A Claim on Klondyke: A Romance of the Arctic El Dorado

CHAPTER II.

Meade and I were by this time great friends: our tastes and aims were exactly alike—it was very nice. We had mutual acquaintances in England—we were the best of companions.

In our tent, with our sheet-iron stove going, our beds of thick layers of sweet-scented spruce twigs on rubber ground-sheets, with plenty of good blankets, we were quite cosy, and we had a few books with us.

Our surroundings were gloomy and uninteresting enough—just a dreary rock-strewn waste. Here and there were patches of faded grass, flattened by the snow which had covered it for months. A few gnarled and twisted cedars and spruces still grew about there; but gaunt, black-butted, dead pine-trees, their tops whitened by the frost and wind, were everywhere—the dry bones of the forest. The frozen lake and the coast range close behind us, the mountains to right, left, and ahead, were snow-covered and dismal, and there was no sign of life, no trace of a living creature.

It rained steadily for two days, and as it was freezing hard at the same time, everything was encased in ice. On the third day the clouds were scattered, and each twig and leaf and blade flashed and sparkled gloriously in the brilliant sun-rays. This only lasted a few hours, for the heat of the sun being great, this beautiful scene was soon spoiled. However, we hoped that a few such days would make havoc with the ice upon the lake, and we should have open water. But this was not to be just yet, for on the fourth day it blew hard from the east, and that night it snowed again and froze as hard as ever.

"On time," as Yankees say, Jim and his wife arrived: they came bounding along the trail, full of glee,—we thought them like children coming home from school. Jim was most voluble; a stream of the best English he knew, and jargon, fell unceasingly from his mouth. He was proud of his wife, that was clear—he showed her off, asking our opinion of her, giving us to understand that she was as good as she appeared.

I must say that she was well worth his praise, in looks at any rate; her other good qualities we discovered later.

She was unmistakably an Indian woman: her colour was warm brown, she had beautiful eyes, and a very amiable expression. Her hair was her pride: it was not straight and coarse—it waved, even curled some little, and glistened in the sun as if it were black spun glass.

We took to her at once: she appeared to be of a bright and happy disposition, and not an atom like our preconceived notions of a squaw. Meade subsequently made a sketch of her in her ordinary dress.

But what charmed us greatly was, she could speak English quite understandably, and when she informed us that she was "one Metlakahtla gal," and had been trained under the eye of good Mr Duncan, we felt we were fortunate to have her with us, and we never ceased to impress on Jim what a lucky dog he was. He seemed to think so himself—at least Fan said he did. They put up a little canvas tepee, or wigwam, near. They had brought it with them on their sled, with their entire household gear, which was not much. It consisted mostly of dried salmon which was to be their food. We added some of ours to it occasionally, and later when we killed game we shared it with them. Fan cooked for us, and we believed she religiously refrained from pilfering our food. She had certainly been well trained.

After this we had a few days clear, calm, and sunny. Pools of water formed on land amongst the rocks and tangle, and the lake-ice was awash, yet Jim assured us that we need not expect the lake to open yet, and Fan added, "By'me by we get plenty freeze once more, and, mebbe, plenty snow!"

In this latter she was mistaken: she was right about the freeze, though. Thick ice formed every night, if night it could be called. One day it blew a heavy gale: we kept under cover, wondering that our little tent was not carried bodily away.

The matter of a boat occupied our consideration. Jim had heard that two men, camped down on Tagish Lake, had a whip-saw, and were cutting lumber to sell to parties like us to build their boats with, but our only means of getting to them was by a raft. There was no timber fit for boat-building in our neighbourhood, therefore when weather permitted we chopped and rolled logs on to the ice, and lashed and pinned them together into a form we hoped would bear us safely. We built it on the ice so that when that broke up it would be afloat.

Jim and his wife helped: she was as active as a young deer, and as strong as either of us.

Two weeks passed thus. Our raft was finished, and we were waiting patiently for the ice to disappear. We had spells of very hot weather, plenty of wind, but very little rain. The sun did not set till late; by two A.M. it was up again. The growth of vegetation was amazing—grass was green, and flowers had sprung into bloom, seemingly in a few hours. A few birds were seen, robins and jays.

One evening a flock of ducks whistled over the tent. Meade sprang up, gun in hand, but too late for a shot; but next day more passed and we bagged several brace. It was evident that spring had arrived.

On May 15th Fan informed us that "Pretty soon now, my believe, ice go away." Jim had gone up a creek to try for fish; when he returned, with a string of suckers he had speared, he agreed with what Fan had said, adding that he believed next day we should "no more ice see."

