UT there were passengers arriving at St. Michael each day from different points bound for Nome.

At last the side-wheeler "Sadie" was to leave for Nome, and what a commotion! Men in fur coats, caps and mittens, leading dogs of all colors and sizes, some barking, but all hustled along with no thought of anything except to reach Cape Nome as quickly as possible. At last they were off. A rough, and in some instances a drunken lot, but all hopefully happy and sure that they would "strike it rich" in the new gold fields. Many, no doubt, were going to their death, many to hardships and disappointments undreamed of, while a few would find gold almost inexhaustible.

Still we waited day after day for the ocean steamer "Bertha." One Sunday morning we looked from the hotel windows to see a clear, cold sky, with sun and high wind. About ten o'clock we heard a steamer whistling for assistance. She was small and used for errands by one of the steamship companies. Still none went to the rescue, as the gale was terrific. A steam tug started out, but she passed by on the other side, not caring to act the part of good Samaritan to a rival. In a few moments the fires of the little steamer were out,—she was sinking. Through a glass we saw three men on the roof of the craft—then they clung to the smokestack. A larger steamer, though herself disabled, finally reached the three drowning men. It was not a moment too soon, for the water was icy, the gale fearful. They were then hauled in, almost exhausted and frozen.

It was a wild day. Soon after noon, one of the two big covered barges in tow by the "Lackme," already loaded for a start for Nome, began to sink. The wind came from the north, and little by little the barge became unmanageable, until at last she was cut loose and deserted. For an hour we watched the barge, until, she too, sank out of sight beneath the waters of the bay.

Small steamers still came straggling in from Dawson crowded with passengers going to the new gold fields, and our tired cooks and stewards in the kitchens were rushed both day and night. Here the price of a meal, to all but those having through tickets to San Francisco, was one dollar, and fifteen hundred meals a day were frequently served.

In this hotel we waited two weeks, patiently at times, restlessly at other times. What would we do if the Bertha failed to appear? Possibly she was lost, and now drifting, a worthless derelict, at the mercy of the winds! Not another boat would or could carry us, tickets on each one having long ago been sold. If we should be frozen in all winter, with no way of letting our friends at home know of our whereabouts for six months, how terrible would be their anxiety, how hard for us in this exposed spot near the Arctic Sea! Many times a day and in the night did this emergency present itself to us, and we shuddered. Each day we climbed the hill a quarter of a mile away to look, Robinson Crusoe like, over the ocean to see if we could discover the "Bertha."

In the meantime, with note book and pencil in hand I often sat in the parlor; and, while occupied to a certain extent, I gathered sundry bits of information regarding the gold fields in this wonderful new Golconda. Two million dollars, it was said, had already been extracted from the beach at Nome, and no estimate could be made on what was still there. The pay streak ran to the water's edge, and even farther, but just how far, no one knew.

Back of this beach spread the tundra, an expanse of marsh, ice and water, which extends some four miles inland. The size of the claims allowed by law is one thousand three hundred and twenty feet in length, and six hundred and sixty feet in width; or about twenty acres of land. The insignificant sum of $2.50 is required to be paid the recorder.

In the York District the area allowed for claims is smaller, being five hundred feet in width, and the length depending on the geographical formation or creek upon which the claim is situated.

North of Nome there are ninety to one hundred miles of gold-bearing beach to be worked, and again to the south a vast stretch of like character extending to Norton Bay. The tundra, which is nothing but the old beach, follows the present shore, and is fully as rich as the surf-washed sands. More productive and larger than all is the inland region traversed by rivers and creeks that form a veritable network of streams, all bordered by gold-producing soil.

Anvil Creek, Sunset Gulch, Snow Gulch and Dexter Creek, near Nome, are all exceedingly rich; one claim on Snow Gulch having been sold for $185,000, and another for $13,000.

Golovin Bay District is situated eighty-five miles east of Nome City, and is large and very rich. Fish River is the principal one in this section, and has innumerable small tributaries running into it, most of which are also rich in gold.

