WAITING
The days following my arrival at St. Michael’s were busy ones for me.
My immediate problem was to see what ships were available to make the
voyage to Wrangell Island when navigation opened. Not until midsummer
would conditions be right, and even then, as we had found in the
_Karluk_, the time of open water was likely to be brief and might be
cut short at any moment. I received many messages—from my family in
Newfoundland, from my friends in Boston and elsewhere, from the press
and from the authorities in Ottawa. I even had a telegram from the
advertising department of an enterprising American periodical: “Please
wire our expense permission to use your picture smoking pipe for
tobacco advertisement. What brand do you smoke?”
From Ottawa I received a message expressing the relief of the
authorities at news of the _Karluk_—which, I found, had been generally
given up for lost, with all on board—and asking for advice and details
regarding arrangements for the rescue of the men and the time when
ice conditions would allow their being taken off the island. To this
inquiry I replied:
ST. MICHAEL’S, ALASKA,
May 30, 1914.
_Hon. G. J. Desbarats,
Naval Service, Ottawa, Canada._
Russian ice-breakers _Taimir_ and _Vaigatch_ soon make annual
exploring trip north coast Siberia. Strongly advise you try arrange
Russian Government these vessels relieve men. Vessels wintered
Vladivostock but may have already left for north. Failing this
arrangement another Russian ice-breaker _Nadjeshny_ lying idle
Vladivostock might be obtained. Another chance United States revenue
cutter _Bear_ now in Bering Sea. Possible arrangements United States
Government. If _Bear_ goes should seek convoy Russian ice-breakers. No
other available vessels these waters. My opinion July or early August
before ice breaks up around Wrangell though seasons differ. Plenty
bird other animal life island good Eskimo hunter should not suffer
food. I want go relief ships. Russian ships have wireless can get in
touch with them if already at sea.
BARTLETT, CAPTAIN.
The _Bear_, as I have mentioned before, had been one of the ships to
rescue the survivors of the Greely expedition thirty years before. I
had never made a trip in her but I knew what kind of ship she was.
Built in Scotland in the seventies for the Newfoundland seal-fisheries,
she was considered a crack sealer for that period and made many
successful voyages. In 1883 the United States Government was fitting
out an expedition under Commander Schley to go to the Arctic to relieve
Greely and his men. The _Bear_ and the _Thetis_ were all ready to leave
St. John’s for their sealing trips, with their crews and outfits all
arranged for. They were just the ships for the purpose and the United
States Government bought them, paying, besides a liberal price for the
vessels themselves, the amount of money that would have been shared
by their officers and men if they had made good sealing trips. Many
people, I have discovered, have supposed that the ships were given by
England; what led to this supposition was the fact that Queen Victoria
gave the United States the _Alert_, which, with the Nares Expedition,
had spent the winter of 1875-6 at Floe-Berg Beach, Grant Land, somewhat
south of our winter quarters at Cape Sheridan in the _Roosevelt_ in the
winters of 1905-6 and 1908-9. Will Norman, a relative of mine, from my
own town of Brigus, Newfoundland, went as ice-pilot of the _Thetis_,
on her voyage for the Greely survivors, and Captain Ash, from Trinity
Bay, Newfoundland, who afterwards for many years was master of the Red
Cross boats, plying between St. John’s and New York, was ice-pilot of
the _Bear_. With the quality of the ship in mind, and her past record,
to say nothing of her present work in Alaskan waters, I felt no doubt
that the _Bear_ would get through to Wrangell Island if any ship could
do so. I had been told, too, that her master, Captain Cochran, was not
afraid to put her in the ice, for he had served under that fearless
and true-hearted man, the late Captain Jarvis. On the whole, it seemed
to me that it would be a matter of singular interest for the _Bear_
to rescue the _Karluk_ survivors as she had rescued the Greely party
thirty years before, on the other side of the continent.
The Russian ships, _Taimir_ and _Vaigatch_, also, had fine records. I
have already mentioned the success of Captain Vilkitski in the _Taimir_
in discovering Nicholas II Land in 1913. I knew that both vessels were
similar to the steel ships used in the Newfoundland seal-fisheries and
that they were able craft, equipped with powerful engines.
