Chapter XVII: The Golden Klondyke

Seldom did any man have such an excited throng thrust upon him in so short a time as did Bishop Bompas. While he was steadily and quietly carrying on his Master’s work at Forty Mile, a stir which was to thrill the whole world was taking place in a certain portion of his diocese.

Gold had been discovered by a white man, George Carmack, and his Indian companions. It was on a little creek, a branch of the Klondyke, that the precious metal was found. When word reached the outside world, months later, a wild stampede took place. Merchants gave up their business, clerks left their desks, farmers their ploughs, blacksmiths their anvils, and rushed northwards to make their fortunes.

They knew nothing of the difficulties they would have to face, and many, becoming discouraged, soon turned back; others of a more determined character pushed forward. They climbed the rugged Chilcoot and White Pass summits, facing terrible obstacles. Cities of tents sprang into existence on the shores of Lake Bennett and other places, where men and women watched for the Yukon River to open. Some moved down over the ice, and many were the strange scenes to be noticed—a team of goats hauling a sled, or a woman driving a young heifer, which pulled her load! In the spring thousands of rude craft followed the ice down the river. All along the Yukon to-day may be seen little mounds, some with rude crosses over them, which tell their own sad tales of poor fellows who perished in the waters far away from their homes. Boats were dashed to pieces, or, cut in two, were left stranded in some desolate place. The full story of the rush will never be told, but the little that is known fills us with wonder at what these people endured for the golden treasure.

They poured into the Klondyke, and here, where this little stream joins the Yukon, they built the city of Dawson. Some distance back were the rich creeks, and here the surging, excited gold-seekers dug with feverish haste into the yielding gravel. Many had more money than they knew what to do with. Men staked their claims, and worked them with windlass and buckets. Numerous are the marvellous stories told of those stirring days.

One man, who had been a bar-tender at Forty Mile, inquired how far it was to the main creek, where he wished to stake a claim. When told the distance, he was too lazy to go on, and staked in a little tributary creek, known as a “pup.” As a result of his laziness, in the spring he carried with him out of the country $132,000 in gold-dust, which he had taken out of his “pup” stake. And this, remember, represented only a fraction of what the claim was worth.

One man was in the habit of washing out some of his gravel every night, and used to fill his gold-pan from his dump, and take it into his shack for the purpose. He soon found that he was obtaining $70 to the pan, and the amount was steadily increasing. This regular increase, and the man’s excitement over his evening’s work, soon became so well known that many of his neighbours met at his place every night, and watched the proceedings with interest, and, at times, with envy. The fortunate digger was always very jubilant, especially when the amount reached $120 to the pan—and a panful is only a very small fraction of the day’s dump.

All kinds of teams were used on the trail in the days of the great rush to the Klondyke. Anything that would draw a pound was forced into service, even goats and heifers.]

One night the neighbours trooped in as usual, but instead of seeing him bright as of old, found him sitting down with a very long face. For a time he would only shake his head when asked what was wrong, and look wistfully at the pan. Finally he told his tale, and in a deep, melancholy voice exclaimed: “I’m off the pay-streak, boys; I only got $57 (£11 4s.) to the pan to-day.”

He was really still in the heart of a very rich pay-streak, but he was so accustomed to large results that when a falling-off appeared, he became discouraged, and imagined his claim was exhausted. And yet that same man, a few months before, would have looked upon $57 to the pan as something wonderful.

Amusing, too, are some of the stories told; and the following, if not strictly true, may serve to show that, even in the midst of the wild scramble, the humorous side was not forgotten.

One man, so it is related, possessed a very long pair of whiskers. He had been working hard in his drift all the winter, and during that time had neither washed nor shaved. In the spring he cut off his whiskers, washed them out in his gold-pan, and obtained $27 as the result.

There was gold everywhere; it was little thought of. It was stored away in anything that happened to be convenient. Gum boots, filled with precious nuggets, were thrown carelessly aside. Cabins were never locked, and there was strong feeling among the miners in reference to the stealing of gold. A sneak thief or a sluice-box robber was considered the most contemptible of beings, and was hounded out of the place.

But though gold was plentiful, it was not everything. Just think of men staring at their millions and having little or nothing to eat! Prices were very high, and on several occasions provisions ran short. Eggs sold for $1 apiece, and common candles brought fabulous prices. A man who had brought in some potatoes on a venture sold the 200 pounds for $150 out on one of the creeks. At Bennett, where goods were packed on mules to be carried over the summit, horseshoe nails one day ran out. One man had a small supply. A rush accordingly took place for the coveted article, and the fortunate owner easily sold his nails for $1 each (_i.e._, 4s.). In fact, a volume could be written of the tales told—some true, some untrue—of the prices paid for the most common things. We shall, however, mention but one more, which has its humorous side as well.