It was so. When we turned out the following morning, instead of a field of rotting ice, which had all sunk we supposed, there was before our camp a lovely blue lake, sparkling and rippling in a gentle breeze, and Jim gleefully announced, "Now, bossee, you bet we go ahead aller same steamboat."

At once we loaded our raft, and we four drifted on it down the Windy Arm, Tagish Lake. It is but a narrow strip of water, this arm, more like a river. The hills on both sides are steep, the wind from the east rushes through, sometimes dangerously, but we were fortunate to have merely a fresh breeze behind us.

By towing from the shore sometimes, at others by poling, we contrived on the third day to reach the lake, and here we were lucky enough to find not only the men we had heard were cutting lumber there, but that they had just finished a boat which they could sell to us.

These men welcomed us very heartily: they told us we were the first party on the way since the previous autumn. They had run out of tobacco.

The boat they had to sell was not built for either speed or beauty, but we saw it was the very thing for us—-it would carry us well with our heavy load to Dawson City. We agreed to their price, which was naturally high, and before we turned in that night we had stowed our goods on board her, and were ready to begin our journey in earnest. We had received a good bit of information about it from these men, who had been often up and down the Yukon. We left them a little happier for our visit, for we had supplied them with a few stores, and notably with tobacco.

We sailed off cheerfully next morning down Lake Tagish. At the mouth of Windy Arm are islands and high mountains,—one superb dome-shaped giant stands alone.

We trolled that day, and caught one large fish like a salmon,—it probably was a land-locked one. Its flesh was white and absolutely tasteless, but Jim and Fan considered it was prime. We made a lovely camp that night on an island near shore.

It took us till the following afternoon to get down this lake. We saw no human beings, but along the sluggish river which joins it to Lake Marsh we passed Tagish House, and there was a group of Indians at which Jim and Fan were terribly alarmed, declaring that if they were seen they would be killed by them, for it appears that war between the Tagishes and the Sticks, which our two were, is perpetual.

Accordingly we gave these Indians a wide berth. Tagish House is but a rough log affair. Yet it is famous, for it is not only the place the tribe meets at annually for its council and festival, but it is the only permanent building in all that country.

Passing down for half-a-dozen miles, we entered Lake Marsh, which occupies a broad valley with high mountains on the east. It is about two miles wide. Traversing it, we got all the wildfowl and the fish we could consume. We lived sumptuously. The journey took us two days.

Fan and Jim were always bright and cheery, and ready to lend a hand; they were good companions, and were uncommonly good specimens of Indians. One particularly good thing about them was that Fan had been taught the use of soap at Metlakahtla, and she had taught her husband; so they were, wonder of wonders, clean Indians!

The foot of Marsh Lake we found to be low and swampy; the sleughs appeared to be full of ducks and musk-rats—also of mosquitos!

We certainly expected these last. We had suffered from them in Manitoba and in other parts of Canada; we supposed we knew what we had to contend with, but we did not.

Fortunately we had brought some mosquito netting, which we rigged up in our tent, so that, inside, we had a trifle of peace; but when travelling or moving outside, it was impossible to protect ourselves, and we experienced untold misery. Our Indians suffered quite as much as we did, and complained as loudly. They lit fires inside their tepee, filling it with pungent smoke, through which they slept contented; but we could not stand that.

I may here say that from this time on, with very rare exceptions, we were simply tortured by mosquitos. We passed through many hardships, had innumerable physical difficulties to contend with during that summer and winter, but they are all forgotten, or regarded as mere trifles, and one phase of misery is vividly recorded on my memory: it is the ceaseless torment of those infernal gnats. They are the cause of the worst suffering that people must submit to in that country: winter's cold, summer's heat, even hunger, are not to be compared to this awful pest.

For instance, you are tramping with a load upon your back, your hands are full carrying tools or packages, the sun is blistering hot, the perspiration is pouring off you in streams, yet all the time the ubiquitous mosquitos are engaging your closest attention; your eyes, your ears, your nostrils, all your most sensitive spots, are their favourite feeding-grounds. You are helpless, you suffer agony, and you often feel that life itself is next thing to a curse. We have seen hardy, rough men shed tears of impotent anger at these innumerable, invisible, relentless enemies. Dogs and men, cattle and wild beasts, deer especially, and even bears, are their victims.

Frequently we were so swollen about our necks that we could hardly turn our heads, and our wrists were so enlarged that our wristbands were useless. We tried tobacco juice, turpentine, lamp-oil, but nothing gave us relief. Truly the mosquitos of the Yukon hold the record as tormentors.

