WITH SACK AND STOCK IN ALASKA
PRINTED BY SPOTTISWOODE AND CO., NEW-STREET SQUARE LONDON
WITH SACK AND STOCK
IN ALASKA
BY
GEORGE BROKE, A.C., F.R.G.S.
LONDON
LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO.
AND NEW YORK: 15 EAST 16th STREET
1891
_All rights reserved_
Dedicated
TO THE MEMORY OF
A⸺ M⸺
KILLED ON THE DÜSSISTOCK
AUGUST 16, 1890
PREFACE
The publishing of these simple notes is due to the wishes of one who is
now no more. But for this they would probably have never seen the light,
and I feel therefore that less apology is needed for their crudeness and
‘diariness’ than would otherwise have been the case.
G. B.
CONTENTS
PAGE
CHAPTER I
LONDON TO SITKA
The summons—Across the Atlantic in the ‘Polynesian’—A deceitful
car-conductor—The C.P.R.—At Victoria—On the ‘Ancon’—Fort
Wrangel—Juneau—Sitka 1
CHAPTER II
SITKA TO YAKUTAT
The town—Ascent of Sha-klokh—Expedition to Edgcumbe—Dick’s
dismissal—Enlisting recruits—Ascent of Verstovia—Arrival of
W.—On board the ‘Alpha’—Miserable weather—Run ashore at Yakutat 20
CHAPTER III
OPENING APPROACHES
Getting canoes and men—A false start—Icy Bay—Torrents of
rain—On march—The Yahkhtze-tah-heen—A wet camp—More wading—Our
forces—Camp on the glacier—Across the ice—The Chaix Hills 37
CHAPTER IV
AN ATTACK AND A COUNTERMARCH
A long lie—Men return to the beach—We make a
cache—Shifting camp—The Libbey Glacier—The south-east
face of St. Elias—Right-about-turn—Lake Castani—The Guyot
Glacier—Reappearance of the men—Wild-geese for supper 61
CHAPTER V
FURTHER ADVANCE AND MY RETREAT
Across the Tyndall Glacier—Ptarmigan—Another bear—The Daisy and
Coal Glaciers—A catastrophe—The others go on—Alone with Billy
and Jimmy—More geese—The blue bear—Marmot hunting 81
CHAPTER VI
BACK TO THE SHORE
Ptarmigan with a revolver—Back to Camp G—The others
return—Their narrative—The men turn up again—We start down—A
wasp’s nest—Mosquitoes—Wading extraordinary—We leave Icy Bay—A
luxurious breakfast 99
CHAPTER VII
LIFE AT YAKUTAT
Curio-hunting—Small plover—W. goes down on the ‘Active’—Siwash
dogs—A great potlatch—Cricket under difficulties—No signs of
the ‘Alpha’—I determine to go down in a canoe—The white men
accompany me 122
CHAPTER VIII
YAKUTAT TO SITKA
Farewells—A drunken skipper—Cape Fairweather—Loss of our
frying-pan—Mount Fairweather and its glaciers—Murphy’s
Cove—Stuck at Cape Spencer—Salmon and sour-dough bread—We reach
Cape Edwardes—The ‘Pinta’—Safe back—Height of St. Elias 137
_MAPS_
COAST OF PART OF SOUTH-EASTERN ALASKA, SHOWING THE ST. ELIAS
ALPS _To face p._ 1
THE SOUTHERN SLOPES OF MOUNT ST. ELIAS 〃 61
[Illustration: COAST OF part of SOUTH-EASTERN ALASKA showing the ST.
ELIAS ALPS.
_Longmans, Green & Co., London & New York. F.S. Weller._]
WITH SACK AND STOCK IN ALASKA
CHAPTER I
LONDON TO SITKA
On the twenty-fifth of April, 1888, I was playing golf on our little
links at home, and had driven off for the Stile Hole, situated on the
lawn-tennis ground, when I observed the butler emerge from the house
with an orange envelope in his hand, and come towards me across the
lawn. Having with due deliberation played a neat approach shot over the
railings on to the green, I climbed over after it, putted out the hole,
and then went to meet him. The telegram proved to be from my friend
Harold T., with whom at Saas in the previous summer I had discussed
Seton-Karr’s book on Alaska, and we had both come to the conclusion that
we should much like to go there. Finding that I should have the summer
of ’88 at my disposal, I had written to him at the end of March to ask
about his plans and now got this telegram in reply. It was sent from
Victoria, B.C., and was an urgent appeal to join him and his brother at
once, as they meant to make an attempt on Mount St. Elias that summer,
and must start northward by the end of May. I retired to the smoking-room
to consider the situation, and finally came to the conclusion that such a
hurried departure might be managed.
