Alaska Part 16
CHAPTER XIII
Coming out of Chilkaht Inlet and pa.s.sing around Seduction Point into Chilkoot Inlet, Katschin River is seen flowing in from the northeast.
The mouth of this river, like that of the Chilkaht, spreads into extensive flats, making the channel very narrow at this point.
Across the ca.n.a.l lies Haines Mission, where, in 1883, Lieutenant Schwatka left his wife to the care of Doctor and Mrs. Willard, while he was absent on his exploring expedition down the Yukon.
The Willards were in charge of this mission, which was maintained by the Presbyterian Board of Missions, until some trouble arose with the Indians over the death of a child, to whom the Willards had administered medicines.
"Crossing the Mission trail," writes Lieutenant Schwatka, "we often traversed lanes in the gra.s.s, which here was fully five feet high, while, in whatever direction the eye might look, wild flowers were growing in the greatest profusion. Dandelions as big as asters, b.u.t.tercups twice the usual size, and violets rivalling the products of cultivation in lower lat.i.tudes were visible around. It produced a singular and striking contrast to raise the eyes from this almost tropical luxuriance, and allow them to rest on Alpine hills, covered halfway down their s.h.a.ggy sides with the snow and glacier ice, and with cold mist condensed on their crowns.... Berries and berry blossoms grew in a profusion and variety which I have never seen equalled within the same limits in lower lat.i.tudes."
This was early in June. Here the lieutenant first made the acquaintance of the Alaska mosquito and gnat, neither of which is to be ignored, and may be propitiated by good red blood only; also, the giant devil's-club, which he calls devil's-sticks. He was informed that this nettle was formerly used by the shamans, or medicine-men, as a prophylactic against witchcraft, applied externally.
The point of this story will be appreciated by all who have come in personal contact with this plant, so tropical in appearance when its immense green leaves are spread out flat and motionless in the dusk of the forest.
From Chilkoot Inlet the steamer glides into Taiya Inlet, which leads to Skaguay. Off this inlet are many glaciers, the finest of which is Ferebee.
Chilkoot Inlet continues to the northwestward. Chilkoot River flows from a lake of the same name into the inlet. There are an Indian village and large canneries on the inlet.
Taiya Inlet leads to Skaguay and Dyea. It is a narrow water-way between high mountains which are covered nearly to their crests with a heavy growth of cedar and spruce. They are crowned, even in summer, with snow, which flows down their fissures and canyons in small but beautiful glaciers, while countless cascades foam, sparkling, down to the sea, or drop sheer from such great heights that the beholder is bewildered by their slow, never ceasing fall.
Here,--at the mouth of the Skaguay River, with mountains rising on all sides and the green waters of the inlet pushing restlessly in front; with its pretty cottages climbing over the foot-hills, and with well-worn, flower-strewn paths enticing to the heights; with the Skaguay's waters winding over the gra.s.sy flats like blue ribbons; with flower gardens beyond description and boxes in every window scarlet with bloom; with cascades making liquid and most sweet music by day and irresistible lullabies by night, and with snow peaks seeming to float directly over the town in the upper pearl-pink atmosphere--is Skaguay, the romantic, the marvellous, the town which grew from a dozen tents to a city of fifteen thousand people almost in a night, in the golden year of ninety-eight.
I could not sleep in Skaguay for the very sweetness of the July night. A cool lavender twilight lingered until eleven o'clock, and then the large moon came over the mountains, first outlining their dark crests with fire; then throbbing slowly on from peak to peak--bringing irresistibly to mind the lines:--
"Like a great dove with silver wings Stretched, quivering o'er the sea, The moon her glistening plumage brings And hovers silently."
The air was sweet to enchantment with flowers; and all night long through my wide-open window came the far, dreamy, continuous music of the waterfalls.
On all the Pacific Coast there is not a more interesting, or a more profitable, place in which to make one's headquarters for the summer, than Skaguay. More side trips may be made, with less expenditure of time and money, from this point than from any other. Launches may be hired for expeditions down Lynn Ca.n.a.l and up the inlets,--whose unexploited splendors may only be seen in this way; to the Mendenhall, Davidson, Denver, Bertha, and countless smaller glaciers; to Haines, Fort Seward, Pyramid Harbor, and Seduction Point; while by canoe, horse, or his own good legs, one may get to the top of Mount Dewey and to Dewey Lake; up Face Mountain; to Dyea; and many hunting grounds where mountain sheep, bear, goat, ptarmigan, and grouse are plentiful.
The famous White Pa.s.s railway--which was built in eighteen months by the "Three H's," Heney, Hawkins, and Hislop, and which is one of the most wonderful engineering feats of the world--may be taken for a trip which is, in itself, worth going a thousand miles to enjoy. Every mile of the way is historic ground--not only to those who toiled over it in 'ninety-seven and 'ninety-eight, bent almost to the ground beneath their burdens, but to the whole world, as well. The old Brackett wagon road; White Pa.s.s City; the "summit"; Bennett Lake; Lake Lindeman; White Horse Rapids; Grand Canyon; Porcupine Ridge--to whom do these names not stand for tragedy and horror and broken hearts?
