Romancing the Klondike

by Donadlson-Yarmey, Joan;

  “Pleased to meet you, I’m Pearl.”

  Clara appeared to be a couple of years older than Pearl. Her shirtwaist and ankle length skirt tagged her as a modern woman. “Have you been here long?” Pearl asked.

  “One year. I came here to visit my brother who is prospecting. There was a need for someone to mend the men’s clothing and to sew new shirts and pants. I stayed on.”

  Pearl asked Clara several of the same questions she’d asked Hattie Wills. Clara explained that she and her brother shared a cabin. He had a claim eighty miles north of Circle City. She had been there once but preferred to live in the city. She liked Circle City and planned to stay for a while longer.

  “How many people live here?” Pearl asked.

  “It varies from around seven hundred when the men head to their gold claims to twelve hundred when they return.”

  “I didn’t know there were that many people in the north let alone in one town. How long has the town been here?”

  “Jack McQuesten and his wife Katherine set up a trading post here two years ago. He named it Circle City because he thought it was close to the Arctic Circle. It’s actually about fifty miles south.”

  “It’s grown this big in only two years?” Pearl couldn’t hide her surprise.

  “Yes, it’s the largest log cabin town in the North Country.”

  “There seems to be an active social life here. We saw theatres, dance halls, even an opera house.”

  “There’s certainly a lot to keep everyone occupied. A small theatre troupe came here this summer to put on a production of a play written by one of them. It was a comedy and was actually very funny. They said they would return next summer. And, of course, the girls in the dance halls put on quite a show. Some of the miners produce a pageant at Christmas.” She stopped and shook her head. “It’s amazing the education some of these men have.”

  “This place doesn’t sound much different from any city in the south,” Emma said.

  “It’s just smaller, is all. Jack McQuesten keeps saying that at the rate it’s growing it’s going to be bigger than Juneau in a few years.”

  “It sounds like I need to talk with Mr. McQuesten.” Pearl put her pencil in her bag “Nice meeting you, Clara.”

  Pearl and Emma returned to the trading post, where a younger man at the counter was talking with Jack McQuesten. The women wandered the shelves but couldn’t help overhearing the conversation.

  “How much do I owe you, Jack?” the man asked.

  McQuesten pulled a ledger from under the counter. He thumbed through the pages then ran his finger down a column. “Six hundred fifty dollars.” The old man’s voice was a quiet rumble.

  “Geeze Jack, I’ve only got four hundred. I can’t pay you six fifty from four.”

  “That’s fine. Just give me your four and I’ll let the rest go until you do your next clean-up.”

  “But I need more grub.”

  “I’ll let you have it like always and we’ll settle up later.”

  “But, what about my spree?”

  “Well, you can’t return to your claim without having a spree.” Jack laughed. “Come back here when you are finished and we’ll carry on with our discussion.”

  “Thanks, Jack.” The man left the store.

  Pearl went up to the counter. “Mr. McQuesten, my name is Miss Pearl Owens and this is my cousin Miss Emma Owens. We’re from Halifax, Nova Scotia, and I’ve come to the north to write newspaper articles for our city’s newspaper.”

  “Articles about what?”

  “About the life here and about the men and women who live it. May I ask you some questions?”

  “What type of questions?”

  “Just about life in general in Circle City.”

  “Not much to tell, but ask away.”

  “I couldn’t help overhearing your conversation with that other man. I’m curious, what is a spree?”

  Jack laughed. “Well, gold prospectors usually work alone or with a buddy and they are in the bush for months at a time without seeing anyone else. When they get to town with their gold they need to let off a little steam so they go to the saloons and treat the house to drinks and cigars.”

  “So, he’ll be back tomorrow to pay you.”

  Jack shook his head. “Not likely. His spree will probably last until his gold is gone then he’ll be back here wanting his next grubstake on credit.”

  “And you’ll give it to him?”

  “Yes. He’ll pay me back. All the men do.”

  “How long have you been in the north?” Pearl asked.

