A Woman who went to Alaska Part 13

For my own part, I now found some kindly helper with strong arms whenever I had a trunk, bag, or box to lift or transfer, and no remuneration for services thus rendered beyond a smiling, "thank you very much," was ever accepted.

What a strong, hearty, clean, and good-natured lot were these Swedes.

How helpful, sympathetic, and jolly withal. It was easy for them to see the clear, bright side of everything, and to turn an innocent joke on themselves occasionally; for one told on another is never so effective and enjoyable as a joke on oneself; but there were often those with tears in their eyes, and a homesick feeling at their heart upon bidding farewell to friends who were leaving for the outside.

With the approach of a long, hard winter in the Arctic, so unknown and untried by many, with a distance of thousands of miles of ocean soon to roll between them, it was many times difficult to say a careless good-bye. For those remaining in Alaska, who could foresee the future?

Was it to be a fortunate and happy one, or would it disclose only misfortune, with, perchance, sickness and death? Would these partings be followed by future happy meetings, or were they now final? Who could tell?

Among those constantly sailing for the outside were those who left regretfully, and those who left joyfully; there was the husband and father returning to his loved ones with "pokes," well filled with nuggets, and the wherewithal to make them more happy than ever before.

There were those returning to sweethearts who daily watched and waited longingly for their home-coming which would be more than joyful. There were those leaving who would come again when the long winter was over, to renew their search for gold already successfully begun; and they were satisfied.

There were many who left the gold fields with discouragement depicted upon their every feature. They had been entirely unable to adapt themselves to circ.u.mstances so different to any they had before known, and they had not possessed the foresight and judgment to decide affairs when the critical moments came. Perhaps a fondness for home, and dear ones, pulled too persistently upon the heartstrings; nothing here looked good to them, and they went home disgusted with the whole world.

Unless a man or woman can quickly adjust himself or herself to changed conditions, and has a willingness to turn his or her hand to any honorable labor, he would better remain at home, and allow others to go to Alaska.

If a man goes there with pockets already well lined, intending to operate in mining stocks, he still needs the adjustable spirit, because of the new, crude, and compulsory manners of living. He must be able to forget the luxury of silver spoons, delicate hands, soft beds, and steam heat; enjoying, or at least accommodating himself to the use of tin spoons, coa.r.s.e food, no bed, and less heat, if his place and circ.u.mstances for a time demand such loss of memory.

A bountiful supply of hopefulness is also necessary, in order, at times, to make the darkness and discomfort of the present endurable, and this will wonderfully cheer and create patience. Thousands of persons who were ill qualified in these and other respects had journeyed to Alaska, only to return, homesick, penniless, and completely discouraged, who never should have left their home firesides.

Not so with the Swedish people. They are accustomed to a cold climate, hard work, and conditions needing patience and perseverance, without great luxuries in their homes, and being strong and hearty physically, they are well fitted, both by nature and practice, for life in the new gold fields of Alaska. There were more reasons than one for their success in the far Northwest, and a little study of cause and effect would disclose the truth, when it will be found that it was not all "luck" which made so many successful.

Our last day at Nome is a confused memory of trunks, boxes, bags, barrels, dog-teams, tickets, bills, lunches, tables, dishes, and numerous other things. Tramping hurriedly through busy, dirty streets, and heavy, sandy beach, with arms loaded with small baggage (we had neither parrots nor poodles) making inquiries at stores and offices, doing innumerable errands, saying good-byes, and having good-luck wishes called after us; and then, when the sun had disappeared for the day, and night was almost upon us, we turned our backs upon our summer camp, and hastened to our winter home.

At the water's edge small pieces of ice washed up and down with a clicking sound upon the sands, as if to give us notice of approaching winter, but the ocean was almost as smooth as a floor. No breath of wind disturbed the surface, and only a gentle swell came landward at intervals to remind us of its still mighty, though hidden, power.

Then we were all in readiness to leave. A little boat was drawn upon the sand. Into it all small baggage was tossed. It was then pushed out farther by men in high rubber boots standing in the water.

"I cannot get into the boat," laughed Little Alma, "I will get my feet wet."

