NOME.
The man who had predicted that we would find no comforts in Nome proved
himself a true prophet. There were none. Crowded, dirty, disorderly,
full of saloons and gambling houses, with a few fourth-class restaurants
and one or two mediocre hotels, we found the new mining camp a typical
one in every respect. Prices were sky high. One even paid for a drink of
water. Having our newly found Alaska appetites with us, we at once, upon
landing, made our way to an eating house, the best to be found.
Here a cup of poor tea, a plate of thin soup and questionable meat stew
with bread were served us upon nicked china, soiled table linen and with
blackened steel knives and forks, for the enormous sum of one dollar a
head; which so dumbfounded us that we paid it without a murmur, backed
out the door and blankly gazed into each other's faces.
"Such prices will ruin us!" gasped the madam.
"That table linen! Ugh!" shuddered the young man.
"Fifteen cents in California for such a meal!" growled the English girl
in her matter-of-fact way, and with wide distended eyes; while I found
such amusement in watching the three faces before me that I barely
found breath to remind them of the two tons of nice things in their own
packing cases at the landing.
"If only they are soon landed," groaned madam, and we set off at our
best gait to find the cases.
But we did not succeed. The freight was being unloaded from the ship, we
were told, as rapidly as it was possible to handle it, but one lighter
and small tug boat in a very rough sea, unloading a ship two miles off
the beach, must have time; and we waited. Only two or three lighters
were to be had at Nome. Other large steamers were being unloaded, and
hundreds of people were hourly being landed upon the beach. There was no
shelter for them anywhere, every building was full, and confusion was
badly confounded. To make matters worse it began to rain. If we could
only find our freight and get our tents, beds, supplies, etc., we would
be all right, but it would be impossible that day we found, after making
repeated excursions through the freight house and numberless inquiries
at the office.
Something must be done, but what? I now remembered some Dawson
acquaintances in town made the fall before while coming down the Yukon
River with my brother. To one family of these I made my way. They were
in the grocery and bakery business on a prominent corner on First street
and their signboard caught my eye.
Blessings on the heads of kind Mr. and Mrs. M. of Nome City! They were
delighted to see me. They lived back of the store in one room, which
contained their bed, stove, cupboard, baby-organ, table, chairs and
trunks; but they also owned a one-room shack next door, which was vacant
for a few days, being already rented to a dentist who would make some
repairs before taking possession. I could bring my friends and baggage
into this without charge, if I wished, until we secured our freight,
Mrs. M. said kindly, and I pressed her hand in real gratitude with many
thanks.
"I am almost ashamed to show you the room," said the kind little woman,
as she unlocked the door of the shack and stepped inside, "but it is
better than no shelter in this rain, and you can have a fire in the
stove," pointing to a small and rusty coal heater in one corner. "I wish
I had some blankets or fur robes to lend you, but everything I have is
in use. You are welcome to bring in as many friends as you like if they
will share the poor place with you; and you are quite safe here, too,
for you see the barracks are just opposite," pointing across the muddy
little alley down which a few boards had been laid for a sidewalk; "and
the soldiers are here to keep order, though they do sometimes find it
rather a hard job."
Then I thanked the little woman again most heartily, and, as I took from
her hands the door-key and stepped outside into the rain to bring my
waiting friends and baggage from the freight house, I offered a little
prayer of thanks to our good Father, and hurried away.
[Illustration: NOME.]
At the steamer's landing all was hurly-burly and noise. It was now late
in the afternoon, still raining at intervals, and muddy under foot,
though the weather was not cold. Finding my English friends I told them
of Mrs. M.'s kindness and offer of her room, which they were well
pleased to accept with me, and we gathered up our luggage and started
for the place. Passing through the freight house on our way to the
street, madam said, pointing to the figures of two woman huddled in a
corner:
"See! Judge R. from the St. Paul has not found a room yet, and Mrs. R.
and her friend, the nurse, are sitting there, waiting for the judge to
return! His wife is nearly sick, and they have no idea where they can
get a room. Judge R. has been looking hours for one without success,"
she said, in a sympathetic tone.
"Let us speak to them," said I, going over to where the ladies sat.
