One night about three o'clock the barge brought the last passengers and freight. The water was smooth, the moon shone brightly, there was no wind, and the captain and his mate gave their orders in quick, stern tones. They were in haste to leave. They had lingered here too long already. All were soon hustled on board; the "Sadie" and her barges moved away; we took a last, long look at Nome as she stretched herself on the golden sands of the beach under her electric lights; the "Bertha" whistled, stuck her nose into the rollers and steamed away.

A more majestic old body of water than Behring Sea would be hard to find; and we remember it with thanksgiving, for we had no storms or rough weather during the eight hundred and fifty miles to Unalaska.

Right glad was I that we were fortunate in having a pleasant little party of eight or ten persons, and our evenings were spent in visiting, spinning yarns, and singing songs, while some hours each day were passed on the hurricane deck. Here we became familiar with the sea phrases commonly used, and watched the old salts "bracing the mast arms," "hoisting the jibs," or "tacking," and could tell when we had a "cross sea," a "beam sea," or a "sou' wester." As we neared Unalaska on the Aleutian Islands, the sea became rough, and we had more wind, but we joyfully sighted high hills or rocks to the east, and bade good-bye to old Behring. For three and a half days he had behaved well, and never will we quietly hear him maligned.

Unalaska, sweet isle of the sea! How beautiful she looked to our eyes which had only seen water for days! Its bold and rocky cliffs, its towering peaks snow capped; its sequestered and winding valleys, and bright, sparkling waterfalls; its hillsides in all the artistic shades of red, brown, yellow, green, purple, black and white; its water in all the tints of blue and azure, reflecting sky that looked

"As though an angel in his upward flight, Had left his mantle floating in mid-air."

All, all, greeted the eye of the worn voyager most restfully.

Clusters of quaint red buildings were soon seen nestling under the mountain—that was Dutch Harbor, and a mile farther on we arrived at the dock at Unalaska. We would be here twenty-four hours taking on fresh water, coal, and food, they told us, and we all ran out like sheep from a pen, or school children at intermission. We drank fresh water from the spring under the green hillside; we bought apples and oranges at the store, and furs of the furrier; we rowed in a skiff and scampered over the hills to Dutch Harbor; we watched jelly-fish and pink star-fish in the water; we saw white reindeer apparently as tame as cows browsing on the slopes; we visited an old Greek church, and were kept from the very holiest place where only men were allowed to go, retaliating when we came to the cash box at the door—we dropped nothing in; we climbed the highest mountain near by, and staked imaginary gold claims after drinking in the beauties of the views which encompassed us; we snapped our kodaks repeatedly, and then, having reached the limit of our time and strength, wended our way back to the steamer now ready to sail.

Leaving the harbor, we all stayed on deck as long as possible trying to fix the grandeur of the scenery in our minds so it could not slip away, and then Priest Rock was passed, we had turned about eastward, and were in Unimak Pass. Here the wind blew a gale from the west, on account of which we were obliged to go below to our staterooms after watching the sailors lash everything on the hurricane deck well down in case of storm. After a few hours we left the Pass, with its precipitous cliffs, its barren and rocky slopes, its cones of extinct volcanoes, its rough and deep water, and headed due southeast for "Frisco."

Many unpleasant people and things we found on board as we proceeded, for not all of these had been left at Nome; but with a philosopher's fortitude we studied to overlook everything disagreeable, and partly succeeded. That our efforts were not a complete success was due partly, at least, to our early education and large stock of ideality, and we were really not so much to blame.

The remainder of our journey was somewhat monotonous, broken only by drunken brawls at midnight on deck, waking us from sound slumbers; or the sight of a whale spouting during the day. Sometimes a breeze would spring up from the wrong direction, rolling us for a few hours, causing us to prefer a reclining posture instead of an upright one, and giving our complexions a still deeper lemonish cast; sometimes we were well inclined to feed the fishes in the sea, and did not; but at all times we were thankful that matters were no worse.

Then, after many days out from Unalaska we began to look for land. Seagulls and goonies had followed in the wake of our ship, and rested themselves each day aloft in the rigging. Sails were now and then seen in the distance, like the spreading white wings of enormous swans gliding quietly over the bosom of the deep, and we realized that we were nearing land. In the darkness one night there came to us a little white boat containing three men,—one was a pilot to guide us safely through the beautiful Golden Gate; the light on Point Bonita was sighted—we were almost home.

We were now six weeks out from Dawson and twenty-one days from Nome; we had no storms, accidents or deaths on board, and carried five hundred passengers, as well as three million dollars in gold. I had been away from home four months without a day's illness, and during my trip through Alaska had traveled seventy-five hundred miles, nearly one-half of this distance alone.



CHAPTER VII.

GOING TO NOME.

One beautiful day in the spring of 1900 I sailed again for Alaska—this time for Nome from San Francisco. An English family consisting of the mother, one son and a daughter were to accompany me, and we had spent weeks in making our preparations. We were taking supplies of clothing, food, tents and bedding sufficient to last until some of our numerous plans of work after our arrival brought in returns. My hope was to meet my father there, for he had written that he thought he should go to the new gold fields, where he could do beach mining.

I was not above doing any honest work, and felt confident that I could make my way if I could gain an entrance into that country. The English people were all workers, and I had known them for ten years or more.

Our steamer was the good ship "St. Paul," belonging to the Alaska Commercial Company, and was advertised to sail on May twenty-fifth. When I laughingly called the attention of one of the owners of the ship to the fact that that date fell upon Friday, and many persons objected to sailing upon that day, he postponed the starting of the "St. Paul" to May twenty-sixth, and we left the dock on Saturday afternoon amid the cheers and hand-waving of thousands of people who had come to see the big boat off for Nome.

The steamer was well fitted out, spick and span in fresh carpets and paint, and crowded to the utmost capacity for comfort. Every stateroom was full; each seat at the tables occupied. Not a foot of space above or below decks was left unused, but provision was made for all, and the ship was well manned.

I was now much gratified to learn that there were many on board whom I had met before; that the steward, stewardess and several of the waiters had been on duty on the steamer "Bertha" during my trip out from Alaska the fall before, while I was upon speaking terms with a dozen or more of the passengers with whom I had traveled from the same place. Of passengers we had, all told, four hundred and eighty-seven. Of these thirty-five were women. There was only one child on board, and that was the little black-eyed girl with her Eskimo mother and white father from Golovin Bay whom I had seen at St. Michael some months before, and who was now going back to her northern home. She wore a sailor suit of navy blue serge, trimmed with white braid, and was as coy and cunning as ever, not speaking often to strangers, but laughing and running away to her mother when addressed.

From the day we sailed from San Francisco until we reached Nome I missed no meals in the dining salon, a pace which my English friends and others could not follow, for they were uncomfortably ill in the region of their digestive apparatus for several days. I slept for hours each day and thoroughly enjoyed the trip.