"Not if I can help it," answered a stalwart sailor, who immediately picked her up bodily and set her down in the boat, repeating the operation three times, in spite of the screams and laughter of Miss L., Ricka and myself. Ricka and I were only of medium height, but Miss L.

was a good six-footer, and when we were safely in the boat, and she had been picked up in the sailor's strong arms, if she did not scream for herself, some of us did it for her, thinking she would certainly go head first into the water; but no, she was carefully placed, like the rest of us, in the boat.

After getting settled, and the final good-byes were waved, the men sprang in, those on sh.o.r.e pushed the boat off; we were again on the bosom of old Behring Sea. Smaller and fainter grew all forms upon the sh.o.r.e. Darker and deeper grew the waters beneath us. The lights of a few belated steamers, twinkled in the distance, their reflections, beautiful as jewels, quietly fixed upon the placid waters. Like a thing of sense, it seemed to me, the great ocean, full of turmoil, rage, and fury so recently, it would show us, before we left, how lamblike, upon occasions, it could be; and all old scores against it were then and there forgotten.

A dark form soon lay just before us. "Where is the 'Elk,'" I asked of a sailor rowing, looking about in the gathering darkness which had rapidly fallen.

[Ill.u.s.tration: CLAIM NUMBER FOUR, ANVIL CREEK, NOME.]

"There it is," pointing to a black hulk which lay sullenly, without a spark of light visible, close to us.

"But do they not know we are coming? Have they no light on board? How can we get upon deck?" we asked anxiously.

"O, they will bring a lantern, I guess," laughed the sailor, then thinking to put us at our ease, he called l.u.s.tily as he rested himself at his oars. Not getting a reply, he shouted again.

Presently two men appeared with as many lanterns.

"Here, you fellows, get a move on, and help these ladies on board, will you? Were you asleep, hey?"

"Wall, no, not 'zactly, sah, but I'se done been working hard today," it was the colored cook replying, as he rubbed his sleepy eyes.

"Haul up alongside this dory," said the other man as he put his lantern down, "and let the ladies get into that first, then we'll help 'em up here."

With that we climbed out as we best could in the darkness, one after another, the boys a.s.sisting, until we all stood laughing in the little cabin, and counted noses.

"Are we all here?" asked Mr. G., who, as usual had a thoughtful care over all.

"All here, I think, but the baggage. How about that?" said I.

"I'll see to that," and he was already on deck, while I continued counting.

"Alma, Ricka, Miss L., Mr. G., Mr. L., Mr. B., and myself--the lucky number of seven. How fortunate we are. We are sure to have good luck.

Too bad Mary is not here, but then we would not be seven," and we were all laughing and talking at the same time.

In the cabin there was only one lamp, and that was swung over the table, looking in all its smoky smelliness as if it had hung there for ages without a scrubbing. The table was covered with dirty dishes scattered upon an oilcloth spread. The room smelled of fish, tobacco, and coal-oil, and we were obliged to go to the door now and then for fresh air. There was no fire, nor heat, neither was there a place for any.

Rows of berths in two tiers lined each side of the cabin, but they were supplied with mattresses only. Dark curtains hung on wires before the berths, and these would furnish us with our only privacy on the trip.

Finally we selected our berths, a.s.sorted our luggage, and sat down to rest. We were disappointed in the "Elk." She was not a "St. Paul," that was certain. The colored cook soon entered. His apologies were profuse.

"Hope de ladies will 'scuze de state ob dis year room, but I'se done been mighty busy today, and will hab tings fine tomorer."

"That's all right, Jim, if you only give us a good dinner tomorrow. Can you do it?" asked Mr. L.

"Yas, sah, dis chile good cook when de tings are gibben him to cook, but when dere's no taters, no fresh meat, no chicken, no fruit, den it's mighty hard to set up fine meals. Dat's de truf!" and Jim nodded his woolly head emphatically at the frequent undesirable state of his larder.

"Prices high heah, sah, but dis old man almos' fru wid de business; de las' trip ob de 'Elk' dis summah, an' I'se glad of it," and he disappeared in the galley carrying his arms full of dishes.

When the table was cleared and Jim had spread an old and much rumpled red cover over it, I took from my basket a small square clock, and winding it up with its little key, started it going. It was a musical clock I had purchased when in Nome, of a small boy about to leave for the outside. It had been given him by a lady, and he had grown tired of it, his mind being so much upon his contemplated long journey. He would sell it for three dollars, he said, and I paid the money, needing a time piece, and having none. So now the little music box ticked off its music to the entertainment of all.

