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THE GREAT GOLD RUSH
A Tale of the Klondike
[Illustration: cover]
* * * * *
FIRST EDITION April, 1913
Reprinted November, 1913
* * * * *
THE GREAT GOLD RUSH
A Tale of the Klondike
by
W. H. P. JARVIS
Author of "Letters of a Remittance Man"
Toronto
The Macmillan Co. of Canada,
Limited
1913
TO
COLONEL SAMUEL BENFIELD STEELE
C.B., M.V.O., A.D.C.
ONE TIME OFFICER COMMANDING
THE
NORTH-WEST MOUNTED POLICE IN THE
YUKON TERRITORY
THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED
AS A
TOKEN OF AFFECTIONATE REGARD
PREFACE
There is a freemasonry among Klondikers which rules that no tales shall
be told out of school. If, therefore, this were an historical novel, if
I were telling tales and seeking to escape censure by the subterfuge of
changing names, I could hardly succeed. Let me take the case of Poo-Bah,
for instance. The reader with a knowledge of the early days of Dawson
accepting the story as historical, would fix as the original any one of
half a dozen men indecently caricatured. But if he is told the character
is a composite one, that it is the personification of Dawson graft, or,
in other words, that it is the sum of a merger, he will understand and,
I think, make no complaint.
Otherwise the story may be accepted as the author's best effort to
convey a true account of the different phases of the world's most
remarkable stampede. The stories of corruption among the officials in
Dawson are those which a visitor would have heard on every hand, and at
the present time there are many old-timers in the Yukon who will tell
tales similar to the incidents I have introduced in my story.
When one of my characters speaks of the Dawson officials as petty
larceny thieves and highway robbers, it is to be understood to be a
sample of the phraseology in vogue at the time.
The different types of prospector I have attempted to portray are those
I have met, lived with, and mixed with. Should it appear I have given
too much space to the humble economies of the miner's life, I shall
advance as my excuse the lack of our literature in this particular.
I have also made a humble attempt to establish the respectability of the
miner. So much has been written to compromise him, and so many
imaginations have drawn lurid pictures of his morals, I feel it his due.
In a general way the reader may accept anything in my story which has
none other than an historical interest as being accurate.
I am indebted to the Rev. Archdeacon Macdonald, now of Winnipeg, for the
story of his first discovery of gold. For the story of the discovery of
Franklin Gulch I am indebted to Mr. William Hartz, who also furnished
the accounts of the finding of gold in the Stewart River. These accounts
have never before been written.
W. H. P. J.
TORONTO, CANADA.
_January_ 1913.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. THE FORTUNE-SEEKERS. 1
II. JOHN BERWICK 11
III. THE BEGINNING OF YUKON 21
IV. SOCIETY IN ALASKA 30
V. SOAPY'S LITTLE GAME 38
VI. HITTING THE TRAIL 48
VII. HUGH'S PHILOSOPHY 62
VIII. OVER THE SUMMIT 71
IX. STORM AND STRESS 80
X. AN EMPIRE'S OUTPOST 90
XI. ANOTHER PASS 95
XII. A NEW PARTNER 107
XIII. THE DANCE 115
XIV. A LONG SHOT 126
XV. REVELATION 133
XVI. A STREAM OF HISTORY 137
XVII. DAWSON 149
XVIII. POO-BAH! 158
XIX. GRAFT 170
XX. A LOTTERY 182
XXI. THE PEELS' HOSPITAL 194
XXII. THE LAST STRAW 201
XXIII. REVOLUTION 214
XXIV. WITHIN THE BARRACKS 223
XXV. RECRUITING 230
XXVI. LOCATED 236
XXVII. THE WOOD-PILE 244
XXVIII. A COUNCIL OF WAR 251
XXIX. STONY GROUND 257
XXX. ON THE SCENT 265
XXXI. AN ODIOUS DILEMMA 274
XXXII. A DERELICT 280
XXXIII. TRIBUTE 286
XXXIV. NO SURRENDER 294
XXXV. THE MAN WITH THE POUCH 299
XXXVI. AFTER THE CRISIS 307
XXXVII. OIL ON TROUBLED WATERS 313
XXXVIII. REUNION 319
XXXIX. RETROSPECTION 325
XL. THE HAPPY ENDING 331
THE GREAT GOLD RUSH
CHAPTER I
THE FORTUNE-SEEKERS
Those who join the stampede to a new goldfield may generally be divided
into two classes, the tenderfoot and the old-timer; otherwise, the
novice and the experienced prospector.
The novice joins the stampede because he catches the "fever"--dreams
dreams. The old-timer goes because the diggings he had last worked in
proved of little good.
