Romancing the Klondike

by Donadlson-Yarmey, Joan;

Suddenly a boat floated into view from upstream. Sam recognized George Carmack, a white man who had married a native woman, his brother-in-law Skookum Jim, and Jim’s nephew Tagish Charley.

  “Where you going, boys?” Carmack asked. He took out a pike pole and steadied the boat in the flowing water.

  “We’ve just come from Ogilvie,” Sam answered, hope flaring up again. Maybe George knew something that would change Gordon and Donald’s minds. “Joe Ladue told us that Bob Henderson has found a good prospect on Gold Bottom Creek. We’ve decided to have a looksee. Do you know anything about it?”

  “We saw him a few days ago.”

  “What do you think of it?” Donald asked.

  Sam watched a sly grin spread across Carmack’s face.

  “I don’t like to be a knocker,” Carmack said. “But I don’t think much of it. Henderson has only found flour gold.”

  Sam’s hopes dropped at the news. He had not expected to hear an outright denial of gold. He had hoped for at least some encouragement to continue.

  “You don’t advise us to go up there?” Sam asked.

  “No.” Carmack was still grinning. “Because I’ve got something better for you.”

  Sam watched as Carmack waved his hands like a magician and pulled out a Winchester shotgun shell from his pocket. He made a production of holding the brass case in his left hand while he opened the wax-infused paper. With a smug look, he turned the shell upside down. Gold nuggets and coarse gold fell out.

  Sam stared in awe.

  “I just staked a claim on Rabbit Creek,” Carmack said.

  Sam wasn’t sure if he should believe him or not. Everyone knew that Carmack was prone to exaggeration, and the miners of Fortymile laughingly called him “Lying George.” But he did have some gold and he did tell them where he found it. Sharing the information of a new strike was part of the prospector’s code in the north to which most men subscribed. And why not? Each gold seeker could only file one claim on each creek or river, the exception being the discoverer who could stake the Discovery claim plus one more.

  Sam looked at Skookum Jim and Tagish Charley.

  “Charley and I staked claims, too,” Skookum Jim said.

  “Where is this Rabbit Creek?” Donald asked.

  Carmack gave them directions to where Rabbit Creek flowed into the Klondike and how far up the creek to go to his Discovery claim. “It is only about five, six hours from here.”

  With a laugh and a wave, Carmack, Jim, and Charley floated away down the river.

  Sam looked at his friends. Would this news be enough to make them stay?

  “Do you think we can really believe him?” Donald asked, his voice hopeful and skeptical at the same time.

  “He didn’t get his nickname ‘Lying George’ for telling the truth.” Gordon pointed out.

  “Yes, but that’s a lot of gold.”

  Sam could see Donald wavering. Maybe if he could convince him….

  “We know that Ladue explored the Klondike and Indian rivers years ago.” Gordon spoke like he was talking to a child. “He believed the Indian River country was ankle-deep in nuggets and there was nothing on the Klondike.”

  “The only thing we can do is go and check it out for ourselves,” Sam said. “We’re here already. If there is nothing on Rabbit Creek we can go to Fortymile.”

  “No!” Gordon slapped the water with his hand sending a spray over the raft. “That’s a totally dumb idea. We’re heading to Fortymile now.”

  “I’m not!” Sam glared at Gordon. “I’m tired of you objecting to everything. If you don’t want to come you can go to Fortymile on your own or wait for us here.” Sam kept his eyes on Gordon while praying that Donald would agree.

  “Us?” Gordon raised his eyebrows as he turned to look at Donald.

  “I think it’s worth a try,” Donald agreed glancing away from Gordon.

  The blond man looked around at the desolate banks. He sighed as if admitting defeat. “I’m not going to Fortymile on my own nor am I staying here alone.”

  “Then let’s get going,” Donald smiled. “We’re wasting time.”

  Sam tried not to let his happiness show. “Let’s tie the raft here and load our backpacks. We’ll make faster time.”

  They roped the tent and blankets to Sam’s back, hung the shovels and pans on Donald’s back, and put the frying pan and food in Gordon. Donald carried the axe in his hand.

