We camped at the Halfway House, a big tent surrounded by the mostdiabolical landscape of high peaks lost in mist, with near-by slopesof gray rocks scantily covered with yellow-green grass. All was bare,wild, desolate, and drear. The wind continued to whirl down over thedivide, carrying torn gray masses of vapor which cast a gloomy halflight across the gruesome little meadow covered with rottingcarcasses and crates of bones which filled the air with odor ofdisease and death.
Within the tent, which flopped and creaked in the wind, we huddledabout the cook-stove in the light of a lantern, listening to the loudtalk of a couple of packers who were discussing their business withenormous enthusiasm. Happily they grew sleepy at last and peacesettled upon us. I unrolled my sleeping bag and slept dreamlesslyuntil the "Russian nobleman," who did the cooking, waked me.
Morning broke bleak and desolate. Mysterious clouds which hid thepeaks were still streaming wildly down the canyon. We got away atlast, leaving behind us that sad little meadow and its gruesomelakes, and began the slow and toilsome descent over slippery ledgesof rock, among endless rows of rotting carcasses, over poisonousstreams and through desolate, fire-marked, and ghastly forests ofsmall pines. Everywhere were the traces of the furious flood ofhumankind that had broken over this height in the early spring.Wreckage of sleighs, abandoned tackle, heaps of camp refuse,clothing, and most eloquent of all the pathway itself, worn into thepitiless iron ledges, made it possible for me to realize something ofthe scene.
Down there in the gully, on the sullen drift of snow, the wintertrail could still be seen like an unclean ribbon and here, where theshrivelled hides of horses lay thick, wound the summer pathway. Upyonder summit, lock-stepped like a file of convicts, with tonguesprotruding and breath roaring from their distended throats, thousandsof men had climbed with killing burdens on their backs, mad to reachthe great inland river and the gold belt. Like the men of the LongTrail, they, too, had no time to find the gold under their feet.
It was terrible to see how on every slippery ledge the ranks ofhorses had broken like waves to fall in heaps like rows of seaweed,tumbled, contorted, and grinning. Their dried skins had taken on thecolor of the soil, so that I sometimes set foot upon them withoutrealizing what they were. Many of them had saddles on and nearly allhad lead-ropes. Some of them had even been tied to trees and left tostarve.
In all this could be read the merciless greed and impracticability ofthese goldseekers. Men who had never driven a horse in their lives,and had no idea what an animal could do, or what he required to eat,loaded their outfits upon some poor patient beast and drove himwithout feed until, weakened and insecure of foot, he slipped andfell on some one of these cruel ledges of flinty rock.
The business of packing, however, had at last fallen into less cruelor at least more judicial hands, and though the trail was filledwith long pack trains going and coming, they were for the most partwell taken care of. We met many long trains of packhorses returningempty from Bennett Lake. They were followed by shouting drivers whoclattered along on packhorses wherever the trail would permit.
One train carried four immense trunks--just behind the trunks,mounted astride of one of the best horses, rode a bold-faced,handsome white woman followed by a huge negress. The white woman hadmade her pile by dancing a shameless dance in the dissolute dens ofDawson City, and was on her way to Paris or New York for a "goodtime." The reports of the hotel keepers made her out to beunspeakably vile. The negress was quite decent by contrast.
At Log Cabin we came in sight of the British flag which marks theboundary line of United States territory, where a camp of mountedpolice and the British customs officer are located. It was a drearseason even in midsummer, a land of naked ledges and cold whitepeaks. A few small pine trees furnished logs for the cabins and woodfor their fires. The government offices were located in tents.
I found the officers most courteous, and the customs fair. Thetreatment given me at Log Cabin was in marked contrast with theexactions of my own government at Wrangell. All goods were unloadedbefore the inspector's tent and quickly examined. The miner sufferedvery little delay.
A number of badly maimed packhorses were running about on theAmerican side. I was told that the police had stopped them by reasonof their sore backs. If a man came to the line with horses overloadedor suffering, he was made to strip the saddles from their backs.