I crossed over to Brussels, where I was then posted, packed up all my
goods and chattels, left masses of P.P.C. cards, and returned again
three days later. The afternoon of May 11 found me on board the Allan
liner ‘Polynesian’ at Liverpool. I was fortunate in making some very
charming acquaintances among the few saloon passengers on board, and
though the good ship did not bely her sobriquet of ‘Roly-poly,’ we had a
very pleasant crossing till the 17th, when we got into a horrible cold
wet fog, the temperature on deck not rising above 34° for two days,
while for about twelve hours we ran along the edge of, and occasionally
through, thin field-ice, all broken into very small pieces. About noon
on the 18th we sighted land to the north, covered with snow, and entered
the Gulf of St. Lawrence next day. We stopped off Rimouski to pick up
our pilot at lunch-time on Whit-Sunday, a lovely day but very cold, and
having left summer in England, we seemed to have returned suddenly into
winter. Next morning we awoke to find ourselves at Quebec.
As we had brought nine hundred emigrants, and the ‘Oregon’ and
‘Carthaginian’ came in at the same time, there was a mob of over two
thousand despairing passengers at the landing-stage station hunting
wildly for their luggage. I abandoned the conflict and went round the
town, calling at the Post Office, in hopes of hearing something from
H., but there was nothing, which was not very wonderful, as, though I
had telegraphed to say I was coming, I had not indicated my route in
any way. So I returned and collected my things, and after a successful
interview with the Customs officials got the greater part of them
checked to Vancouver, and conveyed the remainder to the railway station,
where I found my friends of the voyage. There was a train to Montreal
at half-past one, but it was very crowded, and we fell victims to the
blandishments of a parlour-car conductor, who represented to us that his
car would be attached to the emigrant special which would leave at three
o’clock and reach Montreal as soon, if not sooner, than the ordinary
train, as it would run right through. We fell into the snare, deposited
our properties in the car, and went off into the town again, returning
punctually at three. Alas there was no sign of the emigrant train, and
it did not leave till six, while its progress even then was of the most
contemptible character, stopping for long periods at benighted little
stations, so that we did not reach Montreal till three in the morning.
Fortunately we had furnished ourselves with biscuits, potted meat,
etc., including whisky, and so did not actually starve, but we were all
very cross, the ladies especially; and though the train was going to
continue its weird journey we declined to have anything more to do with
it, and hurried up to the big hotel, where we were soon wrapped in
dreamless slumbers, which lasted so long that we very nearly came under
the operation of a stern rule which decreed that no breakfasts should be
served after half-past ten.
After seeing as much of the city as we could during the day, we had
an excellent dinner, drove down in plenty of time to catch the 8.30
Pacific train, and ensconced ourselves in the recesses of a most
admirable sleeping-car, the name of which was, I fancy, the ‘Sydney.’ The
C.P.R. berths are most comfortable, and so wide that in many cases two
people are willing to share one, but the greater part of dressing and
undressing has to be done inside the berth, as in all Pullmans, which
is inconvenient till you get used to it. In this respect the gentlemen
are better off than the ladies, as we were able to make use of the
smoking-room which was next our lavatories, while I fancy the ladies’
accommodation was much more circumscribed.
