Gulf and Glacier; or, The Percivals in Alaska

They were handling an unusually fine brown bear rug, when a curious-looking man, perhaps fifty years of age, halted by their side.

His hair and beard were long and rough, and his garments seemed to have been made for a wearer much shorter and stouter than himself. He was over six feet in height, and had a kindly, almost child-like look in his blue eyes, which, however, were keen as a hawk’s, looking out from under a pair of shaggy eyebrows.

“Pretty good pelt, that,” he remarked, running his hand over the skin. “Thinkin’ o’ buyin’?”

There was no mistaking the New England “Down East” accent, which reminded Tom of Ruel at “the Pines.”

“Well, hardly that,” answered Fred, taking the man for the proprietor of the store. “We thought we might price some of these rugs, though. How much do you ask for this one?”

“Bless ye!” exclaimed the other, with a good-natured laugh; “I don’t know nothin’ ’baout selling ’em. Ask the storekeeper in there.”

“Oh! I thought” – began Fred, blushing a little at his mistake.

“I see,” laughed their new friend; “ye took me for the owner. Wall, you war’n’t so fur aout o’ the way, either. I was the owner o’ that pelt, last fall.”

The boys waited for more; seeing which the hunter – for such he seemed to be – went on: “I shot that ’ar b’ar up ’n the Yukon valley, last September. He was jest lookin’ fer a place to den up, I reckon, when he run foul o’ my rifle,” he added, with a silent chuckle.

“What kind of a bear is it?” asked Tom. “A cinnamon?”

“Reg’lar cinnamon. Braown b’ar, some folks call ’em. They’re’s thick’s squirrels back in the maountings. But this was an extra fine one, an’ no mistake.”

Just then the storekeeper came out and greeted the party. “How do you do, gentlemen? Won’t you walk in? Finest skins in Juneau – no harm looking at ’em, whether you want to buy or not. Halloo, Solomon! round again? How soon do you start North?”

“Wall, in ’baout a month, I reckon. The musquiters are too thick to make it more’n half-comf’table in the woods jest naow.”

“That is Solomon Baranov, the best shot in these parts,” explained the storekeeper, leading the way into his shop. “He shoots and traps all the time except in the hottest months of the year. He could tell you some good bear stories, I reckon!”

“‘Baranov’? He’s not a Russian, is he?”

“Father was Russian, and mother a Yankee. She came from somewhere East, I’m told. Now, what can I show you in the way of furs or Indian curios, gentlemen? Look at that for a fox robe!”

The boys purchased a good gray wolf skin, handsomely mounted, knowing that Juneau was the best place in Alaska for buying fine furs. But they hurried out again as soon as this piece of business was transacted, anxious to renew their acquaintance with Baranov.

He was sitting on a raised platform at a little distance, smoking an old brierwood pipe, and talking seriously to a couple of black cubs, who gamboled clumsily about him, tugging at their chains and pushing their snouts into his capacious jacket pockets for eatables.

“Seems to me,” he was saying gravely as the boys came up, “I’d think o’ somethin’ else besides eatin’ all day. Haven’t ye got any ambition? Don’t it wear on ye bein’ tied up, instead o’ rootin’ raound in the woods I took ye from last March? Halloo, boys! Find a pelt ye liked?”

Tom opened his package and displayed the wolf skin.

“Very good, very good,” said the old hunter, running his hand through the fur. “An auk brought that in last winter. He got clawed up putty well, too, killin’ the critter.”

“I wish you’d tell us something about the hunting around here,” said Tom, as he and Fred flung themselves down beside the man.

“Tell ye somethin’! I’d show ye somethin’ ef we only hed time. Why, thar’s b’ars within three gunshot o’ this very spot, like’s not, back a piece on the maounting. How long d’ye stay here?”

“Only to-night.”

“Stoppin’ on the Queen?”

“Yes; with a big Excursion from Boston.”

“Wall, then, your Excursion won’t get away from Juneau before day after to-morrow evenin’, at the arliest.”

“What do you mean? How’s that?” cried both boys at once.

“Somethin’s given aout in the steamer’s machinery. I heard Cap’n Carroll say an hour ago that he must stop here to fix it, and ’twould take two days at least.”

“Then we could go with you. Will you take us?”

