“We don’t,” interrupted Phil, resolutely. “We haven’t any money with which to pay for a passage to the Pribyloffs, and I, for one, wouldn’t go near them again, even if I owned the steamer—in fact, I am tired and sick of this miserable, cold, foggy Bering Sea, and long to get away from it. It seems to me that a trip on dry land is the thing I should most enjoy just at present. So, if—”
“Don’t conceive a false impression of what I am proposing,” laughed Gerald Hamer. “Most of my coming journey is to be made on the waters of the Yukon, and will be filled with hardships and trials. There will be fine hunting of moose, deer, bear, and other such game, if you care for that; but not much else in the way of recreation. Then, the last part of the trip will be made in arctic weather, over snowy plains and frozen lakes, up ice-bound rivers, and through mountain passes where the drifts will be hundreds of feet deep.”
“That’s so!” exclaimed Phil. “You did mention ‘snow-shoes and sledges.’ That settles it. I have always wanted to be an arctic explorer, and I’d rather take a dog-sledge and snow-shoe journey than anything else in the world. Besides, as it really seems to be the only way for us to get to Sitka, it would be worse than foolish for us to throw away such a good chance. I’ve done so many foolish things already on this journey that I don’t mean to be guilty of another between here and Sitka. So, Mr. Hamer, we not only accept your offer, but thank you heartily for making it, and are ready to go with you this very minute. Aren’t we, Serge?”
“It’s just as you say,” laughed Serge. “So long as I got you into this scrape, I’m bound to see you through it, and stick by you till we get to Sitka, if it takes the rest of my natural life.”
“You’re a trump, old man!” cried Phil, heartily, clapping his friend on the shoulder as he spoke. “And our motto, like that of the fellow who was bound across the plains to Pike’s Peak, shall be ‘Sitka, or bust!’ I’m awfully glad, though, that you feel as you do about having got me into a scrape, for I had a sort of uneasy notion that it was I who had brought you into one.”
While Phil and Serge were writing the letters to be sent back by Nikrik, the Norsk floated off the mud-bank, and proceeded to an anchorage nearly three miles off St. Michaels, a nearer approach being barred by shoal water.
St. Michaels is the most northerly of the Alaska Fur Company’s trading-posts, and is also the most northerly settlement of white men in Alaska. To be sure, there are two or three lonely whites in charge of the Government Reindeer Station at Port Clarence, one hundred miles farther north, while away up on the bleak shore of the Arctic Ocean, at the extreme northern point of the American mainland, the Stars and Stripes wave proudly above another brave little band, who maintain the Government Relief Station of Point Barrow.
St. Michaels consists of the company’s store and warehouse, an old loop-holed block-house, some twenty residences, a Greek church painted red, a school-house, and the few scattered huts or tents of visiting natives. It is located on the bluff, seaward point of a small barren island situated eighty miles north of the great Yukon delta, and affording the first bit of coast available for white occupation in all that distance of limitless swamps and mud-flats. As it is the only point at which sea-going vessels can approach anywhere near the coast, it is the great transfer station for the entire Yukon River trade, which, beyond here, is carried on by means of small stern-wheeled steamboats of less than three feet draught. It was on the island of St. Michaels, therefore, that Gerald Hamer proposed to land his cargo, set up his steamboat, and prepare for his long trip into the distant and almost unexplored interior.
As soon as the steamer Norsk came to anchor, he borrowed our lads’ bidarkie, and, taking only Nikrik with him, went ashore to select a landing-place and camp site. It was late in the afternoon when he returned alone, wearied by his hard trip and angry at the reception with which he had met, but more determined than ever to proceed with his undertaking, in spite of all obstacles. The Alaska Company had for so long monopolized the fur trade of the vast region drained by the mighty Yukon and its tributaries that they were furious at the prospect of a rival, and determined to prevent it from establishing itself, if possible. Their annual supply-ship from San Francisco, bringing a large stock of merchandise, several new clerks, and the news of the world, including that of the formation of a rival company, had arrived and departed shortly before the coming of the Norsk. Consequently, when Gerald Hamer went ashore and introduced himself to the agent in charge, he was very coldly received, and was forbidden to land his cargo within the limits of the post.
Upon his return, which he was obliged to make alone, Nikrik having disappeared among the huts of the visiting natives, the young fur-trader called his men together and addressed them as follows: