Now, quickly, the weather changed and the spring advanced. We had some
days almost mild, sometimes it rained instead of snowed, often a warm
wind blew. At any rate it felt warm to us. Anywhere else, I suppose,
we should have called it winter, but, after our experience, we thought
this prime, for we knew that spring was at hand.
The creek, the Klondyke even, were becoming quite free of ice, water
lay about in pools: certainly every night all was frozen again, but
whenever the sun burst through the mists and murk they thawed, and it
was a teaser to get about. To travel down them, either by water or by
trail, was simply impossible.
White-eye and Coney, who had been very boastful of the way in which
they intended to go "right off" to Dawson to register their claim, had
to give it up.
We had many interesting discussions during this time about the future
means of travel in that region. Supposing these gold discoveries were
as great and as extensive as we had reason to expect they would be, we
wondered what would be arranged for easier entrance and exit. Should
large crowds of people rush in, which we quite expected, how were they
to be fed? How were stores to be brought?
Bain, a long-headed Scotsman, pronounced dead against the St Michael's
route. The idea of journeying 1800 miles up the Yukon, after the long
and dangerous voyage of 2750 miles by ocean steamers across the Gulf of
Alaska into Behring Sea, was absurd, he thought, especially as he
averred that the river is only open for about three months, from July
to October, and was then so full of bars, sandbanks, and shallows,
snags and currents, that it is a most hazardous stream to navigate.
When they came up, they were several times nearly being wrecked, and
they passed half-a-dozen boats and scows fast on sandbanks, where they
most probably still remained.
I had fully described the way Meade and I, with our two Indians, had
reached the Klondyke. A road over the White Pass I knew could be made
with comparative ease, and from what we had heard of the Chilcoot Pass,
that, too, might be made available for traffic.
Skagway, the landing-place for the White Pass, was on tidal water, open
always; it was easy to land people and goods there. Then the distance
across the pass being only about forty-three miles to the head waters
of the Yukon, say Lake Bennet, it did appear that must be the best road
in. As for the Miles Canyon and the White Horse Rapids--the only
serious obstacles on the way thence to Dawson--we considered that with
very little engineering skill, and but small outlay, they would be
overcome, either by tramways or short canals. Seeing that the distance
from Victoria, on Vancouver Island, to Dawson _via_ St Michael's is
altogether about 4500 miles, and _via_ Skagway and the White Pass is
but 1600, this did seem common-sense.
We had amongst our acquaintances on this diggings one or two Canadians
who had been about this region for years. They were always talking
about a route "all Canadian." All these landing-places I have
mentioned are in American territory. We dispute that certainly.
However, the Yankees are in possession, and it is quite possible that
they will continue to be so.
But it seemed to Bain--and I certainly agreed with him--that the
Canadian route they talked of had very little advantage, if any, over
the White or even the Chilcoot Pass. Their idea was to make Telegraph
Creek, which is in Canada, 150 miles up the Stickeen river from Fort
Wrangel, the port for this country. They said that it had been already
long used for traffic with the Cassiar gold mines, and asserted that
there is a trail from it to Teslin Lake, down which there is good
navigation to the Hootalinqua river, and so to the Yukon and Dawson.
The distance from Victoria they supposed to be about 1500 miles.
But here, it seemed to us, were exactly the same difficulties, if not
greater ones, than on the other routes.
Bain, who appeared to have studied the geography of this region before
they entered it, having had the opportunity of examining the best maps
available in Victoria, was strong in the opinion that the Canadian
Government should, and would ultimately, build, or cause to be built, a
railway from a really undoubted Canadian port, all through Canadian
territory, to Dawson.
If this goldfield proved to be what we expected, it would have to be
done some day. His idea was that there should be a railway from Fort
Simpson, in Canada, where there is open water all the year round for
ocean ships, to Teslin Lake, about 400 miles in. Indeed, he went so
far as to maintain that this railway should be continued right down to
Dawson, for only by this means could the country be properly developed.
No roads for teams could ever be satisfactory. The forage for cattle
having all to be imported would alone cause this to be so. On the long
journey animals could do little more than haul their own food.
Certainly, if easy roads were made across the passes, if steamers were
put upon the lakes, if ways were made for getting past the canyons and
rapids, large quantities of stores could be taken in during three or
four months of open water. But he stuck to it, that only a railway
will do all that must be done, if this Canadian Yukon country is to be
exploited as it deserved to be. Quartz reefs rich in gold were already
known to exist. Copper had been found too--there appeared to be
immense deposits of it. Coal existed also, and it is recognised that
the supply of wood fuel for mining and domestic purposes will soon run
short--a most important consideration, perhaps the most important of
all. These reefs and copper and coal mines cannot be worked without
heavy machinery, which cannot be handled or conveyed in by waggon or
sleigh, neither can the products of these mines. A railway, and only a
railway, could solve the problem.
