I appreciate that all you did pitch your nose to your pen.
Leave us a spin on the
witch's
Beyond blue horizons, far at the world's end, strange, fascinating lands beckon us.
Bid us revel in their exotic splendours.
Come with us as we head for ports of call.
By the magic of imagination, we take you now to the American land of the midnight sun,
up above 5440, where gargantuan mountains cast their austere shadows over the gently
lapping waters of inlets and coves, which jealously vie with the beauty of Norway's
meyards, where giant icebergs are dwarfed to insignificance by the majesty of their
mother glaciers, where the spell of the Yukon and the trail of gold transformed men into
animals, where the tenderfoot fell by the wayside to watch his stronger brother plunge
on to success and fortune.
This is the land of paradoxes.
This is our port of call.
This is Alaska.
It is the year 1741.
Catherine, empress of all the Russia's, sits upon the throne of her murdered husband.
Before her stands a strange, hard-bizzaged assortment of men.
A grizzled Cossack, a Danish sea captain, a Russian navigator, a German naturalist.
I know that Sahara no longer lives.
What matters that?
Why has nothing been done about this exploration which he commanded?
Well, Captain Bearing?
Your majesty, something has been done.
Well?
We have decided it is a useless and foolhardy expedition.
You have decided?
And by whom were you empowered to make such a decision?
Why have you made it?
After all, your majesty, we have nothing but the word of Gwastef, this Cossack and his
companions.
They tell us they sighted birds, that strange driftwood appeared on the beach of northern
Siberia.
I know.
I command you, Captain Vitas Bearing, to set sail immediately.
As soon as the party can be fitted out on the boat prepared.
No, two boats.
And you, Captain Jerichoft, you shall command the second one.
You, Dr. Stella, are to accompany Captain Bearing.
Your services as a physician may be needed.
Now, are my commands clear?
Is there the slightest possibility that you will assume the right to make further decisions?
No, your imperial majesty.
We shall proceed to the coast of northeastern Siberia at once and set sail from there to
the east.
And may heaven help us.
After prolonged raging storms, during which the two ships became hopelessly separated,
a ravishing tragedy had struck Bearing's crew, scurvy.
On the 18th of July, 1741, with most of the crew dead or dying, the cry which sent thrills
of hope racing through the tormented bodies rang out.
Land!
Captain Vitas Bearing, himself laid low by the disease, was carried on a cot to the deck,
to few for the first time by any white man, the gorgeous and impelling glory of a craggy,
ragged, snow-hawry peak, 18,000 feet high.
Raising himself weakly upon one elbow, he cried,
Elias!
Now we know what courage thou had given when thou did seek refuge in the mountain and the
Lord did appear unto you.
Elias, this is thy mountain, Mount St. Elias.
A few days after his discovery, Vitas Bearing's ship founded.
He, with the other stricken members of his ill-fated crew, was carried to the shore of
this new land, placed in a makeshift hut.
Dr. Wilhelm Teller, absent for some time on a reconnoitering expedition from additional
herbs, returns to the crewed shelter.
I have discovered several valuable herbs, Captain Bill.
Oh, it is no use, Doctor.
No use.
I am going to save the herbs for the other men.
What is it that you have in your hand?
The skin of a sea otter, Captain.
A sea otter.
Russia loves furs.
The Empress loves furs.
Take it back to her.
Take it to her as my gift from her new empire.
You see this little blue flower I hold in my hand, Doctor?
Yes, Captain.
But forget me not.
I plucked it as they carried me ashore.
Press it.
Take it also back to our Empress.
Tell her it is a symbol of my love for her and for Russia.
A few days later, Vita's bearing died, was laid to rest upon the desolate shore of the
land which he had discovered.
Alaska had been claimed for Catherine and for Russia.
Thus was Alaska discovered.
Thus, through the lowly token of that successful but tragic expedition, the crudely tanned skin
of a sea otter.
Other Russians were enticed to this new country and a reign of terror was begun.
Under the heartless leadership of Baranoth, natives were scourged into submission, lashed
into slavery to provide their white-bearded masters with furs.
The capital was established on the coast called Sitka.
