Gastineau Channel is more than a mile wide at the entrance, and eight
miles long; it narrows gradually as it separates Douglas Island from the
mainland, and, still narrowing, goes glimmering on past Juneau, like a
silver-blue ribbon. Down this channel at sunset burns the most beautiful
coloring, which slides over the milky waters, producing an opaline
effect. At such an hour this scene--with Treadwell glittering on one
side, and Juneau on the other, with Mount Juneau rising in one swelling
sweep directly behind the town--is one of the fairest in this country of
fair scenes.
The unique situation of Juneau appeals powerfully to the lover of
beauty. There is an unforgettable charm in its narrow, crooked streets
and winding, mossed stairways; its picturesque shops,--some with
gorgeous totem-poles for signs,--where a small fortune may be spent on a
single Attu or Atka basket; the glitter and the music of its streets and
its "places," the latter open all night; its people standing in doorways
and upon corners, eager to talk to strangers and bid them welcome; and
its gayly clad squaws, surrounded by fine baskets and other work of
their brown hands.
The streets are terraced down to the water, and many of the pretty,
vine-draped cottages seem to be literally hung upon the side of the
mountain. One must have good, strong legs to climb daily the flights of
stairs that steeply lead to some of them.
In the heart of the town is an old Presbyterian Mission church, built of
logs, with an artistic square tower, also of logs, at one corner. This
church is now used as a brewery and soda-bottling establishment!
The lawns are well cared for, and the homes are furnished with refined
taste, giving evidences of genuine comfort, as well as luxury.
My first sight of Juneau was at three o'clock of a dark and rainy autumn
night in 1905. We had drifted slowly past the mile or more of brilliant
electric lights which is Treadwell and Douglas; and turning our eyes to
the north, discovered, across the narrow channel, the lights of Juneau
climbing out of the darkness up the mountain from the water's edge.
Houses and buildings we could not see; only those radiant lights,
leading us on, like will-o'-the-wisps.
When we landed it seemed as though half the people of the town, if not
the entire population, must be upon the wharf. It was then that we
learned that it is always daytime in Alaskan towns when a steamer
lands--even though it be three o'clock of a black night.
The business streets were brilliant. Everything was open for business,
except the banks; a blare of music burst through the open door of every
saloon and dance-hall; blond-haired "ladies" went up and down the
streets in the rain and mud, bare-headed, clad in gauze and other airy
materials, in silk stockings and satin slippers. They laughed and talked
with men on the streets in groups; they were heard singing; they were
seen dancing and inviting the young waiters and cabin-boys of our
steamer into their dance halls.
"How'd you like Juneau?" asked my cabin-boy the next day, teetering in
the doorway with a plate of oranges in his hand, and a towel over his
arm.
"It seemed very lively," I replied, "for three o'clock in the morning."
"Oh, hours don't cut any ice in Alaska," said he. "People in Alaska keep
their clo's hung up at the head of their beds, like the harness over a
fire horse. When the boat whistles, it loosens the clo's from the hook;
the people spring out of bed right under 'em; the clo's fall onto
'em--an' there they are on the wharf, all dressed, by the time the boat
docks. They're all right here, but say! they can't hold a candle to the
people of Valdez for gettin' to the dock. They just cork you at Valdez."
At Juneau I went through the most brilliant business transaction of my
life. I was in the post-office when I discovered that I had left my
pocket-book on the steamer. I desired a curling-iron; so I borrowed a
big silver dollar of a friend, and hastened away to the largest
dry-goods shop.
A sleepy clerk waited upon me. The curling-iron was thirty cents. I gave
him the dollar, and he placed the change in my open hand. Without
counting it, I went back to the post-office, purchased twenty-five
cents' worth of stamps, and gave the balance to the friend from whom I
had borrowed the dollar.
"Count it," said I, "and see how much I owe you."
She counted it.
"How much did you spend?" she asked presently.
"Fifty-five cents."
She began to laugh wildly.
"You have a thirty-cent curling-iron, twenty-five cents' worth of
stamps, and you've given me back a dollar and sixty-five cents--all out
of one silver dollar!"
I counted the money. It was too true.
With a burning face I took the change and went back to the store. My
friend insisted upon going with me, although I would have preferred to
see her lost on the Taku Glacier. I cannot endure people who laugh like
children at everything.
[Illustration: Copyright by E. A. Hegg, Juneau
ESKIMO IN BIDARKA]
The captain and several passengers were in the store. They heard my
explanation; and they all gathered around to assist the polite but
sleepy clerk.
One would say that it would be the simplest thing in the world to
straighten out that change; but the postage stamps added complications.
Everybody figured, explained, suggested, criticised, and objected.
Several times we were quite sure we had it. Then, some one would
titter--and the whole thing would go glimmering out of sight.