Hearing their story, and seeing for myself that both women were cold,
hungry and disheartened, I decided on the spot to share Mrs. M.'s
hospitality with them; made the proposal, which they very thankfully
accepted, and we trailed off up the street laden with luggage.
Then madam's son was found, informed of the situation, asked to bring
Judge R. and a few loaves of bread from the shop, along with the
remaining luggage, to our new camping place in the little board shack
near the barracks.
Seeing us arrive, and that the three elderly ladies looked worn and
travel-stained, Mrs. M. urged us to come into her room and take tea and
crackers which she had already placed upon the table. This invitation
the older ladies gladly accepted, while the English girl and myself
looked after our new lodgings.
Here now was a state of things indeed! The entire stock of luggage for
seven grown persons was soon deposited in the middle of the floor. The
room of which the shack consisted was about eight by ten feet square,
set directly upon the ground, from which the water oozed at every step
of the foot. Two small windows, a front and back door, with the small
stove--that was all. These were our accommodations for the night, and
perhaps several nights and days.
Then we two set to work with a will. We swept the floor, we gathered
sticks for a fire, we threw boards down outside the door upon which to
walk instead of in the mud, a pail of water was brought from a hydrant
after paying twenty-five cents for it, and a box was converted into a
table. Luggage was sorted, lunch baskets were ransacked, while tin cups,
coffee pot, knives, forks and spoons were found, with a fresh white
cloth upon which to spread the food.
When Judge R. finally appeared, it was supper time. He carried a tin
fry-pan under one arm, a bag containing one dozen eggs, and a few slices
of ham on a paper plate, for which articles he had paid the goodly sum
of one dollar and seventy-five cents.
Waving the fry-pan above his old grey head, the jolly judge shouted:
"See, the conquering hero comes! Oh, but I'm hungry! Say, how in the
world did you get this place? I hunted four mortal hours and failed to
find a shack, room, or tent for the night. Four thousand people landed
here today, and still they come. Jerusalem crickets! What a crowd!
Everybody is in from Dan to Beersheba! We will have fifteen thousand
people here soon if they don't stop coming, and no shelter for 'em!"
Then changing his tone and glancing toward his wife:
"And how is my dear little wifey by this time?" tenderly patting Mrs.
R.'s white hand, which belonged to a woman tipping the beam at two
hundred.
"Aren't you glad we came? I am." Then rattling on without giving his
wife a chance to speak, for her eyes had filled with tears:
"I think I've got a 'case' already. Claim number four on D. Creek jumped
last winter while owner was away--jumper won't leave--talked with owner
today--think I'll get the job," said the hopeful old judge, sitting on
an empty cracker box and eating bread and cheese from his fingers.
"Eat your supper, dear," to his wife, who was taking nothing, "and you
shall have a bed tonight--the best in Nome City. See! There it is now,"
pointing to a big roll of dark brown canvas done up with a few varnished
sticks.
"A folding cot--new patent--good and strong. (It'll need to be strong to
hold you up, won't it, dearie?) Now, please take your tea like a good
girl, to brace up your courage. Or would you like a drop of sherry?"
To all this Mrs. R. shook her head, but she did not speak, neither did
she attempt to eat, for there was a big lump in her throat which
prevented.
The rest of our party enjoyed the supper. Some sat on boxes, others
stood up, but we ate ham and eggs, bread, butter and cheese, tea and
crackers, pickles, jellies and jams, as being the greatest "comforts" we
could find in the camp, and we made them speedily disappear.
At last the supper things were cleared away, and remaining food repacked
in the baskets. The patent cot was unrolled, set up and made ready for
Mrs. R., who was the only one favored with a bed. The others finally
faced the proposition and prepared, as best they could, their chosen
floor spaces for their beds.
All slept in their clothing, for we had no bedding and the night was
cold. The two men were banished to the outer air, where together they
smoked and talked of affairs of the day, while we women unbuttoned our
shoes, took out a few hairpins, cold-creamed our sunburned faces, and
then, between jokes, stories and giggling, we settled ourselves, with
much difficulty and hard snuggling, among our bags, raincoats, steamer
rugs and wraps on the rough board floor for the night.
Coming in later, the judge spread his borrowed fur robe upon the floor
beside his wife's cot, covered himself with one-half of the same,
chuckling as he did so.