Casa de Paga is a tributary of the Neukluk River, and very rich. On Ophir Creek, claim No. four, above Discovery, $48,000 was taken out in nineteen days by the Dusty Diamond Company working seventeen men. On number twenty-nine above Discovery on Ophir Creek, seventeen dollars were taken out a day per man, who dug out frozen gravel, thawed it by the heat of a coal-oil stove, and afterward rocked it.

There was much discussion over the rights of those claiming mining lands located by the power of attorney; though the majority of men here seemed to believe they would hold good, and many such papers were made out in due legal form.

At last, on the morning of October ninth, the "Bertha" really appeared. It was a clear, cold day, sunny and calm. I ran in high spirits to the top of the hill overlooking the bay to get a good view. Sure enough, there lay the "Bertha" on the bright waters as though she had always been there. How rejoiced everyone was! How relieved were those who intended to remain here because of the additions to the winter's supplies, and how rejoiced were those waiting to get away? How we all bustled about, packing up, buying papers and magazines just from the steamer, sealing and stamping letters, making notes in diaries, taking kodak views, saying good-bye to acquaintances, ad infinitum.

All were willing to leave. Finally on the afternoon of the tenth we were stowed into the big covered barge which was to take us out to the "Bertha." It was cold and draughty inside, so we found a sheltered place in the sun on some piles of luggage, and sat there. As the "Bertha" was reached, a gangplank was thrown over to the barge, which came as close alongside as possible, and up this steep and narrow board we climbed, clinging to a rope held by men on both decks.

Our trouble had now begun. We were overjoyed at making a start at last, but under what conditions! The river steamer "Hannah" had been a model of neatness as compared with this one. On deck there were coops of chickens, and pens of live sheep and pigs brought from San Francisco to be put off at Nome, as well as a full passenger list for the same place. On the way here a landing had been attempted at Nome, but the surf had been so tremendous that it could not be accomplished, and passengers still occupied the staterooms that we were to have. However, we were temporarily sandwiched in, and, about four P. M., said good-bye to St. Michael.

It was a lovely day and the waters of the bay were very calm. Along shore in the most sheltered places were numbers of river steamers and smaller craft being snugly tucked up for the winter. From three tall flagstaffs on shore there floated gracefully as many American flags as though to wish us well on our long journey out to civilization.

That night on board was simply pandemonium. Hundreds of people had no beds, and were obliged to sit or walk about, many sitting in corners on the floor, or on piles of luggage or lying under or upon the tables. Every seat and berth were taken. Many of the staterooms below were filled from floor to ceiling with flour in sacks for Nome, as well as every foot of space in passage-ways or pantries. Many men were so disorderly from drink that they kept constantly swearing and quarreling, and one man, in a brawl, was almost toppled into the sea. To make things worse, the stench from the pens of the animals on deck became almost unbearable, and the wind came up, making the water rough.

There was no sleep for us that night. We longed to reach Nome that we might be rid of some of these objectionable things, and hoped for an improvement afterward.

From St. Michael to Nome, the distance is about one hundred and twenty-five miles, and the latter place was reached about eight A. M. A little before daylight we had been startled by a series of four sudden shocks or jars, the first being accompanied by a very distinct creaking of timbers of the ship, so that some of us rose and dressed; but the ship had apparently sustained no injury, and we proceeded on our way. Whether we had struck a rock, or only a sand-bar, we never knew, for the ship's men laughed and evaded our questions; but the passengers believed that the boat had touched a reef or rock, hidden, perhaps, beneath the surface of the sea.

By daylight the animals had been removed to a barge, and soon after breakfast the Nome passengers were taken ashore in like manner, for the surf was so heavy on the beach, and there being no docks or wharves, it was impossible for a large steamer to get nearer.

Away in the distance to the north lay the famous new gold camp of Nome. Stretched for miles along the beach could be seen the little white tents of the beach miners, back of which lay the town proper, and still back, the rolling hills now partly covered with snow. Not a tree or shrub could be seen, though we strained our eyes through a strong glass in an effort to find them. A few wooden buildings larger than the rest were pointed out as the Alaska Commercial Company's warehouses and offices, near where the loaded barges were tossed by the huge breakers toward the beach.

