Alaska (96 page)

'How do they get the right to look?' Sana asked.

Now the Siberian became an expert: 'Me ask men . . . ”Me got to ask this man, that man . . . come on his land?”'

'What did they say?'

'They laugh. All free . . . every land free. You find, you keep.'

'Could that be true?' It was so alien to what Skjellerup had known in Norway, where land was a jealously protected commodity, that he found it difficult to believe.

But in reply, Arkikov ran to a tiny streamlet coming out of rocks and dipped his hand in, washing his palms back and forth as if they contained gravel. 'Every stream free ... to you, to him.'

Now Sana spoke in Norwegian: 'I heard a Canadian say the same about his country.

No one owns the land, millions of acres, so you can mine where you wish. The land doesn't become yours, but the gold does. If Arkikov finds gold tomorrow, it's his.

You, me, we can dig anywhere, if what they told me was true.'

When he translated this for Arkikov, the three men fell silent, for they were being called upon to make decisions of the gravest import. But there could hardly be three men more eligible to do so. Lars Skjellerup had run his deer to the very top of the world. Mikkel Sana had traveled across Lapland through some of the loneliest terrain on earth. And Arkikov had left his secure homeland in Siberia to trust his luck in Alaska, and had proved his fortitude on this impressive mercy run to Barrow. These were men of resolution, courage and good sense. They were also men jealous of their rights, as the Siberian had just proved in returning to a system of harnessing which he preferred. If one had searched a far territory, he could not have found three men more capable and appropriate than these to go on a prospecting tour. They knew nothing about mining but they knew themselves.

They were unmarried. Skjellerup was the oldest at thirty-four, Sana next at thirty-two, with Arkikov the baby at twenty-eight. In raw intelligence say in the ability to herd forty reindeer for eight months and wind up with fifty-seven, or to find true north when little was visible these men were superior. And of great importance, each man had all his teeth and the constitution of a bull. Mining in Alaska was invented for the benefit of such men.

'I think we should make a try,' said Skjellerup, and Arkikov, hearing these reassuring words, shouted: 'We go many rivers . . . find much gold!' And after that joyous but carefully pondered moment of decision, the three never looked back.

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In fact, when the delayed trip to the station resumed, Skjellerup looked dispassionately at the flying feet of his marvelous steeds who had performed so well, and thought: Who would believe it? I'm tired of reindeer.

THEIR SUCCESSFUL RESCUE TRIP TO BARROW OCCASIONED so much favorable publicity that both the Alaska government, such as it was, and the national were prepared to look into further uses of the reindeer, but Skjellerup could express no interest: 'It's time I moved on. Young Eskimos like Ootenai are more than capable.' When his superiors asked: 'What will you do?' he replied: 'I'll find something,' for he was not ready at this point to reveal that he was about to go prospecting.

Everyone who knew this capable man wanted to employ him, the most unusual proposal being that he become the Presbyterian missionary at Barrow. When he explained 'I'm a Lutheran,' they said: 'Doesn't matter. You're obviously a man of God.'

And he was, in his own way. He loved animals, he could work with anyone, and he revered the earth, which seemed to him a special gift from God. But he was also now at the age when he wanted to work at something which produced money: 'I've served Norway, Lapland, Siberia and Alaska. Now, by damn, I serve Lars Skjellerup.'

In this time of wild movement in Alaska, which had commenced explosively with the discovery of gold along the Yukon, passports and such impedimenta were not in much demand. Of course, both Skjellerup and Sana had documents but they were grossly out of date, and as for Arkikov, he had only his grin. He had been brought to America under unique circumstances and almost any week he could catch a boat back to Siberia, for travel between the two lands was still frequent, convenient and untrammeled.

So on a bright day in late July 1898 the three partners left the station and headed east, taking with them a sled and three Siberian reindeer. Since there was no snow, they allowed one of the deer to pull the empty sled, while their packs were slung across the backs of the other two. They made an interesting study as they set forth on their great adventure, with tall, angular Skjellerup in the rear, tough, lean Sana in the middle and stout, happy Arkikov in front, setting the pace and almost running to get to the first stream.