"I'm glad my bones are well cushioned with fat, and that I'm old and
tough and like this sort of thing. I say, wife, isn't it jolly?" And the
portly and sunny old judge dropped off to sleep to keep me awake most of
the night by his snoring.
If I slept little that night I did not waste my time. My brain was busy
forming plans of action. It was not wise to have only one plan, for that
one might fail. Better to have several, and some one of these would
probably succeed. I felt a good deal of anxiety to know whether my
father or brother had or would come to Nome. If either or both of them
came I would have no further difficulty because I would work for and
with them, but if they did not come what was I to do?
I had little money. I would not go home. I would work. I was a good
cook, though I had never done such work except for our own home folks. I
knew that cooking was the kind of service most in demand in this country
from women, for my travels in Alaska the year before had taught me
that. I could teach music, and I could paint passably in water colors
and oils; in fact, I had been a teacher of all three, but in Alaska
these luxuries were not in demand. I could not expect to do anything in
these directions, for men and women had come to Nome for gold, expected
to get lots of it, and that quickly. They had no time for Beethoven's
sonatas or water color drawings.
It was now an urgent question of food, shelter and work with all, and
the man or woman who could the quickest devise ways and means, the one
who saw the needs of the time and place and was able to supply those
needs, was the one who could make the most money. Of course, being a
woman, I was unable to do beach mining as could a man, and as many men
expected to do. Those who brought large outfits and plenty of money with
them were immediately obliged to hire help, but it was generally a man's
help, like carpenter work, hauling and handling supplies or machinery,
making gold washers and sluice boxes, or digging out the gold in the
creeks. None of these could I do. On the steamer all these things had
been well talked over among ourselves, for others besides myself were
wondering which way they should turn when they found themselves in Nome.
As to there being any disgrace connected with work of any sort--it never
entered my head. From a child I had been taught that work was honorable,
and especially for a woman housework and cooking were respectable and
healthy service. So I had no pride whatever in the matter; it was only a
question of finding the work, and I did not doubt my ability to find it
somewhere.
On the voyage from San Francisco I had thought well of the three Swedish
women, and believed they would succeed in their proposed plan of
restaurant work. I said to myself that if I were obliged to seek work I
should like to be with them if possible; or, at least, with some of the
"lucky Swedes," as the rich Anvil Creek mine owners were usually
designated. These miners all hired cooks for their camps, as they kept
large numbers of men at work day and night on the Anvil Creek claims,
the season being so short for placer mining in this country. Anvil Creek
was only four miles away and the "Star Restaurant," as my friends had
already named their proposed eating-house, would be headquarters for all
the Scandinavians on Anvil and the entire district. For this reason, and
because the three had so many acquaintances who would bring them
patronage, and because their pleasant faces and agreeable manners always
made friends for them, I felt sure that they would be able to give me
work if they chose and I so desired. Then, too, there were the several
Dawson families of my acquaintance here, and I would find them; possibly
some of them might give me work if I asked them.
However, the first move to be made was to find our freight and baggage,
and a spot upon which to pitch our tents, and the sooner that was done
the better, as the test and cleanest camping places were fast being
appropriated by the newcomers hourly landing. It was not easy to find a
clean, dry spot for a tent, as I had found the day before that the
black, soggy soil was hardly free from frost a foot down, and this made
it everywhere marshy, as the water could not keep down nor run off where
it was level. Some one on the steamer who had been in Nome before had
advised us to pitch our tents on the "Sandspit" at the mouth of Snake
River, as that was the cleanest, driest and most healthful spot near
fresh water that we could find; and my mind was made up that it was to
the Sandspit I would go. Many had been the warnings from friends before
leaving home about drinking impure water, getting typhoid fever and
other deadly diseases, and without having any particular fear as to
these things I still earnestly desired a clean and healthful camping
place.
This, then, was the way I planned during most of the first night after
landing at Nome. If I slept it was towards morning, when I had become
accustomed to the regular and stentorian snores of the old judge; or
when, for a few moments, after turning in his sleep, his snorts and
wheezes had not yet reached their loudest pitch; and when my wishes had
shaped themselves so distinctly into plans for work that I felt relieved
and full of confidence, and so slept a little.
