[Footnote 78: In view of the eventual development of this region it is

interesting to note Mr. Ogilvie's report of his explorations in 1887

which runs thus:

"The Thron-diuck river enters the Yukon from the east, it is a small

stream about forty yards wide at the mouth and shallow; the water is

clear and transparent and of a beautiful blue colour, the Indians catch

great numbers of salmon here. A miner had prospected up this river for

an estimated distance of forty miles in the season of 1887. I did not

see him."]

But the foregoing are only individual cases which have come under my

personal notice. There were, of course, innumerable others, for it was a

common thing in those days for a man to return to California after a

year's absence with from L5000 to L10,000 in his pocket. Take, for

instance, the case of the lucky bar-tender of Forty Mile City who joined

the general exodus from that place which followed Cormack's first

discovery. This man came out of the country with $132,000 in gold dust

which he had taken out of his stake, and after purchasing an adjoining

claim for another $100,000 (all taken from his original claim), it is

said (though I cannot vouch for this statement) that the fortunate

cock-tail mixer eventually sold his property to a New York Syndicate for

L400,000. Of course at this time fairy tales were pretty freely

circulated; how, for instance, one man with very long whiskers had been

working hard in his drift all through the winter and, as was the custom,

neither washed nor shaved. In the spring when the whiskers were shaved

off his partner is said to have secured them, washed them out in a pan,

and collected $27 as the result! This is of course absurd, but facts in

those days concerning discoveries were so marvellous that they were

easily confused with fiction. Thus Mr. Ogilvie, the Dominion Surveyor

and a personal friend of mine, told me that he went into one of the

richest claims one day and asked to be allowed to wash out a panful of

gold. The pay streak was very rich but standing at the bottom of the

shaft, and looking at it by the light of a candle, all that could be

seen was a yellowish looking dirt with here and there the sparkle of a

little gold. Ogilvie took out a big panful and started to wash it out,

while several miners stood around betting as to the result. Five hundred

dollars was the highest estimate, but when the gold was weighed it came

to a little over $590, or nearly L120. This I can vouch for as a fact.

A coach runs daily out from Dawson to the diggings about fifteen miles

away, but although the famous Bonanza and El Dorado Creeks are still

worth a visit,[79] I fancy the good old days are over here when fortunes

were made in a week and saloon keepers reaped a comfortable income by

sweeping up spilt gold dust every morning. Klondike is no longer a

region of giant nuggets and fabulous finds, for every inch of likely

ground has been prospected over and over again. Nevertheless many of the

creeks are doing well, notably that of "Last Chance," which may even

eclipse El Dorado when machinery has been brought to bear. Almost any

claim on "Last Chance" is now a sound investment, but this was about

the only creek which, during our stay, was attracting any serious

attention from outside.

[Footnote 79: Professor Angelo Heilprin has reported that El Dorado and

Bonanza gold generally assays but about $15.50 or $15.80 to the ounce.

Dominion gold shows as high as $17.80, while the gold of Bear Creek, a

minor tributary of the Klondike, is reported to give $19.20 to the

ounce.]

It is probably unnecessary to explain that, with one or two exceptions,

the gold in Alaska is obtained by placer-mining. This consists simply in

making a shaft to bedrock[80] and then tunnelling in various directions.

The pay dirt is hauled out by a small hand-windlass and piled up until

it is washed out. I am indebted to my friend Mr. Joseph Ladue, for the

following description of the various processes which follow excavation.

[Footnote 80: The depth to bedrock varies from fourteen to twenty feet.]

"The miner lifts a little of the finer gravel or sand in his pan. He

then fills the latter with water and gives it a few rapid whirls and

shakes. This tends to bring the gold to the bottom on account of its

greater specific gravity. The pan is then held and shaken in such a way

that the sand and gravel are gradually washed out, care being taken as

the process nears completion, to avoid letting out the finer and heavier

parts that have settled to the bottom. Finally all that is left in the

pan is gold and some black sand, which is generally pulverised magnetic

iron-ore. Should the gold thus found be fine, the contents of the pan

are thrown into a barrel containing water and a pound or two of mercury.

As soon as the gold comes in contact with the mercury it combines with

it and forms an amalgam. The process is continued until enough amalgam

has been formed to pay for roasting or firing.

"It is then squeezed through a buckskin bag, all the mercury that comes

through the bag being put into the barrel to serve again, and what

remains in the bag is placed in a retort, if the miner has one, or if

not, on a shovel, and heated until nearly all the mercury is vaporised.

The gold then remains in a lump with some mercury still held in

combination with it.

"This is called the 'pan,' or 'hand-method,' which is only employed when

it is impossible to procure a rocker or to make and work sluices.

"The latter is the best method of placer-mining, but it requires a good

supply of water with sufficient head or falls. The process is as

follows: Planks are secured and made into a box of suitable depth and

width. Slats are fixed across the bottom of the box at intervals, or

holes bored in the bottom in such a way as to preclude the escape of any

particle of gold. Several of these boxes are then set up with a

considerable slope, and are fitted into one another at the ends like a

stove pipe. A stream of water is then thrown into the upper end of the

highest box, the dirt being shovelled in and washed downwards, at the

same time. The gold is detained by its weight, and is held by the slats

or in the holes aforementioned. If it be fine, mercury is placed behind

the slats or in these holes to catch it. After the boxes are done with

they are burnt and the ashes washed for the gold held in the wood."

These methods seem simple enough and, no doubt, would be in more

temperate regions, but the mines of the Yukon are of a class by

themselves, and the rigorous climate here necessitates entirely new

methods for getting the gold. It was formerly considered impossible to

work after the month of September, but experience has now conclusively

proved that much may be accomplished during the winter months. The

working year is therefore three times as long as it used to be, and the

time formerly wasted in idleness is now profitably employed. The

difficulty of winter mining is, of course, enormously increased by the

fact that the ground is frozen. Every foot of it must be thawed, either

in sinking or drifting, by small fires. The shallower mines are worked

during the summer in the open air, but when the gravel is more than six

feet deep a shaft is sunk, and dirt enough removed to allow space to

work in. Thus the gold seeker with a log hut close to the mouth of his

shaft and provided with plenty of food and fuel may pass a whole winter

in comparative comfort. About a ton of dead ground can be dumped daily,

and a few hundred pounds of pay gravel. The latter is piled up until the

spring when the thaw comes. It is then "panned" or "rocked" without

difficulty, for here, unlike Western Australia, there is no lack of

water.[81]

[Footnote 81: For further particulars anent gold-mining in the Klondike,

see "Through the Gold Fields of Alaska," by Harry de Windt.]

Steam power has now supplanted these more or less primitive methods on

the most important claims, but here again the enormous duty levied by

the Canadian Government on machinery of all kinds, was, while we were at

Dawson, causing universal indignation. A single visit to the creeks

sufficed for me, for although Dawson was free from mosquitoes, the

diggings swarmed with them. And, talking of mosquitoes, no one

unacquainted with Alaska can be aware of the almost unbearable suffering

which they are capable of inflicting upon mankind. Brehm, the famous

naturalist, has furnished about the best description of a luckless

prospector caught in the toils. "Before a man knows," says the

professor, "he is covered from head to foot with a dense swarm,

blackening grey cloths and giving dark ones a strange spotted

appearance. They creep to the unprotected face and neck, the bare hands,

and stockinged feet, slowly sink their sting into the skin, and pour the

irritant poison into the wound. Furiously the victim beats the

blood-sucker to a pulp, but while he does so, five, ten, twenty other

gnats fasten on his face and hands. The favourite points of attack are

the temples, the neck, and the wrist, also the back of the head, for the

thickest hair is of no protection. Although the naturalist knows that it

is only the female mosquitoes which suck blood, and that their activity

in this respect is connected with reproduction and is probably necessary

to the ripening of the fertilised eggs, yet even he is finally overcome

by the torture caused by these demons, though he be the most equable

philosopher under the sun. It is not the pain caused by the sting, or

still more by the resulting swelling; it is the continual annoyance, the

everlastingly recurring discomfort under which one suffers. One can

endure the pain of the sting without complaint at first, but sooner or

later every man is bound to confess himself conquered, and all

resistance is gradually paralysed by the innumerable omnipresent armies

always ready for combat."

Although the climate of Dawson is naturally severe a man may live with

proper precautions through a dozen winters comfortably enough in

Alaska. Many people are under the impression that the winters here are

of Cimmerian darkness, with no daylight for weeks at a time, whereas,

even on the shortest day of December, there are still two hours of

sunlight. 75 deg. F. below zero is about the coldest yet experienced,

but this is very rare, and here, unlike Canada, there is seldom the wind

which makes even 20 deg. below almost unbearable. Winter generally

commences in October, but often much earlier, and the Yukon is generally

clear of ice by the beginning of June. The snowfall is not excessive,

three feet being considered deep. In summer the temperature often

exceeds 90 deg. F. but the nights are always cool and pleasant.

The Klondike district had, up to the time of the great gold strike,

borne the reputation of being an arid ice-bound waste, incapable of

producing anything more nutritious than trees, coarse grass, and the

berries peculiar to sub-Arctic regions. On the occasion of my first

stroll down First Avenue I was scarcely surprised to find all kinds of

fruit and vegetables exposed for sale, the transit now being so rapidly

accomplished (in summer) from California. But ocular proof was needed to

convince me that potatoes, radishes, lettuce, cucumbers, indeed almost

every known vegetable, is now grown around Dawson and on the opposite

side of the river. Strawberries and nectarines (Klondike-grown) were

served at the restaurants, of course at stupendous prices, as hundreds

of acres of glass and costly artificial heat had been needed for their

production. Hot-house flowers are now grown here and also sold at a

ruinous cost, but the lucky prospector will cheerfully part with $5 for

a rose, or five times the amount for a puny gardenia, and some of the

market gardens around Dawson are almost as profitable as a fairly rich

claim. High prices here even extended to the commonest furs judging from

the price I obtained for a tattered deerskin coat which had cost me only

eighty roubles at Moscow. But although the garment was now almost

unpresentable I sold it to a bar-tender for its original price, and

heard, on the same evening, that it had again been disposed of to a

"Chechako" from up country for over $200!

Klondike is generally associated in the public mind with intense cold.

We suffered from a perpetual and stifling heat which necessitated the

wearing of tropical tweeds, a sartorial luxury here where a summer

suiting costs about six times as much as in Savile Row. Once there was a

sharp thunderstorm and the rain came down in sheets, somewhat cooling

the atmosphere, but only for a short time, for when the sky cleared a

dense mist arose from the swampy ground, and the air became as heavy and

oppressive as I have known it during the hottest season of the year in

Central Borneo. But the nights were always cool and delicious, and these

moreover were now gradually darkening, an ineffable blessing which can

only be duly appreciated by those who have experienced the miseries of

eternal day. The English tourist who in July races northwards in the

"Argonaut" to behold the midnight sun should pass a summer or two in

Northern Alaska. He would never wish to see it again!