"You can't cross this line with animals like that," was the sternsentence in many cases. This humanity, as unexpected as it waspleasing, deserves the best word of praise of which I am capable.
At last we left behind us all these wrecks of horseflesh, thesepoisonous streams, and came down upon Lake Bennett, where the waterwas considered safe to drink, and where the eye could see somethingbesides death-spotted ledges of savage rocks.
The town was a double row of tents, and log huts set close to thebeach whereon boats were building and saws and hammers were utteringa cheerful chorus. Long trains of packhorses filled the streets. Thewharfs swarmed with men loading chickens, pigs, vegetables,furniture, boxes of dry-goods, stoves, and every other conceivabledomestic utensil into big square barges, which were rigged with tallstrong masts bearing most primitive sails. It was a busy scene, butof course very quiet as compared with the activity of May, June, andJuly.
These barges appealed to me very strongly. They were in some casesfloating homes, a combination of mover's wagon and river boat. Manyof them contained women and children, with accompanying cats andcanary birds. In every face was a look of exultant faith in theventure. They were bound for Dawson City. The men for Atlin weresetting forth in rowboats, or were waiting for the little steamerswhich had begun to ply between Bennett City and the new gold fields.
I set my little tent, which was about as big as a dog kennel, andcrawled into it early, in order to be shielded from the winds, whichgrew keen as sword blades as the sun sank behind the westernmountains. The sky was like November, and I wondered where Burton wasencamped. I would have given a great deal to have had him with me onthis trip.
THE COAST RANGE OF ALASKA
The wind roars up from the angry sea With a message of warning and haste to me. It bids me go where the asters blow, And the sun-flower waves in the sunset glow. From the granite mountains the glaciers crawl, In snow-white spray the waters fall. The bay is white with the crested waves, And ever the sea wind ramps and raves.
I hate this cold, bleak northern land, I fear its snow-flecked harborless strand-- I fly to the south as a homing dove, Back to the land of corn I love. And never again shall I set my feet Where the snow and the sea and the mountains meet.
CHAPTER XXII
ATLIN LAKE AND THE GOLD FIELDS
There is nothing drearier than camping on the edge of civilizationlike this, where one is surrounded by ill smells, invaded by streamsof foul dust, and deprived of wood and clear water. I was exceedinglyeager to get away, especially as the wind continued cold and verysearching. It was a long dull day of waiting.
At last the boat came in and we trooped aboard--a queer mixture ofmen and bundles. The boat itself was a mere scow with an uprightengine in the centre and a stern-wheel tacked on the outside. Therewere no staterooms, of course, and almost no bunks. The interiorresembled a lumberman's shanty.
We moved off towing a big scow laden with police supplies for TagishHouse. The wind was very high and pushed steadily behind, or we wouldnot have gone faster than a walk. We had some eight or tenpassengers, all bound for the new gold fields, and these togetherwith their baggage and tools filled the boat to the utmost corner.The feeling of elation among these men reminded me of the great landboom of Dakota in 1883, in which I took a part. There was somethingfine and free and primitive in it all.
We cooked our supper on the boat's stove, furnishing our own foodfrom the supplies we were taking in with us. The ride promised to bevery fine. We made off down the narrow lake, which lies between twowalls of high bleak mountains, but far in the distance more alluringranges arose
. There was no sign of mineral in the near-by peaks.
Late in the afternoon the wind became so high and the captain of ourboat so timid, we were forced to lay by for the night and so swungaround under a point, seeking shelter from the wind, which becameeach moment more furious. I made my bed down on the roof of the boatand went to sleep looking at the drifting clouds overhead. Once ortwice during the night when I awoke I heard the howling blastsweeping by with increasing power.
All the next day we loitered on Bennett Lake--the wind roaringwithout ceasing, and the white-caps running like hares. We drifted atlast into a cove and there lay in shelter till six o'clock at night.The sky was clear and the few clouds were gloriously bright and cooland fleecy.
