Until a few years ago the popular conception of Alaska was a vast country sealed against the efforts of civilisation by impenetrable barriers of snow and ice, presenting such a dismal outlook as to daunt the most intrepid spirits. But to-day quite a different impression prevails. Alaska is considered a coming country, although it rests on either side of the invisible line denoting the Arctic circle. It is a vast mineral storehouse, the lofty mountains containing rich deposits of all the valuable minerals of commerce, while the dales nestling among the peaks have been found to be of wonderful fertility and capable of producing a wealth of agricultural produce. One might regard the possibility of raising wheat and hay in that northern clime as a mere phantasy, but I have seen cereals and hay cut in those valleys which compare very favourably in quality with the similar products grown in the great agricultural belts of the United States and Canada.
The fact is that the interior, far from being locked the whole year round in a temperature hovering around, or many degrees below, zero, has extremes of heat and cold. In the winter the snow envelops the ground to a depth of several feet, and the mercury descends to 40 or 50 degrees below zero, but in the summer the thermometer registers temperatures of 80 and 90 degrees. While the winter grips the country for nearly two-thirds of the year, the summer barely lasts 100 days. But what a summer it is! The sun shines from a cloudless sky the whole time, and for some twenty hours throughout the day. Consequently it is possible to sow and to harvest the crops within 80 days.
Along the coast extremely cold weather scarcely ever is experienced. The conditions, in fact, are very similar to those prevailing in Scandinavia. The coast-line of the latter country is bathed by the warm waters of the Gulf Stream: the coast-line of Alaska is swept by the warm breezes of the Japanese chinook wind blowing off the Pacific.
Yet popular fallacy resulted in the country being regarded as a closed book, and the possibility of a railway ever securing sufficient traffic to justify its existence was ridiculed to scorn twenty years ago. But the past two decades have witnessed strange developments. The railway engineer has penetrated the country, and to-day there is a scene of great activity to connect the remarkable discoveries of metals among the mountains with convenient points of shipment along the coast.
It was the discovery of gold, and the subsequent rush to the “Klondike,” that brought about the unlocking of Alaska, and which was responsible for bringing a country of 591,000 square miles within the purview of the railway-builder. A rude collection of timber shacks and tents sprung up like mushrooms on a little indent on the seashore, and to-day is a healthy, prosperous town and port—Skaguay. From this point the daring spirits infected with the “yellow fever” pushed inland over the gaunt, snow-clad mountains to the “fields,” enduring privations untold and experiences that make the blood run cold in order to gain the new Eldorado. The trail was blazed with the bleached bones of animals and pioneers eager to be first on the spot. Of roads there were none—there was not even a rough path. Those early seekers had to tread one with their own feet.
No sooner had the first reports concerning the discoveries of gold at Dawson trickled through, to be substantiated by subsequent investigations, than the possibility of building a railway from the coast to the gold-fields, in order to lift the men over the most difficult and hazardous part of the journey, was discussed. Indeed, among one of the earliest bands which trailed across the Chilkoot Pass in a thick black line were one or two surveyors spying out the general characteristics of the country. Less than two years after the excitement first flared up the plans for a line 112 miles in length, extending practically through unknown country, had been prepared. One end of the line rested on the seashore at Skaguay, while the other reposed at White Horse, near Lake Lebarge, where communication was effected with the wonderful inland waterway of the country, the river Yukon. It was not a long railway in comparison with other great systems of the world, but it was a highly ambitious enterprise, for it was destined to lift man and freight over the most terrible part of the country, the coast range which had been the grave of scores of fortune-hunters.
The prime mover in this undertaking was an accomplished engineer who is quite at home in such inhospitable territory. He was sanguine of its financial success, but when he approached American financiers for support he was laughed to scorn. But this man was not to be cast down so easily. Foiled in his efforts to enlist the practical sympathy of his own countrymen, he came to London and sought British assistance, for in the matter of railway pioneering the British financier is probably the greatest plunger. He required roughly £1,000,000, or $5,000,000, and what was more, he secured it. The firmness and boldness with which the capitalists of London supported what was regarded as a hare-brained scheme astonished the American financial world. The ultimate success of the enterprise, however, was even more surprising to them, and they more than regretted their refusal to support the undertaking when it was originally laid before them. One eminent authority belaboured his compatriots soundly for their lack of foresight and initiative, and aptly remarked, “As long as the British know how to grasp the trade of the world, when and where it is most profitable, they have no immediate cause to worry about German and American competition.”
Armed with the requisite cash resources, the projector lost no time. He hurried back to Alaska and commenced his attack upon the towering mountain chain. His arrival in “shack-town” with an efficient staff and materials signalised the transition of Skaguay from a tumbledown, disreputable collection of shanties into an important, well-built port.
The engineer realised only too well that he had a desperate task confronting him. The maps and reports of the territory he intended to traverse were found to be absolutely unreliable. He discarded the whole lot and advised his own survey expeditions to prepare their own cartographical guides. Five surveys were run, and five alternate routes for the line between the coast and White Horse were completed before selection was made definitely.
Then the rock and earth commenced to fly. There was a call for 5000 men. Skaguay was the starting-point, the first spadeful of earth being turned near the water’s edge. A narrow gauge—three feet—was adopted as being more economical to build, while from the traffic point of view it was considered to be more than adequate. As the small gangs of men armed with pick-axes and shovels advanced up the main street of the town in embryo, defining the grade, the enthusiasm knew no bounds. It was an occasion for a frantic outburst of revelry. The conquest of the dreaded White Pass had commenced: the most northerly railway on the American continent was under way; and the time was not far distant when the miners would be able to pass from coast to gold-fields with no more danger or discomfort than attends one who travels from London to Scotland or from New York to Chicago.