of its size in the States. The air
was warm and delightful in midday, but toward night the piercing
wind swept down from the high mountains, making an overcoat
necessary.
A few men had returned from this new district, and were full of
enthusiasm concerning the prospects. Their reports increased the
almost universal desire to have a part in the stampede. The Iowa boys
from the Long Trail wasted no time, but set about their own plans for
getting in. They expected to reach the creek by sheer force and
awkwardness.
They had determined to try the "cut-off," which left the wagon road
and took off up the east fork of the Skagway River. Nearly three
hundred people had already set out on this trail, and the boys felt
sure of "making it all right--all right," though it led over a great
glacier and into an unmapped region of swift streams. "After the
Telegraph Trail," said Doc, "we're not easily scared."
It seemed to me a desperate chance, and I was not ready to enter upon
such a trip with only such grub and clothing as could be carried upon
my back; but it was the last throw of the dice for these young
fellows. They had very little money left, and could not afford to
hire pack trains; but by making a swift dash into the country, each
hoped to get a claim. How they expected to hold it or use it after
they got it, they were unable to say; but as they were out for gold,
and here was a chance (even though it were but the slightest chance
in the world) to secure a location, they accepted it with the sublime
audacity of youth and ignorance. They saddled themselves with their
packs, and with a cheery wave of the hand said "Good-by and good
luck" and marched away in single file.
Just a week later I went round to see if any news of them had
returned to their bunk house. I found their names on the register.
They had failed. One of them set forth their condition of purse and
mind by writing: "Dave Walters, Boone, Iowa. Busted and going home."
THE GOLDSEEKERS
I saw these dreamers of dreams go by,
I trod in their footsteps a space;
Each marched with his eyes on the sky,
Each passed with a light on his face.
They came from the hopeless and sad,
They faced the future and gold;
Some the tooth of want's wolf had made mad,
And some at the forge had grown old.
Behind them these serfs of the tool
The rags of their service had flung;
No longer of fortune the fool,
This word from each bearded lip rung:
"Once more I'm a man, I am free!
No man is my master, I say;
To-morrow I fail, it may be--
No matter, I'm freeman to-day."
They go to a toil that is sure,
To despair and hunger and cold;
Their sickness no warning can cure,
They are mad with a longing for gold.
The light will fade from each eye,
The smile from each face;
They will curse the impassible sky,
And the earth when the snow torrents race.
Some will sink by the way and be laid
In the frost of the desolate earth;
And some will return to a maid,
Empty of hand as at birth.
_But this out of all will remain,_
_They have lived and have tossed;_
_So much in the game will be gain,_
_Though the gold of the dice has been lost._