The town of Skaguay itself is more historic than any other point. Here the steamers lightered or floated ash.o.r.e men, horses, and freight. "You pay your money and you take your chance," the paraphrase went in those days. Many a man saw every dollar he had in provisions--and often it was a grubstake, at that--sink to the bottom of the ca.n.a.l before his eyes.
Others saw their outfits soaked to ruin with salt water. For those who landed safely, there were horrors yet to come.
And here, between these mountains, in this wind-racked canyon, the town of Skaguay grew; from one tent to hundreds in a day, from hundreds to thousands in a week; from tents to shacks, from shacks to stores and saloons. Here "Soapy" Smith and his gang of outlaws and murderers operated along the trail; here he was killed; here is his dishonored grave, between the mountains which will not endure longer than the tale of his desperate crimes, and his desperate expiation.
Not the handsome style of man that one would expect of such a bold and daring robber was "Soapy." No flashing black eyes, heavy black hair, and long black mustache made him "a living flame among women," as Rex Beach would put it. Small, spare, insignificant in appearance, it has been said that he looked more like an ill-paid frontier minister than the head of a lawless and desperate gang of thieves.
His "spotters" were scattered along the trail all the way to Dawson.
They knew what men were "going in," what ones "coming out," "heeled."
Such men were always robbed; if not on the road, then after reaching Skaguay; when they could not safely, or easily, be robbed alive, they were robbed dead. It made no difference to "Soapy" or his gang of men and women. It was a reign of terror in that new, unknown, and lawless land.
There is nothing in Skaguay to-day--unless it be the sinking grave of "Soapy" Smith, which is not found by every one--to suggest the days of the gold rush, to the transient visitor. It is a quiet town, where law and order prevail. It is built chiefly on level ground, with a few very long streets--running out into the alders, balms, spruces, and cottonwoods, growing thickly over the river's flats.
In all towns in Alaska the stores are open for business on Sunday when a steamer is in. If the door of a curio-store, which has tempting baskets or Chilkaht blankets displayed in the window, be found locked, a dozen small boys shout as one, "Just wait a minute, lady. Propri'tor's on the way now. He just stepped out for breakfast. Wait a minute, lady."
We arrived at Skaguay early on a Sunday morning, and were directed to the "'bus" of the leading hotel. We rode at least a mile before reaching it. We found it to be a wooden structure, four or five stories in height; the large office was used as a kind of general living-room as well. The rooms were comfortable and the table excellent. The proprietress grows her own vegetables and flowers, and keeps cows, chickens, and sheep, to enrich her table.
About ten o'clock in the forenoon we went to the station to have our trunks checked to Dawson. The doors stood open. We entered and pa.s.sed from room to room. There was no one in sight. The square ticket window was closed.
We hammered upon it and upon every closed door. There was no response.
We looked up the stairway, but it had a personal air. There are stairways which seem to draw their steps around them, as a d.u.c.h.ess does her furs, and to give one a look which says, "Do not take liberties with me!"--while others seem to be crying, "Come up; come up!" to every pa.s.ser-by. I have never seen a stairway that had the d.u.c.h.ess air to the degree that the one in the station at Skaguay has it. If any one doubts, let him saunter around that station until he finds the stairway and then take a good look at it.
We went outside, and I, being the questioner of the party, asked a man if the ticket office would be open that day.
He squared around, put his hands in his pockets, bent his wizened body backward, and gave a laugh that echoed down the street.
"G.o.d bless your soul, lady," said he, "_on Sunday!_ Only an extry goes out on Sundays, to take round-trip tourists to the summit and back while the steamer waits. To-day's extry has gone."
"Yes," said I, mildly but firmly, "but we are going to Dawson to-morrow.
Our train leaves at nine o'clock, and there will be so many to get tickets signed and baggage checked--"
He gave another laugh.
"Don't you worry, lady. Take life easy, the way we do here. If we miss one train, we take the next--unless we miss it, too!" He laughed again.
At that moment, bowing and smiling in the window of the ticket office, appeared a man--the nicest man!
"Will you see him bow!" gasped my friend. "Is he bowing at _us_?
Why--are you _bowing back_?"
"Of course I am."
"What on earth does he want?"
"He wants to be nice to us," I replied; and she followed me inside.
The nice face was smiling through the little square window.
"I was upstairs," he said--ah, he had descended by way of the "d.u.c.h.ess,"
"and I heard you rapping on windows and doors"--the smile deepened, "so I came down to see if I could serve you."
We related our woes; we got our tickets signed and our baggage checked; had all our questions answered--and they were not few--and the following morning ate our breakfast at our leisure and were greatly edified by our fellow-travellers' wild scramble to get their bills paid and to reach the station in time to have their baggage checked.
[Ill.u.s.tration: Photo by P. S. Hunt
VALDEZ]
CHAPTER XIV