\ 
Colin; then the ffien who crossed from the Stikeeii, Mc- 
Mjllaii and PickeLt; then ]\fcNealey. and lastly Mr. R. 11. 
Doud, ol Booue, la., whom we met on Lake Labarge. 
The last four men are in a class by themselves. Doud 
had started from Bennett with, a party of fifty, and the 
deflection of these man had in no way affected his seren- 
ity of mind or altered his purpose. If I am not very 
m.uch mistaken, all four of these men had in them the 
stufl: from which the highest type of heroes is made. 
They were one-idea men, and personal suffering and dan- 
ger did not weigh in the balance with the end they had set 
out to accomplish. The average man quails at the thought 
of starvation as he would from the terrors of the Spanish 
Inquisition, and it is only here and there that men can 
be found who are ready to meet dangers singly. Doud, 
like McNealey, was an old man. Both were quiet men, 
shrewd, but generous hearted, and as I think of them 
now, they suggest such types as Cooper's spy or Sydney 
Carton in Dickens' 'Tale of Two Cities." 
Atonement by Proxy. 
The high wind of the preceding two da3^s had been fol- 
lowed by a breathless calm the evening we approached 
Tagish Post. The black firs stood in motionless ranks 
behind the white parapet at the water's edge, and above 
the stars twinkled in a perfectly cloudless dome of regal 
purple. Far off in the darkness we heard the crisp me- 
tallic tread of some one approaching, walking rapidly 
with the rhythm of Kipling's "And for one the creak of 
snowshoes on the crust." The man proved to be a 
Tagish Indian, a member of a small but interesting tribe 
who form the connecting link between the coast Indians 
and those of the interior. Some fellow tribesmen of his 
were recently executed in Dawson for the murder of a 
prospector on the McClintock, no great distance "from 
Marsh Lake. Their ideas on the subject of retribution, as 
brought out at the trial, were of a primitive kind. Sev- 
eral years before some white men had killed a relative of 
one of the Indians, and it seemed only natural for them 
to square the score when they got an opportunity to kill 
a white man without particular danger to themselves. 
Three Indians were convicted of the crime and two sen- 
tenced to the death penalt3^ The third, a boy. was let off 
with a term of imprisonment. The ringleader of the af- 
fair was a smart, intelligent Indian, but he failed to com- 
prehend the equity of the sentence. 
"Me kill one white man,/you kill one Indian," he said. 
"You kill boy. Him no good." 
From the Indian standpoint this was a fair proposition, 
and no doubt the boy would have thought it all right that 
he should suffer, a propitiating sacrifice for the others, 
but the authorities at Dawson only smiled and the Indian 
was told that the boy instead of being killed was to be 
released after a term of imprisonment. The man looked 
across at the lad. who was standing near by, and, grin- 
ning, remarked, "Him no live six months," whereupon 
the boy was visibly affected, though he had heard stol- 
idly the proposal that he should be killed instead of the 
older Indians. 
The Indians' reasoning seems childish and ridiculous, 
but it only proves that all mankind are the victims of 
custom. We submit to many obhgations that are only 
less onerous in degree than giving up our lives as atone- 
ment by proxy. The other day a farmer said to me: 
"I don't know whether you know it or not, but the 
minute you take cows off an old dry pasture and put them 
on your meadows they get unruly and make no end of 
trouble breaking fences. 
"I think any one can learn sense by studying human 
nature in cows," he added. "They are contented with a 
little, but when you give them the very best they get 
swelled heads and want to roam all oyer creation." 
Human nature as exhibited by Indians is a trifle more 
complex, but it helps us learn sense just the same. 
Frozen Beans and Frozen Noses. 
At Tagish we fell in with McBetli, the dog driver- and 
Canadian Government mail carrier, who volunteered to 
give us a lift to Bennett with his team. We also met an 
acquaintance of the previous fall, Mr. Curtis, who asked 
permission to join us for the ti-ip out. Curtis had a way 
of preparing beans for winter expeditions that com- 
mended itself. He would boil a large quantity of beans 
and then freeze them in square chunks of a size sufficient 
for a meal. These were packed in a sack for convenience 
in carrying, and in camp all that was necessary was to 
thaw the portions out in the frying pan with a little 
water, a very few minutes' time sufficing to put the beans 
in condition for eating. 
