The Great Gold Rush Part 3

"There's n.o.body knows how to make mitts for real cold weather like the Siwash. They make the thumbs good and big, so as not to stop circulation; and we'll have some cold weather yet before we get over the summit. But you have to beat the beggars down, as they always ask twice as much as they expect to get. Here we paid only seventy-five cents a pair for these mitts, and the squaw said she wanted a dollar and a quarter for them."

"Are these Siwash[1] Indians?" inquired John.

[1] Corruption of the French _sauvage_.

"Well, we call them Siwashes; but they don't like it. The real Siwash lives farther south, and the name, I believe, is one of contempt."

"They are different Indians from any I have seen on the plains," said John.

"Oh, yes, very different. I guess their only resemblance is that they are both good only when they are dead."

"You're pretty hard on them," was the remark of the good-natured John.

"Perhaps I am. You see, a tough outfit has been trading up here for years from down the coast; and before that the Russians were here--and they didn't put in most of their time building churches. They found a dollar's worth of hootch would get more from the savages than a dollar's worth of anything else; so they used whisky. The savage, when you find him without the cussedness taught by the white man, makes a pretty good citizen. He may be lazy, but he is honest; and perhaps his laziness is only due to the fact that he has always had a klootch[2] to do ch.o.r.es around, and has never been trained to the white man's ways of working; but let any fellow try following an Indian on snow-shoes for a couple of days, and his ideas soon change. He is not much good with a pick and shovel for sure; but he is A1 on the trail. Another thing about the Indian is that when one has grub they all have grub. This is the way of the Stick Indians inside, and you can cache your grub in their country or leave the things lying around, and they won't touch them."

[2] Squaw.

During the rest of the day John and his mates were in the company of Hugh Spencer, listening to his tales of Yukon life: the glories of the summer there, and the great cold of the winter, with the resources of the miners to keep from despair. He told them the traditions of the camps, and how the discoveries of '49 in California had been followed by others in Oregon, British Columbia, the Fort Steele district (Wild Horse Creek), Kettle River, Caribou, and, finally, in the Yukon.

"It wasn't a miner who was the first finder of gold in the Yukon; it was a missionary. But the missionary did not follow up this discovery, which makes a difference. However, I'll tell you the story, and it will let you see a little of Siwash nature in the telling of it.

"The Rev. Robert Macdonald, Doctor of Divinity and Archdeacon of MacKenzie River, was the first white man to find gold in the Yukon. Say!

I ain't got much use for missionaries as a general proposition, but Archdeacon Macdonald is as white a man as ever lived, though he is east of the Rocky Mountains now. I guess the reason I don't like missionaries is that you can never do anything with the Siwashes, once a missionary gets hold of them.

"Well, the Archdeacon--he wasn't Archdeacon then though--drifted down the Porcupine, and took up his residence with the Hudson Bay Company people at Fort Yukon in the year 1862, which was a few years before I was born. You see the Hudson Bay people established themselves at Fort Yukon in 1847. In 1842 Mr. J. Bell, in charge of the Hudson Bay Post on the Peel River, which runs into the MacKenzie, from beyond the divide from the head waters of the Porcupine, crossed over and went down the Porcupine a way. In 1846 he followed it to its mouth, and saw the Yukon.

In the following year Mr. A. H. Murray built Fort Yukon, and set up business. Well, it was here that the Archdeacon started to tell the savages of the Great Spirit--and they were mighty interested.

"The savages had some sort of a tradition that a certain canyon, which opened into the Yukon a short distance up stream from the Fort, was the home of bad spirits; they could hear them groaning, and they asked the missionary to 'put them wise.'[3] So when a bunch[4] arrived, one day in July 1863, he trotted the whole outfit off to the canyon.

[3] Inform them.

[4] Bunch--Party.

"Of course the missionary found the noises were caused by the wind or nothing, but, as the Siwashes said there were noises up the Creek, he said it was the wind.

"Walking along the sh.o.r.e, the Archdeacon saw a bit of something s.h.i.+ning in the gravel and picked it up. It was a flake of gold sticking to a piece of mica, of which there's lots in the Klondike country--mica schist the scientists call it. So this was the first find of gold by a white man; but the Company was not looking for gold-hunters in their country, so the discovery was never followed up.

"The Siwash is A1 at asking questions--just about as bad as a six-year-old kid; and if a medicine man comes among them it is surprising what sort of conundrums they will bring him."

In this way John Berwick and his old-time mining-mate pleasantly pa.s.sed the hours listening to the conversation of Spencer, by whom they were attracted.

On the third evening, at dinner--the three being seated together--they noticed some movement beginning amongst those of the company who were seated near the companion-way. Several were seen to rise and hurry away.