The next day was very hot, and was spent in running past little lakes
and through marshy forest, called ‘muskeg’ or peat land. Early in the
morning we picked up an excellent dining-car in which we breakfasted,
lunched, and dined most luxuriously, the intervals of the day being
occupied with whist, tobacco, and light literature. On the following
morning we found ourselves skirting the northern edge of Lake Superior,
enjoying superb scenery as the line followed the curves of the rock-bound
shore. That day we had the best dining-car of the whole trip, which
unfortunately was taken off after lunch, and we had to content ourselves
with high tea at Savanne; but a far greater disaster awaited us next
morning, for, on inquiring for our breakfast at a fairly early hour,
we heard that an ill-mannered goods train had run into it in the night
as it was peaceably waiting for us, and had reduced it to a heap of
disintegrated fragments. This was a pretty state of things, but I had
been warned beforehand that such calamities were sometimes to be met
with, and so our party were prepared. Setting up an Etna inside a
biscuit-tin so as to guard against the possibility of disaster from
the jolting of the carriage, we brewed our tea, and made a comfortable
meal off biscuits, potted meat, sardines, and marmalade, while the
rest of the passengers, who seemed to have neglected these precautions,
glared upon us in hungry envy. However, we reached Winnipeg at noon,
and they rushed in a tumultuous body to the refreshment-room. Here we
overtook that ghastly train in which we had started from Quebec, and
some waifs and strays were recovered which the ladies had left behind.
At Portage-la-Prairie a dining-car was attached, and we were enabled to
get our evening meal in peace. Next morning, Saturday, we secured our
travelling restaurant at a place called Moosejaw about six o’clock—at
least I was told so.
And here I wish to protest against the insane habit of early rising which
seems to possess the passengers on the C.P.R. I am an early riser myself,
in fact I pique myself on it, but in this car I was always the last,
with the exception of one of my friends, a young Englishman ranching at
Calgary. By seven o’clock the Babel of voices, and the noise made by our
coloured attendant as he stowed away the beds, compelled one to get up,
which was unkind if one had been talking and smoking till 1 or 2 A.M.
One could, however, always get a nap in the smoking-room.
That day we had a quite shocking dining-car, so bad that I hereby publish
its name, which was ‘Sandringham,’ in the hope that the Cuisinal Director
of the C.P.R, whoever he may be, will have taken care to reform that car
before I next meet with it.
As our Calgary friend got off the train at 2 A.M., some of us sat up
till that hour to see him off, but we turned out again at four o’clock
to enjoy the grand scenery of the Rockies, into the heart of which we
crept, up the Bow River, over the Kicking-Horse Pass, down to Donald, and
then we crossed the Columbia, and began to climb up the valley of the
Beaver into the Selkirk range. This is even finer than the Rockies, owing
to the greater size of the snowfields and glaciers, and the view from
Glacier House, where we stopped for lunch, the grades in the mountains
being too steep to allow of a dining-car being attached, was magnificent
in the extreme. At this point the great Illecillewaet glacier descends
into the valley, backed by the superb spire of Mount Sir Donald, and the
C.P.R. have most obligingly built a summer track outside the snow-sheds
to enable the passengers to see it in comfort. It was on this day that
we crossed the trestle bridge in the Beaver Valley, 295 feet above the
stream below; two of us happened to be sitting at the time on the step of
the car, and as the bridge, which has no parapet or floor of any kind, is
curved, we were tipped forward till we could contemplate the water far
beneath between our feet as they overhung the edge of the step. We held
on rather tight during the minute or so spent in creeping over it. This
sitting on the step of the platform was most enjoyable, as there had been
rain in the night, and consequently there was no dust, but every now and
then the one who was sitting farthest from the projecting roof of the
carriage received an icy shower-bath, as the train dashed suddenly into
a snow-shed through the roof of which the melting snow was dripping,
and little feminine squeals might be heard, intermixed with deeper bass
grumblings.
At Glacier House I received a letter from H., saying they could not start
for another fortnight, and recommending me to stop off there for a day
or two and go up the glacier; but, as all my climbing things were in my
checked baggage, I preferred to go on. We were detained an hour or so by
a disobliging boulder which had playfully rolled down on to the track
and had to be removed with dynamite before we could proceed, and then we
went down over some marvellous loops, which resembled the twistings of
the St. Gothard near Wasen, crossed the Columbia again, and climbed up
into the Gold Range. From Revelstoke to Sicamous we were accompanied by a
dining-car, but our dinner would, perhaps, have been more satisfactory,
though more devoid of interest, had they not selected the moment at which
we were running fast down a steep incline to jam the brakes on. Away went
every wine-glass, soup hopped out of the plates, potatoes out of the
dishes, and we might as well have been in a rough sea with no fiddles
on. At last peace, and as much of the dinner as could be collected, were
restored. Late in the evening we enjoyed a most lovely view over the
broad smooth expanse of Lake Shusroap, the train running along its reedy
shore for some time.