  “I came here in 1873 when I was thirty-seven-years-old.”

  “And you own a number of stores like this along the Yukon River?”

  “A few, with my partners.” Jack nodded.

  Pearl stopped. She hadn’t been in the north long enough to know what questions to ask. Maybe turn the conversation over to him.

  “Can you tell me something about yourself?”

  “Well….” Jack did some thinking. “I’ve been married to my Athabascan wife, Satejdenalno since 1878 and we have eleven children. I call her Katherine because I have a hard time pronouncing her real name. She speaks her native Koyukon language as well as English and Russian. She helps me and my partners with our businesses and with communicating with the local natives.”

  The whistle of the boat sounded. It was time to board.

  “Thank you for your help,” Pearl said.

  Jack McQuesten nodded and went back to sorting the new supplies that had arrived.

  Chapter Three

  Even though it was hard work, Sam enjoyed poling the raft up the Yukon River. The sun shone brightly in a blue sky, clear of all cloud. The summer had been hotter than usual and the water level was lower. This made poling a bit easier because the current ran slower than during the spring melt with the run off that usually happened in June.

  Sam poled on one side of the raft and Gordon on the other. Donald had taken a rest turn. By spelling each other off, none of them played out. The raft was light, as they had only brought along a tent, blankets, an axe, a frying pan, and some food in a backpack for their visit to Joe Ladue at Ogilvie. Of course, they had their gold pans and shovels. Prospectors didn’t go anywhere without their pans. One of the unspoken laws was that a miner never passed up the opportunity to check gravel. You never knew where the gold was hiding.

  Sam and Gordon poled in rhythm. They used their strength to push the end of the pole down into the riverbed and propel the raft forward then quickly pulled their poles out of the water hand over hand and plunged them in again to repeat the process.

  All three wore wide-brimmed, soft felt hats to protect them from the sun. Gordon was the tallest of the three with Sam and Donald being about the same height of five foot ten inches. Under his hat, Gordon had blond hair, light blue eyes, and a long face. Sam had brown hair and blue eyes while Sam had dark hair and brown eyes. Donald, the handsomest of the three, had a strong jaw and chin, with piercing blue eyes and a ready smile.

  Sam was the only one who sported a beard. He had noticed that most of the miners had pale upper faces and tanned lower faces where the hat didn’t shade. So he decided a beard would protect his chin and cheeks from the sun and keep his face warmer in the winter. Of course, his breathing caused icicles in his beard.

  Sam watched the changing scenery as they poled along the river. The passed between high cliffs that varied in color from gray to brown to beige and through green-covered bush and trees that stretched away from the river on each side. Occasionally, they could see mountains in the distance. He especially loved being on the river in the autumn when the leaves turned yellow and orange

  The realization that this life he had enjoyed for five years might soon be ending brought sadness to Sam’s thoughts. The three of them had gone through school together and when they graduated, instead of going on to university or getting a job, they had, at his suggestion, decided to take a gamble and go prospecting for gold.
r />   Once Gordon and possibly Donald left, he would have no one to share the beauty of this land with, no one to share the excitement of looking for gold. Sure they had acquaintances in the north but many of the men were loners and those who weren’t had come with their own friends.

  “Let’s stop for lunch on that gravel bar.” Gordon said, bringing Sam out of his reverie.

  “Okay.” Sam pushed on his pole to direct the raft towards the shore.

  They pulled the raft up on land and Donald gathered some dry wood for a fire. Gordon rummaged through their groceries and brought out the cast iron frying pan, some bacon, and a loaf of sourdough bread.

  Sam pulled out his round metal pan and went to the river’s edge. He shovelled some gravel into it and dipped it in the water. He shook the pan hoping any gold would settle to the bottom. After swishing the water around in his pan, he tilted it to let the larger stones fall out. He dipped it, swished again, and tilted, continuing until only some fine sand lay on the bottom. His movements slowed and he dipped, swished, and tilted until even the sand was gone. There was no gold left over. Damn. He was getting desperate to find something that would convince Gordon and Donald to stay for another year. He threw the pan and shovel back on the raft and went to eat.