Curtis and Mac and I left the post early the following 
morning in advance of the dog teams. Mac and I felt 
like men relieved from burdens and we seemed to walk 
on the toes of our moccasins and not in the old flat- 
footed way that we had dragged our sleds for nearly four 
hundred miles. My nose had been slightly chapped by 
the wind on Marsh Lake, and just before starting I 
rubbed it with a little Cuticura salve. By and by Curtis 
noticed this and he stopped and impressively picked up a 
handful of snow. 
"What's the matter?" I asked. 
"Your nose is frozen," he replied. "Don't be alarmed. 
I can restore the circulation in a minute." 
I dodged the handful of snow and explained the mat- 
ter, feeling my nose meanwhile to assure myself that there 
were no hard spots. 
All three of us had stopped and were facing each other, 
and the circumstance revealed the somewhat singular fact 
that both Curtis' nose and Mac's were actually frozen. 
When I told Curtis the fact, he thought at first I was 
joking, but soon both he and Mac were vigorously rub- 
bing the imperiled members with snow^ and by degrees 
a rosy tinge returned, and finally a few drops of blood 
welled to the surface of the abraided skin. 
Not till then could they feel any sensation in their 
noses, and they were glad to be informed that the rubbing 
had gone far enough. 
We traveled that day until about 2 o'clock, and then 
pulled up and had dinner and went into camp for the 
night. The following afternoon we reached the settle- 
ment of Bennett, and we felt once more in touch with 
the outer vyorld. It requires a course of training to follow 
a dog team. The pace is a constant jog trot, and a single 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
day of it makes a man avIio h unused to this kind of travel 
very sore and stiff. 
Approaching Cbilcoot. 
At Lake Bennett the sled was left behind, and with our 
few remaining belongings in packs, strapped to our 
backs, Mac and I set out on the final stage of our journey 
to salt water. Feb. 3 was a beautiful light morning at 
Lake Bennett, but the coldest day of the winter, as 
recorded by the police post thermometer. We could learn 
nothing of the condition of the pass, and felt a little un- 
easy about crossing on account of the low temperature. 
As we crossed the carry between Bennett and Linde- 
mann we noted that a great deal of the scanty timber 
along the trail had been cut, and was being collected at 
various points for purposes of speculation. This meant 
real hardship for the poorer class of miners who were 
making their way to this point with a view of camping 
here till the river opened. One man told us that he had 
to go a long distance to get his fuel, and soon would be 
unable to get any at the rate it was being cut. With 
economy the trunks, roots and branches of one tree 
lasted him a day. The wood is mostly jack pine, which 
does not last long in a stove. 
As we trudged along we thought of the fate oi the first 
white man who tried to cross Chilcoot in winter, after 
having journeyed up the river from the mining country. It 
was in 1886, the year of the Forty-Mile excitement. The 
discovery of coarse gold had drawn to that point more 
men than could be supplied with food another year un- 
less word could be gotten to San Francisco and an extra 
amount sent in by i-iver boat when the Yukon opened. 
Capt. Williams volunteered to carry the message out. He 
traveled up the frozen river to its source, and worn out and 
weakened by starvation, essayed the final stage over the 
divide to the Pacific. Some faithful Indians stayed with 
him, and when at last he sank helpless in the snow they 
put him on a sled and dragged him along. Williams' 
brave spirit passed away before the goal was reached, but 
the letter which he carried with him went on to its 
destination, and his mission was not in vain. 
We crossed Lake Lindeman on the ice and began 
climbing the steep ascent to Deep Lake. All along the 
trail men were sledding in supplies, but their caches were 
all a long way north of the summit, and they could tell 
nothing of the state of the trail beyond. They united in 
saying that no one had been across for two days, and it 
was the general opinion that the weather was bad on the 
ocean side of the pass. To check, the sleds on the steep 
descents the packers bound chains around the runners 
where they would take hold of the snow, but at some of 
the turns wrecks on the rocks below showed the precau- 
tion had not always proved successful. 