However, we were all tired and the place was cold, so after we had taken our last look at the lights of Nome, scattered as they were along the sh.o.r.e for miles in the darkness, we turned in for the night, all dressed as we were, and drew the curtains around us. The long, deep-toned whistle of the "Elk," had sounded some time before, and we were headed east, making our way quietly over the smooth waters.

Another chapter of our lives had begun. What would the end be, I wondered.

During the night I was awakened by men running and shouting on deck. The steamer stopped. Somebody went out to inquire the cause. In a little while he returned, saying that four men had been picked up, nearly frozen, in an open boat which was leaking badly, and they were found just in time. Dry clothes, with food and hot drinks, and they would be all right again; so I turned over and tried to sleep, but the men lounged about, smoking and talking with the captain a good share of the night, so that sleep was almost out of the question.

How I wished for fresh air! How I hated the tobacco smoke! But we could say nothing, for the men had no beds, no other place to sit, and it was too cold on deck. We must be patient, and I was patient, feeling thankful that the lives of the four men had been saved, if each one did smoke like a volcano and come near choking us to death.

After a while there was another commotion. What now? Their five dogs had been left in the leaking dory, which was trailing behind us, the boat was swamping, and the animals were almost drowned. They were whining, crying, and soaking wet; so the "Elk" was again stopped, the dogs taken on board, along with some of the miners' outfits, and we again started on our way.

The men said their dory had been blown ten miles out to sea by a wind many hours before, and had then sprung a leak, wetting their food, and threatening them with destruction, when the "Elk" appeared and took them aboard in the night.

"Wall, yes, we had given ourselves up for lost, though none said much about it," remarked one of the saved men next day, in speaking of their experience. "Some one mentioned G.o.d Almighty, I believe, and I could almost have spoken to Him myself, but it does look like He had done something for us, don't it?" said the miner, laughing quietly, in a pleased, relieved way as he finished.

We were exceedingly glad for their deliverance from a watery grave, but we pitied ourselves for our discomforts, until we pictured ourselves in their forlorn condition, far out from land, at night, in a leaky boat, without food and freezing; then I found myself feeling really grateful for the privilege of sailing on the "Elk," and not discontented as at first. We would get fresh air enough this winter, no doubt, to drive away all remembrances of the air in the little steamer's cabin, which was cold as well as foul. There were no windows or ports that we could see; there was doubtless a closed skylight somewhere, but to keep warm even in our berths required management. In my hand luggage I carried a bright woolen Indian blanket, a souvenir of St. Michael the year before, in which I now rolled myself, already dressed in my warmest clothing and heavy coat.

A light-weight grey blanket was loaned me by the cook, who had purloined it from the pilot's bunk, he being on duty and not needing it that night. This I was rather chary of using, for reasons of my own, but it was that or nothing, only the mattress being underneath. On my head I wore a pink crocheted affair, called sometimes a "fascinator," which was now used simply and solely for service, I a.s.sured my friends, and not from any lighter motive,--but my feet! How I should keep them comfortable while on board was a question. With my feet cold I would be perfectly miserable, and although I wore wool hose and high, stout laced boots, I soon found on going aboard the "Elk" that to be comfortable I must make a change.

I said nothing, but turned the situation well over in mind. At last I found a solution. Going to my bags once more, on the aside I drew out my new reindeer skin muckluks, or high fur boots, and looked at them. What enormous footgear, to be sure. Could I wear those things? I had put five good, hard-earned dollars into them, and they were said to be warm and very comfortable when worn properly, with hay in the bottoms, and Arctic socks over one's hose, but I had no hay and could not get any.

I had the socks in my trunk, but that was in the hold of the ship, or somewhere out of my reach. I held the muckluks in my hands, and slowly turned them round. Suddenly a bright thought came. I would pull them on over my shoes. I did it. They went on easily. I drew the strings attached at the back of the ankle forward over the instep, crossed them, carried them back, crossed them a second time and tied them in front, in order to use up the strings so they would not trip me in walking. Just below the knees I pulled a woolen drawstring which was run into the green flannel, inch-wide heading, and tied this loosely; then I studied them. Shades of my buried ancestry! What a fright! My own mother would never know me. I wanted to scream with laughter, but could not, for I had performed the operation in a most surrept.i.tious manner, behind closed doors (bunk curtains), after the others had retired.