Passengers now went ashore to visit the camps, but to my great disappointment I was not allowed to do so on account of the tremendous surf. When, after watching others, seeing their little boats tossed like cockle shells upon the sands, and hearing how thoroughly drenched with salt water many of the people were while landing, I gave it up, and remained on board.

For five days we lay anchored outside, while stevedores loaded supplies from the "Bertha" on barges towed ashore by the side-wheeler "Sadie." For hours the wind would blow and the breakers and surf run so high that nothing could be done; then at sundown, perhaps, the wind would die away, and men were put to work unloading again. The calls of those lifting and tugging, the rattle of pulleys and chains, never were stilled night or day if the water was passably smooth, and we learned to sleep soundly amid all the confusion.

Next morning the steamer "Cleveland" cast anchor near the "Bertha." Presently we saw a small boat lowered over the side and two women were handed down into it, four men following and seating themselves at the oars. The ship on which the women had first sailed had been wrecked on St. George's Island; from there they were rescued by the revenue cutter "Bear," transferred to the "Cleveland," and were now going ashore at Nome, their destination. As they passed us we noticed that they sat upright in the middle of the lifeboat, the hoods of their cloaks drawn quite over their heads. We were told that one of these women had come to meet her lover and be married, and we felt like cheering such heroism.

Next day the bodies of several men were picked up on the beach near town. They had started for Cape Prince of Wales in a small boat and been overtaken by disaster. Many were dying of fever on shore, and nurses, doctors and drugs were in great demand.

Many tales of interest now reached our ears, but not many can here be given.

One of the first American children to open his eyes to the light of day in this bleak and barren place—Nome City—was Little Willie S. His parents lived in a poor board shack or house which his father had built just back of the golden beach sands. Here the surf, all foam-tipped, spread itself at the rising and falling of the tides, and here the miners toiled day after day washing out the precious gold.

It was here that Willie's papa, soon after the baby came, sickened and died. He had worked too long in the wind and rain, and they laid him under the tundra at the foot of the hill.

For a time the baby grew. The mother and child were now dependent upon the community for support, but the burly and generous miners did not allow them to want. Willie was a great pet in the mining camp; the men being delighted with a peep of his tiny, round face and pink fingers.

The little child could have easily had his weight in gold dust, or anything else, had he wanted it. Big, shining nuggets had already been given him to cut his teeth upon when the time came, but that time never came.

Willie died one day in his mother's arms, while her hot tears fell like rain upon his face.

Then they laid him to sleep beside his papa under the tundra, where the shining wheat-gold clung to the moss roots and sparkled as brightly as the frost and snow which soon covered everything.

When spring came Willie's mamma found the baby's tiny grave, and put wild flowers and grasses upon it, and there they nodded their pretty heads above the spot where Willie and his papa quietly sleep.

Passengers for San Francisco were now coming on board with their luggage. Several men were brought on board on spring beds, being ill with no contagious disease. A box containing the body of a man, who had shot himself the day before, was placed upon the hurricane deck, lashed down, and covered with tarpaulins. Strong boxes of gold bullion, with long, stout ropes and boards attached in case of accident, were stowed away in as safe a place as could be found. Copies of the first issue of the "Nome News" were bought at fifty cents a copy; size, four pages about a foot square. Beach sand and pebbles, were handed about in many funny receptacles,—pickle jars, tin cans, flour sacks,—any old thing would do if only we had the pleasure of seeing the golden sand.

One night about three o'clock the barge brought the last passengers and freight. The water was smooth, the moon shone brightly, there was no wind, and the captain and his mate gave their orders in quick, stern tones. They were in haste to leave. They had lingered here too long already. All were soon hustled on board; the "Sadie" and her barges moved away; we took a last, long look at Nome as she stretched herself on the golden sands of the beach under her electric lights; the "Bertha" whistled, stuck her nose into the rollers and steamed away.

A more majestic old body of water than Behring Sea would be hard to find; and we remember it with thanksgiving, for we had no storms or rough weather during the eight hundred and fifty miles to Unalaska.

