AN IMPRESSION OF ALASKA
The Devil in hell, we are told, was chained.
Thousands of years he thus remained,
But he did not complain nor did he groan.
He decided to have a hell of his own
Where he could torment the souls of men
Without being chained in a sulphur pen!
So he asked the Lord if He had any land
In a clime cool enough for a Devil to stand.
The Lord said: "Yes—but it's not much use.
It's called Alaska. It's cold as the deuce.
In fact, old boy, the place is so bare
I fear you could not make a good hell there!"
But the Devil said he could not see why;
He knew his business. He'd like to try.
So the bargain was made, the deed was given,
And the Devil took his departure from heaven.
He next appeared in the far, far North,
Exploring Alaska to learn its worth;
And he said from McKinley as he looked at the truck,
"I got it for nothing,—but still I'm stuck!"
But, oh,—it was fine to be out in the cold!
The wind blew a gale, but the Devil grew bold,
And thus on the mountain height he planned:
"I'll make of Alaska the home of the damned!
A different place from the old-fashioned hell,
Where each soul burns in a brimstone cell.
I'll use every means a wise Devil need
To make a good hell. You bet I'll succeed!"
First he filled the air with millions of gnats.
Then he spread the Yukon all over the Flats,
Set a line of volcanos from Unimak Pass,
And covered the soil with tundra grass.
He made six months' night—when 'twas sixty below,
A howling wind and a pelting snow!
And six months' day—with a spell now and then
Too hot for the Devil and all of his men!
Brought hungry wolves and dogs by the pack
Whose yells send chills right down your back,
And as you "mush" o'er the bleak expanse
The North Wind blows holes in your pants!
But of all the pests the imp could devise
The Yukon mosquitoes bear off the prize.
They've a rattler's bite, a scorpion's sting,
And they measure six inches from wing to wing!
The Devil said when he fashioned these:
"One of 'em is worse than a thousand fleas!"
Then, over the mountain and rolling plain
Where the dew falls soft and there's plenty of rain
He grew flowers and berries. 'Twas just a bluff!
The Devil knows how to peddle his stuff!
And to prove how well he knew the game
He next proceeded to salt his claim.
He put gold nuggets in all the streams
To lure men on in dreams! In dreams!
He hid them deep in the glacial ice,
As a glittering city hides its vice!
Then he bade Dame Rumor spread the news
Throughout all the world to its motley crews
That there was gold in piles and piles,
Of every color and in all styles!
Then he grinned a grim, sardonic grin,
And said: "Now watch the fools rush in!
They'll fight for gold. They'll steal and slay!
But in the end I'm the one they'll pay!"
'Tis a fine hell this that the Devil owns!
Its trails are marked with frozen bones;
The wild winds moan over bleak chaparral;
'Tis a hell of a place he chose for his hell!
And now you know, should anyone ask you,
What kind of a place is our Alaska!
I am convinced that the Alaskans, whether they realize it or not, are poetic and imaginative. All over the country one finds the quaintest of names that have been bestowed upon the various localities by some follower of the trail, prospector, or other traveler. In one's journeyings he will come upon settlements bearing such names as Sunset, Paystreak, Anchorage and Fortymile. There are also the "Isles of God's Mercy" where Henry Hudson found shelter on his last voyage, "Anxiety Point" and "Return Reef" of Sir John Franklin, that Sir Galahad of explorers whose Eskimo name means "the man who does not molest our women." In Bank's Land is "Mercy Bay" and there is also the "Thank God" harbor so named by poor Hall on the Polaris.
So, if one could but gather them together, the poems and songs and pretty names of Alaska, each a part of her real history, it might make a column about three miles long, but—it would be mighty interesting reading!
One has but to glance at the map to see the similarity of the Alaskan coast to that of Norway. Will not the day come when her fiords and mountains, her Northern Lights and Midnight Sun will be as famed in song and story as those of Norway? Surely it will!
[CONCLUSION]
In concluding this volume I am reminded of two stories, both of which seem applicable to the subject. One of the quaintest and most interesting characters I ever ran across was a French-Canadian, Captain of one of the boats which plied the Yukon during the summer and in the winter stayed at St. Michael. One day the river, or the boat, or both, behaved badly. So he sang out:
"T'row over the anch'!"
"But, Capitaine," expostulated a sailor, "ze anch' she have no chain on her!"
The Captain glared at him wrathfully.
"T'row her over any way!" he bawled. "She may help some!"
The second story concerns this same gentleman. When the mail service was established at St. Michael he was told that all he had to do if he wanted a letter was to go up to the window and ask for it. Never having had a letter he thought he would like the experience. So he went and demanded one. The postmaster asked his name.