“Why, ef your folks is willin’, and you ain’t afraid of a long tramp, an’ wet feet, and mebbe a b’ar or two – an’ musquiters,” he added in a comical tone, “we could fix it so’s to git away arly to-morrow mornin’, camp one night, and be back before noon Thursday, ef nothin’ happened.”

“But we haven’t any guns” —

“Oh! two rifles is all we’d want in this craowd. Thar’s my piece at home, and I’d borrow one somewhars in Juneau.”

“Well, I tell you what, Fred,” shouted Tom, “if father’s willing we should go, we can have a big time, and perhaps kill a bear!”

“That’s so!” said Fred, catching fire from the other’s enthusiasm. “That’ll be seeing a bit of Alaska that isn’t down on the programme, eh?”

“Is your father raound?” asked Solomon, with a meditative puff at his pipe.

“He’s gone off to look at some mines.”

“H’m – ‘Silver Bow,’ I s’pose. When d’ye expect him back?”

“Before supper, he said. Where can we find you, Mr. – Mr.” —

“You c’n call me Solomon or Baranov, jest’s ye please,” said the hunter. “There ain’t no ‘mister’ to it. I’ll meet you here, or what’s better, I’ll be daown on the wharf at eight o’clock to-night. What’s your names?”

“Tom Percival and Fred Seacomb. I’ll bring my father with me.” And with mutual good-bys they parted for the afternoon.

Tom could think of nothing but the coming tramp, and dignified Fred displayed a degree of excitement which was, to say the least, unusual. The girls looked anxious when they heard the plan, but admitted that if they were boys it would be great fun.

“Of course,” remarked Tom, “you’ll be awfully lonesome without us, that day and a half. But you must bear up under it.”

“We’ll try,” said Kittie demurely. “But if you go, we shall expect a good bear skin apiece, to pay for the lonesomeness.”

“Don’t let ’em put their paws on your shoulders, Tom,” counseled Randolph solemnly.

“Nor try to pacify them with sugar,” added Pet, to whom Randolph had basely confided the story of his cousin’s adventure at Glacier Station.

In the midst of the laughter, Mr. Percival arrived.

“Father, we want to go off on a bear-hunt,” began Tom, all in a breath. “Of course you’re willing, aren’t you, sir? And Solomon says” —

“Wait, wait,” laughed Mr. Percival, taking a seat on a stool – for this conversation took place on the deck of the Queen, just in front of the open stateroom doors – “who is it that wants to go on a bear-hunt? Bess, I suppose, and Miss Selborne?”

They all shouted at this, Adelaide as merrily as the rest.

“Oh! I don’t want to hunt bears, Mr. Percival,” she cried. “Nothing short of elephants will do for me.”

Then they all began talking at once, and at last Mr. Percival obtained some clear idea of the plan. He looked grave.

“I’ll see Captain Carroll first,” he said, “and then I’ll talk with your friend, Baranov.” And that was all the satisfaction he would give the eager young hunters.

The captain, who seemed to know all the old miners, traders and hunters on the coast, must have given Mr. Percival a good report of Solomon, for the father’s face cleared as he talked with the bluff commander of the Queen.

Supper over, all the interested parties descended to the wharf, where, in due time, the old hunter made his appearance.

Tom performed the necessary introductions, and for ten minutes there was an earnest conversation between the two men, as to the proposed trip. The boys watched every turn and gesture, as they talked. Randolph had been asked to join the party, but he was greatly interested in the new works at the mine, and preferred to spend the day in visiting the Basin and going through the great half-mile tunnel in which the gold was to be drawn off by the “placer” process.

“Tom,” said Mr. Percival, wheeling around suddenly on his heel, “I have decided to let you go. Baranov says he will take good care of you; and Captain Carroll tells me he always keeps his word.”

Solomon inclined his head gravely, but smoked in silence.

“You will start at three o’clock to-morrow morning,” added Mr. Percival. “Solomon will bring all the necessary outfit for the trip, including an extra rifle.”

“Good-night,” said Baranov, moving off in a leisurely manner, as if he had engaged to step across the street, rather than take charge of two inexperienced city boys on a twenty-mile tramp over the mountain.

CHAPTER VIII.

ALIVE OR DEAD?

It seemed to Tom that he had hardly been asleep five minutes, when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Wake up, my boy! Baranov is on the wharf, waiting for you.”

With only half his wits about him, and a vague remembrance of his experience the previous year, Tom sprang up hastily, crying out, “Is there a fire?” Then he saw his father’s expression, amused, but a little anxious, and remembered the plan for the day.