Lake Marsh is twenty miles long. It then narrows, and for nearly thirty miles we followed the course of the river, which is the Lewes. The current is about three miles an hour, and we were blessed with a gentle breeze astern, so got on famously. We passed through miles and miles of cut sandbanks, which were completely honeycombed by a species of martin, which were then busy nesting. The air was alive with millions of these little birds, and we gloried in the knowledge that they were feeding exclusively on our deadly foes.

Here we met with a few large salmon. They come all the long way up from Behring Sea to spawn. In August, Jim said, the river is crowded with them, and the bears come down from the hills to feed on them. Dozens, he assured us, might be seen any day along that river. We saw but one; we shot at and missed it.

Up to this time, it will be noticed, we had experienced only fine weather,—indeed, so far, our only real suffering had been from the mosquitos; but one evening, the sun being high, though it was ten P.M., the sky was suddenly enveloped in dense clouds, against which steamlike scud drifted with great rapidity; and by the action of the martins and waterfowl, and by the sudden cessation of the rapacity of the mosquitos, which had been earlier in the day more persistent than usual, we knew that some change was at hand.

Jim said that wind was coming, so we camped, put our tents up with extra care, and drew our boat into what we thought was a safe harbour by the river side.

Not long after—we could see up stream for at least a mile—we perceived that a huge wave was bearing down to us. It was like a bore. We stared aghast!

Our boat and nearly all we had was in imminent danger. I made a rush, intending to leap on board, push it out into the river, then turn its head to the great surge that was rolling down, and so, I hoped, save it from wreck; but Meade held me back, shouting above the dreadful roar of wind and water that I should not go—that the risk was far too great.

As we stood thus, he restraining me, I struggling to go, Jim passed us, stripped: he leapt into the boat, pushed her off, then with one grand sweep of the steering oar he turned her head up stream just as the wave reached her. She lifted with the heave of it, veered this way and that, the heavy water curled up, and we stood there trembling, feeling sure that she would be swamped. But Jim held on manfully, kept her well up, and although she was carried down stream at terrible speed, yet we saw that the brave Indian, standing like a bronze statue at the stern, had conquered.

It was soon lost to sight in the gloom, for the spray which the mighty wind raised was driving down river as if it were drifting snow.

So far, the boat, we trusted, had escaped, but what would ultimately become of her and Jim, we wondered.

We turned to Fan, asking what she thought about it. She was crouched under the lee of a log, smiling peacefully!

"No you bother," she shouted, "Jim all light; outfit all light too. By'me by, pretty soon, no mo' wind, Jim tie up er boat, come back'n we pack all tings down to boat—or, mebbee, Jim bring boat back here. You see me?—well, all light!" and she smiled again quite happily.

How we blessed our stars that we had hired this Indian and his charming klootchman. We thought her a perfect heroine that night, whilst I believe she considered us very childish for being so very much alarmed.

Almost as quickly as this heavy squall had arisen it ceased, the sun streamed out, and the silence was oppressive, yet very welcome. But what should we do about Jim?

We consulted Fan, who calmly replied, "Nosing, nossir, make muck-a-muck, what you call supper, then turn in, my tink Jim come along all lightee by'me by, soon."

At which we made up the fire, and did as she advised.

We were aroused towards morning by Jim calling to his wife from the other side the river. He told us that the boat was safely moored a mile below, that he had tried to bring her to camp but could not, therefore we must pack all to her. He swam across and joined us, after which we had our first real essay at "packing," and we concluded that it was not our forte. We found our boat and her cargo safe and sound below, which was no small blessing. It took two days to pack all down to her. Then on we went again, the stream carrying us along between smooth grassy hills and sandy knolls. Soon the current became stronger, and we heard a distinct roar ahead, and on the bank we saw a board stuck up by some friendly voyageur, on which was scrawled in big letters—"Danger, Stop," which at once we did.

We had arrived at Myles Cañon, the grand cañon of the Lewes—the Miners' Grave.

Eager to examine what we had now to encounter, Meade and I landed and went ahead to prospect. Where we had stopped the river was two hundred yards wide at least: it was roaring ahead in the middle, rushing vehemently on its way.

We mounted the basalt cliff above where we were camped, and came in full view of the cañon. We knew the length of it and the width, we had heard so much about it, and believed we knew just what to expect, yet the reality appalled us. How could we get through? It looked impossible: still, knowing that it had been done, and if we were to reach our destination we must negotiate it, we sat on an outstanding point and wondered.

The walls of the gorge, which averages one hundred feet in width, are about the same height; they are worn into fantastic shapes, very little vegetation clings to them, but along the top there is timber, and one can march through it with ease.

