Mystery at Chilkoot Pass (Mysteries through History)

by Barbara Steiner

  Finally, late in the afternoon, they reached the top. All of them stepped away from the staircase and fell silent, looking with wonder and awe at the snow-covered mountain ranges beyond the pass, silhouetted against the blue, blue sky. Down the trail, far in the distance, lay Lake Lindeman, where they would camp for the winter and build a boat. Hetty counted seven glaciers, the sun glancing off the ice, creating rainbows that seemed to dance across the snow.

  “My God, how beautiful you have made the world,” Mrs. Vasquez whispered.

  Mr. Jacobson started playing the wedding march from Lohengrin. Sarah, now wearing her pretty shoes, hooked her arm into Uncle Donall’s and the couple walked to stand before the Reverend Christopher Mortimer. Hetty, Alma, and Mrs. Vasquez stood on one side of Sarah. Papa stood beside Uncle Donall.

  Hetty hardly heard the vows. Her thoughts overwhelmed her.

  “The ring?” asked the Reverend Mortimer, looking at Papa.

  Papa reached into his pocket and handed a gold ring to Uncle Donall. After Uncle Donall slid it on her finger, Sarah held her hand out in front of her. The ring gleamed in the fading light. Hetty could see that it was made from tiny gold nuggets melted together into a single band. Where had Uncle Donall gotten another ring?

  Hetty was numb for the next hour. She helped with the party. She listened to the buzz of conversation around her, the laughter, the happy music Mr. Jacobson played. She watched people, total strangers, congratulating Sarah and Uncle Donall.

  “Hetty?” Alma put her hand on Hetty’s arm.

  “Don’t.” Hetty pushed Alma’s hand away. “Never mind.”

  “Something’s wrong, Hetty. I know it is.”

  “I can’t tell you now. Come on, your mother needs us.”

  Just then, Sarah came to Hetty and took her hand. “Hetty, will you help me? If I don’t get this corset off, I’m going to faint. I need your help.”

  “Mrs. Vasquez can unlace it.”

  “I want you to help me, Hetty. Come on.” Sarah tugged Hetty into the tent set away from the trail, the tent where Uncle Donall and Sarah Lancaster—now Sarah McKinley—would spend their wedding night.

  “I lied. I haven’t worn a corset for a single day of this whole trip.” Sarah put her arm around Hetty. “Now, what’s the matter? Didn’t you want your Uncle Donall to get married? Are you jealous? You can’t be jealous, Hetty,” Sarah teased her.

  Hetty burst into tears. But that didn’t keep her from reaching for Sarah’s pack, propped against the tent pole. Hetty reached in, pulled out the plaid pouch, and began to untie the string.

  “Oh, don’t, Hetty.” Sarah tried to stop her. “That’s—”

  “All the things you’ve stolen?” Hetty found her voice. “How could you? Oh, Sarah, how could you steal from all of us? You said we were your family. You said you loved us.”

  Hetty rubbed her locket and kept her fingers around it. Help me, Mama. Help me know what to do.

  “I’m—I’m so sorry you found those things, Hetty.”

  “I’m sure you are.”

  “You don’t understand. I was going to return every item. I took them—well, I took all of them before I knew you, before I called you family. Before I understood what these things meant to you. But now I do. I was going to slip them back into your packs, just like I slipped them out. I started by returning your locket.” Sarah leaned on a stack of flour and sugar bags and stared at her hands, her new ring.

  “But why? Why did you take them, Sarah? None of them are worth much, if anything, except to the people they belonged to.”

  Hetty let the silence grow. She could feel how uncomfortable Sarah was, maybe even how sorry she was. But that didn’t make what she had done right.

  “It—it was just a game,” Sarah said finally. Her voice was almost a whisper.

  “A game?”

  “I don’t know how to make you understand. I had a silly group of friends in San Francisco who dared me to come to the Yukon. Then they gave me a game to play—a scavenger hunt.”

  “A scavenger hunt?” Hetty struggled to understand.

  “Yes.” Sarah couldn’t meet Hetty’s eyes. “The game was the latest rage. We made up lists of things and dropped the lists in a hat. Teams, or sometimes individuals, would draw out a list. Then they’d have to go all over the city to find the ridiculous and impossible items. Afterward, we’d have a party and give prizes to the people who found the most items on their list. A party was planned for me in San Francisco when I returned from the Yukon. I’d have to show that I came back with everything on my list to win my prize.”

