A Woman who went to Alaska Part 8

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.

[Ill.u.s.tration: LIFE AT NOME.]

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 princ.i.p.al 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 pa.s.sed, 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 sh.o.r.e 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 b.u.t.ter 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 Klond.y.k.e 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 gra.s.s 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 pa.s.s 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 Klond.y.k.e.

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 circ.u.mstances 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 acc.u.mulation 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 G.o.d, 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 pa.s.senger 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.