One day our own steamer came. She was a magnificently equipped river boat called the "Hannah," belonging to the Alaska Commercial Company, and had cost one hundred thousand dollars. This was to be her last trip for the season, and with us it was "home now, or here all winter," and we made ready to leave. My kodak had been emptied and filled again, calls on acquaintances made, and good-byes said. My battered and broken trunk, which, at the hands of the English customs officials had suffered much, had now to be repaired and put to a good long test. This box was in a state of total collapse; rollers all gone, covering torn and bent, screws and nails lost, sides split, bottom entirely dropped out, but it must go; so my big brother was wheedled into putting it into some kind of shape again, and it came out stronger than before.
No lunches were needed. The cuisine of the Hannah was said to be as perfect as could be in this far away corner of the globe, and we trusted to that.
On September sixteenth the Hannah sounded her whistle—all was hurry and bustle, and such a sight! If hundreds had stood on the docks to welcome us as we entered the city, there were thousands now. It was pleasant. We felt flattered, especially as the band struck up our own national airs, giving us a medley of "Yankee Doodle," "America," "Tramp, Tramp, Tramp," and "When Johnny Comes Marching Home." They felt constrained, however, to wind up with "Sweet Marie," and rag-time dances, one old fellow in slouch hat and with a few drinks too many, stepping the jigs off in lively and comical fashion.
Our pride was perceptibly lessened afterward, when we learned that we had on board a dance hall outfit, and the band belonged to the Monte Carlo saloon!
We were now in the midst of a group, cosmopolitan beyond our wildest dreams. Pushing their way through the crowd to the gangplank came men, women and dogs, carrying grips, kodaks, tin cash boxes, musical instruments, army sacks, fur robes, and rolls of blankets. Struggling under the weight of canvas tents, poles, Yukon stoves and sleds, as well as every conceivable thing, they climbed the stairway to the deck. Here, and in the main saloon, all was deposited for the time being.
There was a woman with a fine grey cat, for which she had been offered fifty dollars, wrapped in a warm shawl, much to pussy's disgust. A number of women had dogs and were weeping, probably at leaving other canines behind. Several persons carried little grips so heavy that they tugged along—evidently "Chechako," or paper money, was more scarce with them than dust and nuggets.
As freight, there was a piano, many iron-bound boxes containing gold bullion, securely sealed and labeled, and tons of supplies for the consumption of the passengers, of whom there were now five hundred.
Then the whistle again sounded—the gangplank was hauled in, handkerchiefs fluttered, the band struck up "Home Sweet Home"—we were headed down the Yukon River and toward the Arctic Circle.