Agreements were drawn up between us, one being styled a “grubstake
agreement” and the other a “power of attorney.” The “grubstake agreement”
stated that in return for the sum of one hundred and fifty dollars the
parties of the first part drew up this agreement in order that they might
have legal claim to a one-third interest in all placer and mining ground
staked by party of the second part in the Chandelar district and north of
the Yukon River.
The power of attorney was simply a legal document, giving me permission to
stake ground for the benefit of absent parties.
Having settled all legal matters and received my “grubstake,” I purchased
my outfit--four dogs, a fur robe, a Yukon sled, and a Yukon stove. In
addition I had to purchase dog harness, a gun, ammunition, axe, tent, and
compass, as well as dog-feed, a good supply of provisions, and suitable
clothing for the trip.
My four dogs were of different breeds, only one being a pure native dog or
“malamute.” My leader deserves special mention. The most intelligent dog
is always placed in the lead, as the dogs are not driven by reins, but
simply by word. To tell the dogs to travel straight ahead, the command is
“Mush!” or “Mush on!” which is evidently a corruption of the term used by
the French-Canadian trappers of the Hudson Bay Company, who would
naturally say “Marchez” when ordering their team to travel. To travel to
the right the command is “Gee!” and to the left “Aw!”
My leading dog was born in Circle City and had been christened Nellie. She
had both the native and the outside strain--a dog whose intelligence and
faithfulness cannot be questioned, as after-events will prove.
We left Fairbanks on December 12th, my partner and myself each having four
dogs. We had an outfit consisting of tent, stove, guns, ammunition, robes,
snow-shoes, one hundred pounds of dog-feed, and about five hundred pounds
of food. It was our intention to proceed to Circle City, and there to
complete our outfit.
For the first few miles the trail was in excellent condition and we made
good time. It was rather late when we started, and by the time we had
covered sixteen miles it was already dark. It must be remembered that in
the middle of winter there is only a very short period of daylight in
Alaska. The first night we stayed at a mining camp known as Golden City,
consisting of two saloons and a number of dilapidated cabins, the majority
being minus doors or windows.
Next day we made an early start, as we had a very steep hill to climb,
known as Cleary Dome. There had been a light fall of snow during the
night, and this made the trail very heavy. We found it impossible to get
the loads up the hill, so we hitched the eight dogs on to one sled, and,
having dragged it to the top of the Dome, we took the dogs down again for
the other sled. From the summit there was a steep decline, and it took me
all my time to hold back the sled, to prevent it cutting the hind legs of
the wheeler dog.
The trail was in bad condition, as it had been cut to pieces by some heavy
freight teams. The track at this point ran along the side of a hill down
into the valley, and the sleds were on one runner most of the way. Every
few minutes they would upset, and a good deal of physical energy would be
expended to right them again. The loads were lashed to the sleds, so
little actual damage was done.
That night we stayed at Cleary Creek, having accomplished ten miles as the
result of the day’s trip, but as the greater part of the ten miles
consisted of the ascent and descent already mentioned we were both
satisfied.
Next morning we started off, following the trail down Cleary Creek until
we struck the Chatanika River, and here we met our first big obstacle. Our
course lay up the Chatanika for about seventy miles, but as soon as we
arrived on the banks of this river we found it impossible to travel any
farther, on account of overflows. It may be as well to explain for the
benefit of the uninitiated what is meant by an overflow.
The Chatanika is a river over one hundred miles in length, but is full of
gravel bars. At the beginning of winter the stream, of course, freezes,
and where the gravel bars are situated it freezes solid to the bottom,
owing to the fact that the water is very shallow at these points.
There is always a large body of water flowing from the subterranean
springs at the source of this river, and, as this water cannot make its
way through the barriers of ice and gravel, it forces itself up through
the ice and flows over the top until such time as it freezes or finds its
way under the ice again. In some places the overflows thus formed are
three or four feet deep.
Now, it is a serious matter to wade through water when the thermometer is
a long way below zero. It is the easiest thing in the world for a man to
lose his feet in this way, for as soon as one gets wet the moisture
freezes into a cake of ice, and unless precautions are immediately taken
the limbs may become so badly frozen that amputation is necessary, in
order to prevent mortification.
When we found the river was so full of overflows we judged it best to wait
a few days and give the water a chance to freeze, as the weather was very
cold at this time. We found a deserted cabin, minus door and window, and
proceeded to make ourselves as comfortable as possible under these
circumstances. We had a stove with us, and as there was plenty of wood
handy we soon had the cabin warm.