We met several canoes of goldseekers on their return who shouteddoleful warnings at us and cursed the worthlessness of the districtto which we were bound. They all looked exceedingly dirty, ragged,and sour of visage. At the same time, however, boat after boat wentsailing down past us on their way to Atlin and Dawson. They drovestraight before the wind, and for the most part experienced littledanger, all of which seemed to us to emphasize the unnecessarytimidity of our own captain.
There was a charm in this wild spot, but we were too impatient toenjoy it. There were men on board who felt that they were beingcheated of a chance to get a gold mine, and when the wind began tofall we fired up and started down the lake. As deep night came on Imade my bed on the roof again and went to sleep with the flyingsparks lining the sky overhead. I was in some danger of being set onfire, but I preferred sleeping there to sleeping on the floor insidethe boat, where the reek of tobacco smoke was sickening.
When I awoke we were driving straight up Tagish Lake, a beautiful,clear, green and blue spread of rippling water with lofty and boldlyoutlined peaks on each side. The lake ran from southeast to northwestand was much larger than any map shows. We drove steadily for tenhours up this magnificent water with ever increasing splendor ofscenery, arriving about sunset at Taku City, which we found to be alittle group of tents at the head of Taku arm.
Innumerable boats of every design fringed the shore. Men were comingand men were going, producing a bewildering clash of opinions withrespect to the value of the mines. A few of these to whom we spokesaid, "It's all a fake," and others were equally certain it was "Allright."
A short portage was necessary to reach Atlin Lake, and taking a partof our baggage upon our shoulders we hired the remainder packed onhorses and within an hour were moving up the smooth path under thesmall black pines, across the low ridge which separates the twolakes. At the top of this ridge we were able to look out over themagnificent spread of Atlin Lake, which was more beautiful in everyway than Tagish or Taku. It is, in fact, one of the most beautifullakes I have ever seen.
Far to the southeast it spread until it was lost to view among thebases of the gigantic glacier-laden mountains of the coast range. Tothe left--that is to the north--it seemed to divide, enclosing asplendid dome-shaped solitary mountain, one fork moving to the east,the other to the west. Its end could not be determined by the eye ineither direction. Its width was approximately about ten miles.
At the end of the trail we found an enterprising Canadian with anaphtha launch ready to ferry us across to Atlin City, but wereforced to wait for some one who had gone back to Taku for a secondload.
While we were waiting, the engineer, who was a round-faced and rathergreen boy, fell under the influences of a large, plump, and verytalkative lady who made the portage just behind us. She so absorbedand fascinated the lad that he let the engine run itself into somecramp of piston or wheel. There was a sudden crunching sound and thepropeller stopped. The boy minimized the accident, but the captainupon arrival told us it would be necessary to unload from the boatwhile the engine was being repaired.
It was now getting dark, and as it was pretty evident that therepairs on the boat would take a large part of the night, we campedwhere we were. The talkative lady, whom the irreverent called "theglass front," occupied a tent which belonged to the captain of thelaunch and the rest of us made our beds down under the big trees.
A big fire was built and around this we sat, doing more or lesstalking. There was an old Tennesseean in the party from Dawson, whotalked interminably. He told us of his troubles, trials, andvictories in Dawson: how he had been successful, how he had fallenill, and how his life had been saved by a good old miner who gave himan opportunity to work over his dump. Sick as he was he was able in afew days to find gold enough to take him out of the country to adoctor. He was now on his way back to his claim and professed to bevery sceptical of Atlin and every other country except Dawson.
The plump lady developed exceedingly kittenish manners late in theevening, and invited the whole company to share her tent. A singulartype of woman, capable of most ladylike manners and havingastonishingly sensible moments, but inexpressibly silly most of thetime. She was really a powerful, self-confident, and shrewd woman,but preferred to seem young and helpless. Altogether the company wassufficiently curious. There was a young civil engineer from New YorkCity, a land boomer from Skagway, an Irishman from Juneau, arepresentative of a New York paper, one or two nondescripts from theStates, and one or two prospectors from Quebec. The night was coldand beautiful and my partner and I, by going sufficiently far awayfrom the old Tennesseean and the plump lady, were able to sleepsoundly until sunrise.