During my stay in St. Michael’s I was fortunate in having the skilful
treatment of Doctor Fernbaugh, the government surgeon, so that I soon
got around again. He was very good to me, making me feel at home and
treating me like a brother. The boys at the wireless station were kind
enough to give me the back files to read, so that I could get an idea
of what had been happening in the world. The agents of the Northern
Commercial Company, too, were most hospitable and treated me as one of
their own.
When I first reached St. Michael’s, the _Bear_, coming up from San
Francisco, was about due in Nome, to bring the mail and take up her
regular summer work, the first ship from the “outside” to reach
Nome that year. On account of the ice around Nome and the delay
of the mail-boat _Victoria_ from Seattle, which ordinarily would
have brought the mail from Nome to St. Michael’s, the _Bear_ came
in to St. Michael’s and landed the mail there. I went on board and
Captain Cochran and his officers talked over the plight of the men on
Wrangell Island with me and expressed a desire to go to the island and
rescue the men. At this time they had not received instructions from
Washington regarding the trip, but not long afterwards, while they
were on their way over to the Siberian coast, their orders came by
wireless to go to the island and to take me with them. It was while the
_Bear_ was at St. Michael’s that I first made the acquaintance of Lord
William Percy, the son of the Duke of Northumberland. He was making
a summer cruise in the _Bear_ to study the ducks of Alaskan waters.
He was a master of his subject. My first meeting with him was down in
the ’tween-decks of the _Bear_, in a corner among boxes and barrels,
surrounded by various kinds of knives, scissors and the other gear
necessary to mount birds. He gave me welcome messages from friends
of mine whom he had met in Boston and New York. Later on I was with
him on many of his ornithological expeditions and learned a good deal
about ducks from him. He could tell at a glance the sex and species of
a bird; to the average man, even to many a fairly experienced hunter,
a duck is a duck. On the _Bear_ I found another ornithologist, an
enthusiast named Hershey, who left us later on and went over to the
mouth of the Yukon.
The latter part of June I went over to Nome to wait for the _Bear_. I
was feeling better all the time, and looked forward to being on my way
to Wrangell Island before many weeks.
At Nome I was the guest of Mr. Japhet Linderberg, mine-owner and
operator, who in many ways might be called the Cecil Rhodes of Alaska.
There was no limit to his kindness and generosity to me. Though he has
made a fortune in gold-mining he works as hard as ever and attends
personally to a vast number of details. The forty-two-mile ditch-line
that conveys water to his sluices is the result of an idea of his own
and he still gives it his personal attention, going over it frequently
to see that everything is all right. The season is short in Nome and
the expense of mining is great; whatever is to be done must be done
between the middle of June and the middle of September, and without
water very little could be done at all.
On several of his inspection-trips over the line I had the pleasure of
accompanying him. On one occasion we were joined by Major MacManus,
with whom I had come over by motor-boat from St. Michael’s; the major
was on an inspection tour among the army posts, a typical soldier of
the very best type, alert, vigorous and a great companion. I believe
he could ride a horse forever without getting tired. On this occasion
he rode a horse belonging to Mr. Linderberg, who rode his own favorite
mount, while I rode a horse from the army post. It was a typical
northern summer day, with bright sunshine and not a breath of air
stirring. The slopes of the distant mountains were green, and their
jagged peaks, with crowns of perpetual snow, stood out brilliantly
against the clear, blue sky, while in the distance was the blue haze
that I have seen so many times in the mountains of New England in the
early fall before the leaves begin to turn. As we were riding along we
came to a bend and Mr. Linderberg got off his horse to see how deep the
water was at this particular place. My saddle-girths were slack, so,
while we were waiting for Mr. Linderberg to complete his calculations,
I dismounted and began to tighten them. I had my pipe with me, so I
filled it and lighted up. While I was doing this the others started on
their way; I finished lighting my pipe, mounted my horse and started
after them.
There were many turns in the path and as they were trotting along I
soon lost sight of them. I was enjoying myself, however, and let my
horse walk along at his leisure, while I let my eyes wander gratefully
over the scene before me; no sound was to be heard but the singing of
the birds. I just gave the horse his head and sat or lolled in the
saddle, smoking and day-dreaming.