CHAPTER XVIII

THE UPPER YUKON AND LEWES RIVERS.

THE WHITE PASS RAILWAY.

The steamer _White Horse_, in which we travelled from Dawson City up the

Yukon to the terminus of the White Pass Railway was, although much

smaller than the _Hannah_, quite as luxuriously fitted as that palatial

river boat. There is now, in the open season, daily communication

between Dawson and the coast, and the journey to Vancouver may now be

accomplished under six days. In winter-time closed and comfortable

sleighs, drawn by horses, convey the traveller to rail-head. There are

post-houses with good accommodation every twenty miles or so, and this

trip, once so replete with hardships, may now be undertaken at any time

of the year by the most inexperienced traveller. In a couple of years

the Alaskan line from Skagway will probably have been extended as far as

Dawson City, which will then be within easy reach of all civilised

centres.

The three days' journey on the Upper Yukon (or rather Yukon and Lewes,

for above its junction with the Pelly River the Yukon is known by the

latter name), was not devoid of enjoyment, for the scenery here is as

mountainous and picturesque as that of the lower river is flat and

dreary. Settlements are more numerous, and the trip is not without

interest, and even a spice of danger when the rapids are reached. The

last of these down stream, although insignificant when compared with the

perilous falls up river, are sufficiently swift and voluminous to cause

considerable anxiety to a nervous mind. The five granite pillars which

here span the Yukon, at intervals of a few feet, from shore to shore,

are known as the "Five Fingers," and here the steamer must be hauled up

the falls through a narrow passage blasted out of a submerged rock. A

steel hawser attached to a windlass above the falls is used to tow the

vessel up the watery incline, and were the cable to snap, a frightful

disaster would certainly ensue. At this spot, the billows and surf

raging madly round our tiny craft, the dark, jagged rocks threatening

her on every side, and the deafening roar of foam and breakers were a

novel experience which some of our passengers would apparently have

cheerfully dispensed with. There was an awkward moment when the cable

got foul of a snag, and the _White Horse_ swerved round and lay

broadside to the torrent, which for several minutes heeled her over at a

very uncomfortable angle. "Something will happen here some day," coolly

remarked the pilot, a long, lanky New Englander, lighting a fresh

cigarette, and viewing the wild excitement of men afloat and ashore with

lazy interest, and although, on this occasion, we escaped a catastrophe,

and got off easily with shattered bulwarks, I have no doubt he was

right. Going down stream steamers shoot these rapids, which entails a

considerable amount of coolness and courage on the part of the

steersman, for the slightest mistake would send the vessel crashing into

the rocks on either side of the narrow passage.

Six years ago the rapids of the Yukon formed one of the most serious

obstacles to Alaskan travel, and I retain a vivid recollection of the

"Grand Canyon" and "White Horse" rapids during our journey through the

country in 1896. These falls are beyond Lake Le Barge, and about two

hundred miles above Five Fingers. At first sight of the Grand Canyon I

wondered, not that accidents often took place there, but that any one

ever ran it in safety, for the force of the current through the dark,

narrow gorge is so tremendous that the stream is forced to a crest about

four feet high, like a sloping roof, in the centre of the river. It is

essential to keep on the summit of this crest, or be instantly dashed to

pieces on the rocks. The strongest swimmer would stand no chance here,

and no man who has ever got in has lived to relate his experiences. The

Grand Canyon is nearly a mile in length, but our boat ran through it in

less than two minutes.

The first plunge into the White Horse Rapid, only a few miles below the

Grand Canyon, is even more abrupt and dangerous than that into the

latter, and here the water dashes down with an appalling roar. The

foaming crest of the wave, following the first downward sweep, is

supposed to resemble a white horse's mane, which circumstance christened

the fall. The latter was also formerly known as the "Miner's Grave,"

which, seeing that at one time a yearly average of twenty men were

drowned here, seems a more suitable title. But these death-traps are

now happily perils of the past, both being now avoided by the new rail

and steamboat route into the Klondike.

Shortly after negotiating Five Fingers, we passed the mouth of the

Nordenskiold River, which enters the Yukon from the west. This is an

insignificant stream, although coal has lately been discovered in its

vicinity, a fact which may shortly lower the now outrageous price of

that commodity in Dawson. Above this the river widens, and occasionally

expands into a series of lakes, studded with prettily wooded islands,

perfect gardens of wild flowers, but fruitful breeding-places of our

implacable foes, the mosquitoes. A few hours of this, and the river

narrows again, and is fringed by low banks of sand and limestone,

riddled by millions of martin's nests, while inshore a vista of dark

pine forests and grassy, undulating hills stretches away to a chain of

granite peaks, still streaked in places with the winter snow. Towards

evening we tie up for fuel at the mouth of the Hootalinqua River, which

drains Lake Teslin, the largest in the Yukon basin. The mountains at the

head of Teslin form part of the now well-known Cassiar range, where the

rich mines of that name are worked. On board were two prospectors who

had passed several months in the Hootalinqua district, and who predicted

that its mineral wealth would one day surpass that of Bonanza and El

Dorado. But this I am inclined to doubt, as the river was apparently

little frequented, and my friends, although so sanguine of its bright

future, were leaving the country for British Columbia. So far as I

could ascertain, throughout the journey up the Yukon, the immediate

neighbourhood of Dawson City is about the only district in the

North-west Province where a prospector may hope to meet with anything

like success. When this country is opened up, things will, no doubt, be

very different, and new fields of wealth will await the gold-seeker, but

the cold fact remains that at present there is no indication whatever

that such fields exist, outside of Nome and the Klondike, with one

exception. I know Alaska far too well to advise any one to go there who

can possibly find any other outlet for his energy and capital, but if

any man is bent on staking his all, or part of it, in this country, then

let him try the Copper River district, which up till now is practically

unknown to the outside world. Mr. J. E. Bennett, of Newcastle, Colo., a

passenger on the _White Horse_, showed me a nugget worth fifty pounds

which he had picked out of a stream there the previous year. He is now

in the district in question prospecting, and from his last advices had

struck indications of very rich ground. Many have been scared away from

this part of Alaska by reports of dangerous natives, but although the

Indians here were formerly ugly customers, there is now little to fear

on that score. There are very few people there as yet, and it is a poor

man's country with boundless possibilities, one great advantage being

that its chief sea-port is open to navigation all the year round. At the

newly built town of Valdes on the coast, stores of all kinds can be

purchased at reasonable prices, the place being easy of access. I should

add that the Copper River and its affluents are in American territory,

and that it is therefore exempt from the now vexatious mining laws of

Canada.[82]

[Footnote 82: Ocean steamers landing at Orca station, in Prince William

Sound, give miners the chance of reaching Copper River, by a 30-mile

trail over Valdes Pass, at a point above the Miles Glacier and the other

dangerous stretches near the mouth of that stream. Rich placer-regions

have been found along the Tonsino Creek, which empties into Copper River

about 100 miles from the sea. The route up the Copper River across a low

divide to the Tanana and down that stream was explored and first

followed by Lieutenant Allen, U.S.A., in 1885.]

Should any of my readers decide to take a prospecting trip to this newly

discovered northern El Dorado, it may not be out of place to furnish a

description of the kind of outfit required for a year's residence there.

Mr. Bennett was good enough to give me a list of requisites which an

experience of two years in the Copper River district had shown him were

essential to the comfort and health of the prospector. They are as

follows:

CLOTHING.

Three thick tweed suits.

Three suits heavy woollen underwear.

Six pairs wool stockings.

Two pairs fur mits.

Two heavy Mackinaw suits.[83]

Four woollen shirts.

Two heavy sweaters.

One rubber lined top-coat.

One fur Parka and hood.[83]

Two pairs high rubber boots.

Two pairs shoes.

Two pairs heavy blankets.

One fur-lined sleeping-bag.

One suit oilskins.

One suit buckskin underwear.

Towels, needles, thread, wax, buttons.

[Footnote 83: Procurable at Valdes.]

MINING TOOLS.

One long-handled shovel.

One pick.

One axe (duplicate handles).

Five lbs. wire nails.

Three lbs. oakum.

Two large files.

Two hammers.

One jack blade.

One large whip saw.

One hand saw.

One hundred and fifty feet 5/8" rope.

A draw knife.

Two chisels.

One jack knife.

One whetstone.

Two buckets.

Two miner's gold-pans.

One frying-pan.

One kettle.

One Yukon stove.

One enamelled iron pot.

Two plates.

One cup.

One teapot.

Three knives.

Three forks.

Three spoons.

FOOD.

Three hundred and fifty lbs. flour.

Two hundred lbs. bacon.

One hundred and fifty lbs. beans.

Ten lbs. tea.

Seventy-five lbs. coffee.

Five lbs. baking powder.

Twenty-five lbs. salt.

Five lbs. sugar.

One hundred and fifty lbs. dried vegetables and meats.

One hundred lbs. assorted dried fruits.

Ten lbs. soap.

Three tins matches.

ARMAMENT.

One gun (to fire shot or bullets).

One hundred rounds shot and bullet cartridges.

Re-loading tools.

One large hunting knife.

Fishing tackle.

Snow goggles.

CAMPING OUTFIT.

One canvas tent, 8 ft. by 10 ft., in one piece, with floor-cloth.

Spare pegs and guy ropes.

Mosquito netting.

MEDICINE CHEST.[84]

Quinine pills.

Calomel.

Compound catharic pills.

Chlorate of potash.

Mustard plasters.

Belladonna plasters.

Carbolic ointment.

Witch hazel.

Essence of ginger.

Laudanum.

Tincture of iodine.

Spirits of nitre.

Tincture of iron.

Cough mixture.

Elliman's embrocation.

Toothache drops.

Vaseline.

Iodoform.

Goulard water.

Lint.

Bandages.

Adhesive rubber plasters.

Cotton wool.

[Footnote 84: Best procurable at Burroughs & Welcome, Snow Hill,

London.]

A few cheap knives, compasses, &c., may be taken as presents for the

natives. All these supplies will weigh, roughly speaking, 1400 lbs., and

the whole outfit may be purchased at San Francisco, or any other city on

the Pacific slope, for about L60.

Above the Hootalinqua the Lewes is known as the thirty-mile river, that

being about the distance from the mouth of the first-named stream to the

foot of the lake. This is a dangerous bit of navigation, for the Thirty

Mile rushes out of Le Barge like a mill sluice and the little _White

Horse_ panted and puffed and rained showers of sparks in her frantic

efforts to make headway. Several steamers which have been lost here

perpetually menace the safety of others. It is impossible to raise the

sunken vessels, the force of the current here being so great that it

seemed when standing on the deck of the steamer as though one were

looking down an inclined plane of water. The stream here runs through

pine forests, ending at the river's edge in low, sandy cliffs, portions

of which have been torn bodily away by the force of the ice in

springtime to form miniature islands some yards from the shore.[85] A

characteristic of this stream is its marvellous transparency. On a clear

day rocks and boulders are visible at a depth of twenty to thirty feet.