  “You were going to get a prize for stealing?” Hetty tried to imagine this game that the rich young people on Nob Hill had enjoyed playing with their friends.

  “It’s not stealing, Hetty. It’s borrowing. Or sometimes begging something from someone. One of the things on my list was a famous person’s autograph. I got Jack London to sign my book, hoping he’d be a famous writer someday.”

  “What else was on your list?” Hetty still didn’t understand, or forgive Sarah, but curiosity got the best of her.

  “A necklace. A photograph. A lady’s pin. A man’s watch. A knife. Something from a hotel where I stayed. I took a napkin from Belinda Mulrooney. She had so many. And I haven’t stayed in her hotel yet, but I’m sure I will when we get to Dawson. They were mostly all little things, things that weren’t worth much, that were fun, but didn’t matter—”

  “These things mattered to us. Mrs. V’s husband gave her this brooch. Alma’s father gave her Miss Pittypat. He brought it back from China.”

  Sarah took a deep breath. “I—I realize all that now, Hetty. You’re helping me see that some things represent people and memories, wonderful memories.” Sarah took both Hetty’s hands. “I’m not that same silly girl who left San Francisco such a short time ago. The one who did nothing but go to parties and play games. Who could never pass up a bet. Can you believe that, Hetty? You have to believe it. You have to forgive me.”

  Sarah put her hand under Hetty’s chin and made Hetty look at her. There were tears in Sarah’s green eyes. And she looked sincere. But—

  “I never had anything like your locket, Hetty. Nothing from my parents, who died when I was a baby. Nothing that mattered to me. Oh, I had things, all the things I wanted. I was rich, spoiled—very spoiled, I realize now. I love my grandparents, but Hetty, I’ve not ever had any friends, any good friends that mattered to me. You matter to me now. You and Mrs. Vasquez, your papa, and Donnie. I love your Uncle Donall, Hetty. You have to believe me. You have to give me a second chance.”

  Hetty shut her eyes and took several deep breaths. She wanted to forgive Sarah. She wanted this to be over, to put all this behind her.

  She made her voice very tough, very hard. “I will forgive you, Sarah. I can forgive you on one condition.”

  “What? Just tell me, Hetty Tell me.”

  “You return everything you took.” Hetty held Sarah’s eyes.

  “Oh, yes, of course.”

  “And you apologize to the owner.”

  Sarah hesitated. “Now? Right now?”

  “Now,” Hetty demanded. “Right now. This is your chance to start over with your new family.”

  Now Sarah cried. Maybe some of the emotion came from getting married, from the excitement of the day, from all that had happened the last few days. After all, Sarah had nearly died in the avalanche.

  Hetty put her arms around Sarah and held her close. When she finally stopped sobbing, Sarah hugged back.

  Uncle Donall stuck his head in the tent. His blue eyes sparkled. “Where’s the happy bride? Why are you crying, Sarah? Have you changed your mind? Too late.” Uncle Donall stepped into the tent and took Sarah away from Hetty.

  She kept sniffing for a minute, using Hetty’s blue handkerchief to wipe her face. “Will you ask all the family to gather together for a few minutes, Donall? Before we finish the party? To have a toast. Just family, including the Vasquezes, of course, and Mr.
Nickerson. Who might be family soon, too.”

  Sarah had recovered enough to make a joke. She smiled sadly at Hetty. “Wouldn’t that be funny? But Mrs. V missed her chance for a wedding on Chilkoot Pass.”

  Soon Uncle Donall had gathered the family together. In their small circle, away from the crowd, Sarah Lancaster McKinley took time from her wedding celebration to set some things in order. Hetty held the pouch of stolen items while Sarah returned them and apologized to each owner.

  Papa’s mouth fell open as he took his watch and stared at it. Mr. Nickerson smiled his crooked smile, took his wicked-looking skinning knife from its sheath, and tested the edge to see if it was still sharp.

  Probably, like Hetty, no one knew what to say or even what to think of Sarah’s having taken all their things. Maybe they’d talk it over later, but now they received each missing item and nodded at Sarah as she said she was sorry, so sorry for taking it.