The next morning we hired a large unpainted skiff and by working veryhard ourselves in addition to paying full fare we reached camp atabout ten o'clock in the morning. Atlin City was also a clump oftents half hidden in the trees on the beach of the lake near themouth of Pine Creek. The lake was surpassingly beautiful under themorning sun.
A crowd of sullen, profane, and grimy men were lounging around,cursing the commissioners and the police. The beach was fringed withrowboats and canoes, like a New England fishing village, and all daylong men were loading themselves into these boats, hungry, tired, andweary, hastening back to Skagway or the coast; while others, fresh,buoyant, and hopeful, came gliding in.
To those who came, the sullen and disappointed ones who were about togo uttered approbrious cries: "See the damn fools come! What d'youthink you're doin'? On a fishin' excursion?"
We went into camp on the water front, and hour after hour men ladenwith packs tramped ceaselessly to and fro along the pathway justbelow our door. I was now chief cook and bottle washer, my partner,who was entirely unaccustomed to work of this kind, having the statusof a boarder.
The lake was a constant joy to us. As the sun sank the glacialmountains to the southwest became most royal in their robes of purpleand silver. The sky filled with crimson and saffron clouds which thelake reflected like a mirror. The little rocky islands drowsed in themist like some strange monsters sleeping on the bosom of the water.The men were filthy and profane for the most part, and made enjoymentof nature almost impossible. Many of them were of the rudest and mostuninteresting types, nomads--almost tramps. They had nothing of theepic qualities which belong to the mountaineers and natural miners ofthe Rocky Mountains. Many of them were loafers and ne'er-do-wellsfrom Skagway and other towns of the coast.
We had a gold pan, a spade, and a pick. Therefore early the nextmorning we flung a little pack of grub over our shoulders and setforth to test the claims which were situated upon Pine Creek, astream which entered Lake Atlin near the camp. It was said to beeighteen miles long and Discovery claim was some eight miles up.
We traced our way up the creek as far as Discovery and back, panningdirt at various places with resulting colors in some cases. The trailwas full of men racking to and fro with heavy loads on their backs.They moved in little trains of four or five or six men, some goingout of the country, others coming in--about an equal number each way.Everything along the creek was staked, and our test work resulted innothing more than gaining information with regard to what was goingon.
The camps on the hills at night swarmed with men in hot debate. Themajority believed the camps to be a failure, and l
oud discussionsresounded from the trees as partner and I sat at supper. Thetown-site men were very nervous. The camps were decreasing inpopulation, and the tone was one of general foreboding.
The campfires flamed all along the lake walk, and the talk of eachgroup could be overheard by any one who listened. Altercations wenton with clangorous fury. Almost every party was in division. Someenthusiastic individual had made a find, or had seen some one elsewho had. His cackle reached other groups, and out of the dark hulkingfigures loomed to listen or to throw in hot missiles of profanity.Phrases multiplied, mingling inextricably.
"Morgan claims thirty cents to the pan ... good creek claim ... hissluice is about ready ... a clean-up last night ... I don't believeit.... No, Sir, I wouldn't give a hundred dollars for the whole damnmoose pasture.... Well, it's good enough for me.... I tell you it'srotten, the whole damn cheese.... You've got to stand in with thepolice or you can't get...." and so on and on unendingly, withoutcoherence. I went to sleep only when the sound of the wordy warfaredied away.
I permitted myself a day of rest. Borrowing a boat next day, we wentout upon the water and up to the mouth of Pine Creek, where we pannedsome dirt to amuse ourselves. The lake was like liquid glass, thebottom visible at an enormous depth. It made me think of themarvellous water of McDonald Lake in the Kalispels. I steered theboat (with a long-handled spade) and so was able to look about me andabsorb at ease the wonderful beauty of this unbroken and unhewnwilderness. The clouds were resplendent, and in every direction thelake vistas were ideally beautiful and constantly changing.
The Trail of the Goldseekers: A Record of Travel in Prose and Verse Page 14