A man who had recently arrived wished to do some mending. Making his way to the nearest store, he asked for a needle. “It will be fifty cents, please,” remarked the store-keeper, as he delivered the article. “Fifty cents for a needle!” exclaimed the customer in astonishment. “Are you not mistaken?” “Oh no!” blandly replied the dealer. “You see, the freight is so high we have to charge big prices.”

Imagine freight being high on a needle, when a whole package could come by mail for two cents! And yet this is the cry in the Yukon to-day. Prices, though nothing compared to what they were in the early days, in many cases are exorbitant, and the excuse is as of old—the cost of bringing things into the country.

Formerly nearly everything was paid for in gold. Nuggets and gold-dust were used instead of coins. It is said that a certain public-house was torn down lately in Dawson, and when the floor was taken up the earth beneath was panned out, and gold-dust and nuggets to the value of $3,000 were obtained. To-day it is different, and the ordinary money is used. In Dawson twenty-five cents is the smallest coin in use, and in Whitehorse the five-cent piece, though you have to put several of them together if you wish to purchase anything.

It takes one some time to get accustomed to the various terms used in the Yukon. A twenty-five-cent piece is called “two bits”; fifty-cent piece, “four bits”; and seventy-five cents, “six bits.” They are so commonly used that it is hard after a time to say anything else. A person who first enters the country is called a “cheechacho.” After living in the land for two or three years, or having seen the Yukon River close and open, one is dubbed a “sourdough.” This name is taken from the lump of sour dough a prospector or miner carries with him to start his bread. Travelling with dogs, the ordinary words used are “Mush on!” and “Hike on!” “Hit” is another common term. Instead of saying, “He started on the trail,” it is always, “He hit the trail.” The word is used in another way. Several years ago, when Whitehorse was in its infancy, a number of gambling men came to church. When the plate was passed around, one of the men gave the collector a ten-dollar bill.

“Take the change out of that,” he said.

“How much?” asked the collector.

“Oh, hit me for five,” was the reply.

He was accordingly handed back five dollars, for it was well understood what he meant.

The guard-room is commonly known as the “skookum house.” “Skookum” is an Indian coast word meaning “strong.” An insane asylum is known as the “bug-house”; and a person who is crazy is said to be “bugs,” or “bug-house.” How these terms came to be used is rather a mystery. “Up against it” is applied to one who has had bad luck. “A wad of dough” is simply the money a man has made, and has nothing to do with pastry. These and many more are common expressions in the Yukon, and it is marvellous how soon one gets accustomed to them.

Through all this excitement Bishop Bompas was living quietly at Forty Mile. He watched the living stream of eager gold-seekers hurrying by through the summer and winter. Many were the wants he supplied, and the weary men he assisted with food and clothing. But the gold fever did not possess him. Sometimes we hear about the greediness of missionaries, and that it is money they are after. But here in the North, at a time when millions were to be made, the missionaries stood aside. They joined in no stampede, and they staked no claims. They were there to carry the Gospel message, and not to dig for gold. It is most interesting to read the Bishop’s letters to his brother George in England at this time, and a few extracts will give a vivid picture of what was going on:

“BUXTON MISSION, UPPER YUKON RIVER,
“_April 15, 1897_.

“I think I will put on paper for you a few notes about the
sudden change that is taking place in the course of a striking
Providence in this region. From being a poor, desolate, and
neglected country, it is suddenly becoming a rich and populous
one. This is the effect of the new and very valuable gold-mines
discovered last year about fifty miles south of us, at a place
now called Klondyke and Dawson City. These new mines are said
to be as rich as any yet known for their size, which is at
present very limited. Only about 100 claims are yet found that
are very profitable....

“At the new mines last autumn any claim could be bought for a
few hundred dollars. Now we hear that some have already changed
hands for $50,000, and some are estimated to be worth $500,000.
The owners of the richest claims are said to be leaving the
country in spring, having already as much gold as they can
carry, and being as rich as they care to be; and they will sell
their claims at a high price to others.

“The miners of Circle City, about 300 miles below us, have been
coming up all winter, hauling their sleds of provisions, to the
number of about 500, till the Yukon has become like a thronged
thoroughfare. They have paid, I think, as much as $250 for an
Indian dog to help haul their sleds.