  “I can forgive her, Hetty,” Alma said in a quiet voice as she ran her finger over her doll’s painted china hair. “She took good care of Miss Pittypat. But can you believe she took these things? Can you forgive her?”

  “In time, Alma. I think I can in time.” Hetty fingered the cold surface of her locket. She tucked it inside her blouse beneath all the sweaters she’d pulled on as the day darkened and stars popped out.

  Hetty heard Mr. Jacobson begin the first notes of a waltz. Uncle Donall took Sarah’s arm and led her back to the party. Mrs. Vasquez, standing beside Hetty and Alma, watched the wedding couple go. She shook her head and smiled. “Birds of a feather,” she whispered.

  Somehow that old saying struck Hetty as terribly funny. Her playful, irresponsible Uncle Donall and the playful, rich society girl from Nob Hill made a matched pair. But Hetty believed in her heart that they really were changing. Sarah wasn’t the spoiled girl they had met at Dyea. Loving someone always changes a person. This trip was changing all their lives, Hetty realized, but maybe it had changed Sarah’s life most of all.

  Hetty took a deep breath and looked up. “Mrs V, what’s that?” She pointed to the northern sky.

  In the distance, yellow, pink, blue, and green lights danced from behind the mountains as if celebrating the wedding with them.

  “Northern lights,” Andy Nickerson said, stepping up behind them to ask Mrs. V if she would dance with him. “Dancing spirits. A good sign.”

  Hetty could scarcely believe the light show in the sky. She imagined how she would describe the colors in her journal. She thought about how she would describe this day—a day that had brought a new member into their family.

  They had reached the mountain pass, an almost impossible trip, Hetty realized as she looked back on the journey so far. She knew they’d make it to Dawson to look for gold.

  But Hetty found that she didn’t care about gold. In a way, she thought, she and Sarah Lancaster had learned the same thing on this trip. Hetty wondered if she could even explain it in words. Back in San Francisco, her greatest wish had been for a house. Now she knew that anyplace could hold a family, even a tent on the side of a mountain. Family and friends were what was true gold.

  Hetty had been sure she needed a desk to write good stories. She knew now that she could write sitting on a log, on a rock, inside a tent in a snowstorm.

  And now she had something to write about. My, did she have stories to tell—stories about how she had walked, climbed, scrambled to the top of the world, her family and friends by her side. And even the sky lit up with their celebration.

  1897

  GOING BACK IN TIME

  LOOKING BACK: 1897

  In 1897, when Hetty’s story takes place, the United States was in a severe depression. Many people were out of work. So when, on July 14, miners arrived in San Francisco Bay on the ship Excelsior, announcing gold nuggets in the Yukon the size of potatoes, excitement spread like a summer grass fire.

  Some Americans had heard of Alaska, land the United States had purchased from Russia 30 years before. But until that July day, almost no one had heard of the remote Canadian territory called the Yukon.

  Yet, just like Hetty’s papa, people all across America quit their jobs, sold their homes, and rushed north to make their fortunes. They became known as “Klondikers,” after the river where gold was first discovered. During the winter of 1897-98, more than 30,000 gold seekers stampeded to the Yukon.

  Most Klondikers traveled by steamship to Alaska, landing at frontier outposts like Dyea. Then the real adventure began, as they faced the challenge of making their way 500 miles north to the goldfields. The first 17 miles—from the Alaskan coast up rugged mountains to the Canadian border—was the hardest stretch of the entire trip. Most Klondikers followed the trail that Hetty’s family takes, crossing into Canada at Chilkoot Pass.

  Goods were so scarce in the Yukon that Klondikers had to haul in enough supplies to last a year—nearly a ton per person, including everything from flour, sugar, beans, and bacon to tents, frying pans, shovels, and axes. By the spring of 1898, Northwest Mounted Police were stationed at Chilkoot Pass to collect taxes on the goods Klondikers brought in. They turned away anyone who hadn’t brought enough supplies—or enough money to pay taxes.

  The final ascent to Chilkoot Pass was called the Golden Stairs, because the trail consisted of 1,500 steps carved out of the ice and snow. It was extremely steep and treacherous—and people had to make as many as 30 trips up the stairs to haul all their supplies to the pass.