During the nine days' sail from San Francisco to Unalaska, a distance of two thousand three hundred and sixty-eight miles, I studied well the passengers. We had preachers on board, as well as doctors, lawyers, merchants and miners, and there were women going to Nome to start eating houses, hotels and mercantile shops. There were several Swedish missionaries; one, a zealous young woman from San Francisco, going to the Swedish Mission at Golovin Bay.

This young person was pretty and pleasant, and I was glad to make her acquaintance as well as that of three other women speaking the same tongue and occupying the next stateroom to mine. The last named were going to start a restaurant in Nome. As they were sociable, jolly, and good sailors for the most part, I enjoyed their society. They had all lived in San Francisco for years, and though not related to each other, were firm friends of long standing and were uniting their little fortunes in the hope of making greater ones.

The young missionary was a friend to the other three, and I found no better or more congenial companions on board the ship than these four honest, hard-working women, so full of hope, courage and good sense as well as Christianity. Little did I then think that these people, placed by a seeming chance in an adjoining stateroom, were to be my fellow-workers and true friends, not only for the coming months in that Arctic land to which we were going, but, as the sequel will show, perhaps for years to come.

Not many days had passed when we found that we had on board what few steamers can boast of, and that was an orchestra of professional musicians among the waiters. These were men going, with all the others, to seek their fortunes in the new gold fields, working their passage as waiters on the ship to Nome, where they intended to leave it. Three evenings in the week these musicians, with the help of several singers on board, gave concerts in the dining salon, which, though impromptu, were very enjoyable.

A sweet and trained singer was the English girl of our company, and she sang many times, accompanied by the stringed instruments of the musicians, much to the delight of the assembled passengers. When she sang, one evening, in her clear sympathetic voice the selection, "Oh, Where Is My Wandering Boy Tonight," there was not a dry eye in the room, and the mind of many a man went back to his old home and praying mother in some far distant state, making him resolve to write oftener to her that she might be comforted with a knowledge of his whereabouts and welfare. These evenings were sometimes varied by recitations from an elocutionist on board; and a practised clog dancer excited the risibles of the company to the extent that they usually shouted with laughter at his exhibition of flying heels.

Day after day passed. Those who were continually seasick had diversion enough. It was useless for us to tell them a pathetic tale of some one, who, at some time, had been more ill than they, because they would not believe a word of it, and it was equally useless to recommend an antidote for mal de mer such as theirs. "No one was ever so ill before," they said. They knew they should die and be buried at sea, and hoped they would if that would put an end to their sufferings. We tried at last to give them comfort by recommending out of former experiences ship's biscuit, dry toast and pop-corn as remedies, but only received black looks as our reward. We then concluded that a diet of tea, coffee and soup was exactly such a one as the fishes would recommend could they speak, these favorite and much used liquids keeping up a continual "swishing" in one's interior regions, and causing one to truthfully speak of the same as "infernal" instead of internal. But they were all tree physical as well as free moral agents and decided these things for themselves.

At last we entered the Japan current and the weather was warmer and more enjoyable. On Monday, June fourth, we saw from the deck a few drifting logs and a quantity of seaweed, and these, with the presence of gulls and goonies flying overhead, convinced us that we were nearing land.

We were not mistaken. After eating an excellent six o'clock dinner we went above to find ourselves between high, rocky cliffs, which loomed up into mountains not far distant, and we knew we were again at the Aleutian Islands and in the rough waters of Unimak Pass. As we drew nearer and entered the harbor so well land-locked, the sun dipped low into yellow-red western waters, thereby casting long shadows aslant our pathway so delicately shaded in greens.

The little hamlet of Dutch Harbor nestled cosily at the foot of the mountains which bordered the bay, and here numbers of ships lay anchored at rest. Passing along easily beyond another high mountain, we were soon at the dock of Unalaska, beside other great ships in port. Both groups of craft were evidently waiting for the ice to clear from Behring Sea before proceeding on their way northward, and we counted sixteen ships of different kinds and sizes, the majority of them large steamers. All were loaded with passengers and freight for Nome. Scout boats had already been sent out to investigate and find, if possible, a passage through the ice fields, and the return of these scouts with good news was anxiously watched and waited for, as the most desired thing at that time was a speedy and safe landing on the supposedly golden beach sands of Nome.

At Unalaska we spent four days taking on fresh water and coal, during which time passengers visited back and forth from the waiting steamers, many persons having friends on other boats and each having a curiosity to see if they were faring as well or ill as he, comparing notes as to the expense of traveling with the different companies, etc. Passengers on the "St. Paul" agreed that they had "no kick comin'," which was one of the commonest slang phrases, intended to mean that they had no fault to find with the Alaska Commercial Company and their steamer "St. Paul." All were well cared for and satisfied, as well they might be, with the service of the ship's men.

Leaving Unalaska the sun shone clear and cold upon the mountains where in places the sides looked black from the late fires started in the deep tundra by miscreants. The tops of the mountains were covered with snow. Down deep gorges dashed mountain waters of melting snow and ice, hurrying to leap off gullied and rocky cliffs into the sea. Their progress was never impeded. No tree nor shrub obstructed the way with gnarled old trunks, twisted roots, or low hanging branches, for none grow in Unalaska, and the bold dignity and grandeur of the mountains is never diminished by these lesser objects.

As our ship sailed out into Behring Sea we were closely followed by the steamer "George W. Elder," whose master, an old friend of our captain, had decided to follow in our wake, he being less familiar than the latter with Alaskan waters, and having confidence in the ability of his friend to successfully pilot both ships to Cape Nome.



CHAPTER VIII.

FRESH DANGER.

At this plan all the passengers appeared pleased. We were now entering upon the most dangerous part of our voyage. No one knew what was before us. If our ship should receive serious damage from the ice floes or bergs with which we were almost sure to come in contact, it would be well if we were accompanied by a sister ship which could render assistance. If she were in trouble and we unharmed, we could lend a helping hand to her; and so none murmured at the unique arrangement.

Nothing, however, was seen of the much dreaded ice until about noon on Sunday, June tenth. The air had been steadily growing colder so that woolen clothing and fur wraps were in demand. Men thrust their hands into their pockets, or drew on gloves while they stamped their feet upon deck to keep themselves warm in the open air. Soon to our right lay a great semi-circular field of ice, in places piled high, looking cold, jagged and dangerous. In the distance those having field-glasses saw two clumsy, slow-moving objects which they could easily distinguish as polar bears on floating cakes of ice.

By the latter we were soon surrounded, and were obliged, slowly and cautiously, to pick our way through towards the narrowest spot, or where the nearest open water could be seen beyond. Floating ice now lay all around us, appearing only a few feet above the water; below it the bergs extended many times that distance. Sometimes they were small and looked harmless enough; but many were large, massive, and full of death-dealing power if urged against the sides of a ship by the wind or struck accidentally. Carefully we picked our way along, watched as we were by every soul aboard the "Elder" following, until we had successfully made our way through the ice pack and glided out into the blue waters beyond. Then came a great shout from the throats of spectators on both ships, and praises for the master and his crew who were doing such good work were loudly sung.