  Chapter Four

  They made good time along the river, but they were getting tired. “Let’s stop for a rest and have something to eat,” Gordon said.

  “Good idea,” Sam agreed. Anything to keep Gordon happy until they had looked at the creek.

  They opened three cans of beans and gobbled them down. Gordon lit a cigarette, then they went back to poling up Rabbit Creek. The creek narrowed in places, the banks much the same as that of the Klondike. They watched for the Carmack landmarks along the way.

  It was early evening when Donald pointed. “That must be the crooked tree.”

  “Yes, and there is the curve.” Sam shouted. They were almost there. They’d soon find out if Lying George had lived up to his nickname, or if he’d been telling the truth and their trip up the creek had been worthwhile. “I see their camp on that flat and the gravel bar.”

  Excitement had Sam and David picking up their pace. They scrambled across the gravel to where Carmack and his Native kin had spent the past few days. They looked for the small spruce tree with its top chopped off.

  Gordon maintained his normal speed.

  “There it is,” Sam called.

  He and Donald hurried over to the five foot high, spruce stump. On the upstream side was an axe blaze on which Carmack had handwritten his claim marker: To Whom It May Concern; I do this day locate and claim by right of discovery, five hundred feet, running upstream from this notice. Located this 17 day of August, 1896. G.W. Carmack.

  They also found a piece of birch bark attached to the post with willow twigs. On it Carmack had printed: I name this creek, Bonanza. George Carmack.

  At the base of the stump were Carmack’s shovel and gold pan, just as he had told them.

  “We made it.” Donald’s eyes gleamed. “Let’s check for the gold that is supposed to be here.”

  Gordon finally caught up with them and they undid the ropes around their bellies and let everything fall to the ground.

  Sam and Donald grabbed their gold pans and shovels and went to separate areas on Carmack’s claim. Gordon stood with his hands on his hips and watched.

  Sam and Donald each dug a shovelful of gravel and dumped it into their pans. They dipped the edges in the creek to scoop up water then shook the pans to settle the gold to the bottom. The movement of swishing the water around agitated the larger stones and they dumped them over the edge. They kept this up until a layer of coarse gold covered the bottom of the pan.

  “I’d guess there’s about a quarter ounce in my pan.” Sam tried to keep his voice calm as he walked over to Donald. “What did you find?”

  “About the same.”

  “That’s half an ounce in just a few minutes.” Sam couldn’t believe his own eyes.

  “We just made eight dollars.” He looked at the others. Donald’s mouth gaped and even Gordon’s face registered disbelief. The most they had ever found was five cents worth of gold in a pan and they had heard of others who had made eight to ten cents per pan.

  They slowly grinned at each other. Then with a loud whoop, they jumped up and down and slapped each other on the back.

  “We did it!”

  “We’re going to be rich!”

  “Thank you, Lying George!”

  By this time it was almost dark. They set up camp and fried up bacon and rehydrated potatoes for their supper. Then they sat around their fire late into the night discussing staking their own claims the next day and what they were going to do with their new found wealth.

  “If indeed, we are going to be wealthy,” Gordon said, his mood taking a down turn.
“This could be just like one of the many times prospectors found gold on the surface that didn’t equate to finding the motherlode beneath.”

  Sam didn’t know how to answer that. It was true but he didn’t want them thinking that way. He didn’t want them leaving.

  “This is going to be different,” Sam boasted. “This is the big strike we’ve been waiting for.”

  “I’ll give it until the last boat in September,” Gordon growled.

  * * *

  Pearl and Emma enjoyed their last breakfast of scones and jam on the boat. They would be arriving in Fortymile that afternoon.

  “It seemed like its taken us such a long time, but now that we’re almost here, I can hardly wait.” Pearl danced with eagerness to get off the boat and see the town.

  “Yes, sometimes I thought it would never end,” Emma sighed. “To think I’ll probably be making the long trip back in a month.”