I have observed a similar effect on the River Rhone and other streams

fed to a large extent by glaciers and melting snow.

[Footnote 85: The fall from Lake Lindemann at the head of the lake and

river system is about 800 ft. in a distance of about 540 miles.]

The afternoon of the third day found us entering Lake Le Barge,[86] a

sheet of water thirty-one miles in length, which stands over two

thousand feet above the sea-level, and is surrounded by precipitous

mountains, densely wooded as far as the timber line, with curiously

crenelated limestone summits. The southern shores of the lake are

composed of vast plains of fertile meadow land, interspersed with

picturesque and densely wooded valleys, a landscape which, combined with

the blue waters of Le Barge and snowy summits glittering on the horizon,

reminds one of Switzerland. Le Barge has an evil reputation for storms,

and only recently a river steamer had gone down with all hands in one of

the sudden and violent squalls peculiar to this region. To-day, however,

a brazen sun blazed down upon a liquid mirror, and I sat on the bridge

under an awning with a cool drink and a cigar, and complacently watched

the glassy surface where five years before we had to battle in an open

skiff against a stiff gale, drenched by the waves and worn out by hard

work at the oars. To-day the _White Horse_ accomplished the passage from

river to river in about three hours, while on the former occasion it

took us as many days!

[Footnote 86: Lake Le Barge was named after Mike Le Barge, of the

"Western Union Telegraph Company," who was employed in constructing the

overland telegraph line from America to Europe (_via_ Bering Straits) in

1867. The completion of the Atlantic cable about this period put an end

to the project.]

There is, on portions of Lake Le Barge, a curiously loud and resonant

echo. A cry is repeated quite a dozen times, and a rifle shot awakens

quite a salvo of artillery. This is especially noticeable near an island

about four miles long near the centre of the lake, which for some

obscure reason is shown on Schwatka's charts as a peninsula. The

American explorer named it the "Richtofen Rocks," but as the nearest

point of this unmistakable island to the western shore is but half a

mile distant, and as the extreme width of the lake is only five miles, I

cannot conceive how the error arose.

Towards evening we reached the Fifty Mile River, noted for the abundance

and excellence of its fish. A few miles above the lake the Takheena

flows in from the west. This river, which rises in Lake Askell, derives

its name from the Indian words, "Taka," a mosquito, and "Heena," a

stream, and it is aptly named, for from here on to White Horse City we

were assailed by myriads of these pests. Indeed the spot where the town

now stands was once a mosquito swamp in which I can recall passing a

night of abject misery. It was past midnight before the _White Horse_

was safely moored alongside her wharf, but electric light blazed

everywhere, and here, for the first time since leaving Irkutsk, more

than seven months before, clanking buffers and the shriek of a

locomotive struck pleasantly upon the ear.

White Horse City is a cheerful little town rendered doubly attractive by

light-coloured soil and gaily painted buildings. There is a first-rate

hotel adjoining the railway station, which contained a gorgeous bar with

several billiard and "ping-pong" tables, the latter game being then the

rage in every settlement from Dawson to the coast. I mention the bar, as

it was the scene of a somewhat amusing incident, which, however, is, as

a Klondiker would say, "up against me." About this period a "desperado"

of world-wide fame named Harry Tracy was raising a siege of terror in

the State of Oregon, having committed over a dozen murders, and

successfully baffled the police. We had found Dawson wild with

excitement over the affair, and here again Tracy was the topic of the

hour. Entering the hotel with some fellow passengers, I took up a

Seattle newspaper and carelessly glancing at the portrait of a

seedy-looking individual of ferocious exterior, passed it on to a

neighbour, remarking (with reference to Tracy), "What a blood-thirsty

looking ruffian!" "Why, it's yourself!" exclaimed my friend, pointing to

the heading, "A Phenomenal Globe-trotter," which, appearing above the

wood-cut, had escaped my notice. I am glad to be able to add that the

portrait was not from a photograph!

As an instance of engineering skill, the "White Pass" is probably the

most remarkable railway in existence, and the beauty and grandeur of the

country through which it passes fully entitles it to rank as the "Scenic

railway of the world." In 1896, I was compelled to cross the Chilkoot

Pass to enter Alaska (suffering severely from cold and hunger during the

process), and to scramble painfully over a peak that would have tried

the nerves and patience of an experienced Alpine climber. Regarding this

same Chilkoot a Yankee prospector once said to his mate: "Wal, pard, I

was prepared for it to be perpendicular, but, by G--d, I never thought

it would lean forward!" And indeed my recollections of the old "Gateway

of the Klondike" does not fall far short of this description. And in

those days the passage of the White Pass, across which the line now

runs, was almost as unpleasant a journey as that over the Chilkoot

judging from the following account given by Professor Heilprin, who was

one of the first to enter the country by this route. The professor

writes:

"It is not often that the selection of a route of travel is determined

by the odorous, or mal-odorous qualities pertaining thereto. Such a

case, however, was presented here. It was not the depth of mud alone

which was to deter one from essaying the White Pass route. Sturdy

pioneers who had toiled long and hard in opening up one or more new

regions had laid emphasis on the stench of decaying horseflesh as a

first consideration in the choice of route. And so far as stench and

decaying horseflesh were concerned they were in strong evidence. The

desert of Sahara with its lines of skeletons, can boast of no such

exhibition of carcasses. Long before Bennett was reached I had taken

count of more than a thousand unfortunates whose bodies now made part of

the trail. Frequently we were obliged to pass directly over these

ghastly figures of hide, and sometimes, indeed, broke into them. Men

whose veracity need not be questioned assured me that what I saw was in

no way the full picture of the 'life' of the trail; the carcasses of

that time were less than one-third the full number which in April and

May gave grim character to the route to the new 'El Dorado.' Equally

spread out this number would mean one dead animal for every sixty feet

of distance! The poor beasts succumbed not so much to the hardships of

the trail as to lack of care and the inhuman treatment which they

received at the hands of their owners. Once out of the line of the mad

rush, perhaps unable to extricate themselves from the holding meshes of

soft snow and of quagmires, they were allowed to remain where they were,

a food-offering to the army of carrion eaters which were hovering about,

only too certain of the meal which was being prepared for them."

It will be seen by the foregoing accounts that only a short time ago the

journey across this coast range was anything but one of unalloyed

enjoyment, and even now, although the White Pass Railway is undoubtedly

a twentieth-century marvel, and every luxury is found on board the

train, from a morning paper to "candies" and cigars, the trip across the

summit is scarcely one which I should recommend to persons afflicted

with nerves. The line is a narrow gauge one about 110 miles in length,

which was completed in 1899 at a cost of about $3,000,000, and trains

leave the termini at Skagway and White Horse simultaneously every day in

the year at 9 A.M., reaching their respective destinations at 4 P.M. For

a couple of hours after leaving White Horse the track skirts the eastern

shores of Lakes Bennett and Lindemann, through wild but picturesque

moorland, carpeted with wild flowers,[87] and strewn with grey rocks and

boulders. A species of pink heather grows freely here, the scent of

which and the presence of bubbling fern-fringed brooks, and crisp

bracing air, recalled many a pleasant morning after grouse in Bonnie

Scotland. A raw-boned Aberdonian on the train remarks on the resemblance

of the landscape to that of his own country and is flatly contradicted

by an American sitting beside him, who, however, owns that he has never

been there! The usual argument follows as to the respective merits,

climatic and otherwise, of England and the United States, which entails

(also as usual) a good deal of forcible language. Shortly after this,

however, the train begins to ascend, and its erratic movements are less

conducive to discussion than reverie. For although the rails are smooth

and level enough, the engine proceeds in a manner suggestive of a toy

train being dragged across a nursery floor by a fractious child. At

midday Bennett station is reached, and half an hour is allowed here for

lunch in a cheerful little restaurant, where all fall to with appetites

sharpened by the keen mountain air, and where the Scot and his late

antagonist bury the hatchet in "Two of whisky-straight."

[Footnote 87: Lake Lindemann is about five miles, and Bennett

twenty-five miles in length.]

Bennett is buried in pine forests, but here the real ascent commences,

and we crawl slowly up an incline which grows steeper and steeper in

proportion as trees and vegetation slowly disappear, to give place to

barren rocks, moss, and lichens. Towards the summit (over two thousand

feet high) the scene is one of wild and lonely grandeur, recalling the

weirdest efforts of Gustave Dore. Nothing is now visible but a

wilderness of dark volcanic crags with here and there a pinnacle of

limestone, towering perilously near the line, and looking as though a

puff of wind would dislodge it with disastrous results. The only gleam

of colour in the sombre landscape are numerous lakes, or rather pools,

of emerald green, perhaps extinct craters, which, shining dimly out of

the dark shadows cast by the surrounding cliffs, enhance the gloom and

mystery of the scene. Nearing the summit, the road has been blasted out

of many yards of solid rock, a work entailing fabulous cost and many

months of perilous and patient labour. The Chamounix railway in

Switzerland was, at the time of its construction, considered the king of

mountain railways, but it becomes a very humble subject indeed when

compared with the White Pass line.

[Illustration: CONSTRUCTING THE WHITE PASS RAILWAY.]

At Summit we cross the frontier into American territory, and here my

thermometer marks a drop of 25 deg. F. since our departure this morning.

Although this rapidly constructed line is admirably laid, portions of

the ascent from White Horse are anything but reassuring to those averse

to high altitudes, but they are not a circumstance to those on the

downward side. On leaving Summit station the train enters a short

tunnel, from which it emerges with startling suddenness upon a light,

iron bridge which spans, at a giddy height, a desolate gorge. This

spidery viaduct slowly and safely crossed, we skirt, for a while, the

mountain side, still overhanging a perilous abyss. Every car has a

platform, and at this point many passengers instinctively seek the side

away from the precipice, which would in case of accident benefit them

little, for there is no standing room between the train and a sheer wall

of overhanging rock, the crest of which is invisible. Here the outlook

is one which can only really be enjoyed by one of steady nerves, for the

southward slope of the mountain is seen in its entirety, giving the

impression that a hardy mountaineer would find it a hard job to scale

its precipitous sides, and that this railway journey in the clouds

cannot be reality but is probably the result of a heavy supper. Perhaps

the worst portion of the downward journey is at a spot where solid

foothold has been found impracticable, and the train passes over an

artificial roadway of sleepers, supported by wooden trestles and clamped

to the rock by means of iron girders. Here you may stand up in the car

and look almost between your toes a sheer thousand feet into space.

While we were crossing it, this apparently insecure structure shook so

violently under the heavy weight of metal that I must own to a feeling

of relief when our wheels were once more gliding over _terra firma_. The

men employed in constructing this and other parts of the track were

lowered to the spot by ropes, which were then lashed to a place of

safety while they were at work. But although the construction of this

line entailed probably as much risk to life and limb as that of the

Eiffel Tower, only one death by accident is recorded during the whole

period of operations here, while it cost over a hundred lives to erect

the famous iron edifice in Paris.