“What are you up for, father?” he asked, as he scrambled into his thick traveling suit. “You ought to be sound asleep in your berth.”

Mr. Percival smiled, in reply. “I wanted to see you start,” he said simply. Ah, these patient, loving, anxious fathers and mothers who get up early to see their children start, and sit up late to welcome them home! How little we think of it when we are boys – how the recollection of it all, and of our own heedlessness comes to us, in after years!

Fred was already up, as he shared Tom’s stateroom on the steamer. In a few minutes more they were out in the sweet morning air, and, stepping softly and speaking in low tones, not to disturb the sleepers, they passed through the gangway and down to the wharf, accompanied by Mr. Percival.

The sun was just rising, and the whole sky was golden with its coming, over the dark eastern hills. It would be an hour or more before his first rays would rest on the house-tops of Juneau.

There was the old hunter, leaning against one of the mooring-posts, and looking off over the quiet Sound, to the dim blue mountains beyond. At his feet lay a large pack, two tin dippers and an ax. In the hollow of his left arm he held two guns.

As the travelers left the steamer, he turned toward them with an alert air that belied his previous slouching attitude and straggling, iron-gray hair. The first greetings over, he proceeded at once to divide the luggage.

“I’ll take the pack,” said he, “and my ax. You two boys take the guns – we sha’n’t need to load ’em much before noon. Tie a tin dipper around your waist, each of ye. Here’s some twine.”

“Have you got provisions?” asked Mr. Percival.

“Plenty,” replied Solomon. “All ready, boys?”

“Good-by! good-by!” they said, still speaking quietly. While Fred, seeing a crimson handkerchief – which looked remarkably like one worn by Kittie the day before – waving from one of the little stateroom windows, waved his in return.

“Good-by, Fred. My dear boy,” turning to Tom, “take care of yourself. Remember, if you are delayed, I shall not leave Juneau without you. Allow plenty of time for the return trip. Be very careful of the guns. Good-by!”

The anxious father pressed both the boys’ hands. They turned away, and passing around the buildings at the head of the wharf, were soon out of sight.

Once more he saw them, as they climbed the first low hill, back of the town. They waved their hats to him, then disappeared in the edge of the forest.

All the party were rather grave at the breakfast table, that morning. Mrs. Percival had been greatly disinclined to consent to the hunt, but she was a strong woman, and was afraid of trusting her feelings in a matter where she admitted her husband was the best judge.

In the forenoon Randolph accompanied his uncle to the Silver Bow Basin, and inspected for himself the marvelous valley whose sands are so filled with precious metal that miners for years have worked in it here and there, successfully washing out gold with the rudest contrivances.

The superintendent in charge of the principal works showed them the tunnel, and the process of sluicing out the sand by a powerful stream of water, or “hydraulicking,” as he called it. The stream plunged into the sand in a deep pit, and then rushed off rapidly through a long tunnel which had been dug and blasted through the rocky heart of the mountain toward the sea.

“What takes the gold out?” asked Randolph.

“Why, we place those cross pieces, or riffles, at short distances all the way down, in the sluice-way which runs the whole length of the tunnel. On the upper side of the riffles is placed a quantity of quicksilver for which the gold has such an affinity (it sinks to the bottom of the stream), that it combines with it. Every week or so we have a ‘clean up,’ when a good many thousand dollars’ worth of gold is taken out and shipped South.”

“When do you begin to work?” asked Mr. Percival.

“Well, we calculate to commence operations about the first of May. It’s according to the season. Of course we can’t get our power until the snow melts on the mountains, and we get a good head of water.”

After a thorough examination of these mines, they returned to the village, and in the afternoon took the ferry boat to Douglas Island, where they once more inspected the great treadwell mine which sometimes turns out a hundred thousand dollars’ worth of gold in a single month.

The ore here is imbedded in quartz, which is crushed in an immense stamp-mill where the noise of the crushers was so great that the loudest shout could not be heard. Randolph and Mr. Percival could only communicate with the guide and with each other by signs, as they walked through the building.

While these two were off on their mining tour, Bessie managed, with the help of a cane and Mr. Selborne’s arm, to walk slowly along the main street of Juneau. There were a number of fur stores, and others with beautiful displays of Chilkat blankets and baskets, the latter in many odd varieties of shape and color.