The river, forced through this narrow cañon, is heaped up in the middle much higher than at the sides: it is one mass of foam, and it flashes along at lightning speed, roaring and raging. It is about three-quarters of a mile from fairly smooth water up stream to quietness below.

As we sat on the summit of the cliff, critically examining the scene, we presently perceived two tents at what looked to be the lower end of the gorge, and there was the smoke of a camp-fire.

With Jim and Fan, who had joined us, we consulted; it resulted in Meade and Jim going ahead to visit these campers and obtaining information. From them they learned that they had got through safely. There were half-a-dozen men, old Yukoners, friendly and communicative, who had wintered by Lake Marsh, where they had got a little gold. They offered to help us. Some of them returned and packed each a load over the portage, and then as they saw that neither of us was experienced at shooting rapids, one of them very kindly volunteered to go through with Fan and Jim in our boat.

Everything was carefully planned, the strength of the steering sweep tested; Jim stripped, Fan doffed all she could decently, and our new friend, whom his chums called Samson, did the same,—then the start was made.

Meade stayed to push them off; I went to the cliff-top to watch the proceedings.

Fan and Samson took the oars, Jim was steersman. They pulled far out into the eddy, straining every nerve, even after the current caught them, so as to keep steerage way on the boat. They soon shot into the dark shadows of the walls. Here, they told us, they were nearly stopped by the first huge breaker, but only for a second: the frail boat trembled, seemed to stagger, then surmounting the crest, dashed on.

I, on the top, could mark their progress easily. I saw them flying like a cork through the turmoil; I saw them now whirled one way, now another; at one moment it seemed they were to be hurled against the adamantine walls, where they would be stove to splinters instantly; at the next they miraculously sheered away into the boiling turmoil in the midst. Clouds of spray dashed over them; they were often lost to my sight. Half a minute passed—I saw their speed slacken—was anything wrong? No, I saw they were in the eddy, and were half-way through; next moment they were again in the thick of it, and, so far as I could tell, they were having more terrible experiences still. There were then a few indescribable moments. I held my breath, as I am sure they did theirs, as they vanished from my sight round an intervening point.

Directly after one of our new acquaintances at the camp below fired two shots and waved a red blanket, the signal agreed on that all was well.

From the moment they started until I saw that signal was exactly two and a half minutes by my watch.

With thankful hearts we two shouldered our light packs, crossed the portage, and joined the others. Jim and Fan were perfectly unconcerned,—he was contentedly smoking beside the fire, she was putting our tent up. We thanked Jim, called him a brave good fellow, at which he merely grunted "Ugh"; and Fan said, "Orl right—welly good; guess we make camp here one day—eh?"

We were agreeable to this, especially as the other party was remaining too. They were Canadians, very decent fellows indeed, and on that and for several days we kept company with them with much mutual pleasure.

On the river-side were several mounds, marked with rough stones or wooden crosses. They were the graves of some of the many who had lost their lives there—many more had been drowned whose bodies had never been recovered—and we, I hope, were very grateful that we had got through so safely.

Next day a couple of us went ahead in one of their light canoes to examine the White Horse Rapids—they were two miles on—and to arrange how to attack them. Then we loaded our boats, and, by warping and towing, we, by degrees, hauled them to a place where there is slack water, just above the dangerous place.

Here we camped again, unloaded everything, and hauled boats and canoes on shore. Then we carried our packages on to smooth water below, and lastly dragged the boats there: there were many willing hands to help now, and we did it all quickly.

These rapids are full of sunken rocks, impossible to steer amongst. There is one piece particularly formidable: it is only about one hundred feet, and has been shot, but not intentionally up to that time. With light well-made canoes it would be possible, we thought, though very risky, but with the really unwieldy boat of ours it was impossible.

When we had everything safely over—it took us best part of a day, and we all worked very hard to do it—we packed up again, and camped for the night. We had a most jovial evening—there was a banjo in the crowd, and one good singer, the weather was grand, the mosquitos were rather less troublesome than usual, and the last great obstacle had been thus safely mastered. Yet there were many graves about us of poor fellows who had failed where we had come through with such success.

Next morning early we were off again.

We had now reached the place to which Jim and Fan had agreed to accompany us. We were loath to part with them, and, so far as we could judge, they were not anxious to leave us. If good food and plenty of tobacco is an Indian's idea of earthly bliss, then I should think these two had all they could desire. I must say they appeared to appreciate it, and when we spoke to them about returning to the coast they were evidently anything but pleased.