[Illustration: LIFE AT NOME.]
Next day I looked for my father. At the landing, on the streets, in the
stores, at all times I was on the lookout, though it was a difficult
matter to find any one in a crowd such as that in Nome. I saw several
acquaintances from Dawson the year before, and people from different
steamers that I knew, but not my father. At nine o'clock next morning
three of us started out to find the Sandspit, with, if possible, a good
camping spot to which we could take our freight as soon as it was
landed, and part of our number was detailed to stay at the landing while
we investigated. Down through the principal thoroughfare we pushed our
way, now on plank sidewalk, now in the middle of the street if the walks
were too crowded; but going to the west end of town till we came to
Snake River Bridge, where we crossed to the Sandspit. At the toll-gate
we easily passed, as all women were allowed to go over free, men only
being charged ten cents toll. Here we quickly found a clean, dry place
on the river bank a hundred feet below the bridge and two hundred feet
from the ocean, which we chose for our tents. Now arose the question,
would any one have any objection to our pitching our tents temporarily?
Seeing some men striking camp near by we asked them. They told us that
we could get permission, they thought, from an old captain near by on a
stranded boat, now being used as an eating-house, and to him we went. He
was not in.
Going back to the Sandspit, it was decided that I should remain upon
the spot, while my companions went back to the landing. I was to remain
there till some of them came back. This I did, sitting on a box in the
sunshine with my kodak, umbrella and lunch basket beside me for hours.
When madam returned, saying their search for their freight was still
unavailing, I left her in my place and again called upon the captain.
Calling the third time at his boat, I found him and secured his ready
permission to temporarily pitch our tents upon the sands, for he was an
Alderman with adjoining "town lots," he told us.
By six o'clock that afternoon a part of madam's baggage and freight was
found, hauled by dog-team through town to the Sandspit and deposited
upon the ground. Then we bestirred ourselves to get a tent up in which
we could sleep, as I, for one, was determined not to be kept awake by
the judge's snores another night if I had to work till morning. The
others shared my feelings, and we worked like beavers till midnight. By
that time a small tent had been put up, boxes of bedding unpacked, as
well as cooking utensils, oil-stoves and foods, so that we could begin
cooking.
At the continuous daylight we were much pleased. Coming gradually into
it, as we had done on the steamer, we were prepared for it, but the
advantage of a continuous day to a busy, hustling camp like this one,
had not presented itself to us until we ourselves attempted to work half
the night; then we realized it fully. At nine in the evening a
beautiful twilight enveloped all, restful to nerves and eyes, but still
light enough to read by.
At ten o'clock it was lighter, and upon the placid waters of Snake
River, only fifteen feet away, lay quiet shadows cast from the opposite
side, clearly and beautifully reflected. A few small steamers lay
further down stream near the river's mouth, row boats were tied along
the edge of the water, and on the Sandspit below us was a camp of
Eskimos, their tiny canoes and larger skin boats being hauled upon shore
beside them for safety. At midnight the sun was almost shining, the air
was salt, fresh and clear, while the sky seemed to hang low and lovingly
above our heads.
After eating a midnight lunch of our own getting of bread and butter
with hot tea, we deposited ourselves, still dressed, upon the tops of
madam's big packing cases, from which had been taken pillows and
blankets, and slept soundly till morning, notwithstanding the fact that
the hammers of hundreds of carpenters were busy around us all night.
Next morning all felt fresh and invigorated. The sun shone brightly. In
the roadstead two miles away lay several newly arrived steamers, their
deep-toned whistles frequently sounding over the intervening waters. It
was a beautiful sight and welcome sound. How easily the long and
graceful breakers rolled and broke upon the sands. With what music the
foam-tipped wavelets spread their edges, like the lace-trimmed ruffles
on some lady's gown, upon the smooth and glistening beach. How the white
tents everywhere looked like doves of peace just alighted, and the
little boats danced up and down on the river. I was glad to be there. I
enjoyed it. Nothing, not even the hard work, the storms, nor the bitter
Arctic winter which came afterwards ever effaced from my memory the
beautiful pictures of river, sea and sky repeatedly displayed during
those first novel and busy days at Nome.