I was rudely recalled from dreamland by something altogether realistic,
a wheelbarrow which was turned bottom-up on the path. The horse saw
it before I did, evidently, and was so violently prejudiced against
it that he tried at once to avoid it, without considering whether I
disliked wheelbarrows or not, for the first thing I knew I was in the
icy waters of the ditch, which at that point was six or eight feet
deep. My cap floated away at once, but I kept my pipe in my mouth and
when I came to the surface still had it.
I was soon out of the water, of course, and then was seized with an
uncontrollable fit of laughter. I just stood and laughed and laughed
and laughed again. The horse ran only a short distance and then stopped
and waited for me. I took off my clothes and wrung them out; when I
put them on again, remounted and started along the path, I felt quite
warm and dry before long, at least on the left side where the sunshine
pelted down. I did not hurry the horse but let him walk along slowly
until, by the time I came up with the others, I looked dry enough on my
port side.
The major heard me laughing as I came near them and wondered quite
naturally what was the matter with me to be so uncontrollably mirthful,
but I kept my right side carefully turned away from them and they were
none the wiser. Again and again, as we rode along, I would go off into
a fit of laughter until finally, when we dismounted at the house of
one of the men who looked after the ditch-line, I took pity on their
curiosity and told them what had happened to me.
It was now about midnight and the sun had just set behind the mountain
peaks so Mr. Linderberg said that we would do a little trout-fishing.
We started out and I was eager to see what luck we should have but in a
very short time I completely lost interest in the sport, the mosquitoes
were swarming about us in such clouds. They were large, well-built and
utterly unterrified by any word or act on my part, though I am not
conscious of omitting any, and the Recording Angel was busy for a short
time. It was only for a short time, however, for, though my companions
were apparently untroubled and even took a curious kind of pleasure in
my struggles, I was glad to acknowledge myself beaten by the far-famed
Alaska mosquito. I was literally a sight, my face, neck and hands red
and swollen the next morning, whereas the major and my host showed no
evidences that there had been any mosquitoes in their neighborhood.
In the mountainous country near Nome there are often sudden showers,
accompanied by very high winds, so whenever we were out riding we
always carried our oilskins strapped behind our saddles. On one of our
rides we saw a storm coming up but hoped that it would pass us by; the
tail-end of it struck us, however, with a deluge of rain and a high
wind. I had not bothered to get off my horse to put on my coat and when
the storm was upon us I unloosed the coat from behind my saddle and
started to put it on. Just as I got my arms in the sleeves the wind
took it and whirled it out into a kind of balloon. This frightened the
horse and he turned suddenly around and started for the water. Then
he as suddenly changed his mind and tore madly down over the outside
edge of the embankment while my arms were seesawing back and forth as
I tried to get them through the coatsleeves. After a while I managed
to get one arm out, holding on by gripping my knees to the horse’s
body, and as the horse started for some low trees I slid off without
a scratch, though I did not deserve any such luck. The others came up
very much disturbed, for they were sure that I would fall off among the
boulders and be killed.
The time that I spent at Nome, though I was naturally very anxious for
the moment to come when we should be on our way to get the men on the
island, was made to pass pleasantly by the many good friends whom I
made there. I lived at the Golden Gate Hotel but took my meals at the
Log Cabin Club. The club had a Japanese chef named Charlie, who was
really a wonder; one dined as well there as at any good hotel in San
Francisco. The club is the great meeting-place in Nome and many were
the lively political discussions we had there.
I could fill a book with descriptions of the interesting people I
met in Nome. There was Doctor Neuman, a great student of the Alaskan
Eskimo, and the author of important books about them, and more than
that a man who has done them a great deal of good and is greatly
beloved by them. There was Jim Swartzwell, the proprietor of the Golden
Gate Hotel, a typical, open-hearted, Alaskan sour-dough; no man or
woman ever came to him for assistance and went away empty-handed.
I saw the house where Rex Beach lived in Nome and met the originals
of many of the characters in his stories, who were some of them
story-books in themselves.