arried down the rivers to White Mountain with Tom Muckle, the freighter, the horse having a free ride and nibbling at the brush when the eddies drew the scow to the banks, I spent the night at that intermediate point; and, in the morning, in a "coal-oil Johnny," proceeded on my way to Golovin Bay. This last-named means of transportation was a very ridiculous affair, but was strictly a "get-there" contrivance. It was a narrow skiff, about twenty feet long, into which an antiquated gasolene-engine had been placed, which caused the little pair of patched-up paddle-wheels to beat the water with a great deal of vehemence and send the open skimming-dish over the water at a delightfully progressive rate of speed. The captain, engineer, and crew consisted of a grizzled anatomy bearing the densest growth of underbrush in the way of beard, whiskers, and general facial hirsuteness that the writer has ever gazed upon. It had the nose of a human being, which bore the signs of conflict with the elements, and brilliantly registered a long course of fiery internal applications. But he was a nice old fellow, who wanted to get back to his home in southeastern Alaska, and envied me my departure. Arrived at Chenik, I put up at Dexter's Hotel, a pretentious and comfortable structure recently erected by that pioneer of northwestern Alaska.
At dinner, doubtless in order to make me feel "at home," I was engaged in conversation by a stout female person rather pretentiously attired, who proved to be the housekeeper of the hotel. At least forty-five summers had added successive weight to her proportions, and the only delicate thing about her was her sensibility—and this I knew because, in effect, she told me so. It was so trying for a woman to be alone in Alaska, and how astonished her people at home would be to see what she had to put up with—one who had been reared, so to speak, in the lap of luxury. It made her homesick to hear that I was heading for New York, whose gay metropolitan life, I somehow felt I was to infer, she had enjoyed in days gone by. This engaging creature, in a softly modulated voice, quite impressively selected her words,—the longer the better,—and the fact that they were not always appropriate to the thought was absolutely immaterial so long as the sentences were rounded and sonorous. For instance, in speaking of the ability of the commissioner at Chenik, judging from her association with lawyers (and she had always known the very best), she hardly believed that he possessed a "judiciary" mind. In reply to her leads, I said that I had just come from Council, and that I was an attorney; but, in answer to her query whether I had made my "stake," with great discretion I forbore to boast of the fortune secreted about my person, remarking that in Alaska one employed his profession as an opening-wedge for mining interests, and that as yet my mines were in a state of development. This elicited the information that she felt similarly as to her profession; and when I made bold to inquire what that profession might be, I was slightly staggered by the rejoinder, "The operetta." Now, if she had said opera, it wouldn't have been so bad, for one associates with the opera something grand, massive, and substantial; but she didn't fit in with "operetta" at all. It was a rude shock, later in the evening, when I saw "Little Casino" standing by the bar and drinking her whisky straight. Then I felt sure that the dear ones at home would have been sorrowfully, painfully astonished thus to see their little one, whom, perhaps, they fondly imagined softening and delighting with song and merriment the rugged natures of the rough miners.
It would have been asking too much of Alaskan weather to be allowed to journey on as far as Nome without some setback. This was soon apparent when a storm of wind and rain came up which held me at Chenik for three long and dismal days. It blew as it can blow only in Alaska. The wind literally drove nearly all the water out of the shallow bay, so that one morning the unusual sight of a beach and bar extending almost across to the other side presented itself. I very vividly recall one evening at that forlorn place, when the renowned Dexter himself and a crowd of satellites and bar-room loafers were gathered about the table playing a game of "freeze-out" poker. Business was slack, and the urbane bartender, whom the favored addressed as "Eddie," and who, arrayed in a pink-and-white sweater, was wont to flourish behind the bar, admiring himself in the glass and brushing his slick hair between drinks, was one of the select party. It was a terrible night outside. The men, now and then during a pause, would voluntarily remark, or interrogate one another, as to where they'd like to be,—in what city, restaurant, or theater,—or (one fellow in particular, and for my special benefit) would predict that the storm was likely to continue for a week or more. The howl of the wind, which the Malemute dogs tried to rival, suddenly found another competitor, which, dirge-like, a whooping sort of wail, accompanied by the moans and groans of a pedal organ in agony, was traced to the story above. It was the "operetta" in action—perhaps thinking of home. At any rate, she felt badly; and the crowd showed its sympathy by a raising of voices and yowling like the dogs outside, and wondering what she had eaten for dinner to cause such evidences of pain and suffering.