They were dressed differently too, the Norwegian having adopted the standard dark, heavy clothing of the American prospector, the Lapp retaining his colorful garb, and the

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Siberian choosing a mixture of the fur clothing used by all the northern peoples.

Their gear was modest but extremely practical and almost entirely handmade. Even the hammers had been given their handles by Arkikov and the sieves had been made by Mikkel Sana.

They started their prospecting by moving east, and at one small stream Arkikov panned enthusiastically, failed to notice the minute colors, and shouted to his companions: 'No gold this one,' so the men moved ťn. In this casual way they dismissed one of the richest streams in world history, but they should not be ridiculed for having bypassed a fortune, because during this restive summer many others would do the same.

After covering more than a hundred miles eastward, they found themselves in the midst of seventy or eighty other prospectors, and turned back to a spot on the map labeled Cape Nome, which would always be a curious place. There was a Cape Nome, and a Nome River, far apart and in no way connected. Later there would be a Nome City, miles removed from either of the first Nomes. When Skjellerup's team reached the cape, there was of course no town in the vicinity, only a handful of tents, but here they camped, finding nothing. Edging gingerly to the west, they returned to Nome River and again found only disappointment. At this point Arkikov, who fancied himself the expert miner in the trio, insisted that they hurry back to Council City and establish a claim, good or bad, but Skjellerup dissuaded him, and without much hope they and their reindeer wandered on to where the Snake River entered the sea.

It was probably the animals that accounted for the good fortune which was about to overtake them, because on a day in late September three agitated Swedish immigrants, who knew even less about mining than they, came in whispers to consult with Skjellerup in broken English: 'You Norwegian? Like they say?' When he replied in good Swedish that he was the man who had made the rescue run to Barrow, they sighed with deep relief and asked: 'Can you keep a secret?'

'Always have.'

'Are you willing to help us? If we count you in?'

'What's happening?'

Peering about to be sure no one from the tents along the shore was looking, the leader of the Swedes produced in the palm of his left hand a spent cartridge, and when he removed the protective wrapper and tilted the cartridge, a flow of golden dust and small pellets rolled out into the palm of his hand.

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'Is that gold?' Skjellerup asked, and the three Swedes nodded.

'Where from?'

'Sssshhhh! We found a creek. It runs with gold. It's unbelievable, really.'

'Why do you tell me?'

'We need your help.'

'To do what?'

Again the Swedes looked about: 'We found the creek, but we don't know what to do next.'

It was fortunate that they had come to Skjellerup, for he was the kind of man who knew a little about everything, but not the kind who was arrogant about any of it.

He knew, and that was enough.

'I think that within a certain time you have to hold a public meeting, because others have a right to know. Give them a chance to stake their claims. And you have to stake your discovery claim with great accuracy. Then you file some papers. And if you fail in any one of these, you lose everything.'

'That's what we feared.'

'Who else knows?'

'Nobody, but men have been sneaking around up there. Soon everyone will know.'

Lars Skjellerup was one of the ablest men on the gold fields that year, and now he proved it: 'I'll help, but I want the right to stake my claim, and tonight.'

'That's what we intended,' the Swedes said with an honesty that could not be questioned, except that Skjellerup did question it, thinking: That's what they say now, since I've asked. Wonder what they'd have said if I hadn't?

'And for my two partners. We're a team, you know.'

'Your name again? Skjellerup? Somebody warned us we can claim only one site each, two for me because I found it. The other claims have to go to somebody. Might as well be to you and your partners.'

One of the Swedes asked: 'And who are those partners?”When Skjellerup introduced the Lapp and the Siberian, the other Swedes muttered: 'Could be trouble. We're all foreigners.' It turned out that the leader and one other Swede were naturalized, but that did leave four foreigners among the first six claimants.

'I think the law is clear,' Skjellerup assured them. 'Anyone in good standing can file a claim. We'll soon find out.'

