4. Narwhal
Newspapers gave a name to the fever that settled rapidly over the city throughout the next few days: Klondicitis. The trolley operators and the mayor were joined by policemen, clerks, bakers, bankers, and railway men, all abandoning their posts for the promise of untold riches.
Men lined up around the block at Cooper and Levy, and at the city’s other outfitters. Every rattletrap steamer on the coast was brought into service to shuttle the horde from Seattle to the District of Alaska. The papers continued to interview any of the Klondike Kings who would speak to them, their new wealth breathlessly reported again and again. The frenzy seemed to feed on itself, growing higher and higher with every passing day. Travelers from every state in the nation rushed west, trains packed to bursting with men and equipment. Within days, the city was flooded with newcomers: every hotel booked solid, goods marked “Klondike” flying from the shelves as quickly as they could be stocked.
Our small group embarked on July 25, 1897, aboard the steamer Narwhal. The docks were a madhouse, crowded with people, mules, dogs, and horses, all in the process of being crammed onto disreputable looking steamers. People argued over crates of goods and baggage, demanding theirs be handled specially, or first, or placed in whatever they believed the prime spot to be on the ship. A few enterprising food sellers set up carts to feed the horde, offering oysters, hot pot, and cold drinks. The air smelled of fish, manure from dozens of animals, and steamed noodles.
Miss Gordon arrived before us, and beckoned us to join her on the crowded deck. She wasn’t the only woman on board, at least; I even glimpsed a few children joining their parents on the journey.
“How many more can fit on board?” I wondered aloud as people continued to stream up the gangplank.
“As many as the captain can pack in without sinking straight to the bottom,” Doug replied with a wry twist of his lips. “The trip won’t be comfortable, but it will be over soon enough. And then on to riches.”
“It won’t be quite that easy,” Miss Gordon said. She took a piece of paper from her pocket and unfolded it. I leaned over her shoulder to view a map clipped from the newspaper, showing the two main routes to the gold fields.
“This ship will be putting in at Dyea,” she said, “which means we’ll be taking the Chilkoot Pass. After the pass, we’ll be mostly able to travel by boat until we reach Dawson City.”
The route looked simple enough on paper. What it would actually be like when we arrived…that remained to be seen.
Doug fished out the guidebook he’d bought at the outfitters: Secrets of the Yukon by ML Chambers. “According to the guidebook, we’ll be able to find Native packers to help us over the pass,” he said. Miss Gordon bent her head over his book, and within moments they were in deep discussion about the trail.
I left them to it and rested my forearms on the iron railing as the last passengers jammed onto the overcrowded ship. The gangplank was drawn in, and the captain shouted orders. A crowd still remained on the dock; not passengers themselves, but wanting to join in the excitement by seeing off the miners.
“I see you didn’t listen to that old-timer either,” said a voice beside me.
Startled, I turned to see the handsome blond man I’d met at the docks the day the Portland came in. “Neither did you,” I said, and offered my hand. “Colin Muir.”
“Steven Kilgore. Steve.”
My breath caught in my throat as our hands touched. His grip was firm but not too firm, his palm dry, his fingers roughened from hard work. Up close, I noticed the spray of freckles across his nose and cheeks, coaxed out by the summer sun.
“I couldn’t resist the chance to go to the Klondike,” he went on. “I’m a naturalist by trade—I’ve written a few obscure books about the wildlife of the Pacific Northwest.”
Heat rose to my cheeks; I preferred dime novels over serious-minded treatises. “I’m sorry to say I’m not familiar with them.”
“No offense taken.” He flashed me that easy grin. “Even my own father hasn’t read them. He’s on board with us, by the way, along with my step-mother. They’re both below at the moment.” He cocked his head, eyes scanning over me. “Are you traveling alone, perchance?”
My heart beat quicker—there was definite interest in his gaze. “No,” I said, feeling oddly reluctant to introduce him to my companions. I did so anyway.
He shook hands with Doug, and bowed over Miss Gordon’s fingers. “Pleased to meet you both.”
The last of the ropes holding the ship to the dock fell away, and its horn let out a blast as steam puffed from the stacks. The crowd on the dock began shouting and clapping, throwing hats into the air, and waving madly. “Three cheers for the Klondike!” someone yelled, and the roar of a thousand voices calling out “Hip-hip-hooray! Hip-hip-hooray! Hip-hip-hooray!” echoed across the water.
I gripped the railing as the ship moved beneath me. Thank heavens we were going by water, not that there were any trains to Alaska.
I hated trains.
The docks began to swiftly slip away, and the breeze off the ocean strengthened. Seagulls screamed above, and one rode the wind at my level, seeming to watch me as it kept pace for a few moments before peeling away.
For a moment, everything seemed possible. Like the Klondike Kings, we were leaving ordinary men and women, but once we returned…
Our lives would never be the same.