We stayed at this place over two weeks, waiting for the overflows to close
up. Time began to drag heavily on our hands, for the days were very short
and game scarce, so all we could do was to eat and sleep and wait for the
flood-water to freeze. Our Christmas Day--that day of all the year so
eagerly looked forward to in happier climes--we spent as follows. During
the few hours of daylight I took my gun and went off into the woods. I
found the tracks of a wolverine, but was unable to follow them up, as it
was already getting dark, though I could see that the tracks were newly
made.
That night we did our best to celebrate Christmas properly. We prepared a
feast, which consisted of caribou steak, evaporated potatoes, evaporated
onions, canned butter, canned pears, and baking-powder bread. Such little
luxuries as plum-puddings and mince-pies were chiefly conspicuous by
their absence, and I finished my repast with a bad attack of
home-sickness, which was perhaps natural, but hardly in keeping with my
_rôle_ of dauntless pioneer.
We waited by the banks of the Chatanika until January 1st, and then, as
the overflows still showed no signs of freezing over, we determined to
start the New Year and our trip up the river at the same time, and trust
to that special Providence which is supposed to guard sailors, fools,
drunken men, and little children. The dogs were in good condition, as they
had done nothing for two weeks but eat, sleep, and grow fat. They showed a
distinct dislike to their harness at first, which was perhaps natural, but
after a time resigned themselves to the inevitable.
For the first two miles we managed to pick out a land trail, but after
that we had to take to the river, as the timber became too thick. After we
had travelled about two miles on the river trail, we began to congratulate
ourselves on the condition of the track, for by picking our way carefully
and avoiding the stretches of open water we were making good time.
All at once we saw smoke issuing from a small cabin, so we halted the dogs
in order to make inquiries regarding the overflows higher up the river. We
found the cabin to be occupied by two hunters, who told us that round the
bend of the river there was an overflow over three feet deep, which it was
impossible to get through. They had been waiting for a week to see whether
it would freeze over. We, however, had had enough of delays, so we
determined to see whether we could get through.
Reaching the overflow we found it covered with a thin coating of ice. We
had just succeeded in getting on to this “glare” ice when, with a crack,
it broke under us, and we sank up to our knees in ice-cold water, while
the poor dogs were nearly covered. Having once got wet, we thought we
might as well try to get through; but it was impossible for the dogs to
pull, as they could not get a foothold, and the noses of the sleds were
blocked with “slush” ice. We accordingly hitched our eight dogs on to one
sled, and I walked ahead in order to encourage the animals to follow me.
Every time I put my foot down I broke through the ice, and it was easy to
follow my course by the holes I left behind me in the trail. The farther I
went the deeper the water became, and at last I realized that the only
thing to be done was to return to the cabin, as it was impossible for
either dogs or men to stand the deadly cold of the water much longer. As
soon as I arrived at this decision the two hunters, who had come out to
assist us, went back to the cabin and prepared a big fire and hot coffee.
We succeeded in getting the dogs on to solid ice again, and the water on
the dogs, sleds, and harness--to say nothing of ourselves--immediately
turned to ice.
We reached the cabin in a few minutes, got the dogs inside in order to
thaw them out, and proceeded to change our frozen clothes. The cabin could
hardly be described as pretentious, as the dimensions were only about
eight feet by ten, by five feet in height. Put four men and eight dogs,
all ice-coated, in this space, with a big fire going, and it will be
easily seen that the atmosphere is likely to become somewhat oppressive.
To add to our discomfort, the cabin became so hot that the snow on the
roof commenced to melt and find its way through the numerous cracks. The
floor, consisting as it did of plain mother earth, soon began to take on
the form of a small duck-pond, so we were compelled to make a thick carpet
of spruce boughs.
Next morning, after a hearty breakfast, we were ready to try the overflow
again. My partner at this time began to show himself in his true colours.
He was ready to return to Fairbanks, for he had developed a disease
variously termed “cold feet,” “crawfish,” or “white feather.”
Reaching the overflow again, we repeated the previous day’s programme,
with the same result, but we found that the ice was a little thicker than
before. We returned to the cabin, resolved to wait a few days. After
staying two more days in the cabin, in an atmosphere resembling a Hindu
bazaar or a Turkish bath, another man came up the river with four dogs,
and we determined to make a combined attempt to get through.
We therefore hitched the twelve dogs on to one sled, and after a
tremendous effort succeeded in getting the sled through the overflow on to
solid ice. The first sled taken through contained the tent and stove, and
while my partner and myself returned for the other sleds our latest ally
pitched the tent and lit the stove, and by the time we got back with the
second sled a good cup of coffee was waiting for us. We then returned for
the third sled, and having succeeded in dragging it through to the tent we
unanimously decided to knock off work, for, although we had only travelled
about half a mile from the hunters’ cabin, we were all satisfied that we
had done a good day’s work.
