Dawson City: In Civilisation Once More: High Prices: To
Whitehorse on the _Dawson_: Gamblers’ Tricks.
Some one has defined enjoyment as the reflex of successful effort,
and another has said that pleasure is largely a matter of comparison.
That there is much truth in both remarks is unquestionable and the
five days I remained at Dawson were the most serene and restful I had
ever experienced. To be sure there were many stages where conditions
had constantly improved since that anxious and wearisome time in the
canoes; first the visit at Rampart House, next the trip in the row boat
to Fort Yukon, then the rest in the road house there, followed by the
trip on the _Lavelle Young_. The few days’ passage on the latter should
have been pleasant but unfortunately this ship had seen her best days,
and very soon after starting it was noticed that through the opening
of some old break the lower deck was half filled with steam, and the
farther we went the worse it got. This not only lessened her speed by
one half but caused us considerable uneasiness during nearly the whole
passage. It was not pleasant to contemplate that after all, my trip
might end up by a boiler explosion.
But here at Dawson I had again reached civilisation, where I received
letters from home, the first since leaving Edmonton nearly three months
previously. I also availed myself of the telegraph and set at rest any
anxiety that my friends at home may have felt for my safety.
[Illustration: DAWSON CITY]
There were minor things that were necessary to transform me from the
bushman of the north to a passable member of Dawson society. First
the barber devoted his attention to me to the extent of a dollar and
a half. I suppose it was worth it. On returning from the enjoyment of
this civilising process I noticed in a shop window some newspapers
presumably for sale, and it dawned on me that something might have
occurred in the outside world during my absence, so I bought a copy
of a _Toronto Journal_ about two weeks old and one of Vancouver of the
week before, for which I paid the moderate sum of fifty cents. This
reminded me that I was in a golden city. It also reminded me of the
early days in Winnipeg before the copper coins were introduced. It was
during the boom of 1882, when every one in Ontario thought himself
unfortunate if he were not the possessor of some soil in the west. On
a certain morning a gentleman who had only arrived in Winnipeg the
night before stepped out from his hotel and met a newsboy from whom he
took a copy of the _Manitoba Free Press_ handing the vendor a cent in
payment. The youngster looked at the coin and then handed it back with
the remark for him to keep it as he might need it when he went back to
Ontario. In Dawson they look with disdain on any currency of a smaller
denomination than “two bits”--twenty-five cents.
I remained five days at Dawson waiting for a boat to Whitehorse, and,
during that time had an opportunity of visiting the mines in its
vicinity and of hearing the wonderful stories of the fortunes made
by the pioneers from the sands of the Klondike and its tributaries.
But the day for the hand miner with his rocker has passed and instead
hydraulic mining and dredging has taken its place. The Guggenheims and
others have purchased most of the old claims and it is interesting
to witness the great streams of water tearing down the earth of the
hillsides and revealing the old cribbing which the former proprietor
had erected when the Dawson camp was the wonder of the continent.
The pioneers, as they deserved, got wonderful returns of coarse gold
and exhausted the richest earth, but the men of capital still find
sufficient left to reward them liberally for operations on a larger
scale. The bed rock along the streams and the bottom land along each
side is a soft mica schist easily scooped out with dredges; this almost
invariably carries a fair percentage of gold, quite sufficient to
bring a good margin of profit when so worked whereas it would not pay
expenses if worked under the old system. What struck me very forcibly
was the way in which the timber had been completely stripped from the
hills, the larger for building purposes, for mining props and for
fuel, and the brush for building embankments to hold the tailings.
Look in whatever direction you would and scarcely a green twig could
be seen, and spruce wood for fuel was selling when I was there for
thirteen dollars a cord.
The journey from Dawson City to Whitehorse, some 460 miles, was
comfortably made on a well equipped steamer, the _Dawson_. She left on
Wednesday evening, August 22, and we arrived at Whitehorse on Sunday
afternoon, August 26, and on the following morning at 9.30 we took the
train for Skagway, arriving there at 4.30 P.M.
This road, which is 111 miles in length, is a narrow gauge, but the
road bed is good and the cars comfortable. Along the route as far as
the south end of Lake Bennet there is nothing specially worthy of note.
The soil is generally sandy. Jackpine and spruce, of little value for
lumber, are seen along the track. After leaving Bennet, the road winds
up the mountain to the summit of the pass, which is 2897 feet above the
sea. Here we pass again into United States territory. The road descends
twenty-one miles with a very steep grade to Skagway, at tidewater on
an arm of the Lynn canal. The trip between Bennet and Skagway affords
some exceedingly fine mountain scenery. In many places we pass near the
snow line, and from Skagway a large glacier is visible. The country is
almost devoid of timber. The rocks are granite, and in no part have I
seen a more desolate landscape. Looking out of the car window as we
glided swiftly down grade following a little mountain stream, we could
see across the ravine the old trail of 1897, clinging close to the
mountainside, while at short intervals were the abandoned bunk houses
where the weary gold seeker sought shelter at night and freely parted
with his coin for the privilege of spreading his blankets on a rough
wooden floor.
Along this trail passed men from every country in Europe and America
as well as a number from Eastern Asia each speaking a different tongue
but all pressing forward to the Mecca of their hope and all with the
one idea that of gaining riches from this great Northern Eldorado. If
those old buildings could speak what tragedies they would reveal. Many
a young man, so the story goes, seeing his purse so depleted when he
had reached Skagway that it would be impossible for him to reach his
destination, soon beheld by the wayside a gambler’s chance of escape
from his difficulties. There was always on hand an engaging young man
to sympathise with him and to relate an experience similar to his own.
Then would come the interesting story of his success at cards through
having learned the gamblers’ tricks. These he would impart to his new
found friend who would introduce him to his comrades. There is no
use pursuing the story further. The poor victim with an empty pocket
book, and finding his hopes and dreams of great wealth all shattered,
frequently the battle ended in a tragedy. The stories of those days, as
sometimes related by the pioneers, are sad indeed.