As we ascended, the snow steadily grew deeper, and 
before long the tents that were pitched beside the trail 
were often sunk in pits that hid them from view. One of 
the mounted police who happened along told us of a storm 
he had encountered in crossing White Pass the week be- 
fore. Thirty men were cooped up for the night in a small 
wall tent that was so packed there was scarcely room to 
turn around. One of the occupants of the tent was ill 
with pneumonia, and during the night he died. As soon as 
the fact was discovered the body was rolled outside and 
the dead tnan's place taken by one of the living. Our in- 
fortnant also told us of a barber who had tried to cross 
White Pass to Bennett earlier in the season and who was 
found frozen stiff a short distance from the summit. This 
man had on, besides his trousers, only a slicker coat and 
cotton undershirt. The poor fellow did not realize the 
fact that a few short miles carried him from the com- 
paratively mild climate of Skagway into a country of 
arctic temperatures. 
We passed Deep Lake and crossed Long Lake on the 
ice, and after following a narrow defile through a country 
black and barren beyond description, came at last to 
Creater Lake, just below the summit. For the last eigbt 
miles there had been no firewood on the trail and no 
permanent camps. The whited, treeless landscape called 
to mind photographs of the surface of the moon. There 
was nothing homely or terrestrial about the frosted rock 
clefts, and the gaping crater bowl with its skeleton-white 
broken rim. and the quiet that brooded over the place 
was uncanny. Even the islands in the lake had a char- 
acter all their own, different from anything we had seen. 
On the last steep pitch from the lake to the summit, we 
met a party of men who had just come from Sheep Camp. 
They reported a terrific wind on the ocean side of the 
pass. 
Tfie Summit of Chilcoot. 
Once on the summit we could well believe their words. 
Below us was gray vacanci^, and from the flue-like hollow 
of the pass was shot upward with a series ' of pulsating 
blasts vollej^s of snow and debris from the lower levels. 
The huge timber jacks which had just been erected for 
the support of the aerial tramway were plastered on the 
south side with a curiously honeycombed fretwork of 
ice, which made them look more ponderous than ever, 
and the frozen surface at our feet and on either hand was 
grooved and worn as though etched by the sand blast 
process. 
Mac and I turned our backs to the wind, and holding 
on to the life line and sticking our toes into nitches cut in 
the snow w^e began the descent. They say that to reach 
Sheep Camp from the summit, a distance of four miles, all 
you have to do is step off. In the first half-mile there is a 
drop of i,iooft., and the angle commonly exceeds 45 
degrees. We could hardly, though, have fallen to Sheep 
Camp against that wind, and before we had gone far we 
decided it would have been much easier to travel up hill 
with it than down hill against it. 
Fortunately, however, it decreased for a time as we 
descended, and not till we had gotten below the Scales, 
where the trail more nearly approaches the horizontal, did 
we again feel its full force. Here the wind buffeted us 
just as the surf buffets a bather, and at times we were 
lifted from our feet and thrown to the ground with 
stunning force. 
On all sides packers and workmen on the line of the 
tramway were hurrying to shelter, gray, spectral figures 
with only their eyes showing through the opening in the 
face masks. It was practically impossible to communi- 
cate with these men on account of the wind. All with 
408 
common' impulse were moving dov/n to^vatd the fcfiige at 
the. timber line. 
When we reached the Seattle House m Sheep Camp and 
stopped for rest and refreshment, we found there the body 
of an Indian woman and her ten-year-old child, who had 
met their death by freezing just below the Scales. They 
belonged to a party of Tagish Indians, and had fallen 
behind the others, and blinded by the snow, had missed 
the trail. Their bodies were found only a few rods from 
the beaten path, in plain sight of the army of packers, and 
only a short time after they had stumbled and fallen in the 
snow for the last time. The woinan and child were 
already dead, but the baby, which the woman carried, was 
alive and well, for with the mother instinct she had taken 
off a large portion of her own scanty clothing and wrapped 
that round the baby. 
On the Coast Once More. 
It was not yet 4 o'clock, and we could have gone through 
to Dyea that night, but Mac and I decided to stop at 
Sheep Camp over night and secure a well-earned rest. In 
the morning we tramped the few remaining miles, and 
found that our actual traveling time from navigable waters 
of the Yukon to the salt waters of the Pacific was only 
nine hours. We were both in splendid physical condi- 
tion, and instead of sulifering from our trip out over the 
ice, had actually profited by the experience. Both of us 
had gained very considerably in weight. I forget Mac's 
figures, but for my part I had jumped from i45lbs. to 165. 
