Going back to the Sandspit, it was decided that I should remain upon the spot, while my companions went back to the landing. I was to remain there till some of them came back. This I did, sitting on a box in the sunshine with my kodak, umbrella and lunch basket beside me for hours. When madam returned, saying their search for their freight was still unavailing, I left her in my place and again called upon the captain.
Calling the third time at his boat, I found him and secured his ready permission to temporarily pitch our tents upon the sands, for he was an Alderman with adjoining "town lots," he told us.
By six o'clock that afternoon a part of madam's baggage and freight was found, hauled by dog-team through town to the Sandspit and deposited upon the ground. Then we bestirred ourselves to get a tent up in which we could sleep, as I, for one, was determined not to be kept awake by the judge's snores another night if I had to work till morning. The others shared my feelings, and we worked like beavers till midnight. By that time a small tent had been put up, boxes of bedding unpacked, as well as cooking utensils, oil-stoves and foods, so that we could begin cooking.
At the continuous daylight we were much pleased. Coming gradually into it, as we had done on the steamer, we were prepared for it, but the advantage of a continuous day to a busy, hustling camp like this one, had not presented itself to us until we ourselves attempted to work half the night; then we realized it fully. At nine in the evening a beautiful twilight enveloped all, restful to nerves and eyes, but still light enough to read by.
At ten o'clock it was lighter, and upon the placid waters of Snake River, only fifteen feet away, lay quiet shadows cast from the opposite side, clearly and beautifully reflected. A few small steamers lay further down stream near the river's mouth, row boats were tied along the edge of the water, and on the Sandspit below us was a camp of Eskimos, their tiny canoes and larger skin boats being hauled upon shore beside them for safety. At midnight the sun was almost shining, the air was salt, fresh and clear, while the sky seemed to hang low and lovingly above our heads.
After eating a midnight lunch of our own getting of bread and butter with hot tea, we deposited ourselves, still dressed, upon the tops of madam's big packing cases, from which had been taken pillows and blankets, and slept soundly till morning, notwithstanding the fact that the hammers of hundreds of carpenters were busy around us all night.
Next morning all felt fresh and invigorated. The sun shone brightly. In the roadstead two miles away lay several newly arrived steamers, their deep-toned whistles frequently sounding over the intervening waters. It was a beautiful sight and welcome sound. How easily the long and graceful breakers rolled and broke upon the sands. With what music the foam-tipped wavelets spread their edges, like the lace-trimmed ruffles on some lady's gown, upon the smooth and glistening beach. How the white tents everywhere looked like doves of peace just alighted, and the little boats danced up and down on the river. I was glad to be there. I enjoyed it. Nothing, not even the hard work, the storms, nor the bitter Arctic winter which came afterwards ever effaced from my memory the beautiful pictures of river, sea and sky repeatedly displayed during those first novel and busy days at Nome.