Immediately our manoeuvres were repeated by the "Elder," and we watched her with interest equal to their own; then as she passed the danger point and swung safely through the ice bergs and out, both ships, like fresh, uncaged birds, sped lightly and swiftly over the water northward.

In a few hours we were awakened from afternoon naps by the ringing of the ship's bell and found ourselves again surrounded by floating bergs. A man in the bow was taking soundings with lead and line, calling out every few seconds. "No bottom! No bottom!" and then hauling in the lead again as the ship crept carefully along. From submerged floes there was now the greatest danger, but we gradually drew away from all floating ice and sailed safely away as before.

Each Sunday on board the "St. Paul" had been marked by some religious service conducted by one of the preachers, while an improvised quartet of voices led the singing. June tenth service had been held in the forenoon, when a short sermon had followed the singing of a few familiar old hymns by the assembled passengers. Now in the early evening, while I sat with a few friends in the dining salon rehearsing hymns for the coming service, suddenly the ship's bell rang out upon the still night air. Instantly there came a jar, a quiver, and all rushed out upon deck to see what had happened. We had been rudely jostled by an unseen ice floe while the eyes of the pilot had been occupied by the ones visible. Several times this happened. We were in the midst of a sea of ice floes. There was no visible egress ahead; we must back out, if possible, as we had come.

Soon our steamer was stopped for the night, and religious services were begun in the dining salon. About one hundred persons were present. Our quartet sang five or six selections, "Rock of Ages" and "Throw Out the Life-line" among others. The preacher offered prayer, read Scripture promises, and spoke feelingly for twenty minutes. He talked of our lives being only short spans, the length of which depends upon the will of God; and it is the duty of each soul, he said, to be prepared to meet its Maker.

It was a solemn moment for all. Outside the ice drifted slowly about, thick fog settled over us, the ship's whistle sounded, and night came on. The loneliness increased.

When the speaker had closed his remarks he asked that the quartet sing "Nearer My God to Thee," and we sang it. Sweet and firm was the voice of the English girl now, and when, with uplifted arm and softly spoken benediction, the minister dismissed us, it was to go upon deck feeling stronger and much comforted.

There was yet no breath of wind stirring. For this we thanked a kind Providence, for, had the wind risen, our lives would have been in jeopardy indeed. In that case the massive ice cakes would have been blown swiftly and heavily about to crush all ships like egg-shells and send them to the bottom of the sea.

For breakfast we ate yellow corn-bread and bacon with a relish such as it never gave at home, and even those who had been seasick for days were beginning to "get away" with their rations. At eight in the morning the anchor with its rattling chain was dropped and we lay in an open spot. An hour later there was no perceptible motion of the ship, the sea was smooth as a carpet, and our tired captain had gone to bed. For forty-eight hours he had not slept, nor scarcely left the bridge, and the rest was badly needed.

Two days we lay anchored in a dead calm, waiting for the passing ice to open a way for us through to Nome. Three ships lay near us, as well as two larger ones out farther in the ice-fields; but the fog hung grey and persistent over our heads and we could do nothing but wait. Another concert was given by the musicians, and as the steamer lay gently rocking upon the waters of the great sea, through the open front windows there floated out to our sister ship the sweet and pleasing strains of the violins and mandolins.

Were they telling in lively allegretto movements of our safe landing on golden shores, and of our successful achievements followed by a safe and happy return to home and loved ones? Or were the adagios mournfully predicting perils, coming disaster and death? Who could tell? For myself, I felt that whatever came to me would be in accordance with the will and wish of a Higher Power, and it would be all right in any case. My choice was, of course, from the human standpoint, for life, happiness and success in the pursuit of gold; but this with me was not an obstinate nor rebellious sentiment. Should all these good things be denied me, I could say, it is well. I felt satisfied that the way for my going to Alaska had been wonderfully opened by an Unseen Influence which I had been taught from earliest childhood to recognize, and this belief, which was a firm and abiding one, held me calm and contented. Night after night I slept in my berth as soundly as though at home in my bed, and not even the sudden jolt and quiver of the icebergs coming often into collision with the ship caused me to waken.

The night of June twelfth, about eleven o'clock, just after having retired, but being still awake, I heard a sudden and piercing scream. The English madam with me, being still dressed, rushed upon deck to find out the cause of the disturbance. Rushing towards her with pale and frightened face was her daughter who had been lunching in the dining salon. An iceberg of immense proportions and greater height than usual had struck the ship with a crash, coming up suddenly and most unexpectedly from underneath the fog bank so that the watchful pilot was taken unawares. The English girl said the berg, when alongside the ship, reached the height of the upper deck and appeared like a huge mountain of ice from her place at the window. It was consternation at the sight of what was apparently sure and speedy destruction which had caused the woman's scream.

Investigation was immediately made of the ship's plates, which, though considerably dented by the ice, were still, thanks to a kind Providence, intact; and again I settled myself for the night and slept.

Next day men were restless. They wanted to be on their way to Nome. It was not for this that they had paid a large price for their tickets and assurances that they would arrive early at Nome; and they agreed that there was no more danger in steaming ahead than in lying anchored with the ice bumping into us and liable to break through the ship's sides at any moment.

"Will you sign a petition to the captain asking that he proceed on his way to Nome without further delay?" asked a friend of me while the "St. Paul" was anchored and the ice still drifting around us.

"They are circulating such a petition, and have a good many signers, or those who are willing to sign it, and I wanted to know how you feel about it," said my friend.

"What is the matter with the captain? Did they not announce their confidence in him by coming aboard this steamer, and has he done anything to cause them to lose faith in his ability to pilot them safely through? Has he not brought them on their voyage thus far without accident?" I asked.

"Oh, yes, certainly."

"Then I, for one, shall abide by the captain's judgment, and remain anchored here so long as he sees fit to order it. You can say to the others that I will sign no petition," said I.

Whether my decision and firmness in the matter had any weight with others, I know not; but the petition was dropped, and the captain probably never knew that such a thing had been proposed.

The morning of June thirteenth the sun shone out clear and bright. Great fields of ice surrounded us, and many other ships were also hemmed in at different places. The "Elder" lay contentedly beside us. It was not so cold when the fog had lifted, and the clearer atmosphere made it possible to see for many miles over the berg-strewn waters. Men were walking restlessly about on deck trying to keep their impatience down and their hands and feet warm. They feared that other ships with hundreds of passengers would land at Nome before they could, and that would mean loss, perhaps in many ways, to them. We were less than two hundred miles from Nome and could easily make the run in a day if allowed a free sea.

By this time the face of the steward began to show anxiety and he watched the horizon with interest. Serving, as he did, nearly fifteen hundred meals daily, he feared a shortage of supplies if the ship was delayed many days longer. Ten sacks of flour, and fifteen hundred pounds of meat were used daily, and other things in proportion. For breakfast one day ninety dozen eggs were fed to the people.

High overhead the stars and stripes were now hoisted to announce our joy at being delivered from so many dangers, and at leading the way for others to follow. No one could pass us, and we would, after all, be among the first, if not the very first, to reach Nome.

