At Skagway quite a number of miners came on board, bound for home. One hears from them many sad tales of the Klondike. One man aboard is dying of consumption and scurvy, contracted in the mining region. A purse is being made up to enable him to reach his home in Toronto, Canada. He hopes to live to see his wife and child. An impromptu entertainment in the salon netted one hundred and fifty dollars for the sick miner.

Another tale not quite so pathetic is that of Mike McCarty, of San Francisco. He bought a claim and paid all the money he possessed for it. When he went to have the lease recorded he was told that it was not legal, that the property was not his, but still belonged to the Queen. “Damn the Quane,” said Mike, “I bought it and paid me money for it. The Quane has nothing to do with it at all.” Then he was informed that some one had sold the claim to him under false pretense and besides losing it he would get three months’ imprisonment for insulting the Queen. “Faith and how could I insult the Quane when I niver see her?” queried Mike. “All right,” said the magistrate, “you go up for three months and the claim still belongs to the Queen.” “Damn the Quane,” said Mike, as he was taken away to his cell. Mr. McCarty is on his way home, a ragged, penniless, but a wiser man.

These miners are bringing down a great deal of gold. One man who has made sixty-five thousand dollars in mining is taking two children to Seattle to be educated.

One lady has her bustle stuffed with paper money, another her dress skirt interlined with five and ten dollar bills.

Gold may be converted into paper money in Dawson City at the rate of fifteen dollars per ounce. Its actual value runs from sixteen to eighteen dollars per ounce.

Living is quite high at Dawson, owing to the long distance over which freight must be carried. Coal oil sells at seven dollars for a five-gallon can, bread at fifty cents a loaf, beefsteak at two dollars a pound, candles at one dollar each. This is an item in household expenses, as during the winter months it is twilight only from eleven o’clock in the morning to two o’clock in the afternoon. Candles are used for lights in the mines.

There is plenty of gold in Alaska, but one must go equipped to withstand the winters and prepared to work his claim properly. Mining in Colorado and California is not mining in the Klondike. For various reasons mining in the Klondike is much more expensive than in either of the other places. The British mounted police are very vigilant, so that miners lose but little by thieving.

We arrived at Juneau at eleven o’clock at night. The sun having just set it was still daylight. Nearly the entire population was at the wharf, eager to learn the news of the outside world. We repaired to the opera house, where we attended an impromptu political meeting. The mayor presided and Judge Delany, judge of Alaska under Cleveland, set forth in a forcible manner the needs of Alaska. The speaker said that this rapidly growing child seemed to be somewhat neglected by legislators, mainly because Congress does not know her needs. “First of all,” said he, “we want the boundary line settled. We want every foot of land called for in our treaty with Russia in 1867. Until the discovery of gold in the Klondike England had never questioned her treaty made with Russia in 1825. But when gold is discovered up comes England and plants her flags on our territory. Our government sent out troops and forced them back to the original line. Now let Congress settle it once for all. It interferes with business and until this question is settled we don’t know where we are ‘at.’ Next we want better school facilities. In Juneau we have two hundred and forty children of school age and room for only forty. This state of things exists all over Alaska. If Congress will give us half as much attention as is bestowed on the seal we promise to ask no more. We want some sort of government. We have no government and are not represented in Congress. Next we want more judges and more courts, instead of one judge and one district as now. We think that Alaska should be divided into three districts.”

Congressmen Warner, Dazill, Payne and Hull replied in short speeches and the meeting adjourned just at dawn, one o’clock. The opera house is lighted with electric lights and heated with a furnace. It has a parquet, dress circle and boxes, and is a model from an architectural point of view. The acoustic properties of the hall are beyond criticism.

Leaving Juneau to carry on the struggle of leading Alaska to statehood, we board our good ship, the Queen, weigh anchor, and sail away.

The upper deck is the salon, the reception hall, the library. Here we leave our steamer rugs and chairs. Here we come for a better view of the mountains and the sea. Here we meet our friends. Here we may take a book and, snugly ensconced, pass a quiet hour. Many of us, however, found it difficult to read a single line or to enjoy our rugs and chairs for long at a time, for just as your companion has tucked you all snugly in, exclamations of surprise and delight from some other part of the vessel lures you away, as the ship turns her prow this way and that, now steaming straight ahead, as if she meant to knock that mountain from its seat, and now quickly changing her course, giving us a magnificent view down a fiord.

Everyone is reading, “David Harum,” and their comments are quite as interesting as the book itself.

Sweet Sixteen—“O, I do just love John and Mary, but that stupid old David is so tiresome.”

A critic—“Literature, indeed. Where’s the plot? You couldn’t find it with a telescope.”

A judge—“Served his good-for-nothing brother just right.”

Pious looking old gentleman—“Good man, David, but he lacked religion.”

Business man—“Too soft hearted; ought to have kicked that idiot Timson out long before he did.”

An old farmer lays down the book and laughs until the tears roll down his weather-beaten cheeks. “Now, there’s a man as is a man. Knows all about farmin’ and tradin’ horses, he, he; traded horses myself, he, he, he; best book ever read, he, he, he.”

The first interesting sight to greet us on our way south was a group of small rocky islands, where more than a hundred eagles were fishing. Out they would fly by twos and threes, seize a fish in their talons, return to the rocks and proceed to eat him.

From Dixon’s Entrance to Milbank Sound lie the Alps of America, a double panorama of unbroken beauty two hundred miles in length. Green slopes reflected in greener waters. The shores rise perpendicularly from a thousand to fifteen hundred feet, above which snow-clad mountains rise as high again. Tall trees climb and cling to these rocky walls like vines and cascades come gliding out from snowbanks and go hurrying and singing to the sea, some like delicate silver threads winding down, others dashing mountain torrents.

Late in the evening a mist JÖtun rose out of the sea and enveloped us, and the ship lay at anchor for several hours. The next morning the sun shone clear and bright. The clouds lay on the water like a veil of rare old lace flecked with pearls, diamonds and sapphires, caught up here and there by unseen hands and wreathed about the mountains’ snowy brows.

Scene after scene of wild beauty greets the eye at every turn of the vessel’s prow. Wild deer and fawn come down to the water’s edge and stand gazing at our ship. We ran into a school of whales disporting in the water and scattered them right and left. Flock after flock of wild ducks skim the water, to light in yonder cove. Flock after flock, battalion after battalion of wild geese swing along overhead, led by an old commodore, giving his commands with military precision, “Honk, honk,” until the very air quivers with their joyous shouts and greetings. The cormorant is your true diver. Down he goes, a ripple, and the water is smooth again. While you are lost in speculation as to where he will reappear up he comes in some placid spot away beyond. If you guess that he will come up at your right he is sure to appear much further to your left. If you guess that he will remain under water two minutes he is likely to remain five. In fact he never does the thing you expect of him at all, but like Thoreau’s loon on Walden pond, he’ll lead you a merry chase if you board your canoe and attempt to follow him.