The gradient of this railway is naturally an unusually steep one, and

should, one would think, necessitate the utmost caution during the

descent, but we rattled down the mountain at a pace which in any country

but happy-go-lucky Alaska would certainly have seemed like tempting

Providence, especially as only brakes are used to check the speed of the

train. However, the fact that two passenger trains are run daily (also a

goods train), and that not a single accident has occurred during the

four years the line has been in operation, are sufficient proof that the

officials of the White Pass Railway know what they are about, and are

not lacking in care and competence. I can speak from personal experience

as to their civility and also punctuality, for, towards three o'clock,

the silvery waters of the Lynn Canal were disclosed through a rift in

the mountains, and an hour later we were steaming into the town of

Skagway, within half a minute of the scheduled time.

CHAPTER XIX

THE FRANCO-AMERICAN RAILWAY--SKAGWAY--NEW YORK

While on the subject of railways a few remarks anent the projected line

from France (_via_ Siberia and Bering Straits) to America may not be

amiss. As the reader is already aware, the main object of our expedition

was to determine whether the construction of such a line is within the

range of human possibility. The only means of practically solving this

question was (firstly) to cover the entire distance by land between the

two cities, by such primitive means of travel as are now available, and

(secondly) to minutely observe the natural characteristics of the

countries passed through, in order to ascertain whether these offer any

insuperable obstacle to the construction of a railway.

I would again remind the reader that the overland journey from Paris to

New York had never been made, or even attempted, until it was

accomplished by ourselves. This is the more necessary in so far as,

before our departure from Paris, the project of an All-World railway was

freely discussed in the English and French Press by persons with no

practical experience whatsoever of either Siberia or Alaska. Their

opinions would, therefore, have been equally valuable with reference to

a railway across the moon or planet Mars. From a humorous point of view,

some of the letters published were well worth perusal, notably those of

a French gentleman, who, in the Paris _New York Herald_, repeatedly drew

my attention to the fact that he "claimed the paternity of the scheme to

unite France and America by rail," and this being so, apparently

strongly resented my making a preliminary trip over the ground with dogs

and reindeer. Having ascertained, however, that M. de Lobel had never

visited Arctic Siberia, and had not the remotest intention of doing so,

I scarcely felt justified in abandoning the overland journey on his

account. This ridiculous but somewhat amusing incident was therefore

brought to an end by the following letter:

"To the Editor of the _New York Herald_, Paris.

"SIR,--May I briefly reply to M. Loicq de Lobel's letter

which appeared in your issue of November 23rd. Your

correspondent has already violently attacked me in the

Paris _Journal_, his grievance being that he 'claims the

paternity' of the projected Trans-Siberian and Alaskan

Railway. This fact is probably as uninteresting to your

readers and to the world in general as it is to myself, and

so far as I am concerned M. de Lobel is also welcome to

annex (in his own imagination) the countries through which

the proposed line may eventually pass.

"But this is not the point. According to his own showing,

M. de Lobel only 'conceived the project' of uniting Paris

and New York by rail in the year 1898. As I left New York

in 1896 for Paris by land, with the object of ascertaining

the practicability of this gigantic enterprise, I think

that I may, with due modesty, dispute the shadowy

'paternity' of the scheme, which, after all, is worth

nothing from a theoretical point of view.

"The American and British Press of March, April, and May

1897 will fully enlighten your correspondent as to the

details of my last attempt, which unhappily met with

disaster and defeat on the Siberian shores of Bering

Straits. But I trust and believe that a brighter future is

in store for the 'Daily Express' Expedition of 1901, which

I have the honour to command, and which leaves Paris for

New York by land on the 15th of next month.

"If, as M. de Lobel writes, 'the Englishman thought best

not to answer' it was simply because the former's childish

tirades seemed to me unworthy of a reply. If, however, you

will kindly insert this brief explanation, you may rest

assured that, so far as I am concerned, this correspondence

is closed.

"I am, yours faithfully,

"HARRY DE WINDT.

"ROYAL GEOGRAPHICAL SOCIETY,

LONDON,

_November 26, 1901._"

With regard to the projected railway, let me now state as briefly and as

clearly as I can the conclusion to which I was led by plain facts and

personal experience. To begin with, there are two more or less available

routes across Siberia to Bering Straits, which the reader may easily

trace on a map of Asia. The city of Irkutsk is in both cases the

starting-point, and the tracks thence are as follows:

No. 1 Route. To Yakutsk, following the course of the Lena River, and

thence in an easterly direction to the town of Okhotsk on the sea of

that name. From Okhotsk, northward along the coast to Ola and Gijiga,

and from the latter place still northward to the Cossack outpost of

Marcova on the Anadyr River. From Marcova the line would proceed

northward chiefly over tundra and across or through one precipitous

range of mountains, to the Siberian terminus, East Cape, Bering Straits.

The second route is practically the one we travelled, viz., from Irkutsk

to the Straits _via_ Yukutsk, Verkhoyansk, and Sredni-Kolymsk.

From a commercial point of view, route No. 1 would undoubtedly be the

best, for of late years a considerable trade has been carried on between

Vladivostok and the Sea of Okhotsk. The latter only twenty years ago was

visited solely by a few whalers and sealing schooners, but a line of

cargo steamers now leaves Vladivostok once a month throughout the open

season (from June to September) and make a round trip, calling at

Petropaulovsk (Kamchatka), Okhotsk, Yamsk, and Ayan.[88] There is now a

brisk and increasing export trade in furs, fish, lumber, and whalebone

from these ports, the imports chiefly consisting of American and

Japanese goods.

[Footnote 88: These vessels also carry passengers.]

It has already been shown in a previous chapter that the natural

resources of the Yakutsk district would probably repay an extension of

the Trans-Siberian line to this now inaccessible portion of the Tsar's

dominions. Indeed it is more than probable that in a few years the

mineral wealth of this province, to say nothing of its agricultural

possibilities, will render the construction of a line imperative, at any

rate as far as the city of Yakutsk. The prolongation of this as far

north as Gijiga is no idle dream, for I have frequently heard it

seriously discussed, and even advocated, by the merchant princes of

Irkutsk. A railway to Gijiga would open up Kamtchatka, with its valuable

minerals, furs, and lumber, and also Nelkan, near Ayan, where gold has

lately been discovered in such quantities that a well-known Siberian

millionaire has actually commenced a narrow-gauge railway about two

hundred miles in length, to connect the new gold-fields with the sea.

Even this miniature line is to cost an enormous sum, for it must pass

through a region as mountainous and densely wooded as the eight hundred

odd miles which separate Yakutsk from the coast. But although this

latter section of the Franco-American line, short as it is, would entail

a fabulous outlay, there is here, at any rate, some _raison-d'etre_ for

a railway, viz., the vast and varied resources of the region through

which it would pass, whereas to the north of Gijiga on the one hand, and

Verkhoyansk on the other, we enter a land of desolation, thousands of

miles in extent, chiefly composed of tundra, as yet unprospected, it is

true; but probably as unproductive, minerally and agriculturally, as an

Irish bog. The reader is already aware that tundra is impassable in

summer, for its consistency is then that of a wet bath sponge. The foot

sinks in over the knee at every step, and a good walker can scarcely

cover a mile within the hour. In winter the hard and frozen surface

affords good going for a dog-sled and could, no doubt, be made to

support a rolling mass of metal; but even then I doubt whether the thaws

and floods of springtime would not find the rails and sleepers at sixes

and sevens. This opinion is, of course, purely theoretical, for the

experiment of laying a line of such magnitude under such hopeless

conditions has yet to be tried.

Chat Moss in England is the nearest approach I can think of to these

Siberian swamps, but the railway across the former is only four miles

long, and cost, I am told, something like thirty thousand pounds. At

this rate the tundra section of the Bering Straits Railway would alone

involve an outlay of twenty million sterling; probably far more, for

every foot of timber for the roadway would have to be imported into this

treeless waste. And how is this expenditure going to be repaid by these

barren deserts, in winter of ice, and in summer of mud and mosquitoes.

Let another Klondike be discovered near, say, Sredni-Kolymsk, and I have

no doubt that surveys for a line to this place would be commenced

to-morrow by the Russian Government, but neither gold, not any other

mineral has yet been found so far north in anything like paying

quantities. Draw a straight line on the map from Verkhoyansk to Gijiga

and it will divide the southern (or productive) portion of Siberia from

the northern (and useless) wastes about three thousand miles in length,

which a Paris-New York railroad would have to cross.[89]

[Footnote 89: "Around the North Pole lies a broad belt of inhospitable

land, a desert which owes its special character rather to water than to

the sun. Towards the Pole this desert gradually loses itself in fields

of ice; towards the south in dwarfed woods, becoming itself a field of

snow and ice when the long winter sets in, while stunted trees struggle

for existence only in the deepest valleys or on the sunniest slopes.

This region is the tundra. Our language possesses no synonym for the

word tundra. Our fatherland possesses no such track of country, for the

tundra is neither heath nor moor, neither marsh nor fen, neither

highlands nor sand-dunes, neither moss nor morass, though in many places

it may resemble one or other of these. 'Moss Steppes' some one has

attempted to name it, but the expression is only satisfactory to those

who have grasped the idea of steppe in its widest sense."--_Brehm_.]

A so-called prospectus issued by a syndicate, inviting the public to

subscribe for a "preliminary survey" for a Franco-American line, came

under my notice the other day. Here is an extract:

"Ten years ago the name Siberia called up a picture of wastes of snow

and ice. To-day the same Siberia is a land filled with thriving

villages, producing grain and various vegetables; that great compeller

of civilisation, the railway, has broken down the bars between the world

and Siberia. Besides its countless resources of the soil, besides its

rivers filled with valuable fish, and its forests inhabited by

fur-bearing animals, Siberia is now beginning to show to the world its

resources of gold, iron, copper, manganese, quicksilver, platinum, and

coal, the yearly output of which is but a feeble index of what it will

be when the deposits are developed."

All this is very true regarding certain portions of Siberia. The Amur,

Altai, Yenesei, and even Yakutsk provinces. But although the writer

goes on to enlarge upon the boundless possibilities which would be

opened up by the construction of a railway from Europe to America, he

fails to mention that it would have to traverse an Arctic and

unproductive Sahara thousands of miles in extent.

Some enthusiastic visionaries mentioned in an earlier portion of this

chapter have laid stress on the fact that the passenger traffic over

this portion of the line would be enormous, that surging crowds of

sea-sick victims would gladly endure even three weeks in a train in

preference to a stormy passage across the Atlantic, and so forth. But I

fancy a moment's serious thought will show the absurdity of this theory.