  When they finished eating they returned to their room and stripped their sheets and blankets off the beds. They folded and placed their bedding in their trunks, then took their clothes out of the closet and did the same. When they had the two large trunks packed, they dragged them out into the hallway for the crew to carry up to the deck. They had done each other’s hair and Emma wore a lavender trumpet shaped skirt that fit closely over her hips, flared out just above the knee, then hung to the floor. She’d chosen a lighter shade of lavender for her blouse. Gathered front and back with leg o’mutton sleeves the outfit accentuated her tiny frame.

  Pearl chose a light yellow, rainy daisy skirt. Before leaving on this trip, she’d had a seamstress raise the hem six inches off the ground. She had read that this was a way of making a bold statement of independence on the part of women. Her shirtwaist with its puffy sleeves matched the colour of the skirt, and her matching yellow Cromwell shoes with their high tabbed front and gold buckles completed her ensemble.

  She and Emma waited on deck with the other passengers when the sternwheeler finally docked at Fortymile. The settlement had been built on the high bank where the Fortymile River flowed into the Yukon.

  In one of his letters, Sam had written that this was where he and his friends had a cabin and where they spent their winters, so Pearl had thought this would be a good place to meet him. She had sent a letter to him in the spring letting him know she and Emma would be arriving in August.

  Pearl scanned the faces of the men and women waiting on the shore. Some of the men had moustaches or beards, so it was hard to say if one of them was Sam. She was having a tough time remembering what he looked like. She did know that he had been clean-shaven and on the heavy side the last time she saw him six years ago when she was thirteen.

  “Do you see Sam?” Pearl asked Emma.

  Emma shook her head. “It’s hard to believe but I’m not sure if I would recognize him or his friends after all these years.”

  “I was thinking the same thing,” Pearl admitted. “Maybe he will recognize us.”

  They walked along the deck and down the gangplank, avoiding the crew who had started to unload the supplies. Their found their trunks piled along with the luggage of the other passengers on the bank. They went and stood beside them. They should be easy for Sam to spot.

  The other passengers slowly dispersed with their luggage until only Pearl and Emma remained sitting on their trunks. They continued to look around hoping that Sam would come running up to them apologizing for being late. But he didn’t.

  Finally, a woman in her twenties tentatively approached them. She was buxom and robust and dressed in a plain cotton dress. She had a friendly smile on her face. “My name is Mrs. Berry,” she said. “I don’t mean to bother you but are you waiting for someone to meet you?”

  Pearl looked at Emma with relief. “We are expecting my cousin, Sam Owens,” she said. “We are both Misses Owens.”

  “Oh.” Mrs. Berry’s face fell. “He and his friends left here a few days ago on their way to Ogilvie. Was he expecting you?”

  Pearl felt a twinge of fear. “I sent him a letter this spring telling him we were coming.”

  “Ah, that explains it. The mail service here is not very reliable. The letter may have arrived with you on this boat.”

  Pearl and Emma looked at each other in dismay. “Now what are we going to do?” Emma asked, her voice rising.

  “They didn’t expect to be gone long,” Mrs. Berry said. “They might even be back this evening. In the meantime, you must be hungry and thirsty. Would you like to accompany me to a restaurant?”

  “Oh, yes,” Emma said. “I am quite hungry.”

  “What about our trunks?”

  “They will be fine here.”

  Pearl and Emma followed Mrs. Berry down the street to a log building that housed a hotel and restaurant.

  “I’m assuming you have come from Nova Scotia.” Mrs. Berry opened the conversation after they had ordered tea and a meal.

  “Yes and we’ve had a wonderful trip so far,” Pearl replied with a wide smile.

  “So why have you ladies come north?”

  Their waitress came with a tea pot and cups, and Mrs. Berry poured for them.

  “I’m here to work on some articles and illustrations for our local newspaper and hopefully for some magazines,” Pearl said, taking a sip of her tea.

  “And I came along to keep her company,” Emma chimed in. “However, she is staying the winter whereas I probably will be leaving in September.”

  The waitress returned with plates of meat, potatoes, and buns.

  Pearl looked at the slab of meat on her plate. “What meat is this?” She asked Mrs. Berry.