The miraculous beauties of the Alaskan coast, the crags of mountains, the iridescent blue-green
and malaspinous glacier, the sublime majesty of tall timber, the jade green of the Pacific
and each tiny cove.
None of these held any lore for the Slavic conquerors.
Their goal was fortune and they found it in the intrinsic value of furs, sea otter, seal,
fox, wolverine, mink, bear.
But the watchful eyes of Polaris the North Star saw a far different destiny for Alaska.
During the Crimean War, Russia, fearful that this valuable virgin land might fall into
the hands of Great Britain, offered to sell to the United States.
The one man in the entire United States whose vision was capable of evaluating the acquisition
of the vast territory and whose office as Secretary of State placed him in a position
to promote the purchase was William H. Seward.
The rest of the country for the most part was bitterly opposed.
Newspapers said, 99 one hundredths of the territory is absolutely worthless.
What can the United States do with 370 million acres of iceberg?
Worthless.
Nothing but Seward's icebox.
But Seward worked diligently and relentlessly.
And finally in 1867, Congress approved the treaty with Russia and President Johnson proclaimed
it on June 20th, gratifying the purchase of the territory for the price of seven million
two hundred thousand dollars.
And it was named by Seward, Alaska, meaning great land.
On October 18th of the same year, at three o'clock in the afternoon, for the first time,
the stars and stripes fluttered over Alaska and Seward's icebox became an American territory.
But in the great public mind, the word Alaska remained for 30 years synonymous with polar
bears, vast sweeps of glacial waste, a bleak, snow-laden country, uninhabitable by white
men until the summer of 1896, when George W. Carmack, prospecting along a small stream
in the Klondike region, made the discovery which startled the civilized world.
Gold.
The lady villages became thriving, boisterous cities.
Caribou trails were beaten into veritable highways under the heavy tread of thousands
of men and women.
The ribbled laughter borne of the spirit of adventure and the lure of untold wealth rang
through new garish dance halls.
Tender feet, the pitiful chichacos fought side by side with the more robust.
And the cry on every tongue was, gold, gold, gold!
Just one instance of the mob psychology which ruled the thrilling, hazardous days of 98
is found in the story of Skagway.
An itinerant miner, bringing news to Daya of a far easier and shorter route over the
mountains than the steep Chilkoot, impelled 15,000 persons to abandon the town, stamped
Pell Mel for Skagway and the White Pass.
Among them was the most famous woman of all of Alaska's hectic history, a young widow,
Mrs. Harriet Pullen, the three small boys and seven dollars.
Now boys, you go to sleep, all three of you.
Mother's got a lot of work to do yet tonight.
Go to sleep.
Oh, why, I didn't know anyone was in here.
Hello, Mr. Reed, how are you?
Oh, fair to middle of Mrs. Pullen.
I came over to buy six more of those fine drinking glasses of yours.
You folks must break a lot of them at your place.
Nope, we just seem to lose them.
Well, here you are, six of them.
And that'll be twelve dollars, two dollars apiece.
And cheap at half the price.
You know, I can't figure out where in heck you'd get these.
I ain't seen glasses like these anywhere else.
They look like beer bottles.
I'll tell you a secret.
They are beer bottles.
What?
Yes, I'm making myself out of old beer bottles.
Soapy Smith gives them to me from his saloon.
But how in the world?
Well, now, that'd be telling.
Say, by the way, while you're here, I want to ask you something, Mr. Reed.
Do you think the folks from Skagway would buy apple pie?
Would buy them?
Well, I should say they would.
That's what I thought.
Now here, you just taste this.
Apple pie?
Well, I swoon.
Mmm.
Oh, great godry this is good.
It's made from fresh apples.
Where'd you get them?
Oh, no.
They're dried apples, all right.
I just found out last night how to fix them so they'd taste fresh.
Say, Harriet Willen, you found something here.
Why, they're snappies up like hotcakes.
Why don't you bake a lot of them tonight, and I'll pass the word around that they'll
be ready tomorrow morning.
Well, Frank Reed, that's just what I'm going to do.
So you get out of here now and leave me be.