"Pièrre LeGros," he said.
"How do you spell it?" asked the man inside.
This was a poser. Pièrre's knowledge did not extend to orthography. But he was nothing if not adaptable. He eyed the man balefully for a moment and the expression on his face was worth a fortune. It changed slowly from interest to scorn. He straightened himself up as proudly as a king and remarked without the slightest trace of temper:
"Vell,—eef you no can spell Pièrre LeGros zen I zink yo' better sell your damn' post-offees!"
The first of these stories is illustrative of my motive in writing this book. So desirous am I that all men may know our Land of Tomorrow as she really is that I have tried to set forth her advantages and her opportunities which lie on every hand only waiting to be grasped. Therefore I hope she may help some! Also, I feel that wisdom and thoughtfulness on the part of our government will be necessary in order to protect Alaska. And she must be protected because she can not yet protect herself. If we can not protect her, keep her safe from invasion by a foreign enemy, then again I am one with Pièrre LeGros. We had better sell her!
I am not so pessimistic as to think that such a thing will happen, however. The United States seldom fails to do the right thing at the right time. Alaska is the first country peopled by a race which has back of it the spirit and the traditions of democracy! It is the last great fertile and temperate land on which western civilization may take a fresh start. The democracy which now exists in Alaska is of the very best brand. It is that of a country which, critical of her own mistakes, is capable of showing the world what she has learned from experience. The distilled experience of America and of the whole world is hers to draw upon. There is no excuse for a repetition of any of the blunders the motherland may have made during the days of her youth and her inexperience.
That the government realizes all this is evident. It was made plain when after a long struggle she saved Alaska's resources from monopoly. Now the problem is to make sure that whatever is done in the way of economical development, of building railroads, town sites, schools, public buildings, establishing home government and promoting industrial and agricultural possibilities, shall be done in the right way,—sanely, harmoniously, permanently. Statesmen must be trained for this work and it is a trust which any statesman ought to hold sacred. To build a new civilization! How splendid a task at which to spend one's working years! Alaska is America's opportunity.
So long as the United States owns Alaska (and may it be always!) she is wealthy. She bought fabulous riches in 1867 for two cents an acre! With a mere handful of adventurous spirits, with no railroads to speak of, Alaska has already shown what she can do. With good transportation, with thriving, teeming, hustling, heavily populated cities,—what will the future reveal? Read the answer in the history of the American people!
Time was when the Great West lured all men. Now it is the Great North! The West, that once fabled land of the bad man, the gold mine, the gun fighter and similar attractions, has vanished from our scheme. If there is now a spot in the West which has not passed into the hands of private management, rest assured that it is a spot where nothing but sage brush and jack rabbits will thrive! But the Great North is waiting! And calling! The last frontier! The only territory under the Stars and Stripes where the man without capital has yet a reasonable chance of reaping the reward of his labors. And the North is waiting and calling for you!
As I write the closing pages of this book I find that I myself am once more hearing—the Voice! Is it the same Voice which called me to the Northland some ten years ago? I think so. And never before have I heard it in tones so distinct, so insistent. I have been somewhat critical (justly so, I feel) of the indifference of the government toward the present and future needs of Alaska. But——. Only a few hours ago I donned the most comfortable suit of clothes I have ever worn, namely, the uniform of the good old U. S. A. I am for peace,—just so long as there is no legitimate reason for war. But Germany can not step on the tail of my Uncle Sam's coat with impunity!
Would that I were able to put into words a fitting tribute to the staunch friends among whom I have come and gone under almost every conceivable circumstance and condition! To form friendships such as these, cemented by events which can not occur elsewhere, is well worth living for. Whenever my mind reverts to this subject I recall a little stanza which expresses my thoughts far better than I can voice them myself. So, to my friends, the Alaskans, I can only say:
"I have eaten your bread and your salt;
I have drunk of your water and wine;
The deaths you have died I have watched beside,
And the lives that you lived were mine!"
Transcriber notes:
Some words were broken up due to line endings. As they only occur once in the book it's not absolutely clear if they should be hyphenated or not. This concerns the words:
snow-slides, playwright, omnipresent, half-politician, sourdough;
The following corrections have been made:
[p. 129] noticable changed to noticeable
[p. 169] betwen changed to between
[p. 203] whiskey changed to whisky
[p. 208] bagbage changed to baggage
[p. 215] characteristice changed to characteristic
[p. 228] added ' after You can't do nothin' fer me!
[p. 228] added . after But----
Illustrations moved to paragraph breaks. Everything else has been retained as printed.