The captain looked jaded and worn, but happy and relieved, being able now to get some of the much-needed rest so long denied him when in the ice fields. When congratulated by the passengers upon his skill, for by this time they had entirely forgotten their discontent of the previous days and were willing to give him and his crew due praise, he smiled and thanked them kindly, then went away to rest.

Early next morning anchor was dropped at Nome. At last we had reached our destination. We had traveled thirty-one hundred and thirty-nine miles in nineteen days and could have done it in much shorter time had it not been for the ice. Several small ships lay at anchor before us, but we were immediately followed by many large steamers bringing thousands of people to Nome. The weather was splendid. Many of the passengers were in such haste to reach shore than they left without breakfast; but we waited until ten in the morning before boarding the "lighter," and I donned a dress suitable to the occasion. This was cut short, and was worn with high, stout boots, leggings, warm coat, cap and veil, with extra wraps for the trip of two miles to shore.

Certainly we now presented a very unique spectacle. We were really a sort of Noah's Ark collection, with the roof of the Ark omitted. Women in abbreviated skirts, long rubber boots, golf capes, caps and sweaters; men covered in long "raglans," fur coats, "jumpers," or whatever happened to be at hand; and all rushing pell-mell in the direction of the lighter, by means of which they hoped to land on the golden beach of Nome. Baggage there was in stacks. There were boxes, grips, trunks, army sacks; everything but babies, bird cages and band wagons. Passage for an automobile had been engaged in San Francisco, but at the last moment the lady accompanying the big machine was suddenly indisposed and obliged to allow the "St. Paul" to sail without her.

The sea was now quite rough. The lighter was brought close alongside. The rope ladder was thrown over the side of the ship with its lower end dangling upon the lighter's deck, and we were told we could now go ashore.

This was the moment for which we had longed, and all were ready, like Cassibianca, minus the fire and peanuts. The fat widow of the company tied her bonnet more tightly under her chin, clutched at her pudgy skirts, and grasping the deck rail, placed her foot upon the rope ladder to descend.

"Don't look down!" shouted some one to her, fearing she might grow dizzy if she did so.

"Don't hurry; take your time!" called out another.

"Keep cool and you're all right!" instructed another, at which time the widow, with fluttering veil, pale face and eyes starting from their sockets with fright reached the lowest round of the ladder and stepped to the deck of the lighter. Her bonnet was awry, the belt of her dress had become unfastened, while her skirts were twisted around her in some unaccountable way and her teeth chattering; but she only drew a long sigh as she sank in a limp heap upon an army sack marked with big black letters, and said gaspingly: "This is terrible!" Others followed her example. Some protested they would rather stay on the ship or go back to San Francisco than scramble down that "beastly rope ladder" swaying as it did back and forth with every motion of the ship to which it was attached. For myself, I had never posed as especially courageous, and wondered how I should get on. But I said nothing. From watching the others I had learned that to "make haste slowly" was a good method to follow in the present case, as a misstep without a firm hand grip upon the sides of the ladder while descending would be likely to send one without warning into the yard wide gulf of boiling waters between the ship's side and the lighter, as the barge was literally dancing attendance upon the vessel in the rough sea.

Finally everything was ready. All passengers had left the ship. The lighter was crowded to the last inch of space; baggage and freight along the sides, and passengers in the middle, sitting wherever they could find a box or bag upon which to sit. A tug boat made fast to the lighter—we said good-bye to the "St. Paul" and moved away.

"We are bidding good-bye to all comforts now!" exclaimed an old Nomeite dubiously, "for we won't find any on shore; leastwise not unless it has improved more in the last ten months than I think it has. It was a tough place enough last summer, and that's no josh either!" looking around him at the ladies of the party and evidently wondering what they would think of the celebrated mining town.

Many by this time looked sober, but it was not a hard camp that they feared. They had expected to find a typical camp with all the attendant evils usual in such a place, and now they were almost there. In fact they looked out over the heaps of baggage towards shore at the long fine of white tents, buildings of every description from a board shack to a hotel or large store, and it seemed good in their eyes—very good. For some unseen reason, as the barge, following as it did at the end of the long line from the tug, rode first upon the top of a big breaker and then below in the trough, there was a decided longing on the part of some to be on land. It did not much matter where it was—Europe, Asia, Africa or "any old place"; but as for this "confounded, zig-zaggin', heavin' old hulk which is tryin' its best to take us to Honolulu sideways—I want no more of it!" growled one man.

"Give me Nome or I die!" gasped another.

"No more big water in mine for two years, and mebbe by that time they will have air ships to fly in," muttered a little man as he lay on his back among a pile of bags and gulped at something in his throat he was trying to keep down.

So the barge bobbed up and down among the breakers, riding to the crest of a wave with a gliding, graceful motion, only to reach out beyond it, and then, as the waters underneath receded, dropping heavily with a thud and a splash, making one feel that he was being dealt with most unceremoniously.

The same thing was again and again repeated, until we rode as close to the shore as the tug could take us, then the line was cut, a rope was thrown us from shore, and with a steam windlass or other contrivance, we were hauled upon the sands.

Then a gangplank was speedily pushed out over the intervening watery space which the passengers took their turns in crossing until all stood upon the beach; a few, to be sure, with wet feet, damp clothing and soggy tempers if some vicious, big breaker in parting had dashed its white foam-tipped waters over their heads, but all glad and thankful to arrive in Nome at last.



CHAPTER IX.

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.



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.



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.



CHAPTER X.

THE FOUR SISTERS.

It was during the first excitement of the gold discoveries in the Klondyke that four sisters left their home in Chicago and started for Dawson. They were young, hopeful, ambitious and handsome. They owned a town lot in the city, but they had not the means with which to erect a building upon it, and the money would never be forthcoming if they remained where they were. The ordinary salary of a working woman in office or store was not sufficient to allow them more than a trifle above necessary living expenses, and they could see themselves old, wrinkled and grey before they could hope to attain their desired object.

Reaching Dawson safely, as they did after weeks of peril and many novel experiences, they set to work at what seemed to them at the moment the most lucrative labor of which they were capable. They were fitted for laundry work only by being well and strong physically, and by having a willingness to do whatever they first found to do.

This proved to be work at the wash-tub. Here the four women labored month after month with a will, with the result that at the end of a year their bank account was not insignificant, they owned several gold claims, and in all the mining camp there were none who did not respect the four sisters.

Then came their first dark days. It was midsummer. Down among the grass roots and between the rocks of the hillside back of the famous camp, there trickled numerous fresh water springs, pure and cold when they left their sequestered sources among the seams and fissures, but gaining nothing of purity when spread out upon the little plain now thickly dotted with cabins.

Here in the hurry and rush of the fast growing camp, when fortunes came quickly, and men lived at a rapid pace, there was little time for sanitary precautions, and so it presently happened that a shadow, like a huge black bird of ill omen, suddenly hovered above the camp, sending a shudder through its entire length. A tiny germ, so small as to pass unnoticed and unheeded by, and yet withal so deadly as to be called a plague, crept along, insinuating itself into the streamlets making their way as best they could to their father, the Yukon; and the fever laid low many victims.