  “It’s moose. You’ll find it unusual.”

  Peal had never eaten wild meat before. She cut off a piece and put it in her mouth seeing that Emma was doing the same. She raised her eyebrows at her cousin as she chewed.

  “It sure has a strong taste.” Emma’s lip curled.

  “Yes,” Pearl agreed. “I don’t think I like it.” She picked at her potatoes.

  “It is an acquired taste,” Mrs. Berry cut another piece for herself. “I didn’t care for it at first either, but there isn’t much else to choose from and it grows on you.”

  Emma took a bite of her bun. An unpleasant look appeared on her face. “What is this, Mrs. Berry?” she asked, holding up the bun.

  “It’s called sourdough.”

  “It sure lives up to its name,” Emma grimaced. “It’s sour and bitter.”

  Pearl took a small bit off her bun and put it in her mouth. Emma’s description was right. It was awful. “What’s it made of?”

  “There isn’t any yeast here so most prospectors keep a tin of fermented dough in their cabins. It is used to make their bread, biscuits, and flapjacks.”

  I just might lose a little weight, Pearl thought, looking at the plate of food.

  “What type of articles are you going to write?” Mrs. Berry asked.

  “My first two are about the men and women who live here,” Pearl said. “I talked with a Mrs. Wills and Miss Foley while we were stopped in Circle City.”

  “I’ve heard of them but haven’t met them, yet,” Mrs. Berry said. “Eventually, I hope to know everyone.”

  “Do you mind if I ask you some questions, Mrs. Berry?” Pearl didn’t have her notebook with her but she didn’t want to miss this opportunity. Besides, she needed something to take her mind off the fact that no one had met them at the boat and they had to figure out where they were going to stay for the night.

  “There’s nothing extraordinary about my life. No one will want to read about it.”

  “My publisher seems to think people will. He agreed for me to come here and even advanced me some money to pay for my expenses.”

  “Okay, but on one condition, Miss Owens.”

  “What’s that?”

  “That we get rid of the Victorian propriety of calling each other Mrs. or Miss. I want the three of us to be friends and as far as I’m concerned friends call each other by their f
irst names.”

  Pearl liked this cheerful woman. “Sounds fine with me. My first name is Pearl.”

  “Mine is Emma.”

  “And I’m Ethel.”

  “Tell me how you came to be here, Ethel,” Pearl said.

  “Clarence Berry, my husband, comes from a poor family in the Selma, California area and my family isn’t much better off. In 1894, he heard there was gold in the north and he decided to go. He didn’t have the money so his father sold forty acres and his friends lent him money to pay for his passage.

  He asked me to marry him the night before he left. I said yes and agreed to wait until he came back. He took a steamer from Seattle to Skagway and crossed the Chilkoot Trail then floated down the Yukon River stopping here at Fortymile. There had been a gold strike here in 1886 and it was one of the largest settlements on the Canadian side of the border.”

  “There seems to have been a lot of strikes over the years,” Pearl commented, remembering some of the history Sam had written about in his letters.

  “Yes. Hundreds of thousands of dollars have been taken from the rivers like the Fortymile, the Sixtymile, and the Stewart, but everyone says the big one is still to be found.”

  “Yes, I have heard that.” Pearl hesitated. “Before we continue with your story, do you know how Fortymile and Sixtymile got their names?”

  “Fort Reliance was the first post along the Yukon River established by Jack McQuesten and a couple of partners in 1874. Subsequent posts were set at the mouths of rivers that emptied into the Yukon and the partners named them by the distance from the fort. Twelvemile and Fortymile are that distance downstream from Fort Reliance. Sixtymile is sixty miles upstream.”

  “Makes sense once you hear it.” Pearl smiled. “Did Mr. Berry find gold on his first trip?”

  “He staked a claim but, unfortunately, did not find enough to live on. He had to take a job as a bartender at a saloon here in order to make money over the winter. But he got gold fever during his year here. He returned to Selma in 1895 and we married in March of this year. We left California for Skagway in Alaska and hiked over the Chilkoot Trail.” Ethel paused, a faraway look in her eye.