During the night we careered down the Thompson, and found ourselves at
daybreak accompanying the Fraser in its wild career to the sea. We were
compelled to breakfast at North Bend, at the objectionable hour of seven,
and my toilet was hurried in a very undue manner; but the views all that
morning were ample compensation for having been dragged out of bed.
All this time I had no conception of where H. was, his letter having
said nothing, but in London I had been given an address in the town of
Vancouver, and so had determined to go there first. Being a Monday, no
boat ran to Victoria from Vancouver, and so I had to part with my friends
and nearly all the other passengers at Westminster Junction, whence they
went on to New Westminster. I reached Vancouver at two o’clock, and after
securing comfortable, not to say luxurious, quarters in the brand-new
C.P.R. hotel, strolled down to find out about H., and discovered that he
and his brother were located at the famous Driard Hotel in Victoria.
The afternoon was spent in wandering about the town, the evening in
smoking at the house of an hospitable fellow-countryman, and the next
day the little steamer ‘Yosemite’ conveyed me across the blue waters of
the Gulf of Georgia, muddied in one place by the flood of the Fraser, to
Victoria, a distance of about seventy miles. We had an exciting race with
the old Cunarder ‘Abyssinia,’ now employed in the mail-service between
Canada and Japan. She moved first from her moorings in Burrard Islet, but
her head was lying the wrong way, and before she got round we were out
of the harbour with a quarter of a mile’s start. Down the long straight
piece that followed she gained slowly but steadily, and was almost level
with us on our left when we just succeeded in getting into Plumper’s Pass
first, and in the intricate windings of this tortuous channel, where the
ship kept spinning round in little over her own length, we again got
a long start which was gradually reduced till there was nothing of it
left as we neared the south-east point of Vancouver Island; but here we
cut inside a group of small islands, where apparently the larger vessel
could not come, and this time we gained such an advantage that we were
not again caught. We steamed round the corner into the very beautiful
harbour of Victoria, and reached the wharf at half-past eight. Here I
was met by H., apprised by telegraph of my approach, and really hardly
recognised him without his moustache, which for some obscure reason he
had chosen to shave off while staying at the Glacier House in the spring.
Having entrusted my baggage to an express man, we did not go up at once
to the Driard, as it was too late to procure dinner, or indeed anything
else to eat there, but repaired to the Poodle Dog, where my hunger was at
last appeased. We then proceeded to the hotel, where we found E., H.’s
brother, and most unlike him, and talked over plans far into the night.
A fourth man, W., an American member of the A.C., was coming to join us,
but the taking of his degree was delaying him. Still he did his best for
us by sending us long telegrams of advice every day.
The next few days passed rapidly, the mornings being spent in shopping,
though that was a task which fell chiefly to H., who had been elected
‘boss’ of the party, or in frantic endeavours to ascertain how we
were going to get from Sitka to Yakutat, a distance of nearly three
hundred miles. We entered into negotiations with the owners of two
steam-schooners, but as one asked fifty dollars a day and the other
four thousand for the whole trip, we rejected these noble offers.
The afternoons were spent by E. and me in sailing on the harbour in
‘plungers,’ stiff little Una-rigged cutters, which revealed the meaning
of their name if there was any sea on, or in lawn-tennis in the gardens
of various hospitable magnates of Victoria. At the house of one of these
I encountered an old friend, a neighbour at home, whose ship was now
on the station, and I had the pleasure of dining with him on board at
Esquimault the next evening.
There was great uncertainty even about the arrival of the ‘Ancon,’ the
steamer which was to take us up to Sitka; she was expected to arrive
early on the 4th of June, but did not turn up till the evening of the
5th, crammed with American tourists. With the utmost difficulty we
obtained a fairly airy but exceedingly diminutive cabin, for at first we
found ourselves condemned to a pocket edition of the Black Hole. H. tried
to make us believe that the majesty of his presence had over-awed the
purser, but we somehow fancied that bribery and corruption had something
to do with it. In consequence of this mob of passengers there were three
breakfasts, three lunches, etc., a most horrible arrangement, while at
all of them the food was bad, and the waiting worse. Thus we grumbled,
little thinking with what enthusiasm the same cookery would be received
on our return.