Were the sea-dogs of old--Drake, Raleigh, or Frobisher--born into the
world to-day, their spirit would surely have impelled them to the mining
camp, to seek fortune in the mountain fastnesses, and to wager years of
effort on the chance of wresting from Nature her treasure stores.
On the steamship _Aleutian_, as she lay in the dock at Vancouver,
British Columbia, one day in the March of 1898, there were many
tenderfeet and a few old-timers. Amongst the experienced was John
Berwick. About him surged the steamship's host of passengers, waving
their arms, and yelling answers to the cheer that went up from the great
crowd upon the dock-side.
He and his fellows were bound for the Klondike goldfields. Before them
lay adventures, toil, and danger; the adventurous will ever draw the
tributes of goodwill from the multitude staying at home.
The air was chill and damp; and the increased speed of the steamer as
she passed from the harbour accentuated the effect of the breeze that
blew against her, so that Berwick felt cold. He shivered, and half
turned towards the door across the promenade; but the wavelets, flying
by in their half-blue, half-grey ripples, fascinated him, and he
lingered. Suddenly he was aroused--a hand was on his shoulder, and he
heard a familiar voice say,
"Hullo, old chum!"
John swung round. He looked into the smiling face of his old-time
mining-mate, George Bruce.
"George, by all the gods!" he cried. "Are you bound for the diggings,
too?"
"Yes, and mighty glad to find an old mate. I told you, when you left
Coolgardie, that you wouldn't stand civilization long, but had no idea
of running across you in this rush."
The two turned and entered the saloon together. Neither mentioned it,
but each knew that in the adventures before them their efforts and their
fortunes would be joined. In the language of the Australian, they were
mates, or, in the vernacular of their new surroundings, "partners."
George Bruce was tall and athletic, with golden hair. He was a jovial
soul, blessed with a body of activity. He would go for the hardest work
in a cheery way, and during the social hours of evening was the best of
company. He was as liberal with his money and means as he was of
good-nature.
The saloon was crowded with men, drifting about, staring at all they
met, or talking in groups. On the lower deck dogs could be heard
barking. The ship was tense with an atmosphere of excitement.
Berwick and his "pardner" went by a companion-way to the lower deck,
where they found a passage-way to the fore-part of the ship, and so came
to the presence of the canine choir. Big dogs and little dogs, of every
breed and colour, were there. All grades of canine society were
represented, from the big and well-fed St. Bernard to the mongrel snared
in the slums. Dogs were a safe investment in the towns on the Pacific
Coast of North America, and unscrupulous humanity was actively at work
capturing them and getting them there.
The portion of the deck to which the dogs were relegated was also set
apart for the baggage, which was piled in heaps in the middle. A dozen
men were diving into kit-bags, extracting necessary articles or packing
them away. The inspiration of the last few minutes in Vancouver had
prompted many to purchase odds and ends which had been forgotten in the
general outfitting.
A tall, angular man was attending to three dogs of an uncommon breed.
Two of them were practically of the same size, which was that of an
ordinary collie; the third was not so large. All had the same markings,
black with tan about the face and neck, and a show of tan about the
legs, but the hair on the two larger was longer than on the third. This
couple also had bushy tails which curled over their backs, while the
tail of the smaller dog was only a stump. John recognized them from
their wolfish look as belonging to a Northern breed. George and he
became interested.
After watching the dogs for a minute, John approached one of them and
patted him, remarking to his owner, "Your dogs don't seem
over-affectionate."
"No."
"They don't make much noise."
"These dogs never bark."
"Why is that?"
"Don't know; suppose it is because they have wolf in them; but they howl
when the spirit moves them."
"Often?"
"Only when they are alone, and then generally at night."
The conversation was lapsing when the stranger turned and gazed at the
mountains showing through the mist along the coast.
"Those mountains look kind o' cold," said he. "You fellows going
inside?"
"Yes," answered John.
"Come from Australia?" The stranger had evidently been sizing them up.
"There are a whole lot going inside from Australia, I hear."
"The only man I know on board is George Bruce here, my mate; but there
is such a crowd about--there may be others!"
"The passes are already crowded--a whole lot of these fellows don't know
what they are up against." The man shook his head with an aspect of
melancholy.
"Been in the Klondike before?" Berwick asked him.
"Yes, five years ago. I came down from the River in '96, just before
the news of Carmack's discovery reached Forty Mile, or else I would have
been in on the best of it. The fellows sent me out word right after, but
I didn't think the pay streak would hold, so didn't go in last year. But
this spring I got so dead sick of civilization I just had to get away,
although I don't think there's much chance of my striking it rich."
"Your dogs are Yukon dogs?"