Besides, how were they to go back? We had really never thought of that: it was very stupid of us. We had brought their sled, but they could not go home on that.

We should have brought a canoe with us. We proposed to buy one from the Canadians, but they would not part with one.

Jim showed no anxiety at all to solve the problem; as for Fan, she declared her intention was to go on to Dawson City in our company! but this she said merely to tease Jim. The fact is, they were both perfectly satisfied with the life, and indifferent about returning to Skagway, where what they call their home was thought to be. They talked about Lake La Barge, the Five Fingers, and the Rink in such a way that we believed they did really intend to come with us, whether we would or not, if they could.

It ended in our proposing to continue Jim in our employ until we reached our journey's end, offering him the same pay—that is, one dollar a day and food, now, for himself and Fan.

They had been very quiet and melancholy for some hours: when we made this proposal they jumped up, laughed, and shouted with delight. These Indians are very much like children.

We were very glad too, and, as Meade always said when any question about expense arose between us, "Don't bother; when we get to the spot I know about, we can wash out what will cover all these outlays in twenty minutes!"

CHAPTER III.

From the foot of White Horse Rapids to the head of Lake La Barge the Lewes river is said to be thirty miles. Midway it is joined by the Tahkeena, and runs then through a wide valley, having cut many channels, so that we found difficulty in keeping the right one. The current and the wind were still with us.

We camped together with the Canadians: they had two good boats and two canoes. We should have been a merry party, but for the mosquitos. We caught plenty of fish; in every creek were trout and grayling; they rose to a fly, to a black feather, or even to a scrap of cloth. We trolled when moving, catching white fish and some salmon, proving that no one need starve there at that time of the year.

We were fortunate with our guns, shooting many ducks and geese, several swans, and a few grouse—probably ptarmigan. It was the breeding season, yet we considered we were justified in killing what we needed for our larder. Humming-birds were quite numerous, flitting about the brilliant flowers which were everywhere. We saw ravens, some magpies exactly like English ones, and several bald eagles.

We only shot one deer. At one of our camps a herd of some dozens trotted past. All guns were instantly brought to bear, but as only one contained a ball, but one animal fell. It was a caribou, very much like a reindeer.

We saw a few bears, black and brown, and there were small ones called silver-tips, as they have white throats and chins. Our friends assured us they were fierce, and attack a man "on sight"; but we fancied this was only a hunter's yarn, until we had proof that it is true. This was what occurred:—

We were settled for the night in an exposed position, away from stagnant water and bushes, as we found such spots a trifle freer than others from mosquitos. All of us but Fan were scattered, fishing or trying in the woods for birds, quite free from apprehension of anything untoward happening. It was a beautiful night; the sun had set—that is, it had just dipped behind some mountains to the north; the sky was brilliant in purple, gold, and crimson fire, as it would remain till three or four next morning, when we were to move on again. It was late, eleven, I suppose, and we were all out of sight of camp, when Jim and I—we were after ptarmigan—heard the crack of a rifle there.

"M'm," says Jim, "guess dat Fan ketch'm deer mebbe—welly good shot dat klootchman."

I merely said that I hoped it was so, for he and I were having bad luck, and were longing for meat; fish was palling on us. A few seconds after we heard another shot.

"M'm," says Jim again, "my tink Fan got two deer; zat is welly good."

He had hardly ceased speaking when we heard a third report, and several at quick intervals, at which I said, "Come, we'd better return and help her," and we hastened back to camp.

When we came in sight of the river and our boats, we heard Fan calling. It did not sound as if she were afraid, and yet we realised that she was in earnest; so we hurried, and perceived her on a great log that lay stretched across a narrow chasm in the cliff behind the tents, some distance from the ground. There she stood, firmly planted, with a rifle, looking intently at one spot below her. We called; she looked at us delighted.

"Come on! quick, quick!" she cried. "My have got one silver-tip thar; it is no dead, look out; but my tink he no can move! My cannot see him no more, frow rocks in dere," and she pointed. "My have nosing hyar to frow!"

At which, of course, we began to bombard the spot, and as nothing stirred, we stepped forward slowly, cautiously, till amongst some tangle we found the beast lying dead. Telling Fan this, we called to her to come down.

She walked to the butt end of the log and looked up, then to the other. "My can't!" she cried, half laughing.

"Well, but how did you get there?" I asked.

"My jumped down. My no can get up no more, and my no can come down!"

Jim began haranguing her in Indian, then said that we must cut a pole to reach to the log, which we did, and the girl climbed down and joined us.