In the first place a journey by rail from Paris to New York would

certainly occupy over a month under the most favourable conditions, for

while in summer time all might be comparatively plain sailing, gales,

snow-drifts, and blizzards would surely, judging from our own

experiences, seriously hamper the winter traffic, especially along the

coast. If this leviathan railway is ever constructed it must, in the

opinion of the ablest Russian engineers, depend solely upon (1) the

transport of merchandise, and (2) the development of the now ice-locked

regions it will traverse. The scheme has never been, as many people seem

to imagine, simply to convey passengers and their belongings from one

terminus to the other, for even Jules Verne would probably hesitate to

predict the existence of this line as one of restaurants and

sleeping-cars.

But let us assume that the railway has actually reached East Cape at a

cost of, say, fifty millions sterling from Irkutsk, which is probably a

low estimate. Here we are confronted by another colossal difficulty, the

passage of Bering Straits, which (at the narrowest part) are forty miles

across. Here my friends the theorists have again been very busy, and all

kinds of schemes have been suggested for the negotiation of this

stumbling-block, from a bridge to balloons. Both are equally wild and

impracticable, although the former has been warmly advocated by a

Parisian gentleman, who never having been nearer even Berlin than the

Gare du Nord, can scarcely be expected to know much about the climatic

conditions of North-Eastern Siberia. As a matter of fact, the mightiest

stone and iron structure ever built would not stand the break-up of the

ice here in the spring time for one week. A tunnel could no doubt be

made, for the depth of the Straits nowhere exceeds twenty-seven fathoms,

and the Diomede Islands could be conveniently utilised for purposes of

ventilation. But what would such a subway cost? And above all, where is

the money coming from to repay its construction?

In Northern Alaska almost the same difficulties would be met with as in

Arctic Siberia, for here also spongy tundra covers enormous tracts of

country. A company has, however, been formed for the purpose of laying a

line between Iliamna on Cook's Inlet and Nome City which will, when

completed, be really useful and profitable. Cook's Inlet is navigable

throughout the year, and it is proposed to run a line of steamers from

Seattle on Puget Sound to this port, where passengers will be able to

embark on a comfortable train for Nome instead of facing a long and

painful journey by dog-sled. I understand that this work has actually

been commenced by the "Trans-Alaskan Railway Company," but not with any

idea of connection with a possible Siberian system. This will be merely

a local railway, which, judging from the increasing prosperity of Nome,

and the fact that the line will pass through the rich Copper River

country, should certainly repay its shareholders with interest. The

extension of the White Pass Railway as far as Dawson City is only a

question of time, but the idea of prolonging it to Bering Straits was

not even hinted at when I was in Alaska.

All things considered I cannot see what object would be gained by the

construction (at present) of a Franco-American railway. That the latter

will one day connect Paris and New York I have little doubt, for where

gold exists the rail must surely follow, and there can be no reasonable

doubt regarding the boundless wealth and ultimate prosperity of those

great countries of the future; Siberia and Alaska. But it is probably

safe to predict that the work will not be accomplished in the lifetime

of the present generation, or even commenced during the existence of the

next. When, at the conclusion of the journey, I arrived at New York, I

was asked by reporters whether I considered it possible to connect the

latter city by rail with Paris. Most certainly it would be possible with

unlimited capital, for this stupendous engineering feat would assuredly

entail an expenditure (on the Siberian side alone and not including a

Bering Straits tunnel), of fifty to sixty millions sterling. It seems to

me that the question is not so much, "Can the line be laid?" as "Would

it pay?" In the distant future this question may perhaps be answered in

the affirmative, but at present nothing whatever is known of the mineral

resources of Arctic Siberia, a practical survey of which must take at

least fifteen to twenty years. If reports are then favourable, Russia

may begin to consider the advisability of a line to America, but,

notwithstanding the fact that an attempt has been made in certain

quarters to obtain money from the public for this now extremely shadowy

scheme, I can only say that all the prominent Russian officials whom I

have met simply ridicule the project.

Skagway is pleasantly situated on the shores of the Lynn Canal, in an

amphitheatre formed by precipitous cliffs, the granite peaks of which

almost overhang the little town. A curious effect is produced here by

rudely coloured advertisements of some one's chewing gum, or somebody's

else cigars with which the rocky sides of the nearest hills are defaced.

But there is nothing new in this, for, as far back as 1887, the name of

a well-known American pill and ointment vendor met my astonished gaze on

the Great Wall of China. The North Pole will soon be the only virgin

field left open to the up-to-date advertiser. Skagway is now a quiet,

orderly township, and a favourite resort of tourists, but shortly after

it was founded, in 1898, a band of swindlers and cut-throats arrived on

the scene, and practically held the place at their mercy for several

weeks. The leader of this gang was one "Soapy Smith," a noted

"confidence man," whose deeds of violence are still spoken of here with

bated breath. This impudent scoundrel (said to have been a gentleman by

birth) was clever enough to become mayor of the town, and was thus

enabled to commit robberies with impunity. Many a poor miner leaving the

country with a hardly earned pile has been completely fleeced, and

sometimes murdered, by the iniquitous and ubiquitous "Soapy," who is

said to have slain, directly or indirectly, over twenty men. Finally,

however, a mass meeting was held, where Smith was shot dead, not before

he had also taken the life of his slayer.

Southern Alaska is the Switzerland of America, and every summer its

shores are invaded by hordes of tourists. There was, therefore, little

room to spare in the steamer in which we travelled down the Lynn Canal,

one of the grandest fjords on the coast, which meanders through an

archipelago of beautiful islands, and past a coast-line of snowy peaks

and glaciers of clear, blue crystal washed by the waves of the sea. Its

glaciers are one of the wonders of Alaska, for nowhere in the world can

they be witnessed in such perfection. According to a talented American

authoress, "In Switzerland a glacier is a vast bed of dirty, air-holed

ice, that has fastened itself like a cold, porous plaster to the side of

an alp. Distance alone lends enchantment to the view. In Alaska a

glacier is a wonderful torrent that seems to have been suddenly frozen

when about to plunge into the sea," and the comparison, although

far-fetched, is not wholly devoid of truth.

Nearing Juneau we passed the Davidson glacier sufficiently near to

distinguish the strange and beautiful effects produced upon its white

and glittering surface by cloud and sunshine. This is the second largest

ice-field in Alaska, the finest being its immediate neighbour, the Muir

glacier, which drains an area of 800 square miles.[90] The actual ice

surface covers about 350 square miles, the mass of it, thirty-five miles

long and ten to fifteen miles wide, while surrounding it on three sides

are mountains averaging 4000 to 6000 ft. in height. Vessels dare not

approach the ice wall, about 250 ft. high, nearer than a quarter of a

mile, as masses of ice continually fall from its surface, and submarine

bergs, becoming detached from its sunken fore-foot rise to the surface

with tremendous force. The colour of the ice on the Muir glacier is as

curious as it is beautiful, varying from the lightest blue to dark

sapphire, and from a dark olive to the tenderest shades of green.

Although the feat has been often attempted no one has yet succeeded in

crossing the Muir from shore to shore.[91]

[Footnote 90: The Jostedalbrae in Norway, the largest glacier in Europe,

only covers 470 square miles.]

[Footnote 91: See "Studies of Muir Glacier, in Alaska," by Harry

Fielding Reid, _National Geographic Magazine_, March 1892.]

The captain of the _Topeka_ informed me that glaciers and canneries are

the chief attractions of this coast. I assumed that it could not be the

climate, for rain drizzled persistently from a grey and woolly sky

nearly all the way from Skagway to Port Townsend, and this was regarded

as "seasonable summer weather." With bright sunshine this journey

through a calm inland sea, gliding smoothly through fjords of

incomparable beauty, surrounded by every luxury, would be idyllic. As

it is, cold, rain and mist generally render this so-called pleasure trip

one of monotony and discomfort, where passengers are often compelled to

seek shelter throughout the day in smoke-room or saloon. Swathed in

oil-skins, however, I braved the downpour, and visited one of the

numerous canneries to which the _Topeka_ tied up for a few minutes, and

here I was surprised to find that Chinese labour is almost exclusively

employed. And the ease and celerity with which a fish was received, so

to speak, fresh from the sea, cleaned, steamed, and securely soldered in

a smartly labelled tin, all by machinery, within the space of a few

minutes, was marvellous to behold. Before the days of Klondike, the

fisheries of this coast were the chief source of wealth in Alaska, where

sea-board, lakes, and rivers teem with fish, the wholesale netting of

which seem in no way to diminish the number. The yearly output of these

coast canneries is something stupendous, and they are, undoubtedly, a

far better investment than many a claim of fabulous (prospective) wealth

in the gold-fields of the interior. For the establishment of a cannery

is not costly, labour and taxes are low, and fish of every description,

from salmon and trout to cod and halibut, can be caught without

difficulty in their millions. Codfish which abound in Chatham Creek are

the most profitable, also herrings, of which six hundred barrels were

once caught in a single haul, off Killisnoo. But the number of canneries

on this coast is increasing at a rapid rate, and five or six years hence

large fortunes will be a thing of the past. The now priceless sea-otter

was once abundant along the south-eastern coast of Alaska, the value of

skins taken up to 1890 being thirty-six million dollars, but the

wholesale slaughter of this valuable animal by the Russians, and later

on by the Americans, has driven it away, and almost the only grounds

where it is now found are among the Aleutian Islands and near the mouth

of the Copper River. A good sea-otter skin now costs something like L200

in the European market.

Juneau and Port Wrangell were the only towns of any size touched at

during the two days' trip from Skagway to Port Townsend. The former was

once the fitting-out place for miners bound for the Yukon, but Skagway

has now ruined its commercial prosperity, and it is now a sleepy,

miserable settlement which appeared doubly unattractive viewed through a

curtain of mist. The rain poured down here in such sheets that Douglas

Island, only a couple of miles away, was invisible. Here is the famous

Treadwell mine, where the largest quartz mill in the world crushes six

hundred tons in the twenty-four hours. This mine has already yielded

more gold than was paid for the whole of Alaska.

Fort Wrangell is more picturesque than Juneau, although perhaps this was

partly due to the cessation (for exactly half an hour) of the rain,

which enabled our hitherto cooped-up tourists to enjoy a stroll, and a

breath of fresh air ashore. Wrangell was once, like Juneau, a thriving

town, when the Cassiar mines in British Columbia were a centre of

attraction. Between four and five thousand miners passed through every

spring and autumn, travelling to and from the diggings, and the usual

hotels, saloons, and stores sprang up on all sides. Then came a period

of stagnation, till the last gold rush to Klondike, when it seemed as

though Wrangell would rise from its ashes. But the proposed route into

the country by way of the Stikine River was finally abandoned for the

White Pass, and dealt the final _coup de grace_ to the little town,

which is now merely a decaying collection of wooden shanties and ruined

log huts, tenanted chiefly by Indians, of whom we met more here than at

any other point throughout the Alaskan journey. The natives of this part

of the coast are called Thlinkits, a race numbering about 7000, and once

numerous and powerful. But the Siwashes of Wrangell were a

miserable-looking lot, the men apparently physically inferior to the

women, some of whom would not have been ill-favoured, had it not been

for the disgusting habit of daubing their faces with a mixture of soot

and grease, which is supposed to keep off mosquitoes, and which gives

them the grotesque appearance of Christy Minstrels. Tattooing no longer

prevails amongst the Thlinkits, but the men still paint their faces and

discard ragged tweeds and bowlers for the picturesque native dress on

the occasion of a dance, or the feast known as a "Potlatch." The

Thlinkits are not hardy, nor, as a rule, long-lived, and diseases due to

drink and dissipation are rapidly thinning them out. Shamanism exists

here, but not to such an extent as amongst the Siberian races, and the

totem poles, which are met with at every turn in Wrangell, are not

objects of worship, but are used apparently for a heraldic purpose. Some

of the ancient war canoes of this tribe are still in existence, but

they are only brought out on the occasion of a feast, when a chief and

his crew appear in the gaudy panoply of war-paint and feathers.

