The spectacle of great tides of men sweeping hither and thither across
the face of the globe under suasion of so mean a passion as cupidity,
as the waters of ocean are led by the moon, is more spectacular than
pleasant. See in it however much one prophetically may of future empire
and civilizations growing where none grew before—hear as one can on
every breeze that blows from the newest and richest placers the hum
of the factory to be, the song of the plowman (such as it is) and
the drone of the Sunday sermon, replacing “the petulant pop of the
pistol”—yet one can not be altogether insensible to the hideousness
of the motive out of which all these pleasing results are to come.
Doubtless in looking at the pond-lily a healthy mind makes light
account of the muck and slime at the bottom of the pond, whence it
derives its glories; but while the muck and slime only are in evidence,
the water and the flower mere presumptions of the future, the case is a
trifle different.
It is conceded that out of this mad movement to the Klondike great good
may come. Many of those who go to dig will remain to plow, jocundly
driving their teams afield to tickle the tundra till it laughs in
pineapples, bananas and guavas. It is not denied that great cities
(with roof-gardens and slums) will rise like exhalations along the
mighty Yukon, nor that that noble stream will know the voice of the
gondolier and the lute of the lover. In place of the moose and the
caribou, the patient camel will kneel in the shade of palms to receive
his cargo of dates, spices and native silks.
But just now the Klondike region is a trifle raw. In the stark
simplicity of life there men do not veil their characters with a
shining hypocrisy; all, by their presence in that unutterable country,
being convicted of the greed for gold, every man feels that it is
useless to profess any of the virtues; as the discharged inmate of a
reformatory institution has no choice but a life of crime. Later, when
the beneficent influences that track the miner to his gulch shall have
set up a more complex social system under which the presumption of a
base motive may be less strong, we shall hear, doubtless, of Dawsonians
and even Skagwegians who would take the trouble to deny an accusation
of theft and to affirm a disposition to go to church between drinks on
a Sunday.
Ugly as these “rushes” to mining regions seem to one unskilled in use
of the muck-rake and a stranger to avarice—discouraging as they are to
the good optimist, and correspondingly delightful to his natural enemy,
the wicked pessimist—yet it must be confessed that in the present
rush there is one feature that goes far in mitigation of its general
unpleasantness: it has created in distant and unwholesome regions a
demand for the domestic dog.
For the first time in his immemorial existence this comfortable
creature has thrown open to him a wide field of usefulness of exactly
the kind that he deserves—a long way from the comforts of home,
imperfectly supplied with beef-steaks, cold as blazes, with plenty of
hard work and the worst society in the world!
“Good long-haired dogs” are “quoted” in Dawson at one hundred and
fifty to two hundred dollars. Such prices ought to result in drawing
all that kind of dogs out of the rest of the country, which in itself
would be a great public benefaction; for the popular belief in the
superior virtues of the long-haired dog is a lamentable error. The type
and exemplar of that variety, the so-called Newfoundland, is, in point
of general, all-round unworth, superior to any living thing that we
have the advantage to know. Not only is his bite more deadly than that
of the ordinary snapdog, but that of the fleas which he cherishes is
peculiarly insupportable. The fleas of all other dogs merely sadden;
those of the Newfoundland madden to crime! His fragrance, moreover,
is less modest than that of even the Skye terrier; it is distinctly
declarative. A charming fiction ascribes to him a tender solicitude for
drowning persons, especially children; but history may be searched in
vain for a single authentic proof—and history is not over-scrupulous in
the matter of veracity. Every one has heard and read of rescues from
drowning, by Newfoundland dogs, but no human being ever saw one. It is
to be hoped that the hyperborean demand for “good long-haired dogs”
will not fall upon heedless ears.
The Great Dane is not a “long-haired” dog, but he is large and strong,
and should be wanted in the Klondike country. His size and strength
would there be his best recommendations; here they are his worst.
Having a giant’s strength he uses it as a giant, and his multiplication
in the land is a terror and a curse. His manner of unloading a bicycle
has been justly described as the acme of inconsiderateness. Moreover,
he is increasing all the time in magnitude as well as in quantity; at
his present rate of growth he will within a decade or so overtop the
horse and outnumber the sheep. There will be no resisting him. But what
an excellent roadster he would be in Alaska! The brevity of his hair is
really an advantage: in calculating his load less allowance will need
to be made for icicles. Indubitably the value of a Great Dane in Dawson
is at least one thousand dollars.
The most pernicious varieties of the species—the small animated
pestilences upon which our ladies waste so much of the affection
which, it is reverently submitted, might with better results be
bestowed upon the males of their own species—these pampered laplings
are unfortunately not useful for draught purposes in the Arctic. One
of them could not pull a tin plate from Squottacoota to Nickalinqua.
So they are not “quoted” in the Dawson market reports. But something
has been overlooked: the incomparable excellence of their flesh! It is
respectfully suggested that a few of these curled darlings and glossy
sweethearts be sent to the Klondike, suitably canned and spiced as
commercial samples. The miners may be assured that the flesh is not
only wholesome, but is entirely free from that objectionable delicacy
that distinguishes, for example, the yellow-legged pullet; it is
honestly rank and strong and has plenty of “chew” in it—just the right
kind of meat for founders of empires and heralds of civilization. A
dozen cans of Dandy Dinmont or King Charles Spaniel should have in
Dawson an actual value of three thousand dollars, but doubtless could
be supplied at a much smaller price. So much as that would hardly be
needed in any one outfit, for such is the nutritious property of small
dog that most persons would find a single can of it enough.
We are able to supply all Alaska and the Northwest Territory with dogs
and with dog. Every township has always a surplus. I invite attention
to our peerless canine wealth and to the eminent fitness of its units
for service on the northern trails and along the northern alimentary
canal. Before purchasing elsewhere let the judicious Klondiker examine
our stock. He is too far away to look at it, but when the wind is in
the southeast that is needless.
1898.