  People carried strange items on the trail: musical instruments, turkeys, grinding stones, bolts of cloth, sewing machines, even a 125-pound plow. Some realized the items they carried were foolish and left them when the trail got steeper.

  Only a few children made the trip, but many women went. Most were wives or sweethearts, but single women like Sarah Lancaster also sought fortune or adventure in the Yukon. Since it wasn’t considered proper for women to wear trousers, they made the trek in skirts or dresses. One woman, like Sarah, wore a rose-covered picture hat the entire way.

  Reaching Chilkoot Pass, as Hetty’s party did, was a tremendous accomplishment. Many Klondikers, exhausted and discouraged, gave up and headed home long before they reached the pass. Many others died along the trail of accidents, pneumonia, diphtheria, spinal meningitis, and food poisoning.

  Once Klondikers got to Chilkoot Pass, the hardest part of the trip was behind them—but they still had hundreds of miles to go! From the pass, Klondikers hiked down the mountain to Lake Lindeman, where they camped through the winter. While they waited for the ice on the rivers to break up, they cut timber and built boats to take them farther north.

  When the ice broke on May 29, 1898, thousands continued their trip by river to Dawson, the main town in the Yukon. Some boats, poorly built, broke up in the river rapids, and people drowned.

  Those who made it to Dawson discovered that finding gold was incredibly hard work. All the nuggets lying on top of the ground had already been picked up, so the Klondikers had to dig for gold. In winter, when temperatures reached -50 to -70 degrees and the ground was frozen solid, miners set fires to thaw the top layer of earth, scraped it off, then repeated the process. In summer, they panned the piled-up dirt for gold. They put the dirt, bit by bit, in pans or wooden bins, then ran creek water through. The soil washed away, but any flakes of gold settled to the bottom of the pan. This was a slow and tedious way to make a few dollars.

  A “four-dollar pan” was considered excellent. In 1897, a restaurant meal in the States cost 25¢. A four-room apartment rented for $1.25 a week.

  Prices were much higher in the Yukon, however. Supplies grew scarce as miners flooded into Dawson with gold, but little else. Apples cost $1 apiece. Eggs, not all fresh, went for $18 a dozen. Milk was $30 a gallon, and brooms were $17 apiece. A kitten, to keep a lonely miner company, cost an ounce of gold, $17. A man carried a Seattle newspaper to Dawson and sold it to a miner for $50.

  Some Klondikers made their fortunes in other ways than digging for gold. Belinda
Mulrooney was a real woman who made her fortune running a hotel in Dawson. Other women got rich operating restaurants or by sewing or washing for miners. Laundry women could find as much as $20 in gold dust in their washtubs at the end of a day! Some single women became dance-hall girls. Men paid $1 to dance with them for 15 minutes.

  Still other Yukoners found their fortune not in dollars but in the adventures and stories they collected on their journey. That was surely true of the writer Jack London, who went to the Yukon in 1897 as a young man of 21. Though he spent less than a year there, London wrote, “It was in the Klondike I found myself.” His best-known novels, The Call of the Wild and White Fang, and many of his short stories tell of the hardships, loneliness, and grandeur of the far north.

  The gold rush lasted for only a couple of years. Few Klondikers found enough gold to get rich. Some who loved the rugged north settled in Canada or Alaska. But most, like Jack London, eventually returned home. Yet nearly all—like Hetty and her companions—found that their lives were forever changed by their journey to the Yukon.

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  For Hetty’s story, I have taken some liberties with historical events. Snow avalanches, like the one Hetty experiences, rarely occur along the Chilkoot Trail in autumn. However, on September 18, 1897, a flood and mud slide started at Stone House and continued to Sheep Camp, wiping out people’s camps and provisions.

  Snow avalanches are a danger on the Chilkoot Trail, though, especially in spring—as some unlucky Klondikers discovered. On April 2, 1898, five feet of heavy, wet snow fell in a few hours. Fierce winds piled up 70-foot drifts. On April 3, Palm Sunday, despite warnings from Native people that the snow was unstable, Klondikers started up the Golden Stairs. The snow avalanched, killing 60 men and women.

  The colorful people whom Hetty meets on the trail are all taken from historical records, though probably no single traveler would have met them all. Jack London climbed the Chilkoot Pass in the fall of 1897 reached Dawson before the lakes and rivers froze up. The Klondike’s colorful people fill his stories.