Meade and the others had returned during this operation, which we carried out amidst much laughter. The bear was hauled out, dragged to camp, Jim set to work, and we soon had steaks frying for supper—or breakfast was it? We praised Fan for what she had done; she said it was "Oh, nosing—nosing at all, at all!" that the bear was trying to get a salmon we had hung in a bush, and she went for it.

"But how did you get up where you were?" we asked.

She said that the bear drove her there, at which we made her tell exactly what had happened, which she did, with many laughs, much as follows:—

"My was making slapjacks for de supper; my was at de fire. My see de bar a-grabbin' for de fish, and my go for him. My got no gun, no nosing but de fry-pan. You bet my go for him wis zat. Oh, yes! but de bar he no scart; nossir, he come for me; yessir, 'n I go for de tepee, 'n zare I ketch Jim's lifle and katlidges. Well, de bar he come zare too, 'll he went for de tepee—see," and she pointed to where it had been torn. "He make to drag down de tepee 'n ketch dis Injun gal; yessir, 'n so my shoot at him 'n hit him, 'n den my run avay! Oh yes, my run up dat rock dare, 'n de bar kum arter me, 'n he druv me to de aige of de bank dere. 'N he druv, 'n druv, 'n my shot two times—tree times, 'n my guess my didn't hit him bad; 'n he comed up so clost my tink he'd have me. So zen my look down onct; my see de log, my jump for it, 'n when my get dere zat bar he make to come to me too! Yessir, but zat time my get steady shot, my give it him in de tum-tum 'n he go tumblin' down—way down dere where you find him. Oh, you bet, dat last time my shot it hurt him—eh?" Then she turned to her cookery as calmly as if it had been the neck of a pigeon she had wrung, and nothing more.

After this we took care that no one was left alone at camp again, and if by any chance we came across a silver-tip we steered clear of him.

Barring mosquitos—and they were a bar and no mistake—it was a glorious trip down Lewes river: we did it in two days to Lake La Barge.

This lovely sheet of water is five, and in some places ten, miles broad, and about thirty-five long. Our friends parted from us here, and we were left to pursue our travels alone. They could sail straight down the lake, their boats being good and not laden like ours. We dared not venture, as it was blowing stiffly, and there was some sea on.

We followed the coast closely, and were three days doing the journey.

When we left this—the last of the lakes—we found the Lewes had quickened its current to six miles an hour. It was extremely crooked, too, and filled with boulders, causing us much difficult and anxious work; but by means of ropes from shore, and careful poling, we made a safe and fairly rapid progress.

The hills came down, often, sheer to the water's edge, and were generally well timbered. We moved on, mostly at night—that is, when the sun was low: at other times it was too terribly hot, and we found it better to turn night into day.

About twenty-eight miles from Lake La Barge the Hootalinqua river enters from the east: it is as wide as the Lewes at the junction. Here we came in sight of several tents, with people about them. We were for passing unnoticed, for Jim and his wife were terribly afraid of Indians. However, we were hailed from the shore, and begged to land. They were miners, rough customers; but they treated us well, and were glad of the latest news from the outer world. They were Americans. They said they were finding "flour" gold on all the bars, and advised us to stay and prospect; but we made excuses and hurried on, giving our destination as Fort Cudahy. I believe these men thought we were Government officials, and not gold-seekers, for our equipment was so perfect, and the careless way in which we spoke of gold deceived them.

Cut clay banks, full of martins, were common along this river. We found first-rate camping places, and were never without fish and game, but rarely missed mosquitos for more than an hour or two in the early morning.

Thirty miles below the Hootalinqua the Big Salmon joins. We saw no one about here, though we had heard that its bars carry much gold. Salmon were crowding up its rather shallow mouth when we passed; we could have secured a boatful in an hour with a net.

We camped here and tried some of the soil for gold, as we had done at many of our stopping-places. More often than not we got the colour—that is, a few fine specks. In several spots we got so many that we felt sure it would some day pay to work, but Meade always smiled and said, "Don't bother; we'll get all we want directly."

From here the banks are high, of clay and gravel; the current is about five miles an hour. The country was well wooded; there were many birch trees. We had fifty-three miles to go from Little Salmon river, which took us two days only; then Five Fingers came in sight. We had little difficulty in running these rapids—Meade and I had become expert with oars and paddles. We rested for a few hours above them, on the western bank of the river, where he made a sketch, as he had done when any particularly interesting bit was noted and the mosquitos would give him a chance. Then, without discharging any cargo, with Jim at the steering sweep, we ventured forth, crossed to the right-hand shore, into the white water, and in a very few minutes had rushed through the passage, and were in quiet beyond, and the last serious obstruction had been overcome.