As a sea voyage this trip up to Sitka is quite unique, though possibly
travelling among the fiords of Norway might be compared to it in quality
if not in quantity, for these steamers travel about eight hundred miles
between Victoria and Sitka, only about thirty miles of which, the
crossing of Queen Charlotte’s Sound, can in any sense be termed open
sea, though the whole of it is on salt water. The whole coast up to Cape
Spencer is fringed with a mass of islands separated by deep and very
narrow channels, in some instances so narrow that, as in the case of
Peril Straits and Seymour Narrows, even a steamer can only pass them at
slack water. One American gentleman assured me that in the latter strait
the tide had been known to run seventeen knots! All these islands are
densely wooded with conifers, among which may every now and then be
detected the white streak of a waterfall racing down the steep hill-side.
We stopped to coal at Nanaimo, and while this objectionable process was
going on, H. and I spent the afternoon in drifting about the harbour in
an Indian canoe, a dug-out about twelve feet long, managed in just the
same way as the Canadian canoes we have in England, and in endeavouring
to acquire some Chinook, the jargon invented more or less by the old
traders, and used all over British Columbia and the southern part of
Alaska. It contains chiefly Indian words, most of which are common to
various different tribes, a few English, a few Russian, and a good many
French words, such as Siwash (i.e. _sauvage_) for Indian, and _sawmon_
for any kind of fish.
Then for six days it rained at intervals, while a grey pall of cloud
stretched ceaselessly over our heads, and we spent most of our time
playing whist or euchre in our cabin, which would just hold four people.
Our fourth on these occasions was a most cheerful Scotchman, known to
us as the King of Cassiar, to which kingdom he was now returning. He
possessed a large stock of most excellent whisky when he came on board.
During these sad and gloomy days we visited sundry salmon canneries,
and about midnight on Sunday the 10th we arrived at Wrangel. We had now
got so far north that there was quite light enough even at that hour
to walk about the streets, and I accompanied our Scotch friend ashore,
as he was to leave us here and go up the Stickheen river. While in the
town I gleaned the information that canoes went up almost every summer
from Hooniah to Yakutat along the unprotected part of the coast, and we
proceeded to sketch out plans for conveying our expedition in the same
way.
The next day was still wet and cold, and though we met sundry small
icebergs floating down from the glaciers in Taku Inlet, we saw nothing of
the mountains which gave them birth. Some excitement was caused by our
stopping about eleven o’clock to pick up a fair-sized canoe with four of
Mr. Duncan’s Metlakatla Indians in her, who had encountered rough weather
and damaged their frail craft. We reached the mining city (!) of Juneau
in the evening, and H. and I plunged about till late at night, seeking,
with the assistance of Mr. Reed, a Juneau store-keeper, for some sloop or
schooner which might convey us up to Yakutat. This we failed to find, but
we engaged a certain Dick as interpreter, who was said to be the smartest
Indian in Alaska, and rejoiced in the appellation of the Dude. For this
aristocratic Siwash’s services we weakly consented to pay four dollars a
day and his food, and he accompanied us on board, his luggage being about
as voluminous as that of a Swiss guide.
On Tuesday the 12th we had at last a perfectly beautiful day, during
which we steamed from Douglas Island, the seat of the biggest gold-mine
in Alaska, up the Lynn Canal to Pyramid Harbour. The mountains on each
side of the narrow inlet were covered with glaciers, all obviously
shrinking, and none of any great size, till we came to the Davidson
Glacier, close to Pyramid Harbour, which at a distance appears to come
right into the sea, though it is really separated from it by a narrow
belt of moraine. Retracing our course next day down the Lynn Canal,
we then went down Chatham Strait to Killisnoo, where I saw the biggest
salmon that I ever came across in Alaska, a brace of about fifty pounds
each, and then, passing through most beautiful scenery in Peril Straits,
finally reached Sitka at 11 P.M.