Whether one will "pay" or not is quite another matter.
In California, Australia, and those parts of Canada in which gold has
hitherto been found abundantly, causing a large influx of people, the
result has been that many who have made much or little have remained
there, settling on the land or going into business, and so permanently
developing the country.
In the Yukon this can never be. Gold especially, and copper, and
probably some other metals, are alone the product of the country. Land
being absolutely unproductive, and the climate terrible, no one will
make a permanent home there.
With such discussions, and much beside of purely local interest--such
as how Bill the Butcher's claim was looking, and if Tom the Tinker had
found any coarse gold in the hole he had last sunk, or what the chances
were of Mississippi Sam and his partner the Baltimore Oriole finding
good gold up at the creek-head where they had gone prospecting, when
they may be expected back, and so forth,--with such topics of interest,
I say, as these the time passed quickly.
The increased heat of the sun was perceptibly lessening the snow on the
ranges, the creeks were rising, the ice had disappeared, or was piled
on the banks, where it was thawing rapidly. There was a great change
perceptible--a change which was a source of constant interest to all of
us; and to May and me it was a very great relief to see the road
gradually opening for us to get away.
During this time we had become pretty intimate with "Coney." I learnt
his proper name, found him a very genial companion--one very like my
poor lost Meade--and I liked him; so did we all.
He had been unfortunate, and had not found a payable claim until now;
and even now, the one he and White-eyed Williams had marked above us,
though it promised well, had yet to be proved. However, his hopes were
high, and I could not help giving him every encouragement. Knowing I
was going home to England, he was most anxious that I should take
letters from him to his people--nay, that I should visit them; and I,
arguing that if not all right, he would hardly have done this,
concluded that he was a reliable man. Bain thought as I did, and it
resulted that I, with May's entire accord, put all the affairs
connected with our claims into their joint-hands--_i.e._, Bain's and
Coney's--to manage for us.
Late in May there were many more evidences of spring. The nigger-grass
had sprouted: I well remember May's delight with the first green blades
I took her. A few days after, on bare patches amongst the snow, I
found a few lovely flowers; we had no idea of their names, but spring
had come, and we were charmed.
There was plenty of water now to wash with; there was plenty to wash
the heaps of wash-dirt, and the results were good. I, being handy with
tools, made them a cradle, or rocker, and some sluice-boxes.
There was much movement at the diggings: every one was busy on top, and
the change from the drear monotony of the terrible winter was giving
place to cheery looks and hopeful faces. One could tell that the
arrival of running water had been made much use of in another way; for
we hardly recognised some of our acquaintances, since they had been
able to wash their faces successfully and put on clean clothing.
That May had the knowledge of what was in my mind respecting her, I
believed; but she carefully avoided giving me the opportunity of
telling her about it. Why, she cannot even now explain, but so it was.
Towards the end of May the sun had much power: no snow was lying in the
open, but the land was in a terrible condition; the deep grass and
moss, saturated with water, was a perfect morass, all but impossible to
get through on foot. The trails between the shanties and to the
diggings were mere ditches. Those who had not good rubber or
waterproof boots, or, better still, _muclucs_--which is the native name
for mud moccasins, the soles of which are made waterproof with seal
oil--were in a bad plight; for the water was icy cold, and we believed
that there would soon be much sickness amongst these unfortunates. We
noticed, however, that the miners were very good to each other. If one
was known to be badly off for foot-gear, food, or clothing, those who
were better supplied shared with and helped them.
So far as we could judge, they were all a very decent, friendly crowd
of men. We heard of no quarrels or rows amongst them, and saw none of
that roughness and dissipation with which such gatherings are generally
credited.
It is true there was no whisky there at all; all hands were by force
teetotallers. Tea, strong and often, was drunk in gallons by every one.
We were impatient. The days passed very slowly with me and May, for we
were longing to be off; but every one assured us that, even if we were
then at Dawson, we should not be at all advanced, as we must wait there
till the middle of June at least. No boat would yet start to descend
the Yukon. Many who were said to know all about it declared it was
often July before one could get away with safety.
But on the 1st of June we determined to wait no longer; and, after much
discussion, we stowed our gold and what furs and gear we wished to
bring home in our boat, which we had recaulked and repaired, and,
accompanied by Frank and Coney, we embarked.