We ran on cheerily after this, and came to a bar of rocks they call Rink Rapids, which we passed without mishap. Below this the river widens considerably, and there are many islands, which became more numerous as we advanced: it was often difficult to tell which were the real shores. Past there the high hills came down abruptly to the water, the current was accelerated, and navigation, though not dangerous, needed constant care.

Fifty-five miles from Five Fingers the great Pelly river joins the Lewes, and the two become the Yukon. Here is old Fort Selkirk, a trading-post of some importance, and there they winter the steamer P. B. Weare, which navigates the Yukon between there and Fort St Michael. Several dwellings and a store were on the bank; half-a-dozen men were about and some women. We supposed they were prospectors, for they spoke of nothing but gold, which indeed was the one topic with every one. Indeed, Gold! Gold! Gold! was in everybody's mouth we met, though certainly they were not numerous.

One man here was very friendly, lavish with advice, telling us again and again about the good places he knew, and saying he only wished he was free to go—he would quickly make his pile and quit the country; at which the bystanders smiled, and winked at one another. One of them told us aside that it was well known that this man had already got better than a gold mine, and was making his fortune rapidly. All the goods he sold were exorbitant in price—which was, as they admitted, fair enough—and everything was paid for in gold dust, which he had to weigh himself. "'N you bet," as an old Yankee miner said with a grin,—"you bet he don't lose much every time he uses them scales o' his'n."

The furs he bought from the trappers and Indians at a very low price, which he paid in goods. Oh, yes; we readily understood he did not need, or really wish, to go gold-mining.

There was a large number of dogs about this place, principally mongrels, yet there were some pure Huskies—that is, Esquimaux dogs. One fine young one had been petted, which made the others jealous: they set upon him whenever they caught him outside alone, which made his owner believe they were bound to kill him, so he offered him to us and we accepted him. We named him Patch, after an old dog I knew in England: we fed him well, and he quickly became a most beautiful and faithful creature—one of the most intelligent dogs I ever knew.

Very little remains of Fort Selkirk now beyond the ruins of the chimneys. It was raided and burned by coast Indians in 1852.

Ninety-six miles on we passed the mouth of the White river, which is of great volume, coming into the Yukon with a roar. It is so called from a white substance it holds in solution, probably volcanic ash. Ten miles below this is the Stewart river, helping to swell the already mighty Yukon. It is deep and dark.

There were a few miners hereabouts. We did not land. They hailed us as we passed, calling out that there was plenty of gold if we would stay and tackle it. We replied that we were bound down river some distance, and one fellow shouted, "Bloomin' Yanks, no doubt!"

Seventy miles below Stewart river we came to another trading-post, and a sawmill actually—this was at Sixty-Mile Creek. We camped below it, as there were some Indians working at the mill, much to Jim's and Fan's horror. Meade and I walked back and purchased some boards to make sluice-boxes, and floated them down to our boat. There were a number of miners about: some spoke favourably of their doings, but most were downhearted, and all looked unhappy. We thought then, and believe it fully now, that mosquitos were the cause of most of it. Here we found to our great content that we had but fifty more miles to run down to the Klondyke. They called it the Thronduk though.

Asking if there was any gold there, we were told not any—that it had been examined well, and there was nothing there to pay. It was just a salmon river and nothing more, at which information Meade looked at me with eyebrows raised and a smile hovering about his mouth.

We heard, however, that twenty miles before reaching that river we should come to Indian Creek, which the year before had proved to be quite rich, though already "played out." But as we heard people were still at work on it, we had doubts about the truth of this. The fact is, gold-hunters are amongst the most easily excited and depressed of beings, and one can rarely depend on individual opinions.

We made the run to the mouth of the Klondyke in two days. Here and there were heaps of ice still on the shore and shallows, for it does not entirely disappear from the Yukon till well on in June.

Usually an Indian camp was there, as it is really famous for salmon. They come annually to fish it. Here, too, is Dawson City—described by Meade as a rough miners' camp of shacks and shanties only—chiefly saloons, drinking-bars, dance-houses, and gambling dens. There were only a few hundred people in it, storekeeping and trading with the miners, of whom there were always a number hanging about, spending their hard-earned gold. Our aim being to avoid all communication with the shore, we held back till midnight, when there was a certain gloom spread over the scene, and when most people would be asleep. We were fortunate enough to slip into the river without any notice being taken. There was no very strong current down the Klondyke, yet as we had to pull against it we moved slower: however, finding a sequestered nook a few miles up, we camped before it was what we called day. This stream is not wide. The water is very clear. It was a very beautiful scene, but truly we took no time to criticise our surroundings. We had all we could do to attend to our business, and fight mosquitos!