Quickly the excitement spread, the saloon was soon empty of most of its feasters.

"Keep your seats, fellows; it's only some chechacho got the toothache,"

said Hugh. Shouts were heard, with a trampling and rush of feet on the upper deck. "The only thing that could happen--outside of fire--would be to run ash.o.r.e or hit an iceberg. We are hardly far enough north for the icebergs yet--besides, if we had hit one, or run ash.o.r.e, we should know it. If we caught fire, it would not be far to the sh.o.r.e anywhere along this route; and it is always well not to get stampeded in any case."

After dinner the friends entered the main saloon, and found groups of men talking excitedly, with others returning from the upper deck where the life-boats were stored. To the upper deck they went, and there they found Mr. Muggsley.

"I tell you, gentlemen, no officer or anybody else is going to keep me from the life-boats when a s.h.i.+p is sinking. I don't care for anybody!

You stand by and let the officers and sailors run things--and they will fill the boats with women and their own friends--and look out for themselves. But I look out for John Muggsley! Big John Muggsley the boys call me! And it's a case like this that makes me glad I'm big and strong."

An excitable coal-heaver had found a stream of water entering by a sea-c.o.c.k, which had been left open through carelessness; and, running up through the saloon to the boats, had started the excitement. Such trivial circ.u.mstances often cause most disastrous panics; and likewise tell tales of how certain men are made!

The s.h.i.+p eventually--after blinding snowstorms--entered Gastineau Channel. To the left was the great line of stamp mills pounding out the wealth of the mighty Treadwell quartz deposits on Douglas Island; to the right was the pioneer town of Juneau, with its gambling-halls and saloons enjoying the licence of the Alaska mining-camp.

The next stop for the s.h.i.+p was Skagway, where the sea journey would end on the morrow. The pa.s.sengers were alert and astir. From then on it was to be a struggle.

CHAPTER IV

SOCIETY IN ALASKA

The weather had changed during the night; and as the two friends stepped on deck the following morning a chill and cutting wind met them from the north. Away above them towered the mountains, their peaks dazzling white against the sky. Behind them, to the south, was the Lynn Ca.n.a.l, walled with mountains. Before them were mountains, and yet more mountains. The cl.u.s.ter of tents and hastily constructed buildings, resting on a few square miles of gravel flats--comprising the town of Skagway--were robbed of any importance by the great uplifting walls of rock.

As they stood a voice hailed them. "Is this Skagway?" It was Mr.

Muggsley who spoke.

"I fancy so," said John; "better ask the purser--here he comes."

"Do we have to climb those mountains to get to the Klondike?"

"Yes."

"But where is the White Pa.s.s?"

"There." The purser pointed to the mouth of a valley, which soon appeared blocked by a mighty mountain.

"And that is the White Pa.s.s?"

"It is."

"Say, purser, is that berth I had taken for the trip down again? If not, save it for me. I guess I'm wanted back in I-dee-ho."

Mr. Muggsley, the big man, the strong man, "Big Jack," as his friends called him, was suddenly possessed of "cold feet." The great uplifting mountains with their glittering peaks flung to heaven had quickened the cowardice of his craven soul.

Berwick and his comrade struggled ash.o.r.e through the rus.h.i.+ng freight-handlers and piled-up supplies. The freight which came from the Canadian port, Vancouver, had to be pa.s.sed by the United States Customs, and the officers seemed few. There was a method of overcoming the Customs--by employing a "convoy," an official of the United States Customs, to escort the goods across the narrow strip into Canadian territory again. John made inquiries, and addressed a fellow in a wild garb, bespeaking a resident.

"Pay the duty, partner! These escort fellows are a bunch of grafters!

They ain't no credit to the United States, I can tell you. Yes, pay duty, and hand an officer a ten-dollar bill on the side, or they'll keep you here a week, you bet!"

John decided to pay the duty. The convoy would cost $5.00 per day and expenses. He made an effort to get his goods pa.s.sed, but without success--till he paid the ten-dollar bribe. George did the same. John did not like bribery; but--what else could he do?

It was afternoon ere they got through; and as they gained the town, a rough board-building with a great white cloth sign painted on it--"Restaurant, meals 50 cents"--met their gaze from the head of the wharf. Other buildings of similar character composed generally this section of the town, so they walked into the first.

It was a box of a place, as unfinished internally as externally. A dozen or so men, perched on high stools, were leaning against a board counter covered with white oilcloth. Behind the counter stood a woman and a girl; a range, where the chef was operating, at their back. A board part.i.tion divided off a sleeping apartment. The curtain that gave the room privacy was but half drawn. Articles of clothing, trunks, and boxes were strewn in disorder on the floor.