Next morning we started before daybreak, determined to put in a long day’s
“mush.” The thermometer was down to forty below zero, and we all had the
hoods of our “parkas” drawn tight.
We passed Kokomo Creek and had travelled for about six miles when to our
dismay we came to a place where the river was open, as far as we could see
it round the bend.
The same dreary programme of Chatanika overflow was repeated. Three
journeys were made through the water, which was in some places waist deep
and was over half a mile long. At the end of the first trip my partner
stayed to light a fire. After we had again succeeded in getting the three
sleds high and dry we changed our clothes in front of the fire, and, after
knocking the ice off the harness and sleds, we made a forced march to an
Indian camp about a mile farther ahead. We stayed here for two days, in
order to rest the dogs, as their feet had been badly cut by the ice.
At the end of two days my partner and myself started on alone and, after a
hard struggle through water and drifts, succeeded in reaching a cabin
known as “Cy’s Place,” which is about thirty miles from Cleary Creek. My
partner here threw up the sponge and said he was going back to Fairbanks.
I told him that I was not in the habit of turning back, so we finally
decided to separate, he to go back to Fairbanks, while I made up my mind
to try and reach Circle City, and there wait for some party going to the
Chandelar.
A bad wind-storm had arisen during the night, and up-river no signs of a
trail could be seen, so I left the dogs at “Cy’s Place” and tied on my
snow-shoes. Going ahead I “broke trail” for about six miles, returning at
night to Cy’s. Next morning I started off on my lone trip, and soon came
to the end of my beaten trail. I walked on ahead, wearing my snow-shoes,
and the dogs followed as best they could. Every few yards the nose of the
sled would bury itself in a drift, and the dogs would lie down until I
turned back and dragged it loose.
After I had covered about nine miles in this way the wind began to blow
again. It was getting dark, so I tried to pitch the tent, but found it
impossible on account of the wind. The only thing left for me to do was to
light a big fire and make myself as comfortable as I could until morning.
Fortunately there was a good supply of dry wood handy, and I soon had a
big fire under the trees. I laid spruce boughs on the snow, and, having
fed myself and the dogs, rolled myself in my robe and slept till morning.
Of course I had to replenish the fire two or three times during the night,
and each time I awoke I found the dogs lying almost on the top of me for
warmth.
Next morning, after a rather cheerless breakfast, I started off again. The
dogs seemed reluctant to travel, as though aware of some danger ahead. I
intended, if possible, to reach a cabin at the mouth of Faith Creek, which
was about twenty miles from my camp. I found the trail very heavy, and the
only way I could make any progress was to fasten a rope to the sled, tie
the other end round my waist, and pull with the dogs. Time and again the
sled would be buried in the drifts; but, notwithstanding this, by about
half-past two in the afternoon I had made some fourteen miles. It was just
commencing to get dark, and the temperature was about forty degrees below
zero. I was hoping to get into Faith Creek before five o’clock, as I had
not been bothered with overflows, when, suddenly turning a bend in the
river, I saw, straight ahead, a stretch of “glare” ice, which warned me to
look out for an overflow. I fully realized my serious position. With the
weather so cold I was running a chance of freezing to death if I got wet,
for the wood all round seemed to be green, and there was now no partner to
help me in case I got stuck.
I walked ahead, with the dogs close at my heels, looking for solid ice.
Presently, without warning, there was a loud crack, and myself, dogs, and
sled were precipitated into the water. The thing happened so suddenly that
almost before I realized what had occurred I found myself standing in four
feet of water, with the dogs struggling to keep themselves afloat.
My first thought was for them, so I drew out my hunting knife and cut them
loose from the sled. They scrambled out as best they could, dragging
themselves to solid ice. I next tried to haul the sled out of the water,
but found it impossible, so I cut the ropes, let the load sink under the
ice, and pulled out the empty sled. With all my food, clothes, dog-feed,
and everything else lost, I managed to flounder through the water with the
sled on my shoulder. When I got to solid ice once more I began to reflect
upon the serious nature of my position. I was at least six miles from any
cabin; from feet to neck I was covered with a solid coat of ice; and when
I tried to light a fire the green wood refused to burn and my fingers
began to freeze. Owing to the ice upon my clothes, I found it impossible
to bend my knees, and I realized that my only chance of salvation lay in
reaching Faith Creek, six miles away.
Without wasting any further time, I fastened the dogs to the sled and
started off. The wind commenced to blow again, and the trail was
completely obliterated. The only thing I could do was to trust to the
instinct of Nellie, my leading dog. She struggled on gamely through drifts
and snow-banks, and the other dogs and myself followed her. The trail was
so bad and my clothes were frozen so stiff that I could only travel at
about a mile an hour.
