Gold Fever by Rich Mole

Author:Rich Mole
Language: eng
Format: azw3, mobi, epub
ISBN: 9781926936215
Publisher: Heritage House
Published: 2011-01-01T04:30:00+00:00

CHAPTER

8

Journey into Hell

North-West Mounted Police superintendent Charles Constantine’s vision of thousands of possibly lawless men overrunning the Yukon was becoming a reality. It would be months before Constantine, George Carmack, Skookum Jim and some of the other early claim holders witnessed the full calamity. However, two other men, an old visionary and his son, experienced a frightening preview of what was to take place later on the Yukon River.

Skagway, Alaska

July 1897

William Moore had toiled 10 years to wrest a 65-hectare townsite out of the tangle of coastal forest in Skagway. Now it was done. The site was staked out, the sawmill was up and running, roads—complete with bridges—ran in and out of the forest, and much of the first wharf was complete, as well as two neat log houses to house the work crews who were building it. Moore’s entire life had seemed a prelude to this moment, a moment he had dreamed, schemed and fought for.

Two years before, in Victoria, he had met with the representative of a British syndicate to argue that his pass—the White Pass, not the Chilkoot Pass—was the right route for a wagon road or railway. It had been a passionate, persuasive performance. Moore had been rewarded with men and money and in return had granted the syndicate prime interest in his wharf and property. It was a paltry price to pay for the opportunity to realize his vision of creating his own town and Yukon roadway. Now, Moore and his son waited eagerly to greet the people who would make them rich.

Moore watched the steamship float silently up the inlet. The first sound that reached his ears was the ship’s whistle, echoing off the forested slopes that surrounded the bay. The second sound that reached his ears was the frightening cacophony of frenzied human beings. There were hundreds of them—screaming, shouting and cursing.

Moore stood rooted to the spot in disbelief. Who was in charge? Who should he meet? His questions went unanswered. Before Moore knew it, men with axes were cutting down his trees, and men with tents were pulling out his stakes! Crazed horses raced pell-mell across the beach and up the wooded riverbank, handlers in hot pursuit. In dismay, William Moore realized there was no one in charge, no one with whom to discuss purchases, leases or rights.

“Trespassers,” Moore screamed, but the puzzled, frantic strangers simply shoved him aside. And still they came. In the days that followed, ship after ship delivered the gold-hungry hordes. Soon, the rasp of saws and the blows of hammers were added to the waterfront din. Rude buildings were thrust up on either side of a muddy trail. Somewhere, above the cries, shouts, pleas and laughter, the sound of a piano floated.

A meeting was held to “set up the town.” A committee was struck and a plan of blocks and lots proposed. Nobody consulted William Moore. Instead, a bartender, Frank H. Reid, was appointed surveyor, perhaps for no other reason than he already possessed the instruments, traded in by some would-be miner for a good time at the bar.

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