Early and late had the sisters toiled, never in a half-hearted way, but untiringly, day after day, until one of their number, being perhaps less strong, or more weary from work to which she had been unaccustomed, and more susceptible to disease, was stricken with fever, and after only a few days' illness, whispered her loving good-byes.

This happened in the summer of 1899, and rumors of the great gold strike at Nome now reached Dawson. One sister had been persuaded by a member of the Dawson Bar to make for him a happy home during the remainder of his life, and she was married.

Again their party numbered the original four, though there were now only three sisters.

The excitement in Dawson regarding the new Nome gold fields daily increased, and it was stated by reliable steamer men from St. Michael that the new strike rivaled that of the Klondyke.

The little party of four decided to go to Nome. In a short time their business was arranged, sales made, gold claims placed in charge of agents, and everything made in readiness for their journey to Nome.

It was the middle of September. The last boats were leaving Dawson, both for points on the Upper Yukon and for St. Michael. People leaving Dawson by boat in the fall seldom linger beyond the third or fourth week in September, for then the river may freeze at any time and they be prisoners in the camp indefinitely.

The lower river steamer "Hannah" was about to push from the dock at Dawson when a friend introduced me to the three sisters, and during the following days on board an acquaintance sprung up which I much enjoyed. Little did we know that this friendship would afterwards be renewed nearly two thousand miles away, and under circumstances vastly different from any with which we had before become familiar.

Landing safely from the "Hannah" at St. Michael, a few days were spent by the sisters waiting for stormy weather to subside, and they then sailed for Nome. Here they landed during the last days of September, amid falling snow, bleak winds and boiling surf, upon the sands of the most inhospitable beach in all that dreary Northland. No tree was to be seen. Not a rock under whose friendly shelter one might hide from the storms. There was almost no lumber in the camp with which to build houses, and no incoming steamers expected. A few rude shacks, tents and saloons, with two or three companies' buildings—of these was the town composed. Many were rushing for the steamers in waiting, determined only upon one thing—to get home to the States. Some carried heavy sacks of gold, others went empty-handed. There was the summer's accumulation of filth in the camp, too young as yet for cleanly conditions, and these brought their sure accompaniment—the fever. Many suffered for weeks with it, and then died.

Again came the dread plague to the sisters. Scarcely had they unpacked their trunks or found shelter for the winter when the younger of the sisters was stricken down. For days she raved in delirium, and all feared she would die. Night and day they watched anxiously by her bedside. Everything was done for her recovery and comfort that could be done in a new and rough camp like the one at Nome; for all who knew the beautiful little sister loved her well.

Then came the time when all the long and heavy yellow hair had to be cut from the lovely head in obedience to the doctor's orders. But the little sister lived. Their prayers were answered, the worst was over, the danger past.

Then followed long and weary weeks of convalescing, while the winter storms raged outside the little cabin, and the sun retreated farther from the Arctic Circle and Nome, but the sisters thanked God, and again took courage.

Months after came the welcome springtime. With the earliest fine weather and revival of business in the camp the sisters erected a store building and warehouse on the beach near by. Into the latter they moved temporarily, hoping to rent the store to some of the numerous "tenderfeet" sure to arrive on the first passenger steamers.

It was here I found the sisters on my arrival at Nome from San Francisco in June, 1900. Little sister was well and strong again, growing a fresh crop of roses and lilies on her cheeks, and a new head covering of lovely, wavy yellow hair. On her lips she wore the same sweet, old smiles, however, and I knew her well by these. Since her recovery from the fever the hands of the sisters had not been idle, and they had become expert at sewing furs. This had kept them busy as bees all winter, and many were the caps, coats, mittens and capes made by their industrious fingers, which brought them a good income, while their rooms were always the rendezvous of friends than which a jollier lot could not be discovered.

Of the good influence going out through the rough mining camp during the long and dreary winter from the home of these sweet and Christian women, no account has probably ever been kept, except by the recording angel, who never forgets.

The day after we landed at Nome I secured work. Not, however, to begin immediately, which pleased me well, as I should then have a little time to look for father, inspect the camp, study conditions and take notes and kodak views.

"Can you cook for a gang of men?" asked Mr. A. kindly smiling down at me when I had stopped him on the street and asked for work in his camp for the English girl and myself, as we wished to be together.

"Indeed, I can. I will do my very best, Mr. A., and I feel sure we can please you. My friend is an extra good cook, as you will discover if you give us work. Will you try us?"

"I will," he replied.

"At what wages, please?"

"Five dollars per day, each, with board," promptly answered the gentleman whose two gold claims on famous Anvil Creek made him one of the richest men in Alaska.

So it was settled. Claim number nine, Anvil, was about seven miles from Nome, and one of the most noted claims in the district. Mr. A., a former Swedish missionary at Golovin Bay, had, with his doctor brother, voyaged to Nome on the "St. Paul" when we did, so we already had a slight acquaintance with both gentlemen and were pleased to get the work.

Anvil Creek claims had been worked the summer before. Gold had first been discovered in the fall of 1898 by Mr. Hultberg, a Swedish missionary, who learned of the precious metal around Nome from the Eskimos. His mission was stationed at Golovin Bay, and he notified the Swedes, Brynteson, Hagalin, Lindbloom and Linderberg, who in turn saw G. W. Price and induced him to go with them, as he was the only one there experienced in mining. Price was on his way to Kodiak over the ice by dog-team en route to California, as the representative of C. D. Lane, the San Francisco mining man and millionaire.

The most of Anvil Creek was staked by this party before they returned to the mines at Council City, fifty miles up Fish River from Golovin Bay.

"On July second, 1899, a second cleanup was made on number one above Discovery Claim, Anvil Creek, the property of J. Linderberg. The result of four men shovelling out of the creek bed from a cut five feet to bedrock for twenty hours amounted to fourteen thousand dollars in gold dust. The men shovelled all the gravel from the moss down to bedrock into the sluice box as it was all pay gravel. The owner refused five hundred thousand dollars for the property without considering the offer."

Tierney is authority for the statement that this claim produced four hundred thousand dollars that season.

From this time the discoverers were known by the sobriquet of the "Lucky Swedes," for Anvil Creek was all good, there being no really "poor dirt" in it, and number nine, above Discovery Claim, proved itself, the first summer, also a banner winner.

It was here that we expected to work, as soon as supplies could be hauled to the claim, the monotony of bread making and dish washing to be varied by the new and strange sights on an enormously rich gold claim not far from the Arctic Circle.

Everywhere around us were carpenter's hammers in operation, and tents were rapidly going up. We found great difficulty in reserving ground space enough for another tent, as others found the Sandspit as desirable for tenting as we did, and elbowed us closely. Along the river's edge and the beach near by many were digging and panning in the sands searching for "colors." Dog-teams were hauling freight and baggage, with their swearing and perspiring drivers at their heels, and while the big black-snake whips flourished in air above the dogs or upon their straining backs, the tongues of the faithful brutes hung from their mouths, and their wide open eyes looked appealingly at bystanders. My heart ached for the animals, but there were no humane societies in Alaska.

