The Trail of a Sourdough: Life in AlaskaSullivan, May Kellogg
History
The Trail of a Sourdough: Life in Alaska
Sullivan, May Kellogg
Alaska -- Fiction
By arbitration between the two countries the matter was finally
adjusted, leaving the miners of Rainy Hollow, as well as those of the
Porcupine District and other places, in peaceful possession of their
lands as they desired; but of those who had given assistance to the
United States officials while inquiring into the location of Boundary
marks, none had given more satisfactory and timely aid than Tillie, the
Chilkat Indian, when she led the white men to the Old Stone House on the
Summit.
CHAPTER VIII
A MINER'S OWN STORY
The woman I loved above all others in this world had been my happy wife
for a number of years when we decided to come to hunt for Alaskan gold.
We lived only for each other. Our attachment was very great, a feeling
which at the first time of meeting sprang suddenly into existence. My
love for my wife was my ruling passion, my ambition for Alaskan gold
being always secondary, as were all other earthly concerns.
Her attachment for me was of a like nature, warm and sincere.
My greatest anxiety was her health. Never entirely robust, she had
gradually grown less so, even with all my tender care, and as her mind
grew and expanded her body became more frail. At last our physician
prescribed an entire change of life and scene. As I was not a rich man,
and must wherever I went still manage to bring in by business methods
enough for our support, it was an important question with us for some
time where we should settle.
Olga (for that was the name of my little wife) wished to go to Alaska.
There she thought we could together search for the precious mineral only
recently discovered in various places; and though the journey was a long
one she argued that the change would be beneficial to her.
So we came to the northern gold fields. Fortune favored us for two
years. Our claims were turning out so well that we planned to build a
good house in town soon which would be a comfortable home until, after
the further growth of our bank account, we could leave the country
forever.
Before that time arrived, however, a thunder bolt had fallen--Olga was
dead.
I had gone for two days to my claims on the creeks ten miles away,
leaving her alone. At night she was to have the company of a woman
friend in order that she might not feel lonely, and the following
evening I was to be at home again.
How I hated to leave her! Something like an unseen hand upon my arm held
me back; but my men were even then awaiting my orders and I was obliged
to go. To remain at home now meant a loss of thousands of dollars as the
late rains had so swollen the creeks that sluicing was in full blast
after many weeks of waiting on account of scarcity of water.
Olga was in her usual health and smiled brightly, standing in the
doorway when I pressed my lips to her for a good-bye.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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