It was with mingled feelings we did so. Undoubtedly we were glad
enough to be really on our way to England. But to leave the Bains was
not pleasant: we regarded them, and they still are, amongst our truest
and best of friends. Besides them, there were several other good
fellows to whom we had become attached. Naturally, all were down to
the water's edge to see the last of us, and to give us good wishes for
our journey; nearly every man of them from the old country gave us
letters and messages for their friends at home. We had a big bundle of
the former, which we were pledged to deliver personally.
We brought Patch with us. May would not hear of parting with the dear
dog until it was absolutely necessary.
We started at daybreak. The current was swift, and the river was clear
of ice; but along its margin much was still piled up, besides logs and
rubbish. By noon the water had risen considerably, and was floating
this stuff off, making it unsafe to travel; so on a sort of knoll or
island in the stream we camped.
At night, in the mountains, and at the heads of streams, frost holds
sway, then the flow of water is arrested. But when the sun's heat
melts the snow and ice up there, the body of water is increased and the
current accelerated.
We met several parties coming up the river--very hard work they had.
The rush had begun already there. On the fourth day we reached the
Yukon and Dawson City.
As we neared the main river we had still more evidence of the rush. A
very different state of things existed to that when we came up, and we
met large numbers pushing up the Klondyke. We passed numerous camps,
and heard from some of them wonderful accounts of what was being done
up the tributaries of that river.
The topic was gold, naturally; but we also heard much about "grub,"
which appeared to be with many quite as important a subject. There was
a scarcity of it, all declared, and there would be until the St
Michael's boats arrived.
Small heed was paid to us: a few remarks were made about May, wonder
was expressed at her being up there; but all were so absorbed in their
own affairs that they took little interest in us, which was precisely
what we preferred.
Dawson was all alive too. The river front was still encumbered with
ice, but we were assured that it was dissolving rapidly. In places men
were building boats or repairing them, in others they were stowing
outfits into them: there were no idlers.
We landed just below the last shanty, and camped. Then Coney and I
marched into the town. I was anxious to discover the store where I had
found that nice Englishwoman when I went there before to buy the canoe.
I had planned to speak to her about obtaining decent quarters for May.
I soon found the place, and had little difficulty; for after I had told
this lady a portion of my darling's history and a few of her
adventures, she begged me to bring her in and let her see her, any way.
This I did at once; and they had hardly met before I was informed that
May was to stop there until the boat sailed, which, we had ascertained,
would be a week from the day we arrived.
Reports from down river, from Cudahy, had been received in some way,
and were favourable.
There was only one steamboat at Dawson preparing to go down; very few
were going in her. The captain was anxious to make a rapid passage, as
he knew there were crowds of people at St Michael's, ready to pay big
prices to get up. This just suited us, and I quickly secured our
berths.
The Government official at Dawson--some called him governor, some
colonel, others inspector, or commissioner--we found to be an
exceedingly affable and kindly gentleman. Although he appeared to be
overwhelmed with work, he gave me and Frank and Coney an hour of his
time, during which he put all the business connected with our claims in
order, and advised us what to do about the gold we had with us. Thus
in two days after we got to Dawson City everything was settled, and we
only had to pass the time as best we could until our noble ship should
begin her journey out.
We had brought a canoe down with us for my companions to return in, as
it would have been impossible for them to get our heavy boat up against
that powerful current. We sold her to a party who had just come in
from Lake Teslin: they had been camped there all winter. We obtained
150 dollars for her!
May being comfortably placed at the store with a very kind and
hospitable hostess, we three men did Dawson--that is, we visited
various stores, and examined their stocks and prices. There were
plenty of fancy things--queer ornaments, toys, and such-like--which one
wondered should have been brought up, whilst of real necessities there
did not appear to be a very great supply. The prices were enormous: we
made very few purchases. We looked in at some of the saloons, saw what
was called "life," and, being disgusted with it, concluded that up on
the mines was far better for comfort and for pocket.
On the third day Frank and Coney, having had quite enough of it,
started up the Klondyke for home. They took Patch with them: we could
not take him down with us, and to have brought him home to England
would really have been cruel--he would soon have died here. It was
grievous saying farewell to that true and trusty friend.
Our parting with all of them was quite affecting. With these three,
dog and men, was severed all connection with the horrors we had both
experienced on the Klondyke and the Stewart.
With tear-dimmed eyes dear May turned her face from the Yukon, rushed
down to the sea, and murmured--
"Now a new life begins for you and me, Bertie, my friend; but oh! how
impatient I am to be off to England and my mother! How slow everything
moves--everything but that great river!"