On July 28, Seattle was reached, and here we met with a reception worthy

of far doughtier deeds than we had accomplished. In 1896, Seattle was a

country town of some 30,000 inhabitants, and I could scarcely recognise

this fine modern city of over 100,000 souls which may shortly rival San

Francisco as a commercial and social centre. This wonderful change is

partly due to discoveries in the Klondike, but chiefly perhaps to the

increasing trade of Puget Sound with the East. Fine Japanese liners now

run direct every fortnight from Seattle to Japan, and on one of these a

passage was obtained for my faithful friend and comrade, Stepan

Rastorguyeff, whose invaluable services I can never repay, and to whom I

bade farewell with sincere regret. I am glad to add that the plucky

Cossack eventually reached his home in safety (_via_ Yokohama and

Vladivostok) arriving in Yakutsk by way of Irkutsk and the Lena River

early in the new year of 1902. Vicomte de Clinchamp also left me here,

to return direct to France _via_ New York and Le Havre.

There is little more to tell. Travelling leisurely in glorious weather

through the garden-girt towns and smiling villages of the "Rouge-River"

Valley, perhaps the most picturesque and fertile in the world, a day was

passed at Shasta Springs, the summer resort of fashionable Californians,

where the sun-baked traveller may rest awhile in a little oasis of

coolness and gaiety, cascades and flowers, set in a desert of dark

pines. A week with old friends in cosmopolitan, ever delightful San

Francisco, a rapid and luxurious journey across the American continent,

land on August 25, 1902, New York was reached, and the long land journey

of 18,494 miles from Paris, which had taken us two-thirds of a year to

accomplish, was at an end.

APPENDIX I

APPROXIMATE TABLE OF DISTANCES

PARIS TO NEW YORK

EUROPE AND ASIA

E. M.

Paris to Moscow (rail) 1,800

Moscow to Irkutsk (rail) 4,000

Irkutsk to Yakutsk (employed 720 horses) 2,000

Yakutsk to Verkhoyansk (employed 80 horses and 240 reindeer) 623

Verkhoyansk to Sredni-Kolymsk (employed 620 deer) 1,006

Sredni-Kolymsk to Nijni-Kolymsk (employed 8 horses,

27 reindeer, 50 dogs). 334

Nijni-Kolymsk to Bering Straits (started with 64 dogs,

arrived at Bering Straits with 9) 1,500

------

Total English miles: Europe and Asia 11,263

(Employing 808 horses, 887 reindeer, and 114 dogs.)

AMERICA

E. M.

East Cape, Bering Straits to Cape Prince of Wales, Alaska 60

Cape Prince of Wales to Nome City 140

Nome City to St. Michael's 120

St. Michael's to Dawson City 1,200

Dawson City to White Horse Rapids 450

White Horse Rapids to Skagway 110

Skagway to Seattle 1,041

Seattle to San Francisco 1,000

San Francisco to New York 3,110

------

Total mileage: Paris to New York 18,494

APPENDIX II

LIST OF POST-STATIONS BETWEEN IRKUTSK AND YAKUTSK

Versts.

Irkutsk to Koulinskaya 23

Koulinskaya to Jerdovskaya 21

Jerdovskaya to Ust-Ardinsk 21 1/2

Ust-Ardinsk to Alzonovskaya 31

Alzonovskaya to Bandevskaya 25

Bandevskaya to Hagatovskaya 29

Hagatovskaya to Manzourskaya 30

Manzourskaya to Malo-Manzoursk 31 1/2

Malo-Manzoursk to Katchugaskaya 24 1/2

Katchugaskaya to Verkolensk 28 3/4

-------

265 1/4

_To Verkolensk, 3 kopeks a verst per horse. From Verkolensk to Yakutsk,

4 1/2 kopeks a verst per horse._

Verkolensk to Tumentsofskaya 25

Tumentsofskaya to Korkinskaya 16

Korkinskaya to Petrofskaya 19 1/2

Petrofskaya to Panamarefskaya 22

Panamarefskaya to Jigalovskaya 21

Jigalovskaya to Ust-Ilginsk 30 1/2

Ust-Ilginsk to Grousnovskaya 26

Grousnovskaya to Zakamenska 19

Zakamenska to Shamanovskaya 16 3/4

Shamanovskaya to Golovskaya 18

Golovskaya to Sourovskaya 16

Sourovskaya to Diadinskaya 15 1/2

Diadinskaya to Basovskaya 22

Basovskaya to Orlinsk 21

Orlinsk to Tarasovskaya 17 1/4

Tarasovskaya to Skokinskaya 22

Skokinskaya to Boyarsky 20

Boyarsky to Omolevskaya 23

Omolevskaya to Riskaya 18

Riskaya to Bania 17 3/4

Bania to Touroutskaya 16 3/4

Touroutskaya to Ust-Kutsk 16

Ust-Kutsk to Yakurimsk 18 1/2

Yakurimsk to Kazarkinskaya 28

Kazarkinskaya to Kokiskaya 20 1/4

Kokiskaya to Sukhovskaya 25 3/4

Sukhovskaya to Nazarovskaya 25 1/2

Nazarovskaya to Markovskaya 23

Markovskaya to Oulkanskaya 21

Oulkanskaya to Krasnoyarskaya 17 1/2

Krasnoyarskaya to Potapovskaya 14

Potapovskaya to Makarovskaya 22 3/4

Makarovskaya to Zaborskaya 15

Zaborskaya to Bezroukov 31

Bezroukov to Kirensk 31

-----------------

997 1/2 - 732 1/4

Kirensk to Alexeieff 21

Alexeieff to Garbovsk 21

Garbovsk to Vishniakovskaya 28

Vishniakovskaya to Spalashinsk 25

Spalashinsk to Ilinsk 24 1/4

Ilinsk to Darinskaya 22

Darinskaya to Itcherskaya 28 1/2

Itcherskaya to Montinskaya 22 1/2

Montinskaya to Ivanoushkofskaya 28

Ivanoushkofskaya to Tchastinsk 29

Tchastinsk to Pianovkovskaya 18 1/2

Pianovkovskaya to Dulrovskaya 18 1/2

Dulrovskaya to Kireisk 30

Kireisk to Solianskaya 26

Solianskaya to Parshinsk 18 1/4

Parshinsk to Risinsk 26 1/2

Risinsk to Tchuskaya 26

Tchuskaya to Vitimsk 22 1/2

--------------

1433 - 435 1/2

Vitimsk to Polovinaya 13

Polovinaya to Peledonskaya 15 1/4

Peledonskaya to Krestovskaya 28 1/2

Krestovskaya to Peskovskaya 28

Peskovskaya to Graditsa 25

Graditsa to Khamrinsk 31 1/4

Khamrinsk to Kukinskaya 26

Kukinskaya to Terechinskaya 20 1/2

Terechinskaya to Mukhtomskaya 29 1/2

Mukhtomskaya to Murinsk 22 1/2

Murinsk to Batamaiskaya 20

Batamaiskaya to Sadkolskaya 21 1/2

Sadkolskaya to Niouskaya 25 1/2

Niouskaya to Turuklinsk 17 1/2

Turuklinsk to Jerbinsk 17 1/2

Jerbinsk to Tinnaiya 17 3/4

Tinnaiya to Kamenskaya 21

Kamenskaya to Jeloiskaya 23

Jeloiskaya to Noktinskaya 30

------------------

1866 1/4 - 433 1/4

Noktinskaya to Gotchilnaya 30

Gotchilnaya to Beresovzskaya 22

Beresovzskaya to Inniakskaya 17 1/2

Inniakskaya to Delgeskaya 22

Delgeskaya to Katchegarskaya 20

Katchegarskaya to Naleskaya 21

Naleskaya to Tcherendeskaya 32 1/2

Tcherendeskaya to Birioutskaya 22 1/2

Birioutskaya to Berdianskaya 20

Berdianskaya to Dourdousovskaya 20

Dourdousovskaya to Olekminsk 18

-----------------

2111 3/4--245 1/2

Olekminsk to Solyanskaya 26

Solyanskaya to Harialakskaya 22 1/4

Harialakskaya to Namaminskaya 24

Namaminskaya to Russkaya 18

Russkaya to Tchekurskaya 32 1/2

Tchekurskaya to Billaya 17

Billaya to Hat-Tumulskaya 71

Hat-Tumulskaya to Marhinskaya 22 1/4

Marhinskaya to Marchihanskaya 22 1/2

Marchihanskaya to Samatatskaya 25 1/2

Samatatskaya to Elovskaya 25

Elovskaya to Malikanskaya 25 1/2

Malikanskaya to Tchuriskaya 22

Tchuriskaya to Isitzkaya 17 1/2

Isitzkaya to Krestinskaya 17 3/4

Krestinskaya to Jurninsk 18 3/4

Jurninsk to Oimurdusk 26 1/2

Oimurdusk to Ad-Dabausk 16

Ad-Dabausk to Sinskaya 19

Sinskaya to Batamaiskaya 27 3/4

Batamaiskaya to Tit-Arinsk 24 1/2

Tit-Arinsk to Elanskaya 22

Elanskaya to Tun-Arinsk 22

Tun-Arinsk to Bulguniatatskaya 15

Bulguniatatskaya to Bestiatskaya 15 1/2

Bestiatskaya to Pokrovskaya 23 3/4

Pokrovskaya to Ulak-Ansk 18 1/2

Ulak-Ansk to Tektiurskaya 21 3/4

Tektiurskaya to Tabaginskaya 17

Tabaginskaya to Yakutsk 25

-------

701 3/4

Total versts, 2813 1/2.

(A verst is two-thirds of an English mile.)

APPENDIX III

REINDEER STATIONS BETWEEN YAKUTSK AND VERKHOYANSK

Versts.

Yakutsk to Turutskaya 20

Turutskaya to Makarinsk 30

Makarinsk to Hatustatskaya 22

Hatustatskaya to Eleginiakskaya 25

Eleginiakskaya to Hagaraderdinsk 20

Hagaraderdinsk to Taraiskaya 45

Taraiskaya to Khatignak 37

Khatignak to Tandinskaya 30

Tandinskaya to Sanga-Ali (_Pov._) 30

Sanga-Ali to Sordonakia (_Pov._) 50

Sordonakia to Bete-Kul 50

Bete-Kul to Anna-Suk (_Pov._) 50

VERKHOYANSK PASS.