However, at the end of twenty minutes it was arranged to the clerk's and
my own satisfaction. Several hours later, when we were well on our way
up Lynn Canal, a calmer figuring up proved that I had not paid one cent
for my curling-iron.
From the harbor Mount Juneau has the appearance of rising directly out
of the town--so sheer and bold is its upward sweep to a height of three
thousand feet. Down its many pale green mossy fissures falls the liquid
silver of cascades.
It is heavily wooded in some places; in others, the bare stone shines
through its mossy covering, giving a soft rose-colored effect, most
pleasing to the eye.
Society in Juneau, as in every Alaskan town, is gay. Its watchword is
hospitality. In summer, there are many excursions to glaciers and the
famed inlets which lie almost at their door, and to see which other
people travel thousands of miles. In winter, there is a brilliant whirl
of dances, card parties, and receptions. "Smokers" to which ladies are
invited are common--although they are somewhat like the pioneer dish of
"potatoes-and-point."
When the pioneers were too poor to buy sufficient bacon for the family
dinner, they hung a small piece on the wall; the family ate their
solitary dish of potatoes and pointed at the piece of bacon.
So, at these smokers, the ladies must be content to see the men smoke,
but they might, at least, be allowed to point.
Most of the people are wealthy. Money is plentiful, and misers are
unknown. The expenditure of money for the purchase of pleasure is
considered the best investment that an Alaskan can make.
Fabulous prices are paid for luxuries in food and dress.
"I have lived in Dawson since 1897," said a lady last summer, "and have
never been ill for a day. I attribute my good health to the fact that I
have never flinched at the price of anything my appetite craved. Many a
time I have paid a dollar for a small cucumber; but I have never paid a
dollar for a drug. I have always had fruit, regardless of the price, and
fresh vegetables. No amount of time or money is considered wasted on
flowers. Women of Alaska invariably dress well and present a smart
appearance. Many wear imported gowns and hats--and I do not mean
imported from 'the states,' either--and costly jewels and furs are more
common than in any other section of America. We entertain lavishly, and
our hospitality is genuine."
Every traveller in Alaska will testify to the truth of these assertions.
If a man looks twice at a dollar before spending it, he is soon "jolted"
out of the pernicious habit.
The worst feature of Alaskan social life is the "coming out" of many of
the women in winter, leaving their husbands to spend the long, dreary
winter months as they may. To this selfishness on the part of the women
is due much of the intoxication and immorality of Alaska--few men being
of sufficiently strong character to withstand the distilled temptations
of the country.
That so many women go "out" in winter, is largely due to the proverbial
kindness and indulgence of American husbands, who are loath to have
their wives subjected to the rigors and the hardships of an Alaskan
winter.
However, the winter exodus may scarcely be considered a feature of the
society of Juneau, or other towns of southeastern Alaska. The climate
resembles that of Puget Sound; there is a frequent and excellent
steamship service to and from Seattle; and the reasons for the exodus
that exist in cold and shut-in regions have no apparent existence here.
Every business--and almost every industry--is represented in Juneau. The
town has excellent schools and churches, a library, women's clubs,
hospitals, a chamber of commerce, two influential newspapers, a militia
company, a brass band--and a good brass band is a feature of real
importance in this land of little music--an opera-house, and, of course,
electric lights and a good water system.
Juneau has for several years been the capital of Alaska; but not until
the appointment of Governor Wilford B. Hoggatt, in 1906, to succeed
Governor J. G. Brady, were the Executive Office and Governor's residence
established here. So confident have the people of Juneau always been
that it would eventually become the capital of Alaska, that an eminence
between the town and the Auk village has for twenty years been called
Capitol Hill. During all these years there has been a fierce and bitter
rivalry between Juneau and Sitka.
Juneau was named for Joseph Juneau, a miner who came, "grub-staked," to
this region in 1880. It was the fifth name bestowed upon the place,
which grew from a single camp to the modern and independent town it is
to-day--and the capital of one of the greatest countries in the world.
In its early days Juneau passed through many exciting and charming
vicissitudes. Anything but monotony is welcomed by a town in Alaska; and
existence in Juneau in the eighties was certainly not monotonous.
The town started with a grand stampede and rush, which rivalled that of
the Klondike seventeen years later; the Treadwell discovery and
attendant excitement came during the second year of its existence, and a
guard of marines was necessary to preserve order, until, upon its
withdrawal, a vigilance committee took matters into its own hands, with
immediate beneficial results.
The population of Juneau is about two thousand, which--like that of all
other northern towns--is largely increased each fall by the miners who
come in from the hills and inlets to "winter."
In the middle eighties there were Chinese riots. The little yellow men
were all driven out of town, and their quarters were demolished by a
mob.
A recent attempt to introduce Hindu labor in the Treadwell mines
resulted as disastrously.
[Illustration: Copyright by E. A. Hegg, Juneau
RAILROAD CONSTRUCTION, EYAK LAKE]