  Donald had the fire going and the mosquitoes had already found them, so Sam pulled a couple of branches with leaves off a tree and set them on the fire. The leaves were too green to burn but they sent up clouds of smoke, making a smudge to keep the mosquitoes away. Gordon and Donald had taken off their shirts and the muscles underneath their tanned skin rippled in the sunlight.

  Sam also removed his shirt. He looked down at his muscular body, still surprised at how much it had changed since he left school. He’d been a pudgy boy compared to most of the other boys, and even though he’d tried sports, he’d never been good at any of them. That was why it had been his idea to leave home after school. He’d been looking for a place where he felt he belonged. And he had found it in the north.

  Sam liked the feel of the sun on his body and he liked being with his friends.

  Once they’d eaten, Gordon lit a cigarette and the three of them rested against the trunks of trees. This was so relaxing with the sun shining and the water flowing slowly by. None of them spoke. Sam glanced at Gordon wondering if he had any regrets about his decision to leave the north.

  The hovering mosquitoes took advantage of them being out of the range of the smudge and began to bite.

  “Time to go,” Gordon stood up and stubbed out his cigarette.

  He grabbed the frying pan and took it to the water where he scrubbed it with sand to get the bacon grease out. Sam put out the fire and they packed up their things onto the raft. They pushed out until the water threatened to seep over the tops of their rubber boots then carefully each man stepped on. It was Sam’s turn to rest, so he sat and watched the scenery.

  It took a lot of energy to pole upriver, so it took them a few days to reach the post of Ogilvie, which was on an island. When they pulled their raft on shore, they entered a two-storey log building with a lean-to attached to one side. Joe stood behind the counter. He looked up and smiled when he saw them.

  Sam had learned that every person who lived in the north had a story. Joe, a French Huguenot, had told his many times, but Sam never tired of listening.

  The Frenchman had been born in 1855, of French Canadian parents, in Schuyler Falls, New York, and he spoke both French and English. His mother died when he was seven, and his father in 1874 when he was 19. With both parents gone, Joe decided to head west.

  He worked in a gold mine in Deadwood, South Dakota, prospected in Arizona and New Mexico, and in 1882 he was one of the first to cross the Chilkoot Trail to the Yukon River. He looked for gold and when he didn’t make money at it he tried farming. He gave that up when frost killed his cabbage and barley. Finally, he turned to trading and was more successful.

  In 1894, Joe and his partner, Arthur Harper, established a trading post on a large island near the mouth of Sixtymile River. They named the place Ogilvie, in honour of Canadian surveyor William Ogilvie, who had surveyed the boundary between the Northwest Territories and Alaska. Joe also built a sawmill and sold lumber for sluice boxes.

  Joe came around the end of the counter and shook their hands. He was a stocky, well-muscled man with brown hair and a wide moustache.

  “How was your trip Outside?” Sam asked. “Is Miss Mason still waiting for you?”

  “She sure is,” Joe grinned. “And she is getting prettier and prettier every year.”

  Everyone in the north knew that years ago Joe had asked a woman named Anna Mason in Schuyler to be his wife, but her wealthy parents refused to let them marry because they considered Joe a penniless drifter. His one dream in life was to go back to her parent’s house, plunk a sack full of gold on their kitchen table, and ask them if he was now worthy to marry their daughter. No one knew for sure how long Anna had been faithfully waiting for him to arrive with that sack of gold.

  “So what brings you boys here?” Joe asked. He gestured for them to sit at the one table in the large, stocked room.

  Sam and Donald glanced at Gordon as they pulled out chairs and sat. This was his visit. Joe looked at him also.

  “I’ve decided I’m leaving the north,” Gordon said, forcefully.

  Joe looked startled. “When?” he asked.

  “Maybe the next boat out or the last one in September for sure.”

  “Why are you leaving?”

  “It just feels like the right time. I haven’t found enough gold to make it worth my while to stay any longer.”

  “But the gold is here.”