"A new life indeed," I responded, "and, please God, a happy one." And
I wondered if part of hers would be passed with me. I wondered, and I
hoped, and longed to ask her what she thought about it.
Dawson City was at that time merely a couple of strings of rough shacks
and shanties, interspersed with all manner of tents and temporary
shelters. One row of buildings ran parallel with the Yukon, and was
called Front Street; the other, some distance behind, had no name then.
All this part was on a low alluvial flat, said to hold gold enough to
pay for working. The so-called streets were mere lines of
rubbish-heaps and bog-holes. It was bad enough then; later, in the
great heat of summer, pestilence would be sure to come, all said, for
there was no attempt at sanitary arrangements. There were several
large stores. Some had substantial warehouses attached to them: here
everything was supposed to be supplied. All were of wood, naturally;
some had iron roofs, some canvas, and some were covered with turf.
Every other building was a saloon, a restaurant, or a hotel. These
latter had the grandest, gaudiest names. There was the Metropole and
Grand, the Queen's, the Victoria, the Rossin House, and the Windsor.
The others, especially the saloons, were very fancifully christened.
There was the Nugget, Woodbine, Mascotte, the Holborn Restaurant, the
Elephant and Castle, and Delmonico's!
All were of logs, or sods, or slabs; many were built of old meat-tins,
covered with sacking or even tarred paper!
There were a few women about. Many of these places were "run" by
women. The less said about many of them who were famous then the
better.
Naturally everything for sale was fearfully expensive, and gold-dust
was the only currency. Every one carried gold about in a little
buckskin bag called a sack: you see it sounded big to speak of a "sack
of gold." On making a purchase, one handed one's sack to the
storekeeper; he weighed out the amount, on the basis, then, of $17 per
ounce. It was considered "bad form"--rather mean--to watch him too
closely. What were a few grains of gold in those flush, glorious times?
Fortunately, we did not need to make many purchases. Our clothing was
rough enough, truly, and terribly dilapidated, but every one was in the
same condition: to have dressed better would have made us remarkable,
and we desired to avoid notice. We could replenish our wardrobes in
Victoria.
The headquarters of the mounted police in Dawson were very complete and
substantial log buildings. They were kept in such perfect order that
they were an amazing contrast to the rest of the town. The good old
British flag flew over them constantly, too.
Having arranged with the captain of the steamer that I could occupy my
cabin on board after my friends had left, I found myself in clover. I
took my meals ashore, as I had discovered a decent place where a fairly
good meal could be had--fair, that is, for the Klondyke--for one
dollar. It was usually a plate of pork and beans, with a piece of pie
made of dried apples or peaches, washed down with a basin of what was
called coffee. Sometimes salmon was to be had, and once I struck bear
meat, and once stewed cariboo venison.
I saw May every day. We rarely went out together. There was really
nothing she cared to see, and as all the roads and trails about this
frontier town were simply impassable with mud, and slush, and knee-deep
water-holes, there was no pleasure in a walk. Another reason was that
women--ladies--being so rare there, her appearance on the street was
the cause of some excitement: people would waylay us simply, I knew, to
gaze with admiration on her sweet face. May disliked this so much, and
of course I did, therefore she hardly went outside her quarters during
the week we were in the town.
With the help of Frank and Coney I had carried our gold on board the
boat, and had stowed it amongst our furs and blankets. By the advice
of the commissioner I had informed the captain about it--he knew him to
be a trusty fellow. We had kept the actual amount of it secret, which
he and many others were anxious enough to know. The result of this
was, of course, that we were credited with possessing as many millions
as we had thousands: that mattered little, for if we had had nothing,
every one would have reported us to be a mass of coarse gold and
nuggets.
Robberies of anything but food, and those very seldom, were never heard
of. All seemed to have perfect confidence in the honesty of the crowd.
We Britishers and Canadians believed that it was in consequence of the
presence of the splendid body of mounted police. No doubt they had
much to do with it, but the Canadians are a law-abiding people, and the
bulk of the foreigners had evidently great respect and confidence in
the British flag and British law. The diggers, however, would have
risen to a man to repel and punish any one found pilfering or
gold-stealing. A species of lynch law had prevailed in that region for
years, and the effect on the whole had made for good.
It was on the twelfth day of June that the steam whistle howled at
daybreak, and our boat's bell clanged ceaselessly for an hour--how they
do love noise over there!--and I brought May and her bundles on board.
The entire population of Dawson City came to the water's edge to see us
off, and yell their good wishes to us.
Then as the red sun arose across the yellow river, the stern-wheel
began to beat the turbid stream, the ropes were cast off, and we were
away.
May and I were at last started for England and home!