[Illustration: “THERE WAS A LOUD CRACK, AND MYSELF, DOGS, AND SLED WERE
PRECIPITATED INTO THE WATER.”]
The night grew darker, and it was soon almost impossible to see the trees
on either side of the river, except at such times as the trail veered to
one side or the other; then the trees would be discernible, standing up
stark and naked, like gigantic skeletons rising from the snow. In the
zenith the Polar star glowed brilliantly, while as far as the eye could
reach the snow lay like a gleaming shroud on the earth. Not a sound was to
be heard save the panting of the dogs, the crunch of snow under my frozen
moccasins, and, somewhere in the distance, the howl of an animal. I cared
for nothing, thought of nothing, desired nothing, save to reach Faith
Creek. Time and again I was ready to drop, but I still kept on, spurred by
the thought that I was fighting for my life, for I knew that once I gave
way to the lassitude that seemed to be gripping my senses, my life would
pay the forfeit. I had heard so much of lone “mushers” on the trail, who
had lain down on the snow for a sleep from which they never awoke, that I
was prepared to struggle on to the last.
Soon the dogs began to tire, and it was only by persistent effort that I
could keep them from lying down in the snow. They were so weary, poor
brutes, that it was cruelty to whip them; all I could do was to pat them
and encourage them with my voice. Nellie tried to lick my frozen gauntlet,
or, half in play, to bite my numbed hand.
Still I kept on, hoping against hope that I should soon see the light in
the Faith Creek cabin. I kept shouting, but all the answer I got was a
mocking echo. Blundering through snow-drifts, with the wind-blown snow
driving against my face like particles of glass, the dogs panting with
exertion or moaning from the pain of their lacerated feet, without a sign
of a trail or landmark, and with my feet in a peculiar condition of
insensibility, still I staggered blindly but persistently towards my goal.
At eight o’clock I was still on the trail; but somehow a doubt began to
take possession of me that perhaps I had missed the cabin altogether and
was wandering towards the Twelve-mile Divide.
[Illustration: “I SAW TWO MEN APPROACHING ME, AND AT ONCE STRUGGLED TO MY
FEET.”]
All at once the dogs stopped, and on stepping ahead to see what was the
matter I found they were tangled in their harness. I tried to bend over to
release them, but my clothes were so stiff that I found it impossible, and
I lurched over, falling head-foremost into a drift.
I tried to raise myself to a sitting position, only to fall back weakly. A
new sensation seemed to be taking possession of me. I no longer desired to
struggle; a mysterious warmth appeared to surround me, and a drowsiness
stole over my senses. My only wish was to be left alone to sleep. I was
just dozing off when Nellie, my leading dog, lifted up her nose and gave
vent to a weird, wolf-like howl, which she repeated after a few seconds’
interval. I gazed at her with an almost ludicrous amazement, wondering
stupidly why she was making such a noise. Almost simultaneously with her
second howl I heard a shout and, to my amazement, saw a lantern shining
through the trees. I at once realised that help was at hand, and
immediately the desire for sleep left me. A wild longing for life, for
warmth, for food, asserted itself instead, and I gave a yell that must
have sounded like the war-whoop of an Apache Indian. A moment later I saw
two men approaching me, and at once struggled to my feet. Through the
trees came the shouted query, “Are you all right?” “I’m all right,” I
answered. “Where’s the cabin?” By this time the two men had reached me,
and one of them, looking hard into my face, exclaimed, “Why, your nose is
frozen!”
He put his arm round me and helped me to the cabin, while the other man
took charge of my dogs. I found that the cabin was only about a hundred
yards from the place where I had lain down to sleep, but, owing to the
fact that it was built in a grove of trees, it was impossible to see it
until one was close to it. It seems almost ironical that had it not been
for the howl of a dog I would surely have died within a hundred yards of
warmth and shelter.
Once in the cabin the men examined me, and found that my nose, ears, and
fingers were frozen, but not dangerously so. Without any hesitation they
took a knife and cut off my socks and moccasins. My feet, from the toes to
the ankles, were as white and as hard as marble. They thawed them out with
snow, and for three hours I suffered indescribable torment as the
congealed blood began to circulate.
Next morning my feet were so swollen and looked so bad that I was wrapped
in furs, packed in a dog-sled, and taken to the hospital at Fairbanks,
which was reached in three days. I lay in the hospital for three months,
but fortunately did not lose any portion of my feet. It will be many
months, however, before I shall be able to walk as well as formerly, but I
count myself as one of the most fortunate, because I escaped with my life.
[Illustration: A BRIEF ACCOUNT OF THE AUTHOR’S ADVENTURE TAKEN FROM THE
“FAIRBANKS (ALASKA) TIMES.”