“Flour and meal have both been selling during the winter at
from $½ to $1 per pound; and the Indians here loan out their
dogs at $1 per day. The Indians, too, get somewhat rich, but,
of course, they squander their money.

“The temperature has been most singular. The winter set in very
early, being severe in October, and partly so in November.
Then three months, December, January, and February, were so
mild that it was not like winter at all. This seems quite a
providential favour to the numerous travellers.

“For myself, during the past winter I have enjoyed more ease
and leisure than usual, from having more helpers around me, and
I have devoted my days to digging the mines of God’s holy Word,
and have found, in my own estimation, richer prizes than the
nuggets of Klondyke.”

A miner’s gold-pan, containing $7,000 of the precious metal. The large nugget is worth $470, or nearly £100. This amount of gold was obtained from a “clean-up” on Livingstone Creek in the summer of 1906. The mining had been done during winter and spring, and when the water came the whole was washed out.

_Photograph by E. F. Harnacher._]

_May 28, 1897._—“I hear now that the creeks are so winding as
to make the gold streak extend 200 or 300 miles. I am told
£4,000 was washed from the earth of one claim in one day.
Another bought a claim for £10,000, and paid it all off out
of the ground in two or three months. The richest claims are
thought to be worth £100,000 or £200,000. (A claim is 600
feet of the creek, which each miner is allowed to pick for
himself at the start.) ... From $1 to $2 per pan is reported
to be a common rate there. This is something like taking your
washing-basin, filling it with earth from your garden, and
then, after washing away the earth with a little water, finding
a silver crown or half a sovereign at the bottom. I suppose,
in such a case, you might go again, and so do the miners. They
next proceed to work with sluice-boxes, which is only a similar
process on a larger scale. The earth is thrown into wooden
boxes or troughs with a corrugated or uneven bottom, so as to
retain the gold when the earth is washed out.

“An Irishman who was here yesterday is said to do his work
so badly that his wife used to make from $4 to $20 a day by
picking up his leavings. She is now gone on a visit home with
her earnings.”

During this mad rush the Bishop was not idle. He was planning how the Church might be brought to these miners. He himself was not accustomed to work among white people, and did not feel equal to the task. But there was a man upon whom he could depend at this critical time. This was the Rev. R. J. Bowen, who had recently arrived from England. To him, therefore, the Bishop stated his plans, and as soon as possible Mr. Bowen started up the river to plant the standard of Christ in that excited camp of gold-seekers. It must have seemed a forlorn hope to the young missionary as he drew near the new town. Almost two years before he had visited that place, and on the very site where his camp had then been pitched large buildings were now erected, and a hurrying crowd thronged the streets. The great cry was gold; for that the people had come, and not for religion. Yet among them Mr. Bowen began to work, and through his earnestness won the hearts of the miners, and induced many of them to attend service.

These men were not miners in the ordinary sense of the word. Many had never handled a pick or shovel, but had been reared in ease in comfortable homes, sons of noble families, who had joined the mad rush to win a fortune in a short time. Such men were not slow to see the efforts the mother-Church was making for their spiritual welfare in the great Northland. They saw the earnest missionary valiantly standing in their midst, pleading the Master’s cause. Their hearts were touched, and around him they rallied.

A log church was at first built, and called “St. Paul’s.” When Dawson grew to be a large city, this was replaced by a new frame church which cost $14,000. It is now used by Bishop Stringer as the cathedral of his diocese.

Horses and dogs are expensive in the North, so when prospectors wish to take provisions over the trails they must do much of the work themselves. It is no uncommon sight to see men harnessed up wearily drawing their load day after day. At times a sail is hoisted to catch any favourable breeze. This is of much service on crossing an inland lake, or a low, flat region.]

When the Church work was well under way at Dawson, the Bishop for a while relieved Mr. Bowen, who returned to Forty Mile, and was united in marriage to Miss Mellet, who had been labouring in the diocese for some time as schoolmistress. At Dawson the Bishop was out of his element. So long had he laboured among the Indians that work among the whites was very hard. In his letters of that time he draws a pathetic picture of the condition of affairs—the dwindling of the congregations, and the frank acknowledgment of his own inability to do much among the miners. “But Christ reigns,” he wrote, “and the work is His, not mine, and let us trust and hope.”