After a few casual inquiries, they learned that a mining district could be declared in a public meeting if six miners 586

were present and if knowledge of the strike was circulated, but none of these six knew the precise procedures and especially not the intricacies of filing a claim.

'We must trust one other person,' Skjellerup said. 'You choose.'

By the great good luck that sometimes watches over Swedes and other sensible people, the leader chose an older mining man, down on his luck but a veteran of many honorable battles. Up to now he had always reached the next auriferous area, as a gold field was technically called, six months late. Fate”was now about to knock on his door three days early.

John Loden, himself a Swede of some generations back, knew exactly what to do, and advised that it be done with dispatch: 'Announce the meeting. Publicize it. Have your claims in order. Then stand back as the stampede begins.'

The meeting was held in a tent at the spot where the Snake River emptied into the Bering Sea, and eleven selected men were present, word of promising developments having been quietly circulated. Loden chaired the session and asked repeatedly for assistance from the floor. Two of the prospectors knew more mining law than he, and it was merciful that they were present, because in the wild days to come, their testimony that everything had been done legally was going to be significant.

When the four newcomers heard the seriousness of the seven who were in on the secret, they became wildly excited: 'Where is the strike?' and 'Are there real colors?'

'In good time, gentlemen, in good time.'

When all details were in order, insofar as the members could determine, Loden turned to the major Swede and said: 'Tell them!'

'We have struck real colors, an important find, on Anvil Creek.'

'Where in hell's that?'

'Up where the big rock hangs over. Looks like an anvil.'

One of the listeners yelled, another cheered, and a third shouted: 'Jesus Christ, here we go!' The fourth man, more practical than the others, went to the door of the tent and fired his revolver three times in the air to alert everyone in the tents: 'Major strike! Anvil Creek!' and some forty wild-eyed miners rushed out into the October night to stake their claims under a harvest moon.

Five, Six and Seven Above

were staked by the Norwegian Skjellerup, the Lapp Sana and the Siberian Arkikov, and while men along the little stream cheered and fired guns and danced jigs together, Arkikov, in the moonlight, panned 587

the first sand from his claim. It left gold dust at the bottom worth seven dollars.

The three partners were going to be very rich.

THE SITUATION IN THE NEWBORN TOWN OF NOME WAS

technically much as it had been along the Klondike following that fabulous strike: gold had been found, but so late in the year that no ships could bring stampeders through the icebound Bering Sea. The big push would be delayed ten months; however, miners already in the region were free to rush in and stake claims, and this they did, so that a real town began to develop, with a narrow Front Street running along the bleak waterfront.

In July 1899, when the big ships began crowding in with prospectors, Nome quickly became the largest city in Alaska, with no less than eleven bars, each of which claimed to be 'the best saloon in Alaska,' so an enterprising newcomer opened a still bigger bar, naming it proudly 'Second Best Saloon in Alaska.' One of its noisy patrons was a braggart from Nevada called Horseface Kling, who boasted that he 'knew more about mining law than any son-of-a-bitch in Alaska,' and he was so self-assured that hangers-on began taking him seriously.

'No Russian has the right to come over here and claim on good American mining sites,'

he bellowed, and as soon as he saw that he was gaining support, he added: 'I'm gonna by damn 'propriate

Seven Above

which that Siberian is holdin' illegal.' When this appealing battle cry was cheered, he assembled an armed posse, marched to the creek, and took possession.

He apparently did know something about mining procedures, for as soon as he returned to town he gathered his gang about him, appointed a chairman, and convened a general miners' meeting on the spot, which enthusiastically authorized the takeover. 'You will all testify,' he said at the conclusion of the meeting, 'that everything was done legal.' And as his men shouted their approval, Seven Above was ripped out of Arkikov's hands and deposited in those of Horseface Kling.

The effect on Arkikov was staggering. He had come to Alaska under pressure of performing public service; he had behaved well here; he had participated in the famous mercy run to Barrow; and he had been instrumental in establishing and developing Anvil Creek, and now to have the rewards of his industry torn away was intolerable, and he began to haunt the saloons, asking: 'Can do this America?' and people told him: 'This ain't America, it's Alaska.'