"Yes, Malamoots. I brought them out with me just to kind of keep me from
getting homesick, but they worked the other way. I took them back on the
home ranch, and every time they set up a howl on winter nights I began
to see the old Northern Lights sky-shooting overhead, and smell the
bean-pot boiling, and I'd feel like getting down a hole to bed-rock
somewhere and trying a pan of dirt. Besides, the folks outside, I don't
like their ways; they ask a man so many fool questions. They all want to
know why I ain't a millionaire. You see I've been up to Bonanza Creek
where Carmack made his discovery, and where the rich claims have been
discovered, a dozen times. We used to call it Rabbit Creek, and there
were always a half-dozen moose or so mooching round, and we used to go
shooting then."
"Didn't you ever try a dish of gravel?" asked George, for the first
time entering the conversation.
The stranger looked at him, and evidently did not understand. John
cleared the situation by saying, "I think what you call a pan we call a
dish in Australia."
"Oh, yes, I've panned it often enough; but could not get more than a few
colours to the pan of dirt. Fellows writing me say they go down through
twenty feet of black muck before they strike the gravel and bed-rock. I
was not looking for any proposition like that. How Carmack found out the
gold was underneath I don't know."
The two friends bade their new acquaintance good evening, and returned
to the saloon. All the seats were occupied, and there were yet groups of
men standing about, but the excitement was less. They passed on to the
smoking-room, at the fore-part of the ship. This was crowded, and the
air thick. A large man in a white sweater was holding forth. He was
stout almost to corpulency, and extended his fist excitedly in the
ardour of his argument.
"I tell you, gentlemen," he was saying, "I come from the State of
I-dee-ho. We have big mountains in I-dee-ho, with lots of snow on them
in winter. I've lived among these mountains for twenty years, and I know
what snow is; and you bet your life if there is one man who will get
into the Yukon it is John Muggsley! Big Jack they called me back home.
It's a big man who is needed on a trip like this, a fellow who can put a
couple of hundred pounds on his back and walk off with it as if it were
nothing. I tell you this is not a proposition for any tenderfoot to
tackle!"
"Well," said another man, "I don't want any packing so far as I am
concerned. I have two cows with me, both good milkers, and I will load
my stuff on their backs and drive them over the pass. I can have their
milk to drink, and when I get to Lake Bennett I'll kill them and sell
their meat."
John and George had seen those cows. Poor cows! Poor man! So it was with
a large portion of the passengers. With the excitement and the thirst
for gold the most quixotic ideas had been developed. What the cows were
to live upon en route had not yet been considered! Such is the haste
with which an idea is acted upon when the gold-fever has seized its
victim.
Others there were who had machine-propelled devices designed to travel
over ice and snow, or on dry land. These machines were manufactured and
sold by keen-witted salesmen to the inexperienced and confiding.
After dinner, that first evening out of port, John and George fell into
conversation with the owner of the Malamoots. They had seized two of the
cots erected in the saloon; and their new friend, seeing them, had taken
one next to them. His greeting was friendly.
"Well, gentlemen, getting located?"
"Yes."
"Good act!"
The three were soon in deep conversation, discussing gold-mining as
prosecuted in Australia and in the Yukon. After an hour or two they
strolled forward between the cots, stepping over sacks and bags and
articles of clothing spread upon the floor. They passed several tables
at which games of cards were being played.
"The tin-horns are getting down to business," remarked the stranger.
"What are they playing?" asked George.
"Black Jack, the great game for the tenderfoot. It is so easily learned,
so easy to cheat at, too; and these greenhorns will get robbed-blind."
"Their eyesight will be improved by the loss of their money," remarked
John.
"A fool never learns," said the stranger.
They entered the smoking-room, and found Muggsley still holding forth,
"Gentlemen, you just watch me and see how soon I get over these here
mountains. It's experience that counts in this kind of work."
The man who had the cows, and he who was the proud possessor of the
Klondike ice-locomotive were listening with some disdain; but the dozen
other listeners were open-mouthed in envy and astonishment at wonderful
Muggsley.
The three passed out on deck. The wind was chill, a frizzle was in the
air, and the waves, breaking in dull phosphorescence against the bow of
the ship, looked sickly and uncanny through the blackness. "A dangerous
coast--the insurance rate for ships travelling this route is fifteen per
cent.," remarked the stranger.
John Muggsley was still shaking his fist vociferously in the faces of
his listeners as the party returned from deck to seek their beds.
"Good-night, you fellows. Glad I met you. My name's Hugh Spencer," the
stranger said, as he settled in his cot.
"The same to you!" answered the others.
The freemasonry of the gold-seeker holds throughout the world, and its
handshake is honest. Three gold-seekers have been introduced to the
reader in this chapter; and these pages will tell something of what
befell them in what was probably the most spectacular gold-rush in the
history of the world.
John Berwick, who is by way of being our hero, shall have a chapter to
himself.