  Sam smiled to himself. As long as they had known him, Joe had been obsessed with finding gold. As soon as someone told him they had found a trace of colour in their pan he would broadcast the news to everyone he saw about the finding of a possible new Eldorado. And it didn’t seem to bother him when the gold wasn’t found. He was a cheerful, enthusiastic optimist.

  “I’m tired of listening to those stories,” Gordon said, irritably. “I’m leaving.”

  “This time it’s true, though,” Joe persisted. “Bob Henderson has discovered gold on a small creek he’s named Gold Bottom.”

  Bob Henderson was a long time prospector. Sam knew he wasn’t likely to make up a story about finding gold.

  “Where is that?” Sam asked. He could feel his heart beating faster and his stomach clenching, his usual reaction to hearing that someone had made a discovery in a sizable enough amount to make it worth mentioning.

  “It’s up the Klondike River and over a mountain.”

  Sam looked at Donald and Gordon. He was ready to get back on their raft and head to the Klondike River. Neither of the other man seemed impressed.

  “Here we go again,” Gordon scoffed. “We’ve been hearing that ever since we arrived and what do we have to show for it? Absolutely nothing.”

  “Plus, once we’ve floated down the Yukon we have to go upstream on the Klondike, then inland and over mountains,” Donald said. “That’s too much work for nothing.”

  “This could be the big one.” Sam looked hopefully from one to the other.

  “There is going to be a big strike sooner or later,” Joe Ladue added. “And then everyone here will be rich.”

  “Aw, you’ve been saying that ever since we met you,” Donald said. “So far it hasn’t happened.”

  “Doesn’t mean it’s not going to,” Ladue smiled. “You just have to think positive.”

  “I’ve lost my positivity,” Donald said, hanging his head.

  “Well, I haven’t,” Sam said. “Come on guys, let’s try one more time and if it doesn’t pay off then I’ll catch the last boat out with you.”

  They both stared at him.

  “I know I’ve argued for us to stay and that’s because I love the life we have here. But I’m smart enough to realize that without you two here it wouldn’t be the same.”

  “Okay, I’m in
,” Donald sighed.

  Gordon glared at him. Sam held his breath, hoping his ruse would work.

  “All right,” Gordon grumbled. “But we’d better find something worthwhile.”

  Sam let out a whoop. “We’ll need some bacon, flour, and dried potatoes,” he said to Joe, grinning like a Cheshire cat.

  * * *

  Sam slogged along with Gordon and Donald through the knee-deep mud of the Klondike River shoreline. His hands kept slipping off the towline attached to the laden raft and he struggled to get a better grip. The sun beamed down on them and their sweat attracted mosquitoes. Rubbing mud on their arms and faces hardly stopped the little pests from sucking blood. The scenery changed slowly from trees growing right up to the water, to the bank rising above the river. These banks made it impossible to walk on dry land and pull the raft. They took advantage of the occasional gravel bar they came upon by walking across them or even resting. Sam was tired and wet and knew the others were also.

  “Damned, I don’t know why I listened to you,” Gordon growled. “I’m hungry, sun burned, and covered in mosquito bites.”

  “Yes,” Donald griped. “This is the last time I let you talk me into anything.”

  “It will pay off.” Sam tried to sound enthusiastic.

  “Like hell it will.” Gordon stopped. “This is stupid. We’re going to be just as disappointed at the end of this search as we’ve been in the past. I’m going back to Fortymile.”

  “But you can’t,” Sam held up his hands. He wanted, needed, Gordon to stay. “We owe Joe for these supplies.”

  “And we’ll owe him for them after we get to Gold Bottom Creek, too.”

  “What about you?” Sam asked Donald, afraid of the answer.

  “We’ve heard these stories too many times,” Donald agreed with Gordon. “And too many times we’ve been disappointed. I think it’s time to admit defeat.”

  “Good man,” Gordon voice sounded happier than it had in a long time. “Let’s go and enjoy a drink at the saloon while waiting for the steamer to take us home.”