I remained five days at Dawson waiting for a boat to Whitehorse, and, during that time had an opportunity of visiting the mines in its vicinity and of hearing the wonderful stories of the fortunes made by the pioneers from the sands of the Klondike and its tributaries. But the day for the hand miner with his rocker has passed and instead hydraulic mining and dredging has taken its place. The Guggenheims and others have purchased most of the old claims and it is interesting to witness the great streams of water tearing down the earth of the hillsides and revealing the old cribbing which the former proprietor had erected when the Dawson camp was the wonder of the continent.
The pioneers, as they deserved, got wonderful returns of coarse gold and exhausted the richest earth, but the men of capital still find sufficient left to reward them liberally for operations on a larger scale. The bed rock along the streams and the bottom land along each side is a soft mica schist easily scooped out with dredges; this almost invariably carries a fair percentage of gold, quite sufficient to bring a good margin of profit when so worked whereas it would not pay expenses if worked under the old system. What struck me very forcibly was the way in which the timber had been completely stripped from the hills, the larger for building purposes, for mining props and for fuel, and the brush for building embankments to hold the tailings. Look in whatever direction you would and scarcely a green twig could be seen, and spruce wood for fuel was selling when I was there for thirteen dollars a cord.
The journey from Dawson City to Whitehorse, some 460 miles, was comfortably made on a well equipped steamer, the Dawson. She left on Wednesday evening, August 22, and we arrived at Whitehorse on Sunday afternoon, August 26, and on the following morning at 9.30 we took the train for Skagway, arriving there at 4.30 P.M.
This road, which is 111 miles in length, is a narrow gauge, but the road bed is good and the cars comfortable. Along the route as far as the south end of Lake Bennet there is nothing specially worthy of note. The soil is generally sandy. Jackpine and spruce, of little value for lumber, are seen along the track. After leaving Bennet, the road winds up the mountain to the summit of the pass, which is 2897 feet above the sea. Here we pass again into United States territory. The road descends twenty-one miles with a very steep grade to Skagway, at tidewater on an arm of the Lynn canal. The trip between Bennet and Skagway affords some exceedingly fine mountain scenery. In many places we pass near the snow line, and from Skagway a large glacier is visible. The country is almost devoid of timber. The rocks are granite, and in no part have I seen a more desolate landscape. Looking out of the car window as we glided swiftly down grade following a little mountain stream, we could see across the ravine the old trail of 1897, clinging close to the mountainside, while at short intervals were the abandoned bunk houses where the weary gold seeker sought shelter at night and freely parted with his coin for the privilege of spreading his blankets on a rough wooden floor.
Along this trail passed men from every country in Europe and America as well as a number from Eastern Asia each speaking a different tongue but all pressing forward to the Mecca of their hope and all with the one idea that of gaining riches from this great Northern Eldorado. If those old buildings could speak what tragedies they would reveal. Many a young man, so the story goes, seeing his purse so depleted when he had reached Skagway that it would be impossible for him to reach his destination, soon beheld by the wayside a gambler’s chance of escape from his difficulties. There was always on hand an engaging young man to sympathise with him and to relate an experience similar to his own.
Then would come the interesting story of his success at cards through having learned the gamblers’ tricks. These he would impart to his new found friend who would introduce him to his comrades. There is no use pursuing the story further. The poor victim with an empty pocket book, and finding his hopes and dreams of great wealth all shattered, frequently the battle ended in a tragedy. The stories of those days, as sometimes related by the pioneers, are sad indeed.
CHAPTER XIII
From Skagway to Vancouver : On the Princess May : Fort Simpson : Prince Rupert : End of the Journey.
The ocean voyage between Skagway and Vancouver is so well known that I need only refer to it briefly. Nearly the whole course is so sheltered on the one side by the main land, and on the other by islands, almost innumerable, that it was easier to fancy that we were back on the Wrigley threading the islands of the Mackenzie rather than that we were on the waters of the great Pacific.
The fine C.P.R. steamer Princess May was waiting at the dock at Skagway when we arrived, and at 8 P.M. on Monday, August 27, we started for Vancouver. I was sorry that the trip down the Lynn canal was made at night, and a very dark one at that, which prevented our having a view of the glaciers that otherwise would have been visible. Tuesday was a dull, rainy day without anything of interest to record. The steamer called at Fort Simpson early on Wednesday morning, and passed Kaein Island, the site of the future city Prince Rupert, in the forenoon, but did not stop. A little later we called at Port Essington but the tide was out and our steamer was unable to reach the dock. Further on we called at Caxton where there is a very large cannery and where we took on a quantity of canned salmon. On Thursday, at 6 A.M., we called at Bella Bella, and at 3 P.M. at Alert Bay on Vancouver Island, to see the totem poles of the Indian village there.