Native women sat in groups, with their wares spread out on the sidewalk before them; baskets, carvings, silver bracelets, and a queer kind of orange-colored fruit which the visitors found were the famous “salmon berries” of Alaska.

Rossiter bought a silver spoon, finely carved, with some sort of a bird’s-head design.

“What kind of a bird is it?” asked the minister.

The Alaskan shook his head, to show he did not understand.

“What kind?” asked Rossiter again, very slowly, and a little more loudly, as one is apt to speak, in trying to converse with a foreigner.

The native seemed now to gather the meaning of the question, but was at a loss to express himself in reply.

Suddenly with a quick smile he flapped his arms like wings, and cried “Caw! caw!”

“Ah,” exclaimed Selborne, “it’s a raven!” and the vendor nodded his head violently, much gratified at the success of his pantomime.

Next morning the sole topic was, How soon will they return? Have they found any game? Won’t they be tired!

Captain Carroll pinned up a notice in the main saloon, stating that the steamer would sail at three in the afternoon, the repairs having been completed more quickly than he had expected.

Mr. Percival looked troubled at the change of plan, but there was no help for it. Every hour of delay was an additional expense to the company; and besides, certain perilous straits ahead had to be passed at exactly such a tide, and the captain had made his calculations accordingly.

Noon came, but with it no sign of the hunters.

One o’clock. All the Percival party, and indeed most of the steamer’s passengers who knew the situation and were acquainted with the boys, gathered on deck, gazing anxiously toward the high slopes which rimmed the town. Still no indication of the returning party.

Mr. Percival now packed his own valise, as well as those of his son and Fred, and told his family he should remain in Juneau if the boys did not return in time for the boat. The Queen was to touch here, contrary to its usual custom, to take a shipment of bullion on its way back to the States. The party could manage quite well on board ship during the intervening four or five days; and although Mrs. Percival’s heart was torn with anxiety, she could see no better plan.

At three o’clock, therefore, Mr. Percival stood on the wharf with the three portmanteaus, and the Queen, giving a long blast of its whistle, moved majestically northward.

The head of the family who had thus remained behind soon found comfortable lodgings for himself near by, and then repaired directly to the wharf, where he was sure the belated hunters would hasten at once, on their return.

Supper-time came, and a poor meal he made of it, at his lodging-house. Returning to the wharf he vainly paced the planks in the golden twilight until nearly midnight, when he slowly retraced his steps to his lodgings, full of forebodings and self-reproach for his weakness in consenting to indulge his heedless boy in such a reckless undertaking.

In the morning he was astir at sunrise, but his repeated and anxious inquiries failed to reveal any news of the absent ones.

Looking haggard and old, he set about raising a relief party, to start up the mountain at once. Alive or dead, they must be found!

CHAPTER IX.

THE SILVER-TIP

On leaving the wharf, Baranov had led the way directly up through the settlement, past the Mission School, until he reached the very outskirts of the village, where, in a half-cleared patch of ground, the boys stopped to get breath and wave a last good-by to their father.

“Naow,” said the guide, with some emphasis, “comes the tug of war. You’ve both got good thick boots on, I s’pose?”

Tom was well-equipped in this respect, and Fred’s shoes were heavy enough for ordinarily rough walking and weather.

“I’ve got a blanket apiece cached here,” continued Baranov, looking about him, and presently drawing out two bundles from beneath a big stump, where he must have hidden them the night before. “They’ll be pretty heavy for ye to lug, but thar’s no tent, and it’ll be cold enough before mornin’ to make you glad you brought ’em.”

He thereupon produced some twine and straps, and arranged a blanket on the back of each of the two boys, so as to make the loads as easy as possible.

“I’ve got my blanket and a rubber to put under us,” he added, “in my bag.”

“Ho, this isn’t any load!” shouted Tom. “It’s light’s a feather.”

Solomon smiled grimly as he swung his fifty-pound pack over his shoulder, picked up his ax, and started into the woods.

“It’ll grow a leetle heavier before night,” he remarked. “It’s a way them blankets have, in this country.”

“Which way are you going?” asked Fred, adjusting his eyeglasses for the tenth time, as he stumbled over a mossy log.

“Wall, I think we’ll strike into the old trail that leads up to the Silver Bow, and foller that fer a piece. Then – I’ll see.”

A rough tract of land lay between the clearing and the path. Baranov went right ahead, striding along over fallen trees and bowlders, with smoke-wreaths from his pipe floating back over his broad shoulders.