I've got to get to work.
You don't suppose you could spare them?
They don't.
Oh, no.
No, no.
Now, boys, if you like them so well, I'll bake them all tonight, and you can have them
tomorrow morning.
But I've gone over the pass tomorrow morning.
Well, then I'll have one waiting for you when you get back.
Oh, I didn't see you.
Oh, you're here, Harriet.
Oh, my, you're here.
Here.
Well, then I'll have one waiting for you when you get back.
Oh, I didn't see you were standing there, Sophie Sniff.
Sorry if I startled your mother, Pullum.
Fact is, I have to mow her to talk business with her.
Yes? Well?
You know, the more stuff you sell at your place here,
the more business I lose at my establishment.
You're a gambling house for me.
Well, no, I...
What do you expect I should do about it, Sophie?
Well, I want you to keep on making your tires,
but let me sell them for you at my place.
On commission, of course.
What?
Why, Sophie?
Well, I hope it'd be no harm in asking.
Sorry, you won't take me up on my offer.
Oh, I'll get along all right.
I wonder what he's up to.
What'd you say, Sophie?
Will she do it?
No, she's gonna keep on selling them herself.
Just like I thought.
Well, me and Fanny and the kid will take care of her tonight.
We'll fix her and her pies.
No, you won't, Yank.
You won't touch her nor her pies.
Huh? What do you mean?
Just what I said.
I don't mind roughing it up a bit with a gentleman
who'll come into my information bureau.
They're leaving them in their spare cash.
But we'll leave them in the house.
I'll be back in a minute.
They're leaving them in their spare cash.
But we'll leave women alone. Is that understood?
Yeah, I guess so.
And if anyone else harms Harriet Pullen or her pies,
I'll hold you responsible.
Well, here we are at the place.
Come on in.
I'll stake it in dinner.
Oh, hello, Sophie.
Hello, Jim.
How's it going?
How are you, Sophie?
Hello, Jake.
Hello, Sophie.
Well, well, if it isn't Parson Hickey himself.
Strange to see you here in this den of iniquity, Parson,
at this time of night.
Yes, but I knew I'd be able to reach you here.
Oh, you wanted to see me?
Sophie, the Union Church wants to buy an organ.
Good idea.
There's an organ in Juneau that we can get.
We have the money to buy it,
but we need some more to ship it up here.
How much do you need?
$500.
Oh, easy.
Here, here's a thousand.
A thousand dollars?
Sure, buy a bench and some hymnals, too.
Oh, by the way, how much have you gotten your fund all together, Parson?
Well, with this we'll have $3,500.
Now, this is mighty generous of you, Sophie.
The congregation will certainly hear of this.
Oh, don't mention it, Parson.
Don't mention it.
Thank you very much, Sophie Smith.
You'll be rewarded for this.
And thank you, Parson, and all your congregation.
Hey.
Yeah?
Come here.
Can you get under the flaps of the tent over at the Union Church?
Sure I can.
There'll be $3,500 over there tonight.
Go and get it.
Infuriated by the theft of the money, the citizens of Skagway formed a vigilance committee
to determine upon a course of action.
They assembled in the shed at the end of the pier.
Frank Reed, stalwart, courageous engineer, was assigned the task of guarding the one entrance.
While the meeting was in progress, one of Smith's henchmen ran breathlessly into the dance hall.
Sophie, Sophie.
Yeah?
Where is it, Jack?
Listen, Sophie.
They're holding a meeting down at the dock.
Huh?
What about?
About you.
Huh?
Yeah, they're sore about that the money I took.
They think you've done it.
Oh.
They think I did it, huh?
And they're holding a meeting to talk about me, are they?
Well, I'll soon end that.
Yeah, what are you going to do, Sophie?
I'll show them who's running this town.
Give them a gun.
Sophie, don't go down there.
Frank Reed stands at the door.
He's a dead shot.
Oh, he is, you see?
Ha!
I'm not so bad myself.
Get out of my way.
I'm going to put a stop to that meeting right now.
Oh, the meeting.
I'll end this.
Who's there?
That's me, Frank.
Sophie Smith.