Naturally we were impatient to reach Meade's last year's camp unobserved, and to discover if his find had been unmolested by wandering prospectors. We had seen so few human beings about that we hoped for the best; yet, now that we were so near the end of our long journey, we were in a fever of excitement.

Meade and I realised what a mistake we had made in not bringing a light canoe with us, for he knew it would be impossible to get our heavy boat past the rough water at the mouth of the creek where he had found the gold. We could manage our packs, but we four could not convey that boat over the portage.

Besides, how were Jim and his wife to get home? We did not intend to keep them with us whilst we were mining. We firmly believed that they were both true and trustworthy, but they were simple, and it would be easy for them to be led to disclose where we were and what we were doing, so we had determined that they should go back as soon as they had helped us with our stuff on to the still water of Meade's creek.

To carry out our plans, then, we must have a canoe, so it was in the end arranged that I should march into Dawson and, if possible, buy one. It was a difficult tramp, but I managed it.

My arrival at the "City" attracted little notice: a number of men had lately come up by the boat from Fort St Michael—they supposed I was one of them. I announced that I was one of a party camped up stream, and wanted a canoe.

There was a variety on sale. I don't suppose those who said they owned them did so really—they had been brought there by people who had gone back and abandoned them; but anyway one was offered with a pair of paddles for one hundred dollars—a Peterborough canoe, therefore a good one. I purchased it, got a square meal, and then towards evening I paddled off, not heading up the Klondyke but across it, as if I were going to ascend the Yukon. I wished to put the people off my scent.

I need not attempt to describe what I saw at Dawson. It was rough, and the goings on were rougher. I was assured that there was very little actual crime—only gambling, drinking, and every description of dissipation. There were some women, strange specimens. I came across the wife of a storekeeper, however, who was very pleasant. She was an Englishwoman from Eastbourne. She spoke bitterly of everything there—climate, people, and mosquitos. She admitted that she and her husband were making money, and hoped that a year or two only of the awful life would have to be endured ere they could return to England.

Not having seen or spoken to a decent white woman since I left the steamship at Juneau, I confess it was pleasant to have a talk with this nice Englishwoman, and I am thankful that I made her acquaintance then, as subsequent events will demonstrate.

I did not get back to our camp till the following day, when we started again. We made no rapid progress—there were many shallow bars or ledges to cross; we got stuck more than once, until we put some of our cargo into the canoe and towed her. It took us four days, hard work too, to get up to the rapids at the mouth of what we called "The Creek."

On the way we passed the mouths of several creeks where a few miners were camped. They hailed us, but were so intent upon making use of every moment of the short summer that they really took small heed of us. However, for the last two days we had not seen a soul.

Meade knew the way perfectly. When we reached the rapids we unloaded everything, and carried all with the canoe up to calm water above. The boat we cached in a convenient crevice we found in a rocky bluff near at hand. Then loading all we possibly could into the canoe, my friend and I pushed up stream, paddling, as you may be sure, our very hardest, scarcely taking time to eat or sleep.

We left Jim and his wife in charge of the rest of the stores. We would not allow them to erect tent or tepee. They were to make themselves a wigwam of brush, and to cover all our stuff with bushes, for we did not wish to attract attention, you understand.

I told Jim he might try for gold whilst they were waiting for our return—that it would be good if he could take some back to the coast; and Fan, laughing merrily, said, "Plenty chickamin (gold) hyar, my will make pile hyar, my feel it in my tum-tum."

These Indians well understood what a pile meant, but their notion of its amount, and what to do with one when they had secured it, were very funny.

On the second night, after having come, as we thought, about forty miles, behold Meade and I hauling our canoe to shore and arrived at our journey's end. For some hours before my companion had been greatly excited. "See that stump?" he would cry. "Yes." "Well, I did that. I camped in there one day."

A little farther on he pointed to a bank covered with brush. "See that bare place there?" "Yes." "Well, I tried a pan of stuff there, and got a good show. I was half a mind to stay on and give it a good examination. I'm glad enough I did not."

From a considerable distance he declared he could see the dug-out which he had made, and where he had passed some weeks; and as we drew quite near he exclaimed with delight, "All's right. I don't believe a living thing has been here since I left last September. Hurrah!"

We had been forty-five days on the journey in. Considering all things, we had done well. It was now, we believed, the third day of July, but we were not certain. We had endeavoured to keep a log of our voyaging, but from there always being daylight now, and from the irregularity with which we had eaten and slept, we were not very sure even of the day of the week!