Anna-Suk to Kangerak 40

Kangerak to Mollahoi (_Pov._) 65

Mollahoi to Suruktutskaya 65

Suruktutskaya to Suruktak (_Pov._) 50

Suruktak to Siremskaya 35

Siremskaya to Golova-Medvied (_Pov._) 60

Golova-Medvied to Tsissibas 60

Tsissibas to Yuk-Tak (_Pov._) 50

Yuk-Tak to Kurinskaya 70

Kurinskaya to Verkhoyansk 30

---

Total versts 934

_Pov.--Povarnia._

APPENDIX IV

YAKUTE SETTLEMENTS BETWEEN VERKHOYANSK AND SREDNI-KOLYMSK

Versts.

Verkhoyansk to Lang-Lor (_Y._) 60

Lang-Lor to Batagai (_Pov._) 45

Batagai to Aditscha (S.) 150 _v._--45

Aditscha to Bur-Alu (_Pov._) 45

Bur-Alu to Tostach (S. *) 115 _v._--70

Tostach to Kurtas (_Pov._) 85

Kurtas to Siss (_Pov._) 45

Siss to Tiriak-Hureya (_Pov._) 45

Tiriak-Hureya to Sordak (_Pov._) 45

Sordak to Kurelach (S. *) 270 _v._--50

Kurelach to Sarok-Kalak (_Pov._) 45

Sarok-Kalak to Ustin (_Pov._) 50

Ustin to Bachaol-Buta (_Y._) 30

Bachaol-Buta to Ebelach (S. *) 175 _v._--50

Ebelach to Khatignak-Kul (_Y._) 60

Khatignak-Kul to Haras-Kul (_Y._) 50

Haras-Kul to Keni-Kul (S. *) 150 _v._--40

Keni-Kul to Ari-Tumul (_Y._) 25

Ari-Tumul to Khatignak (S. *) 100 _v._--75

Khatignak to Shestakova (_Pov._) 80

Shestakova to Siss-Ana (_Pov._) 50

Siss-Ana to Tsiganak (_Y._) 50

Tsiganak to Sokurdakh (_Pov._) 20

Sokurdakh to Andylakh (S. *) 250 _v._--50

Andylakh to Ultum (S. *) 60

Ultum to Utchugoi-Kel (_Y._) 40

Utchugoi-Kel to Malofskaya (S. *) 50

Malofskaya to Ehelakh (_Pov._) 60

Ehelakh to Yatetsia (_Y._) 30

Yatetsia to Sredni-Kolymsk 300 _v._--60

----

Total versts 1510

(*)--Change reindeer.

(_Y._)--_Yurta._

(S.)--Station.

(_Pov._)--_Povarnia._

APPENDIX V

SETTLEMENTS ON KOLYMA RIVER BETWEEN SREDNI-KOLYMSK AND NIJNI-KOLYMSK

Versts.

Sredni-Kolymsk to Botolakh 50

Botolakh to Silgisit 40

Silgisit to Olbut 60

Olbut to Pamaskina 60

Pamaskina to Yuguz-Tamak 40

(_Horses_)

Yuguz-Tamak to Krest 30

Krest to Gornitza 60

(_Reindeer_)

Gornitza to Omolonskaya 60

Omolonskaya to Lakeyevskaya 40

Lakeyevskaya to Kimkina 40

Kimkina to Nijni-Kolymsk 40

(_Dogs_)

---

Total versts 520

APPENDIX VI

A SHORT GLOSSARY OF YAKUTE WORDS

Yakute. Turkish.

1 _Bir_ _Bir_

2 _Iki_ _Iki_

3 _Us_ _Utch_

4 _Tar_ _Dort_

5 _Bar_ _Besh_

6 _Ali_ _Alti_

7 _Sekki_ _Yedi_

8 _Ahuse_ _Sekis_

9 _Too-oose_ _Dokus_

10 _Ohn_ _Ohn_

20 _Shirbeh_

30 _Olut_

100 _Sus_

A man--_Kehe_

A woman--_Diak-Tar_

Yes--_Da_

No--_Sok_

Good--_Yutchingan_

Bad--_Koosahan_

Big--_Lohan_

Little--_Atchu-bui_

A horse--_Atte_

A dog--_Ut_

A house--_Djieh_

A fire--_Wat_

A gun--_Sar_

Meat--_Ette_

Quick--_Turganik_

A door--_Ana_

Water--_Ou_

The sea--_Bayahel_

A river--_Uriakh_

The face--_Surei_

The hands--_Ili_

The arms--_Khari_

The feet--_Atakh_

Rain--_Sammor_

Wind--_Tul_

Snow--_Har_

The sun--_Kun_

The moon--_Oui_

A mouse--_Kugak_

A rat--_Kutchas_

A wolf--_Bireh_

A bear--_Eha_

A cow--_Anakh_

Beautiful--_Utchingoi_

Ugly--_Kouhahan_

Dry--_Kuranak_

Wet--_Nitchagai_

Dear--_Garahan_

Cheap--_Tcheptchiki_

Far--_Gurach_

Near--_Tchugoss_

To go--_Sullar_

To give--_Bier_

To speak--_Etter_

To ask--_Orjitar_

To ride--_Miner_

To buy--_Atlahar_

To eat--_Ahukka_

To drink--_Ihieka_

To smoke--_Tardar_

A month--_Ui_

A week--_Nedielia_

A day--_Boikun_

An hour--_Birtchas_

APPENDIX VII

GLOSSARY OF VARIOUS DIALECTS IN USE AMONGST THE TCHUKTCHIS INHABITING

THE COASTS OF N.E. SIBERIA

Cape Shelagskoi to Whalen. East Cape. Oumwaidjik.

