The little child could have easily had his weight in gold dust, or anything else, had he wanted it. Big, shining nuggets had already been given him to cut his teeth upon when the time came, but that time never came.
Willie died one day in his mother's arms, while her hot tears fell like rain upon his face.
Then they laid him to sleep beside his papa under the tundra, where the shining wheat-gold clung to the moss roots and sparkled as brightly as the frost and snow which soon covered everything.
When spring came Willie's mamma found the baby's tiny grave, and put wild flowers and grasses upon it, and there they nodded their pretty heads above the spot where Willie and his papa quietly sleep.
Passengers for San Francisco were now coming on board with their luggage. Several men were brought on board on spring beds, being ill with no contagious disease. A box containing the body of a man, who had shot himself the day before, was placed upon the hurricane deck, lashed down, and covered with tarpaulins. Strong boxes of gold bullion, with long, stout ropes and boards attached in case of accident, were stowed away in as safe a place as could be found. Copies of the first issue of the "Nome News" were bought at fifty cents a copy; size, four pages about a foot square. Beach sand and pebbles, were handed about in many funny receptacles,—pickle jars, tin cans, flour sacks,—any old thing would do if only we had the pleasure of seeing the golden sand.
One night about three o'clock the barge brought the last passengers and freight. The water was smooth, the moon shone brightly, there was no wind, and the captain and his mate gave their orders in quick, stern tones. They were in haste to leave. They had lingered here too long already. All were soon hustled on board; the "Sadie" and her barges moved away; we took a last, long look at Nome as she stretched herself on the golden sands of the beach under her electric lights; the "Bertha" whistled, stuck her nose into the rollers and steamed away.
A more majestic old body of water than Behring Sea would be hard to find; and we remember it with thanksgiving, for we had no storms or rough weather during the eight hundred and fifty miles to Unalaska.
Right glad was I that we were fortunate in having a pleasant little party of eight or ten persons, and our evenings were spent in visiting, spinning yarns, and singing songs, while some hours each day were passed on the hurricane deck. Here we became familiar with the sea phrases commonly used, and watched the old salts "bracing the mast arms," "hoisting the jibs," or "tacking," and could tell when we had a "cross sea," a "beam sea," or a "sou' wester." As we neared Unalaska on the Aleutian Islands, the sea became rough, and we had more wind, but we joyfully sighted high hills or rocks to the east, and bade good-bye to old Behring. For three and a half days he had behaved well, and never will we quietly hear him maligned.
Unalaska, sweet isle of the sea! How beautiful she looked to our eyes which had only seen water for days! Its bold and rocky cliffs, its towering peaks snow capped; its sequestered and winding valleys, and bright, sparkling waterfalls; its hillsides in all the artistic shades of red, brown, yellow, green, purple, black and white; its water in all the tints of blue and azure, reflecting sky that looked
"As though an angel in his upward flight,
Had left his mantle floating in mid-air."