On the Elmore, which still had a monopoly of the traffic, I reached Nome at last, and repaired to the Golden Gate Hotel, which, razed to the ground by fire during the winter, had risen phœnix-like from the ashes, a credit in structure and appointment to almost any community. With its boarded streets, excellent water-supply, cold-storage plants, fire-engine department, long-distance telephones, railroad to the Anvil Creek mines, and projected electric-light system, Nome has indeed become a city. As a matter of fact, the social atmosphere of Nome now demands a white collar and a shoe-shine. Wonderful when one thinks of its geographical situation, almost in the Bering Strait, three thousand miles from any port of supply, scarcely one hundred and fifty from Siberia, in a cheerless, Arctic country, barren of everything save gold! When the telegraph line from the Klondike to St. Michaels is finished, the cable, which has already been laid, will carry it through the remaining one hundred and fifty miles, and Nome will then daily, in all seasons, be in touch with the outside world.
I met Captain Baldwin, a prominent and useful citizen, who was selecting characteristic photographs to put in an album, as a gift to President McKinley from the citizens of Nome. And this was on the day of the President's death. The terrible news of the assassination I did not learn until I reached Port Townsend, in Puget Sound, September 26, when the hollow shout of the news-vender, "McKinley dead and buried," considerably lessened the pleasure of home-coming. The mayor of Nome had recently made a trip to Canton in advocacy of the removal of Judge Noyes, and the President's questions as to how the people of the Nome region lived had suggested the appropriateness of the intended gift.
The mines near Nome had been and were "showing up" well. Old channels were being discovered, and it was generally admitted that more gold was in sight than ever before. There had recently been found on Anvil Creek the largest nugget which Alaska had yet produced. This was on exhibition; and I elbowed my way through the camera fiends to heft the boulder-like mass, which weighed ninety-seven ounces, or a little over eight pounds (troy), and was worth $1552. I have been informed that another nugget, slightly larger, was discovered in the same vicinity soon afterward. It is not improbable that, when the creeks shall have been worked out by the present methods of sluicing, quite as much additional wealth will be accumulated from the debris by hydraulic operations. The great richness of the country lies in the "benches,"—creek flats and hillsides,—and to operate them successfully great ditches are being constructed. For instance, on Ophir Creek the Wild Goose Company now has under way a ditch, paralleling the creek, twelve miles long and twelve feet wide, which eventually will extend twelve miles further, to the mouth of the stream. It was surprising to see a number of engines and plants of various kinds operating the beach, which gave the lie to the general belief that the sands had been wholly exhausted. Despite the severe handicap of a late spring, the mining season averaged well, and the output of the yellow metal probably equaled that of the year previous. The reports concerning the new Kougarok and Bluestone districts, which had been heralded as "wonders" and attracted thousands, of course proved to be exaggerated, and caused great disappointment, although they are known to contain a few rich creeks and may some day be worked on a large scale.
I ran across several of the "nobility" and also the "Divine Healer." The former appeared less chipper, and the latter looked less benign. Their large interests were centered in the mining districts aforesaid. The "Café de Paris," enlarged and refitted, would grace any metropolis. Its cuisine and service were excellent, and it was furnished with all the up-to-date conveniences and appurtenances, including, as heretofore, a count. Among the features of Nome are the licensed town-criers, who parade the main street from early morn till late at night, calling out and advertising with original variations the various restaurants, entertainments, and sailings of steamers, for which services they are very well paid. At this time there were two steamers in the roadstead, and tickets to Seattle were selling like hot cakes. The crier for one of these vessels—a young, clean-cut-looking fellow, evidently well educated, and possessed of a sense of humor and a splendid voice—was creating a good deal of amusement by his form of appeal. After extolling the magnificence and speed of the ship, with solemn mien and clear, resonant tenor voice he called out in the crowded thoroughfare: "Get your tickets back to mother and the old farm, you hungry, homesick placer-miners." This latter mode of address was of course highly flattering to the host of bar-room loafers.
The Cape Nome excitement has yielded an abundant harvest to the transportation companies; and, in the main, the treatment which they have accorded their passengers has been outrageous—in some instances even piratical. This I know not only from accounts of trustworthy persons, but also from my own observation. Vessels have been making the long and hazardous trip which should be condemned equally with their owners. Narrow escapes from complete disaster have not been infrequent, and persons who in good faith have bought first-class accommodations have gone aboard to find that they have been second purchasers, and, in overcrowded ships, have been obliged to resort to the floor for sleep, and to bribery of the stewards for decent food. Many a chapter of horrors incredible could be detailed by unfortunate participants in the Nome travel. It was with astonishment and genuine regret that I read in a recent Nome paper of the suicide of my cabin-mate on the St. Paul, the pleasant Knight of the Green Table. Despondent, he had deliberately shot himself through the head. He was a general favorite, "square" in his "profession," and his untimely end was widely regretted.