About five o'clock on Sunday afternoon it began to snow. This was the first June snowstorm I had ever seen. Our little tent leaked badly, as it had been hastily pitched, and the snow melted as it fell. Small rivers of water were soon dropping upon our heads. Rain coats, oil cloth, and opened umbrellas were utilized to protect the clothing and the bedding.

An hour of this experience would have been enough for one time, but troubles seldom come singly, and so the wind began to blow. Donning her rain coat and rubbers the English girl did her best to tighten ropes and make the tent taut, for madam's son had not returned from town. Presently, to our great joy, we saw him coming with a loaded dog-team of freight, and best of all, with a man friend to assist him, whose strong arms and broad shoulders were well fitted to tent pitching. Hastily the cart was unloaded and the large canvas tent unrolled and laid upon the sand. Stakes were driven, poles adjusted, ropes stretched with much straining, as the wind whistled more vigorously, and snow still fell; and the two men, both wet and cold, huddled into the little tent for a cup of hot tea which was waiting.

Then strong hands opened more boxes and a large oil stove, carpets, rugs and many other necessary things were hustled into the new tent, as well as trunks, bedding, and the contents of the small tent, with the exception of canned goods and such things as water would not injure. The sands were clean but wet, and if we were thankful for a stout canvas cover over our heads we would have also been glad of a dry place under foot. However, carpets and rugs were spread down, stoves lighted, and the tent door flap fastened as securely as possible.

As well as we could we arranged all for the night, but we expected to sleep little, for the storm was now fearful. Rain, snow and hail, each came down by turns, accompanied by a high wind which drove the surf in roaring rage upon the beach. How thankful we were that we had chosen this spot instead of one directly in reach of the great rollers with their mist and spray; though we had the roar and boom of the surf in our ears continually. Sometimes it seemed that the wind had lulled, and then with increased violence it again screamed above our heads, threatening us each moment with disaster.

At midnight a supper of hot macaroni, cocoa, bread, butter and cheese, with canned meat and jam, was heartily eaten by all, including the visiting friend from Sitka who had assisted. A low box was used for a table and we all sat upon the mats, eating from tin cups and plates with the keenest appetites.

The weather was now awful. The storm had increased until it seemed each moment that the tent would be torn from its fastenings, and we be left without any protection whatever. The ropes and stakes had frequently to be looked after and made stronger. The snow had turned to rain, which beat heavily upon the stout canvas resisting well the water without leaking.

By one o'clock the wind showed signs of abating, and we were so much in need of sleep, that, all dressed as we were, we rolled ourselves in our blankets and dozed on the rugs close to the oil stoves. For an hour I lay uneasily dreaming, or listening to the royal cannonading of the heavy surf upon the beach. From my diary I quote the following extract:

"Monday, four in the morning, June eighteenth, 1900.—It is four in the morning and we are sitting around the oil stoves in the middle of the tent. We have just had hot cocoa and crackers. The surf still booms, but it does not rain, and the wind has died down. We are better off than many people. Tomorrow we will put up the other tent and get more settled. We are thankful not to be on the sea beach, where so many are camped. A. wishes herself home again. People around our tent all night were talking, moving, afraid of the storm, but the big ships are still here and they would put out to sea if it were necessary for their safety. They say we have smallpox in town from the steamer 'Ohio,' and yesterday Mrs. H., who came up on the 'St. Paul,' was reported to be dying from pneumonia. The nurse, Mrs. Judge R.'s friend, is caring for her. Judge R. and wife are still in Mrs. M.'s shack near the barracks. It has been daylight all night. I hope to hear from father soon, and get my freight. My friends here have all theirs. The two men are smoking and talking while I write, and the Eskimo dogs not far away are howling in their usual interesting nightly manner. I will now try to get a little more sleep."

We had heard much of beach mining at Nome, but saw little of it. Stories were told of men who, in the summer of 1899, had taken hundreds of dollars in gold dust from the beach sands by the crudest methods, and thousands of men were now flocking into the camp for the purpose of doing beach mining. They were sadly disappointed. Not, however, because there was no gold in the beach sands, but because it was so infinitesimally tiny that they had no means of securing it. No hand rocker, copper plate, nor amalgam had been used with success, neither did any of the myriads of prospective miners bring anything with them which promised better results. Great heaps of machinery called by hopeful promoters "gold dredgers" were being daily dumped upon the beach from the ships, signboards were covered with pictures of things similar, while the papers continually bloomed with advertisements of machines, which, if speedily secured by the miners, would, according to the imaginative advertiser, soon cause all to literally roll in riches.

One flaming dodger ran in large letters thus: "Calling millions from the vasty deep. A fortune in one hundred days. Our dredger will work three thousand yards of sand in heavy surf at Cape Nome. It will take out twenty-four thousand dollars in a day. You can make more money with us than by taking flyers in wild-cat oil schemes, etc." The poster was illustrated by a huge machine gotten up on the centipede plan; at least, it resembled that hated insect from having attached to its frame two sets of wheels of different sizes along the sides like the legs of a centipede, but with a steam boiler for a head, and a big pipe for a throat from which the salt water was disgorged to wash out this immense amount of sand and give the gold to the miner. It did not save the gold.

Thousands of dollars of good, hard-earned money were dumped upon the beach in the shape of heavy machines of different kinds, which were worse than useless, and only brought bitter disappointment to their owners. Men had stripped the beach the summer before of all coarse gold which had, perhaps, been ages in washing up from the ocean's bed, or down the creeks from the hills, and only the fine, or "flour gold," as it was called, remained.

By the newcomers men were cursed for spreading abroad tales of beach mining of the year before, but this was unjust, for conditions were not the same. The waters bringing the gold to the beach could not, in one season, replenish and leave the sands as rich as they had been after long years, perhaps ages of action, and blame could not rightly be attached to any one. Almost without exception, the men who did the cursing were the men who had never been hard workers, and did not intend to be, and so, after becoming satisfied that the nuggets were not there to be simply picked up and pocketed, they turned, looked backward, and went home. It was well for the new camp that they did.

There was also much trouble over real estate. Land was very high in price. Some Swedes, who, the year before, had paid seven hundred dollars for a town lot three hundred by fifty feet in size, now sold one-half of it for ten thousand dollars. It is small wonder, then, where "possession is nine points of the law" that men who rightfully claimed ground were ready to fight to keep it, and those who were wrongfully in possession many times stood guard with firearms.

In pitching our tents upon the sandy beach, especially after gaining permission of the old captain who told us we would be in the street if ever a street should be opened through on the Sandspit, but that was not likely, and he had given us his full and free consent to our camping temporarily there next his lots, we expected to have no trouble. Here we miscalculated. Though the captain was kind and reasonable, he had a partner who was just the reverse, and this person gave us infinite trouble.