The forest was carpeted with deep, wet moss, into which the boys often sank to their knees; and more than once they tripped and nearly fell. The mountain-side was thickly wooded with spruce, yellow cedar and hemlock, the tough branches of which, wet with dew, twisted around their legs and swished into their faces.

“I say – Thomas,” sung out Fred, after ten minutes of this sort of work, “is that blanket – any lighter – than ’twas?”

“Not much! It’s gained – five pounds.”

“What do think – of the – scenery?”

The emphasis on the last word was caused by his setting foot on the slippery surface of a rock concealed by moss, and sitting down with great firmness.

“Well, it’s a pretty good fall landscape,” gasped Tom, leaning against a stump, weak from laughter.

But lo! the stump, like many others of its kind thereabouts, was decayed, and over it went, carrying Tom with it.

When the boys had struggled to their feet, they found that Baranov had stopped just ahead of them, and was chuckling over their mishaps.

“Look here, old fellow,” cried Tom, “is it going to be this way all day?”

“No, no,” said Baranov. “Mebbe I oughtn’t to hev laughed at ye. But I saw no harm was done. Ye’ve got good pluck, both of ye, not to ask me to slow up before naow. P’r’aps I put on a leetle extra steam, to see what ye was made of – with that ar light blanket” —

“O-oh!”

“But the wust on it’s over, for quite a spell. Thar’s the reg’lar Basin trail jest ahead. We can follow that for a mile or two, before strikin’ off up the side of the maounting.”

It was a relief to walk in a traveled path once more, although it was a very rough one.

It was just five o’clock when Solomon called a halt, and announced that they were something over three miles from the wharf at Juneau, having been a little more than an hour and a half in reaching this point.

“Isn’t this a glorious spot!” exclaimed Tom, throwing himself down beside the path.

The ground was clear for a little way in front of them, and just beyond lay the Silver Bow Basin, narrowing and winding far up among the mountains. On every side the forest-clad slopes rose in grand sweeps from the Basin, and curls of smoke here and there floated up from camps hidden among the trees.

“What’s that noise?” asked Fred, as a metallic clicking not far away fell upon their ears.

“Oh! thar’s always somebody prospectin’ raound with his pick,” remarked the hunter. “You’ll hear ’em all over the maountings, pretty much.”

Close beside them a stream of crystal clear water rushed over its stony bed, across the path toward the valley. The boys unfastened their dippers and drank deeply.

“Have some salmon berries?” asked Solomon. And he threw down a branch of the orange-colored fruit he had just broken off.

“Naow,” he said, after a few moments’ silence, “we must take to the woods. I gave ye that leetle piece of rough travelin’ to kinder harden ye fer what was comin’. Are ye ready, boys?”

“All ready!” they cried, springing to their feet. “Lead the way, Solomon!”

The hunter now left the beaten path and followed up the bed of the stream, which crossed it at right angles. It was hard climbing, and the boys had to stop for frequent rests. Their tramp proceeded, however, without special incident for a couple of hours more, when Baranov threw down his pack and called out “Breakfast.”

I ought to have mentioned that a cold lunch had been prepared the night before, and the three trampers had partaken sparingly of it before starting. Now, however, they had a sharpened appetite, and ate ravenously of the doughnuts, hard bread and sandwiches which Solomon brought out of his stores.

This halt occupied about an hour, so that it was nearly nine when they resumed their walk.

Their progress now became very slow. The picks of the miners were no longer heard, and they realized that they were in the veritable Alaskan wilderness. The rush of the little brook was the only sound that broke the silence of the moss-draped and carpeted forest.

They had passed beyond the brow of the mountain immediately overlooking Juneau, and, while the grade was not quite so steep, the evergreens grew more densely, and the stream was so narrow as to barely afford them a pathway. Of course their feet had been soaked during the very first hour of their climb. There was now not a dry stitch on either of the boys, below the waist.

For a few rods, Solomon had been peering here and there; Tom afterward declared he fairly sniffed the air for game, like a hound.

“What is it, Solomon?” called out Tom, picking himself out of a crevice between two wet rocks.

The hunter held up his hand for silence; then stooped and carefully examined a log just in front of him. Calling the boys, he pointed to it with one of his silent chuckles.

Fred adjusted his glasses and eyed the log critically. “It seems just a common, every-day log, don’t it, Tom?” he remarked in a guarded voice to that young man.