The editor of Forest and Stream, who noted the im- 
provement, said I should advertise Alaska as a health re- 
sort. As a matter of fact, if a man don't freeze or starve 
to death, he will grow fat in that country in cold weather. 
At Dyea and Skagway we noticed a great change in 
temperature. There was scarcely any snow on the ground 
and there was no ice in the adjacent waters of Lynn Canal. , 
We were told that the coldest weather to date had been 
ten above zero. The Japan current is, of course, respon- 
sible for this condition of affairs. 
Skagway and Dyea have a serious drawback as winter 
resorts in the high winds that blow almost continuously. 
It is March there the year round, arid owing to this 
fact and the salt air, Mac and I felt just about as cold on 
the coast with the thermometer just below the freezing 
point as we had at any time in the interior. 
A dry cold is never hard to bear, provided one exercises 
freely and is fairly well clothed. The cold that pene- 
trates to one's marrow and makes a man feel thoroughly 
miserable is only to be foun.d in a moisture-laden atmos- 
phere. At Seattle one of the reporters who interviewed us 
on landing, and who heard that we had traveled up the 
Yukon without stove or tent, asked me if I had not suf- 
fered severely from the cold, whereupon I told him that 
I had not suffered so much from the cold the entire time I 
had been in Alaska as I did on the occasion of the Grant 
Day celebration in New York in 1897. 
As, a result of the milder temperature on the sea coast 
the skin on our faces and hands began pealing off, and 
before long we had a new growth, which was lucky, for 
it removed some of the camp-fire burns upon which soap 
and water made no impression. 
At Skagway we saw Baskerville, but personally I failed 
to see Herrington, owing to the fact that a steamer was 
likely to sail at any moment, and I was very anxious to 
get back to civilization with a scheme which, had it suc- 
ceeded, as it almost did, would have proved of benefit to 
the entire party. Sheriff' was wintering at Portland, 
Ore. 
After I left, McKercher and Baskerville joined forces 
and went into the newly discovered AtHn mining country, 
where they just missed making a rich strike. Herring- 
ton went through to Dawson. At the present time 
Baskerville is the only member of the original party who 
is still in Alaska. The last I heard, he was doing well and 
liked the country. 
Personally, I fully expected to be back in Alaska within 
a month or six weeks of the time of leaving Skagway, and 
I have never ceased to regret that causes beyond my con- 
trol prevented the return. 
One more incident remains to be told, and then I am 
through with these random notes. On our way over the 
three miles of salt water that separate Skagway from 
Dyea, the captain of the tug engaged in ferrying pas- 
sengers across told us that a steamer, the Clara Nevada, 
lay at the next wharf to the one at which he was accus- 
tomed to land, ready to sail for Seattle. I determined to 
catch this vessel if possible, and as soon as the tug had 
made fast at her pier Mac and I started on the run toward 
the other boat, which we could see had steam up and was 
almost ready to start. ^ 
The rise and fall of the tide at Skagway is considerable, 
and the piers are very long. Several mitmtes were taken 
up in reaching the shore and crossing over to the neigh- 
boring pier, and just as we gained it we heard the steamer 
whistle, and shortly after saw her cast off and steam away 
into the offing. 
A few seconds more and we would have gained her. 
First-class fares to Seattle were fifty dolars, and had the 
captain of the Clara Nevada seen us he would undoubtedly 
have waited and taken us aboard. 
Naturally I was very much disappointed at missing the 
steamer, but a week later, when I reached Seattle, my 
feelings underwent a change. News had just been received 
that the Clara Nevada had been lost on the passage down 
the coast. Persons living near Burners Bay had heard 
an explosion and seen a fire at sea, and the next day the 
shore was strewn with the wreckage of the doomed 
A'essel. Not a soul among the passengers or crew 
escaped. I am thankful to the Providence which spared 
me. .but when my conscience is particularly acute I some- 
times remember the old couplet : 
"God took the good, too good to stay, 
And left the bad, too bad to take away." 
J. B. BURNHAM. 
The Twenty-Second Time. 
An Illinois subscriber who, under date of Oct. 27, sends %i.2b 
for a new year of Forest and Stream and an October Woodcraft, 
adds this postscript: "This is the twenty-second time I have sub- 
scribed for your paper; and it's all right. I'm an old sportsman 
myself, but the thing is about played out, and the next best thing 
is to read Forest and Stream and makr that do." 