Don't come one step closer, Sophie.
I'll shoot you down if you do.
We'll see about that.
Oh!
Frank!
What's happening here?
Frank Reed, what's the trouble?
It's all right, Boston.
I'm going to get you out of here.
Oh, no.
It's all right, Boston.
You don't have to hold your meeting now.
I just shot Sophie Smith.
Over the resting place of Sophie Smith,
there stands the inscription,
Jefferson R. Smith, died July 18, 1898,
aged 38 years.
And over Reed's grave, Frank H. Reed,
died July 20, 1898.
He gave his life for the honour of Skagway.
Thus, the black reign of gangster Sophie Smith ended,
his henchmen fleeing to the hills like jackrabbits,
some to escape, others to be recaptured and imprisoned.
Now, as we come down the years to modern Skagway,
we visit Harriet Pullen once more.
This time not in the dingy tent house of 98,
but in her spacious and inviting hotel, Pullen House,
the most noted hostelry in Alaska.
Mrs. Pullen takes us into the wide room just off the lobby,
and she says to us...
Yes, in here I've got all of Sophie Smith's gambling outfits.
There's his roulette wheel,
and there's his solid oak card table.
That is, his victims thought it was solid, but it wasn't.
Look here, he had a slip right here
where he could take out an ace any time he thought he needed it.
And here's his gun, the same gun he used to shoot Frank Reed.
Sophie never got my pies, but I got his gun.
I should say you did.
Well, Mrs. Pullen, many thanks for your hospitality.
And your thrilling story.
You folks are going up over the white pass
and Yukon Railroad, aren't you?
Yes, we are.
Well, it's a beautiful trip.
Enjoy yourselves, and don't forget to come back some day.
We won't forget, Mother Pullen, Mother of the North,
and we'll never forget you and your wonderful pies.
We go into the center of Skagway,
climb aboard the ultra-modern railroad coach,
and we're off for the Yukon.
Up, up, up we go, across the Skagway River.
The treetops drop below as we climb,
across yawning canyons, hugging grim walls of rock,
roaring across spidery steel cantilever bridges.
Look, away down below there, right in the bottom of that chasm,
those view-tumble-down tracks are all the remain of White Pass City.
The first stopping off is the Yukon Railroad.
The Yukon Railroad is a long, long way from here.
The view-tumble-down tracks are all the remain of White Pass City,
the first stopping off place in the gold rush days.
As we look down now from the comfort of our railroad coach,
is it a far stretch of the imagination to see a party of prospectors
trudging up over the snow-blanketed pass?
Why are you making out, youngster?
Not so good.
I don't know whether I can make it or not.
Sure you can make it.
But I have to carry the whole shebang.
No. No, it's no use, Potter.
I can't go on.
Give me a hand with the kid. We'll get him up there.
At least the dead horse goes.
No, you can't carry me. I won't let you.
I won't let you carry me.
I don't know how to die.
Such scenes were being enacted every day during the gold rush.
Yes, even upon that day in 1900,
the grand wizard of Alaska, Dr. C.C. Giorgison,
was appearing before the House of Representatives Agricultural Committee.
Dr. Giorgison, I know why you're here, but it's useless.
Your appropriation for the development of agriculture in Alaska
is $12,000 a year.
You can't get another penny.
Say no.
They won't ask you for another dollar.
All they want now is a chance to tell you the truth about Alaska.
We won't give you any time for that.
We already know all about Alaska.
Mr. Chairman.
The gentleman from Kansas has the floor.
You may know all about Alaska, but I don't.
Perhaps there are others here who would also like to hear
what Dr. Giorgison has to say.
Well, all right.
Just five minutes, Doctor.
Thank you.
Mr. Chairman, gentlemen.
You believe that nothing will grow in Alaska.
Well, I believed it too before I went up there two years ago in 98.
Gentlemen, this is the country I found.
I found wild raspberries ripening from the southern boundary
to the Yukon.
I found wild strawberries sweetening in the shadows of glaciers
beyond the Copper River.
Vile currants ripening under the midnight sun
100 miles above the Arctic Circle.
I found 22 different kinds of native grass.