Scarcely had our first load of baggage been put upon the ground when he began to tramp fussily about at all times of day and night. After our stakes were driven he would come quietly in the night and pull them up, so we would find our canvas flapping in the morning breeze when we waked. Or, after we had retired for the night, he would come with some other, stand within hearing distance, and threaten us if we did not move away.

One morning, upon rising, we found that he had moved a long carpenter's bench directly upon the spot next madam's tent, which I was trying to reserve for my own tent as soon as I succeeded in getting my things from the steamer. This disappointed me much, but I said nothing; and when my tent finally came I pitched it on the other side, with my door directly opposite hers and only six feet from her entrance.

As to appearance this old man was a jolly sight. He wore long and tangled hair which had once been curly, but now hung in unkempt and dirty shreds upon his shoulders, while his hat was an antiquated relic of a former life in the States. A pair of old trousers generally hung by one suspender over a colored shirt, which, the summer before, possibly, had had a wash-tub experience, but not later; his footwear was altogether unmentionable. He was called well-to-do, and there was no necessity for him to cut such an abominable figure, so he soon became a by-word, and was designated as "sour dough." At all events, he was sour enough, and kept up a continual siege of torment until he received a temporary quietus.

We three women were sitting in the tent one morning when there came a voice at the door. Going forward to enquire what was wanted, a man said gruffly, thrusting a piece of paper into my hand.

"A notice from the chief of police."

"For what?" I inquired.

"For you, to vacate these premises without delay."

"Indeed! Are they to open a street? Will the other campers about here move also?" I asked.

"I don't know. My orders are that you shall move immediately. See that you do it," said the man rudely.

While holding the paper in my hands I glanced over it hastily, and saw the marks of a spurious document. It was poorly constructed, and bore no official signs. I recognized it as a counterfeit.

"We have had permission from captain S., one of the aldermen, to put our tents here, and we shall stay unless he orders us away," said I stoutly.

"You have permission from captain S.?" he asked in surprise.

"Yes, sir, from captain S. himself, and you can say to the chief of police that we shall stay here until the captain orders us to leave," saying which I stepped back into the tent.

The man retreated, muttering to himself as he went, for he was utterly routed, and never returned; neither did we hear any more for some time about moving our tents. It was as I suspected. Mr. Sourdough had thought to frighten us away, and the order from the chief of police was utterly bogus.

Some time afterward, when madam attempted to put a floor into her tent, "Sourdough" again put in an appearance. He threatened, but she held out, when the obstinate and perverse old man trotted off down town and secured an officer and four soldiers to come and put her off. The officer looked the ground over, inquired if there was room for teams to pass if necessary, and seeing her tent in line with many others, he turned to the old man and said:

"This tent takes up no more of the street than the others. This lady has as much right to be here as any one else. What is the matter with you? Let the women alone," and he and his soldiers marched away.

Mr. Sourdough tore his hair. He was wild with anger. The floor of madam's tent went down and stayed.

Each day I was in the habit of giving my Swedish friends a call, and found them finally ready to set up their restaurant tent. A large floor was laid on Second street near the post-office, the large canvas stretched over the frame, tables and seats provided, a corner partitioned off for a kitchen, dishes placed upon shelves, and they began serving meals. At this juncture I happened in one day just before noon and found them rushed with work and unable to fill their meal orders for lack of help. Mary was peeling potatoes in haste, while trying to do other things at the same time, and Ricka and Alma were flying like bees.

"Let me peel those potatoes for you," said I, taking the knife from Mary's hand; and when she demurred, I told her I really had nothing to do, and would be glad to assist.

When the potatoes were peeled, dishes were heaped up to be cleaned, and I quickly washed them, feeling that I was of some service, and not heeding the surprised looks of a few acquaintances who chanced to catch a glimpse of me at work in the kitchen through the door.

This I did each day, coming over after I had eaten my breakfast, and rolling up my sleeves to my elbows, drove them deep into the dish pan and hot water.

Many were the jolly times we now had. How the jokes flew past each other over the puddings, and the crisp pies needed almost no other seasoning. How cheerfully "the boys" brought wood and water and counted it reward enough if they only received a smile from little Alma. Many a man was glad enough, too, to render such service for a meal or lunch of hot coffee and doughnuts, especially such good, big, motherly ones as Mary made, and there was no lack of men helpers. How the coffee steamed, the hot bread and meats smoked, and the soup odors tantalized the olfactories of hundreds of "tenderfeet" with their lusty Alaska appetites, which were increased by an open air life such as all in those days were living.

When at last we were summoned to our work, on Number Nine, the Swedish women pressed my hand cordially, leaving a good-sized bill in it at the same time, saying: "When you get through on Number Nine come back to us; we need you." I thanked them gratefully and said good-bye.

The English girl and myself were soon settled in our little tent with its clean new floor on the hillside of claim Number Nine. No tree was to be seen on the long, rolling hills, and only an occasional boulder on some summit like Anvil Peak, perched as a sentinel above us. A few wild flowers bloomed on the tundra, and the waters of the little stream gurgled over the soft slate pebbles that strewed its course; but the season so far was a dry one, and more water was needed before much could be done at sluicing. Miners were not happy at the prospect of a dry season, which meant a stoppage of all mining operations, and eagerly scanned the heavens for rain indications. A small force of men were at work night and day. On Thursday, July twelfth, eleven hundred dollars in gold dust was taken from the sluice boxes in the creek, and two days afterwards twelve thousand dollars, with which the owner of the claim was much dissatisfied, calling them small clean-ups.

A few hundred feet up stream, on Number Ten, the machinery of C. D. Lane whirred constantly. On the upper end of Number Nine a small new machine called a separator was put in by some men from New York who had taken a lay on the claim; but this scheme was not successful.

Seeing men at work prospecting along the "benches," as the banks of a stream or hillsides are called by miners, and having a woman's proverbial curiosity, after my work was done I climbed the hill to investigate. The prospectors had left after digging a hole about six feet deep and four square, evidently having satisfied themselves as to what the ground contained. Into this hole I descended to feel of the cold, wet earth and inspect the walls.

The miners had reached the frost line and gone, taking with them samples of pretty white quartz rock, as much of the debris at the bottom of the hole plainly showed, but whether it contained gold I knew not. As yet I was a tenderfoot; but something satisfactory was without doubt found here and in the vicinity, as quartz claims were staked over the placer claims the whole length of Anvil Creek that summer.

While rambling about in search of flowers during our afternoon rests, we found many interesting spots. To the northwest, over the high, bare ridge, lay Snow Gulch, from which fabulous sums had the summer before been taken, the blue and winding waters of famous Glacier Creek lying just beyond. Walking through the dry, deep tundra over the hills was warm, hard work, though we wore short skirts and high, stout boots, and womanlike, we were always filled to the brim with questions and ready to rest if we chanced to meet any one, which was not often.