Right glad was I that we were fortunate in having a pleasant little party of eight or ten persons, and our evenings were spent in visiting, spinning yarns, and singing songs, while some hours each day were passed on the hurricane deck. Here we became familiar with the sea phrases commonly used, and watched the old salts "bracing the mast arms," "hoisting the jibs," or "tacking," and could tell when we had a "cross sea," a "beam sea," or a "sou' wester." As we neared Unalaska on the Aleutian Islands, the sea became rough, and we had more wind, but we joyfully sighted high hills or rocks to the east, and bade good-bye to old Behring. For three and a half days he had behaved well, and never will we quietly hear him maligned.

Unalaska, sweet isle of the sea! How beautiful she looked to our eyes which had only seen water for days! Its bold and rocky cliffs, its towering peaks snow capped; its sequestered and winding valleys, and bright, sparkling waterfalls; its hillsides in all the artistic shades of red, brown, yellow, green, purple, black and white; its water in all the tints of blue and azure, reflecting sky that looked

All, all, greeted the eye of the worn voyager most restfully.

Clusters of quaint red buildings were soon seen nestling under the mountain—that was Dutch Harbor, and a mile farther on we arrived at the dock at Unalaska. We would be here twenty-four hours taking on fresh water, coal, and food, they told us, and we all ran out like sheep from a pen, or school children at intermission. We drank fresh water from the spring under the green hillside; we bought apples and oranges at the store, and furs of the furrier; we rowed in a skiff and scampered over the hills to Dutch Harbor; we watched jelly-fish and pink star-fish in the water; we saw white reindeer apparently as tame as cows browsing on the slopes; we visited an old Greek church, and were kept from the very holiest place where only men were allowed to go, retaliating when we came to the cash box at the door—we dropped nothing in; we climbed the highest mountain near by, and staked imaginary gold claims after drinking in the beauties of the views which encompassed us; we snapped our kodaks repeatedly, and then, having reached the limit of our time and strength, wended our way back to the steamer now ready to sail.

Leaving the harbor, we all stayed on deck as long as possible trying to fix the grandeur of the scenery in our minds so it could not slip away, and then Priest Rock was passed, we had turned about eastward, and were in Unimak Pass. Here the wind blew a gale from the west, on account of which we were obliged to go below to our staterooms after watching the sailors lash everything on the hurricane deck well down in case of storm. After a few hours we left the Pass, with its precipitous cliffs, its barren and rocky slopes, its cones of extinct volcanoes, its rough and deep water, and headed due southeast for "Frisco."

Many unpleasant people and things we found on board as we proceeded, for not all of these had been left at Nome; but with a philosopher's fortitude we studied to overlook everything disagreeable, and partly succeeded. That our efforts were not a complete success was due partly, at least, to our early education and large stock of ideality, and we were really not so much to blame.

The remainder of our journey was somewhat monotonous, broken only by drunken brawls at midnight on deck, waking us from sound slumbers; or the sight of a whale spouting during the day. Sometimes a breeze would spring up from the wrong direction, rolling us for a few hours, causing us to prefer a reclining posture instead of an upright one, and giving our complexions a still deeper lemonish cast; sometimes we were well inclined to feed the fishes in the sea, and did not; but at all times we were thankful that matters were no worse.

Then, after many days out from Unalaska we began to look for land. Seagulls and goonies had followed in the wake of our ship, and rested themselves each day aloft in the rigging. Sails were now and then seen in the distance, like the spreading white wings of enormous swans gliding quietly over the bosom of the deep, and we realized that we were nearing land. In the darkness one night there came to us a little white boat containing three men,—one was a pilot to guide us safely through the beautiful Golden Gate; the light on Point Bonita was sighted—we were almost home.

We were now six weeks out from Dawson and twenty-one days from Nome; we had no storms, accidents or deaths on board, and carried five hundred passengers, as well as three million dollars in gold. I had been away from home four months without a day's illness, and during my trip through Alaska had traveled seventy-five hundred miles, nearly one-half of this distance alone.