There is: _Warkin_ _Warkin_

There is not: _Winga_ _Winga_

No: _Winga_ _Winga_ _Naka_

Yes: _Ee-ee_ _Ee-ee_ _Ah-ah_

All right: _Metchinki_

Here: _Utku_

I--my: _Mori_ _Wee_ _Kwanga_

You--your: _Turginian_

A deer: _Korang_ _Kashinat_ _Guwiniak_

A house: _Yarat_ _Muntarak_ _Muntarak_

Far: _Yar_

By-and-bye: _Yo-yo_

A walrus: _Durka_ _Ibok_ _Ayivak_

Wood: _Ut-Tut_ _Naksiet_

To sleep: _Zipiska_

Keep still: _Deakarikti_ _Sien_ _Napere_

I don't know: _Ko_

A dog: _At-Tau_ _Kokmarok_ _Klikmak_

A man: _Katowvak_ _Yuk_

A woman: _Nawonskat_ _Aranak_

To drink: _Megwesiak_ _Mugwe_

A bear: _Umhang_ _Nanok_ _Nanok_

A seal: _Memet_ _Nahksak_ _Maklak_

A sled: _Urgur_ _Kaimukshik_ _Kamiyak_

A steamer: _It-Kowat_ _Toroma_ _Amakpawit_

A knife: _Vallia_ _Sinkat_

A duck: _Gallia_ _Tigumak_ _Kawak_

Ice: _Ilgil_ _Sikok_ _Siku_

Snow: _Alash_ _Ani_ _Anio_

Wind: _Yu-yo_ _Anok_ _Anokiva_

Good-day: _Ta-oom_ _Taham_ _Tanakhoom_

You lie: _Eklang_ _Eklima-Kotung_

The hand: _Askak_ _Eehit_

To smoke: _Takwaigen_ _Aptiok_ _Meluktok_

1: _Nerisha_ _Atajak_ _Atajak_

2: _Irak_ _Mailop_ _Mailop_

3: _Nerok_ _Piniayut_ _Piniayut_

4: _Nirak_ _Shtemet_ _Shtemet_

5: _Metch-Tinga_ _Taklimat_ _Taklimat_

6: _No-Metch-Tinga_ _Awindlit_ _Awindlit_

7: _Nera-Ah_ _Mara-Awindlit_ _Mara-Awindlit_

8: _Angero-Utkui_ _Pinia-Unlulut_ _Pinia-Unlulut_

9: _Onasinki_ _Shtema-Unlulut_ _Shtema-Unlulut_

10: _Menitku_ _Kullia_ _Kullia_

APPENDIX VIII

METEOROLOGICAL RECORD OF THE DE WINDT EXPEDITION

PARIS TO NEW YORK, 1901-1902

+-------+--------------------+------------------------+------+------+

| Date. | Place. | Remarks. |8 A.M.|6 P.M.|

| | | |(deg.)|(deg.)|

+-------+--------------------+------------------------+------+------+

| Dec. | | | | |

| 19 | Paris } |Dull--some snow | | 40 |

| 20 | Berlin } Nord |Clear--sunshine | 42 | 50 |

| 21 | Warsaw } Express |Clear | 41 | 33 |

| 22 | Viazma } |Dull--snow | 20 | 22 |

| 23 | Moscow } | " " | 22 | 19 |

| 24 | " |Dull | 17 | 12 |

| 25 | " | " snow | -2 | 5 |

| 26 | " | " " | -8 | -5 |

| 27 | " |Fog and snow | -10 | 5 |

| 28 | " |Dull | 14 | 21 |

| 29 | " |Dull--snow | 6 | 15 |

| 30 | " |Dull | 11 | 12 |

| 31 | " |Dull--fog | 20 | 22 |

| Jan. | | | | |

| 1 | " |Dull | 20 | 22 |

| 2 | " | " | 30 | 33 |

| 3 | " | " | 32 | 33 |

| 4 | " | " | 37 | 18 |

| 5 |} | " | 30 | 28 |

| 6 |} | " | 32 | 29 |

| 7 |} | " | 19 | 29 |

| 8 |} Trans-Siberian |Bright--some clouds | 21 | 25 |

| 9 |} Railway |Bright sunshine | 12 | 0 |

| 10 |} |Fine | -15 | -9 |

| 11 |} | " | -14 | 2 |

| 12 |} |Dull--snow | 7 | 5 |

| 13 | Irkutsk |Fine | 8 | 15 |

| 14 | " |Dull | -2 | 10 |

| 15 | " | " | 0 | 15 |

| 16 | " |Bright sunshine | 10 | 22 |

| 17 | " |Fog and snow | 15 | 11 |

| 18 | " |Bright sunshine | -8 | 6 |

| 19 | " |Dull | -2 | -10 |

| 20 |} Alzonovskaya |Bright sunshine | -31 | -35 |

| 21 |} |Fog | -65 | -30 |

| 22 |} | " | -50 | -32 |

| 23 |} | " | -50 | 11 |

| 24 |} | " | -12 | 1 |

| 25 |} |Dull--snow and gale N.E.| 0 | 8 |

| 26 |} |Clear | -8 | 5 |

| 27 |} |Snow | 12 | 5 |

| 28 |} |Clear | -5 | -14 |

| 29 |} | " | -35 | -30 |

| 30 |} |Fog | -51 | -35 |

| 31 |} |Snow | -10 | -5 |

| Feb. | | | | |

| 1 |} Lena Post-Road | " | -2 | -2 |

| 2 |} | " | -2 | -5 |

| 3 |} |Bright sunshine | 2 | 5 |

| 4 |} |Dull | 10 | 12 |

| 5 |} | " | 15 | 15 |

| 6 |} |Fog | 2 | -5 |

| 7 |} | " | -5 | -4 |

| 8 |} |Fine | -12 | -28 |

| 9 |} |Bright sunshine | -40 | -32 |

| 10 |} | " " | -30 | -10 |

| 11 |} | " " | -25 | -16 |

| 12 |} | " " | -28 | -35 |

| 13 |} | " " | -34 | -25 |

| 14 | Yakutsk |Snow | -15 | -24 |

| 15 | " |Bright sunshine | -24 | -24 |

| 16 | " | " " | -32 | -34 |

| 17 | " | " " | -34 | -24 |

| 18 | " | " " | -32 | -26 |

| 19 | " | " " | -20 | -14 |

| 20 | " | " " | -24 | -30 |

| 21 |} " | " " | -41 | -2 |

| 22 |} |Dull | -12 | -10 |

| 23 |} |Bright sunshine | -45 | -20 |

| 24 |} | " " | -41 | -23 |

| 25 |} Yakutsk | " " | -45 | -30 |

| 26 |} to | " " | -42 | -40 |

| 27 |} Verkhoyansk | " " | -75 | -75 |

| 28 |} |Dull--snow | -35 | -37 |

| Mar. | | | | |

| 1 |} |Bright sunshine | -45 | -63 |

| 2 | Verkhoyansk | " " | -65 | -50 |

| 3 |} " | " " | -40 | -62 |

| 4 |} " | " " | -66 | -65 |

| 5 |} | " " | -73 | -10 |

| 6 |} | " " | -30 | -35 |

| 7 |} | " " | -30 | -25 |

| 8 |} |Fog | -10 | -78 |

| 9 |} Verkhoyansk | " | -30 | -30 |

| 10 |} to Sredni-Kolymsk | " | -30 | -0 |

| 11 |} |Bright sunshine | -55 | -60 |

| 12 |} | " " | -35 | -40 |

| 13 |} | " " | -34 | -25 |

| 14 |} | " " | -40 | -30 |

| 15 |} | " " | -25 | -25 |

| 16 |} | " " | -10 | -20 |

| 17 |} | " " | -15 | 0 |

| 18 |} Sredni-Kolymsk | " " | -15 | -10 |

| 19 | " " | " " | -20 | -10 |

| 20 | " " |Fog | -10 | -18 |

| 21 | " " | " | -38 | -25 |

| 22 |} " " |Bright sunshine | -35 | -30 |

| 23 |} | " " | -40 | -25 |

| 24 |} |Dull | 0 | -10 |

| 25 |} Sredni-Kolymsk-- |Dull--gale S.W. | -5 | -15 |

| 26 |} Nijni-Kolymsk |Fine | -20 | -5 |

| 27 |} |Dull--gale S.E. | 5 | -15 |

| 28 |} Nijni-Kolymsk |Dull | -20 | -15 |

| 29 | " " |Fine | -30 | -8 |

| 30 | " " |Bright sunshine | -35 | -10 |

| 31 | " " | " " | -30 | -25 |

| Apr. | | | | |

| 1 | " " | " " | -26 | -30 |

| 2 | " " |Fine--some snow | -18 | -20 |

| 3 | " " |Fine | -20 | -14 |

| 4 | Sukharno |Strong gale N.W. | -16 | -20 |

| 5 | " | " " " | -15 | -22 |

| 6 | " | " " " | -20 | -20 |

| 7 | Camp 1 |Bright sunshine | -16 | -20 |

| 8 | |Dull | 0 | 0 |

| 9[92]| |Strong gale N. | 0 | -2 |

| 10 |} |Snow | 20 | -10 |

| 11 |} |Strong gale N.W. | -10 | -10 |

| 12 |} | " " E. | 5 | 15 |

| 13 |} |Poorga N.W. | 12 | 25 |

| 14 |} | " " | 12 | 9 |

| 15 |} | " " | 4 | -7 |

| 16 |} | " S.E. | -2 | 5 |

| 17 |} | " S.E. | 10 | 5 |

| 18 |} | " E. | 0 | 4 |

| 19 |} |Strong gale N.E. | 0 | 0 |

| 20 |} | " " W. | -5 | 2 |

| 21 |} |Fine--N.E. light | 6 | 10 |

| 22 |} |Gale S.W. | 0 | 0 |

| 23 |} |Snowstorms | 30 | 5 |

| 24 |} | " | 25 | 5 |

| 25 |} |Dull--snow | 12 | 19 |

| 26 |} |Strong gale N.W. | 22 | 15 |

| 27 |} |Gale N.W. | 20 | 15 |

| 28 |} |Light breeze N. | 14 | 10 |

| 29 |} Arctic Coast |Dull | 25 | -2 |

| 30 |} |Bright sunshine | -8 | 10 |

| May | | | | |

| 1 |} |Dull--gale N. | 18 | 16 |

| 2 |} |Snowstorms | 22 | 0 |

| 3 |} |Gale N. and snow | 25 | 15 |

| 4 |} |Strong gale N.W. | 20 | 20 |

| 5[93]|} | " " N.E. | 22 | 20 |

| 6 |} |Dull | 55 | 24 |

| 7 |} |Gale N.E. | 32 | 28 |

| 8 |} | " S.W. | 38 | 26 |

| 9 |} |Fog | 26 | 20 |

| 10 |} |Bright and clear | 15 | 28 |

| 11 |} | " " " | 18 | 25 |

| 12 |} | " " " | 23 | 17 |

| 13 |} |Dull--strong breeze S.W.| 22 | 25 |

| 14 |} | " " " | 22 | 15 |

| 15 |} |Poorga N.E. | 15 | 15 |

| 16 |} |Dull--strong gale N.E. | 20 | 18 |

| 17 |} |Strong gale N.W.--snow | 20 | 18 |

| 18 |} |Snow | 25 | 20 |

| 19 | Whalen--Bering |Dull--still | 32 | 25 |

| | Straits | | | |

| 20 | " " " | " " | 45 | 25 |

| 21 | " " " | " " | 50 | 34 |

| 22 | " " " | " " | 32 | 31 |

| 23 | " " " |Snow | 44 | 45 |

| 24 | " " " |Fog | 44 | 39 |

| 25 | " " " |Strong breeze S.--dull | 36 | 40 |

| 26 | " " " |Gale S.E. and sleet | 35 | 36 |

| | " " " | | | |

| 27 | " " " |Fine | 36 | 39 |

| 28 | " " " |Dull--fog | 42 | 40 |

| 29 | " " " |Dull | 43 | 40 |

| 30 |} | " | 49 | 34 |

| 31 |} | " | 38 | 46 |

| June |} | | | |

| 1 |} |Bright and clear | 34 | 28 |

| 2 |} |Gale S. | 32 | 32 |

| 3 |} |Dull--rain | 42 | 34 |

| 4 |} |Bright and clear | 56 | 51 |

| 5 |} |Clear | 38 | 52 |

| 6 |} |Fine--hazy | 56 | 68 |

| 7 |} |Clear | 47 | 65 |

| 8 |} Bering Straits | " | 46 | 55 |

| 9 |} | " | 48 | 88 |

| 10 |} | " | 48 | 60 |

| 11 |} | " | 45 | 38 |

| 12[94]|} |Rain | 46 | 36 |

| 13 |} | " | 46 | 40 |

| 14[94]|} | " | 43 | 40 |

| 15 |} |Fog | 40 | 42 |

| 16 |} |Clear | 40 | 55 |

| 17 |} |Still | 53 | 55 |

| 18 |} | " | 51 | 50 |

| 19 |} |Gale S.--dull--rain | 42 | 41 |

| 20 |} Cape Prince |Strong gale S.W. | 34 | 40 |

| 21 |} of Wales--Alaska | " " " | 33 | 36 |

| 22 |} |Gale N.W.--dull | 45 | 42 |

| 23 |} | " S.W.--dull | 36 | 38 |

| 24 |} | " S.W.--dull | 38 | 38 |

| 25 |Nome City |Clear and bright | 45 | 65 |

| 26 | " " | " " " | 45 | 62 |

| 27 | " " | " " " | 55 | 70 |

| 28 | " " | " " " | 62 | 64 |

| 29 | " " | " " " | 60 | 64 |

| 30 |Saint Michael's | " " " | 62 | 73 |

+-------+--------------------+------------------------+------+------+

[Footnote 92: 40 deg. below zero inside tent for three hours at night.]

[Footnote 93: Dates from this must be set back one day on account of

crossing 180 deg. long.]

[Footnote 94: Sea ice opened.]

THE END.

ESTABLISHED 1798

[Illustration]

T. NELSON

AND SONS

PRINTERS AND

PUBLISHERS

[Transcriber's Note: The following typographical errors present in the

original edition have been corrected.

In Chapter II, "accom- the expedition" has been changed to "accompanied

the expedition".

In Chapter IV, a missing quotation mark has been inserted before "You

must not take your furs off".

In Chapter V, "other goulish repasts" has been changed to "other

ghoulish repasts".

In Chapter VI, "arrive as its destination" has been changed to "arrive

at its destination".

In Chapter XI, "a mountain two rivers and a village" has been changed to

"a mountain, two rivers and a village"; and a comma has been changed to

a period after "a voyage of nearly two months from Sredni-Kolymsk".

In Chapter XIII, "by Waldemar Borgoras" has been changed to "by Waldemar

Bogoras".

In Chapter XIV, "a rocky, precipitous promonotory" has been changed to

"a rocky, precipitous promontory"; a comma has been changed to a period

after "during their periods of festivity"; and a missing period has been

added after "a Russian and a Turk".

In Chapter XV, a missing period has been added after "after a terrible

night in the ice".

In Chapter XVI, "fiery poision" has been changed to "fiery poison"; a

missing period has been added after "through the open doorway"; and "we

near our destination" has been changed to "we neared our destination".

In Chapter XVII, a single creek is successively referred to as "Last

Chance" and "Lost Chance": the second occurrence has been changed to

"Last Chance". Also, "held and and shaken" has been changed to "held and

shaken".

In Appendix I, "Niji-Kolymsk to Bering Straits" has been changed to

"Nijni-Kolymsk to Bering Straits".

In Appendix III, "Bete-Kul to Auna-Suk" has been changed to "Bete-Kul to

Anna-Suk".

In Appendix IV, "Keni-Kul to Ari-Tumul (Y.))" has been changed to

"Keni-Kul to Ari-Tumul (Y.)".]

End of Project Gutenberg's From Paris to New York by Land, by Harry de Windt