Wherever we went, and whatever the hour, we met with no incivility. Hats were lifted, and men rested a moment upon their shovels to look after us as we passed, while frequently some rough miner swallowed the lump in his throat or wiped a tear, as he thought of his wife, daughter or sweetheart far away. We were the only women in the mines for miles around, but felt no fear whatever, and indeed we were as safe there as at home, and there was no occasion for anxiety.

Life was extremely interesting. Our work was not hard the first few weeks; after that the force of men was increased. Rich pans of dirt (two shovels full to a pan) were daily being brought to light. One pan contained seventy-two dollars and seventy-five cents, one eighty-three dollars and thirty-five cents. Big, fat nuggets already melted into wondrous shapes, but iron rusted, as all Anvil Creek gold is, for some reason, was discovered each day. One nugget tipped the scales at thirty-nine dollars, one at twenty dollars, and one at fifty dollars, with many others of like value.

Wednesday, August eighth, the following entry was made in my diary: "Today has been the banner day for gold dust. The night's cleanup of twelve hours' work was a big one—three pans full of gold. Later—Still more yet. A cleanup of nine thousand dollars and three of the largest nuggets I ever saw has just been made this evening. Two of the nuggets were long and flat, as large as a tree-toad, and much the shape of one. The men took the first load of gold dust to town—seventy-five pounds—but the bank was closed before they could get the remainder there. The foreman says they are prepared to keep it here safely over night, however, and I believe they are, judging by the big protuberances on their hip pockets."



CHAPTER XI.

LIFE IN A MINING CAMP.

As the rains came to facilitate the sluicing, more men were added to the force shovelling in the creeks, and this made our work heavier. An exceedingly cranky foreigner, as head cook, presided over the big coal range in the mess-house, and we women "played second fiddle," so to speak. However, we all had enough hard work, as a midnight supper for the second force had to be prepared and regularly served, and at this we labored alternately.

Strange to relate, the men at the long tables soon began to exhibit a very great partiality for the dishes prepared by the English girl and myself, to the end that the foreign fellow's black eyes snapped with anger, and he swore deeply under his breath.

"He vill eat vat I gif heem. He moose eat it ven he hoongry, else he starve himsel'. I care not he no like it, he get nothing other!" the angry man would exclaim, as the untouched plates of the men were scraped into the waste box. He would then, fearing that we would cook some dish more palatable to the miners, hide the best food, or forbid us to use certain ingredients as we wished.

Of the culinary stores provided there never could be a complaint. Everything that money could buy in the way of fresh meat, potatoes, onions, canned and dried fruits and vegetables, flour, corn and oatmeals, were stacked up in the greatest profusion. From canned oysters, clams and French sardines, to fine cocoa and cream, all was here found in quantities, after being hauled in a wagon behind powerful horses over the seven miles of heavy roads from Nome. By the time the goods reached camp they were almost worth their weight in gold, but one might have supposed them dirt cheap, for we, as hungry miners and cooks, were never limited.

Week after week the patient animals and their driver were kept measuring the distance between the city and the claim, even though the wet tundra in low places grew sodden and boggy, and the wheels repeatedly sank to the hubs. At times more horses were attached to haul them out of some hole, or if these were not at hand, certain heavy cases were dumped off until the reeking, straining brutes had successfully extricated the load. Covered with mud and sweat, his high-topped rubber boots each weighing a number of pounds, and his stomach too empty to allow of conversation, after a long, hard day's work, the driver of this team would fling himself upon one of the benches alongside our table and say:

"Yes, I'm ready to eat anything. Been caved in for two hours."

This young man, as well as the night foreman, was a cousin of Mr. A., both farmer boys, honest, kind and true. No oaths fell from their lips, and no language was used which their own mothers would ever blush to hear.

The second of these, the foreman, was dressed also in great rubber boots, dark blue sweater, and broad-brimmed felt hat, with a quick eye and ear for all around him, though he was a man of few words, which he weighed well before using. His hip pocket always contained a loaded revolver, and he was obliged to sleep days after being on duty nights.

To eyes so unaccustomed as ours to the sight, how strange it all looked at midnight. From the big tent door which faced south and towards Nome City we could see the blue waters of Behring Sea away in the distance. Great ships lying there at anchor, lately arrived from the outside world or just about to leave, laden with treasure, at this long range looked like mere dots on the horizon. Between them and us there straggled over the beach in a westerly direction, a confused group of objects we well knew to be the famous and fast growing camp on the yellow sands. To our right, as well as our left, rolled the softly undulating hills, glowing in tender tints of purples and greys, or, if the moon hung low above our heads, there were warmer and lighter shades which were doubly entrancing.

Accompanying the low moon twinkled the silver stars with their olden time coyness of expression. Little birds, not knowing when to sleep in the endless daylight, hopped among the dewy wild flowers of the tundra, calling to their mates or nestlings, twittering a song appropriate to the time and place because entirely unfamiliar.

No other sound was to be heard except the picks of the miners at work in the stream. No word was spoken unless the foreman gave some order. Those sleeping in nearby tents must not be wakened, and besides the men at the shovels and picks did no loitering. There were the long sluice boxes to be filled with what was once the creek bed, from which the water was now turned in another direction to await the morning's cleanup of gold.

At that time the water would be conducted into the long boxes to wash away the dirt and gravel, leaving the heavier gold in the bottom. Either Mr. A. or his brother, with the foreman, attended to cleaning up the gold. When all the dirt and gravel, or rock, had been washed out of the sluices, a whisk broom was used to brush the gold into a corner of the box, a dustpan conveyed it to broad-mouthed gold pans close at hand, and these were carried into the kitchen.

Here the pans were placed upon the iron range, big mush spoons were utilized for stirring, and the precious metal was well dried before being weighed. As soon as possible afterward it was taken to the Bank of Nome. A tall, black horse was purchased for this purpose alone, and after a few such trips the intelligent creature most reluctantly approached the office where the gold was kept, having learned of the grievous burden he would have to bear. Sometimes he would snort, throw himself and pull back, and in every way show his unwillingness to proceed.

But no shirk was allowed here. The horse was led close to the steps of the office tent, and a gunny sack tied in the middle brought out by two men and laid over the back of the unwilling beast. A rain coat or blanket was flung over the sack, and the man at the halter started for town, leading the horse, which walked slowly and resignedly after being compelled to go.

A second man, well armed with revolvers like the first, always accompanied the pair, and when the three had returned to the claim another cleanup awaited them. Enormous sums of money were taken from this claim while we were there, averaging ten thousand to twenty thousand dollars per day. Seventy men worked for a time when the water was at its best, part of that number on the day force and part at night.

In August the west bank of the creek was accidentally pricked and found to be far richer than the bed of the stream. Nuggets worth many dollars were continually unearthed, the largest one that summer amounting to ninety dollars. The richest pans contained sixty-four dollars, seventy-two dollars and seventy-five cents and eighty-four dollars, with others ranging all the way below.

From a bench claim next to Number Eleven on this creek, and only one-fourth of a mile above us, great heaps of gold were taken from the ground, no pan carrying less, it was said, than five hundred dollars.