This worry, together with improper food, brought on a severe attack of scurvy, and when he went back to Forty Mile in April, he was in a very weak condition. Yet, notwithstanding his illness, he persisted in conducting the Indian school and attending to his correspondence.

“I cannot move,” he wrote, “without losing my breath, nor walk a few steps without great pain. If I can hold on till I obtain green vegetables, they may benefit me.”

After a time “green vegetables” reached him from Dawson, and at once an improvement took place. To these the Bishop declared his recovery was almost entirely due.

Mrs. Bompas, during this trying season, was at Fort Yukon, unable to reach the Bishop. She had been summoned to England, to the bedside of her sister, who was dangerously ill. On her return to San Francisco, after a few months’ absence, she found that wild excitement reigned, owing to the Klondyke gold discovery.

“The whole of the great city,” so she writes, “was gathered on the wharf to witness the departure of the first steamer for Klondyke. On the boat itself the crowd was no less conspicuous. Men and women seemed locked together in frantic excitement. Shouts and cries were heard on all sides. Parting gifts were thrown on board, hats and handkerchiefs waved with enthusiasm, and in a few instances with wild sobs of pain. Then the anchor was raised, and the vessel started for St. Michael. Such a motley crowd is not often seen gathered together in one vessel. The Company did its best to accommodate all, but the attempt was but partially successful. Seven men were often the occupiers of one state-room, and the chief number of passengers were of the roughest kind of miners. On reaching St. Michael, the same number of passengers were moved on to the smaller steamer. Here our discomforts were considerably increased.”

After a tedious voyage up the river, Fort Yukon was reached. It was a memorable day on which they arrived at this place.

“The miners,” continues Mrs. Bompas, “were looking eagerly forward to the gold-mines of the Klondyke, when the whole load of passengers were set ashore, and the captain announced that he was not going a step farther. Prayers, entreaties, and remonstrances were unavailing. He gave no excuse for his conduct but that he was going back immediately to St. Michael—it was supposed, to lay in a cargo of whisky.”

And at Fort Yukon Mrs. Bompas was stranded for eight long months, thirty miles within the Arctic Circle. Fortunately, the Rev. John Hawksley and family were stationed here, who did what they could for her comfort. But to the Bishop at Forty Mile, in feeble health, disturbing news arrived of the riotous times among the miners at Fort Yukon, and their desperate efforts to overpower the American soldiers. Such information caused him much anxiety, and most thankful was he when at length the ice ran out of the river, and Mrs. Bompas was able to continue her way after the long delay.

“From one point on Lake Bennett,” wrote Colonel Steele, Superintendent of the North-West Mounted Police, “I counted on an eight-mile stretch of water over eight hundred boats under full sail; and, for forty-five miles, at no point were the boats more than two hundred yards apart.”]

The following summer the Bishop turned his attention to the southern part of his diocese. Word had reached him of stirring towns on Lake Bennett and Lake Atlin. Thinking them to be in his jurisdiction, he made the long and difficult journey up-stream to view the land. Reaching Bennett during the summer of 1899, he was astonished to see a flourishing city containing thousands of people. But greater still was his surprise to find that Bennett and Atlin were in British Columbia, and that he had gone several miles beyond his diocese. His stay was very brief at Bennett, and on his return trip down the river he spent two days among the Indians at Tagish, gaining much information concerning these natives and their language. One week later Bishop Ridley arrived at Bennett, and, writing of the visit of his brother-Bishop, he says:

“Dr. Bompas has the full tide of civilization forced upon him to his sorrow.... A week before my arrival he stood where I now write. Would that he had waited the few days, that I might have had the honour of welcoming him to my diocese. He thought Bennett and Atlin were within his, and therefore ventured so far. Arriving here, he found that he had trespassed beyond his jurisdiction no less than fourteen miles. The newspaper-man who reported an interview with him states that he hurried northwards and buried himself once more in the frozen north, that no other man loves but for the sake of its gold. This report, copied into an American paper, added striking glosses to the account. What would the dear Bishop think if he saw himself described as the most devoted of Catholic (meaning Roman Catholic) Bishops in the wide world? This gloss was evidently by a Roman newsman, who covertly hit at the snug and comfortable lives of Protestants who assumed episcopal authority. Bishop Bompas, says the paper, was so modest that he would not talk of the countless hairbreadth escapes from awful peril and death, treating them as phases of everyday life, not to be counted worthy of notice.”

The following winter Bishop Bompas remained at the Indian village of Moosehide, and, amidst school labours and diocesan cares, formed plans for important extension of the mission-work.