16 varieties of wild berries,
276 different species of wild flowers.
Gentlemen, I'm not asking you for one penny more.
I'm letting Alaska plead for herself.
Need we add that Dr. Giorgison obtained his increase in appropriation.
And largely due to his fine work,
his unswerving faith in his beloved Alaska,
the visitor today finds the amazing realities of...
Boat fields and sheep at Kodiak.
Wheat fields at Fairbanks.
Eulers, maturing barley in the world.
Rutabagas weighing 14 and a half pounds each.
Strawberries grown within the Arctic Circle,
eight of which fill a quart basket.
Luscious apples.
Heads of lettuce weighing three and a half pounds.
Heads of cabbage weighing 15 to 30 pounds.
And they told me nothing would grow in Alaska.
But oh, there's so much to see, so much to do in Alaska.
How can we possibly cover all of its wonders
before our boat sails for home?
We haven't seen Nome nor Cordova.
We haven't taken the motor trip from Fairbanks to Valdez.
We haven't visited the Aleutian Islands,
nor sailed Raoul's Amundsen's route through the Northwest Passage.
Nor gazed upon Old Mount Katmai,
whose terrific eruption in 1912
shook men from their horses 400 miles away.
Scattered volcanic dust 900 miles away.
Spewed ashes which buried an area as large as the state of Connecticut.
No, we haven't seen one-tenth of what we want to see.
But time goes on and our ship awaits to take us to Juneau.
Here the deafening, pounding roar of the world-famous
Treadwell Gold Ore Stamping Mill greets us.
As we sail up Gastineau Channel toward the present capital city.
Here French Pete discovered gold across the channel on Douglas Island.
Later selling his claim to John Treadwell for $505 to pay a pressing bill.
This is the mine which has produced more gold than any other in the world.
Save one, in Africa.
$67 million in gold is Treadwell's contribution to the world's wealth.
More than eight times as much as the United States paid for the entire territory.
Working night and day in three eight-hour shifts,
sending into its glory hole and underground tunnels thousands of men in the old days,
the Douglas Island Treadwell today is deserted.
Rusting machinery lines the beach.
The old saloons and dance halls are boarded up.
The city of Douglas, once housing 7,000 inhabitants, is a hamlet of 500.
Why?
Because one day years ago, just as the whistle was blowing to change ships in the early evening.
How's your blows boys?
Yep, about time. I thought old dad must have forgot us.
Hey, look here boys. Ain't that water seeping in there?
Yeah, but that's been coming in for a long time now. I noticed it last week.
You know this tunnel ain't any too well-braced if you ask me.
Well, nobody asked you.
Well, just the same. I don't like the looks of it.
Come on, Joe. We'll be the last up and out of the glory hole if you don't quit talking.
Listen.
What's that?
Shut up, listen. It's coming from up there.
And don't this tunnel run under the channel?
Yeah, yeah, it does, but what of it?
Boys, boys, we're in for it. That timber's breaking.
Just one more tragedy added to the list by man's greed for gold.
To this day, as though in silent ominous mockery for the haste and carelessness with which that tunnel had been constructed,
the tide rises and falls in the old Treadwell glory hole, a quarter of a mile inland from Gaston-O-Tannall.
That's our warning. We must get aboard our ship.
For as the Alaskans say, we're going outside,
southward along the beauteous inland passage, down past the fishing capital of Alaska, Ketchikan,
on, on, on toward our home port,
taking with us glorious memories of a happy, wholesome people,
of such spectacular, awe-inspiring beauty as to far surpass description.
And we take with us the wish of every true Alaskan,
the same little blue flower that Betus Bearing sent home to his empress.
For now, it's Alaska's official floral emblem, the Forget Me Not.
Forget you, Alaska, never.
We say farewell to you now with mingled regret and gratitude in our hearts,
for the spell of the North can never be forgotten.
Hoe, how can they have cautiousness in keeping with the evil,
and consider not the aspect that surpassesador the firstồi?
We invite you to join us again next week at this time as we journey to another of the
world's fascinating ports of call.
To enter the sea of Can 시간 and enjoy the connection with?