* * *
The initial jubilation of being underway wore off quickly. Quarters on the ship were unbearably cramped, thanks to the captain having taken on at least twice as many passengers as the vessel could hold. At first, people made the best of it, but soon boredom set in. Many of the men had brought whiskey and rum with them, and decided to savor it now rather than ration it out in Alaska. Those who weren’t stone drunk whiled away the hours gambling.
Doug took full advantage of the gamblers. He knew every card trick there was and put them to use. Never winning too much—he could hardly slip away from irate losers while on board a ship—but a small amount from enough people added up nicely. If Miss Gordon—who insisted we call her Eleanor, as we were to be in close quarters for the next six months at least—noticed, she said nothing.
I spent the first few days observing our fellow passengers. A good fifth of them were teenaged boys, most without any sort of equipment or plan beyond “find gold.” Even more had arrived from New York or Boston just in time to catch the steamer, the majority still wearing city suits and shiny shoes. Lawyers, shopkeepers, farmers, busboys, postmen: they came from almost every walk of life, excluding only the very rich and the very poor.
I found myself observing them with a trained eye. Who might make an easy mark? Who might prove more of a challenge?
Steve sought out my company before I could seek out his. Not that I didn’t want to, but I had the awful feeling we might become friends—something strictly not allowed by Doug, thanks to both our underhanded ways and the need to leave town quickly on a regular basis.
But if this worked out…if I could convince Doug not to end everything on a sour note by swindling Eleanor, if we didn’t have to flee to Europe but could return to America with sacks full of gold…
Maybe I could have a friend. Just this once.
So I took Steve up on his invitation to “dine” with his family—in truth simply huddling together amidst the hammocks jammed into the hold, while eating cold sandwiches made from our supplies.
When I joined them, Steve broke into a smile that set something alight in my chest. “Colin! Come here, come here. This is my father, Roland Kilgore, and my step-mother, Anna.”
The sun had tanned Roland’s face to the consistency of leather, and heavy calluses met my palm when we shook hands. “Pleased to meet you,” he said.
Anna was much closer to Steve’s age than Roland’s. “I’m to do the cooking and cleaning,” she explained, even though I hadn’t asked. She didn’t sound enthusiastic about the prospect. “You’re traveling with Eleanor, are you not?”
I’d noticed all the women tended to congregate together at various times during the day. “She wished to find someone to bring her to Alaska, so my brother and I volunteered,” I said, unsure how much Eleanor had told Anna.
“Where are you from? Originally, I mean,” she added.
My thoughts jumbled for a moment—what origin had Doug decided on for the “Muir” brothers? “Indianapolis. Father owned a bank there. We always wanted to travel, but after the Panic of ’93, well… Once our mother passed on to join Father in heaven, we sold the house and relocated to Seattle.”
It was all a nonsense, of course. A beautiful lie was always better than an ugly truth.
I needed to divert conversation from me. “And you?”
“Oregon,” Steve said. “Though I’ve spent the last few years wandering.”
“Never could keep him out of the woods, even when he was little,” Roland said with a chuckle.
Anna said nothing of her origins, so I let the matter lie. Instead, we passed the time speculating on how much gold we’d take out of the Klondike, and what we’d do with it when we returned.
As the days slipped by, the coastline grew ever wilder. Steve spent most of his time at the railing. When I joined him, he pointed out the bear and elk peering out from the primeval forests, or the whales breaching the cold ocean. Every bird was a source of excitement to him, his eyes bright as he expounded on migration patterns and rookeries. His enthusiasm infected me; I felt as though I could listen to him talk for hours, revealing things about the world I’d never even thought to consider.
One night, we stood together near the prow of the ship, watching the aurora. It streamed over the horizon like an ephemeral white curtain, before curling in on itself and becoming thicker and more snake-like, before shifting yet again.
“Beautiful,” I murmured, mesmerized.
“Some believe them to be the spirits of the dead.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the railing. “I knew a man who’d fought for the Union, who swore the red aurora he saw just before the war was a sign of the bloodshed to come.”
“I don’t think anyone needed an aurora to predict that.”
“Probably not.” He straightened. “I should go to bed. Have a good night, Colin.”
“Thanks. Sleep well.”
After he’d gone, I continued to watch the aurora twist and writhe over the sky. Cold air nipped at my hands and cheeks, so different from the July heat we’d left behind. I felt almost as if I’d stepped sideways into some other reality.
“Come closer,” Bessie said directly in my ear.
I spun around, back to the railing, heart racing. I didn’t hear that, I didn’t hear that, I?—
Someone stood in the shadows, just at the very edge of the light. Someone small, like a child.
The nearest lantern flickered, and gold glinted on the figure’s wrist. A bracelet with a heart-shaped charm dangling from it.
“Bessie?” I whispered, like a madman.
I didn’t look away; the shadows simply became empty between one second and the next. Even so, it was a long time before I could convince my feet to move and carry me back into the light.