'Who?' Tom asked, and he was chagrined when Sam replied: 'Ah Ting.' However, Sam was so insistent that he took it upon himself to sail to Juneau to fetch the Chinese miracle worker, and Ah Ting saw nothing unpalatable in going back to work on the machine which had displaced him and the other Chinese.
Tom's reception of him at the dock was decidedly cool, which gave Ah Ting no concern.
Smiling his buck-toothed smile as always, he lugged his tool kit into the former cutting shed where for two years he had reigned. 'Well!' he said as he watched the two functioning Iron Chinks slicing their way through hundreds of salmon. 'Good machine I think. Now what's wrong?'
Tom ordered his men to run half a dozen salmon through the malfunctioning machine, and in that first minute Ah Ting spotted the error, but how to correct it he could not determine so quickly. In fact, it took him about two hours to fix what at first had seemed only a simple problem, and as he lay on a piece of bagging under the Iron Chink he called to Tom: 'Much better this rod go over here,' but Tom shouted: 'Don't change anything!' However, Ah Ting had detected a much superior way to relay power to the cutting knives and at the same time protect them from what had disabled the machine. So without seeking further permission, he began hammering and sawing and making such a racket that Tom became distraught, but after some fifteen minutes of this, Ah Ting climbed out from underneath and said, with his usual confident grin:
'All right now. You want me fix other two?'
'No!' Tom said, and after paying Ah Ting, he shoved him along to Sam Bigears' waiting skiff. However, some weeks later, one of the other machines broke down in much the same way, and back came Ah Ting to correct the mistake in its design. This time Tom looked the other way when the clever Chinese crawled under the third machine and corrected it too. That night he drafted a letter to Starling and Whitman in Seattle, advising them that he had learned through hard experience that the power transfer under the knives of their Iron Chink could be much improved if they made the changes he outlined in the drawings which accompanied his note.
IN LATE JULY ALL KINDS OF GOOD THINGS SEEMED TO happen, each more pleasing than the preceding. At the government offices in Juneau, where he had gone to consult with officials about extending the jiggers even farther across the inlet, Tom was working over maps when he heard a familiar voice, and when he turned to see who it was, there stood Reverend Lars Skjellerup of the Presbyterian Mission in Barrow, who had come south with his pretty Virginia wife to plead with the government to send schoolteachers, not to the mission, where he and his wife were doing a creditable job with the money he had earned in the gold fields of Nome, but to the Eskimos of the Barrow area in general.
Tom invited the Skjellerups to lunch, where he realized for the first time that one of the greatest joys of a human life is to learn, after a prolonged absence, how people with whom one had shared dangers were doing. Now, as he listened to the adventures of this man he had known so intimately in troubled days, he became almost effusive in his desire to recall old times.
'Lars, you'll never in a hundred years know who sat last year in that very chair you're in. He's advising our firm on land acquisitions.'
'Matthew Murphy?'
'No, but I'd sure like to see him. Hold on to your hat. It was Marvin Hoxey.'
With a shout that could be heard across the room, Skjellerup jumped up from the chair and cried: 'Is he out of jail?' and both he and his wife sat dumfounded as Tom told them how Hoxey had become an even greater force in Washington and the legislative adviser to Ross & Raglan.
He spent three days with the Skjellerups, learning how a man with no religious education could suddenly find himself a missionary in a frozen land, but he was even more impressed by Mrs. Skjellerup, who had reached that distant, frozen mission in such a curious way: 'You must have been very brave to go to the end of the earth where one winter night is three months long,' and she laughed off the suggestion: 'I'd be just as happy in Fiji.'
The idea astounded him. He knew nothing of Fiji and he supposed she didn't either, but it was about as far away from Barrow and the arctic ice as one could get: 'Do you mean that?'
'Of course I do. And it's the truth. Adventure. Hard work. Seeing good results. That's why we're put on earth.'
'Are you religious?' he asked. 'I mean, do you believe in God?'
'My wife and I believe in work,' answered the man who had driven reindeer to the top of the world, 'and I think that God does too.'
'Yes,' his wife broke in. 'I believe in God. I prefer to see Him as an old man with white hair who sits on a throne about six miles higher than the clouds. He sits there with a big book and writes down everything we do, but fortunately for people like me, He has very poor eyesight. You see, He's been writing like that for a good many years.'
The Skjellerups were well on their way back to Barrow, where the July midnights were a silvery gray, when Tom started for Taku Inlet, and as he was leaving Juneau's Occidental Hotel, he saw coming up the street from the wharf seven of the most improbable citizens of Alaska. In the forefront, giving orders as usual, came A. L. Arkikov, the Siberian reindeer herder, with his wife and three children, all of, them wearing the winter clothing of Siberia. Behind them came two whom Tom had hoped to meet again more than anyone he had ever known, Matthew Murphy and his companion Missy Peckham, and their baby daughter.
He saw them before they saw him, and he ran quickly down the hotel steps, dashed into the street, and grasped Arkikov by the waist, dancing him about before any of the newcomers could identify him. Then, as he whirled past, Missy saw him, and she stopped dead in the street, put her hands to her mouth, and fought back tears. Murphy, when he recognized this stranger, joined the dance, and for some minutes, there in front of Juneau's major hotel, the four veterans of the gold fields celebrated in noisy joy.
Insisting that they all accompany him to the dining room, Tom ordered a feast, and once more he posed his riddle: 'Who do you think was sitting in that chair you're in, Missy, not too long ago?"
Lowering her gaze, she looked at Tom from beneath her dark eyebrows and asked: 'Not that son-of-a-bitch Marvin Hoxey?' and when Tom nodded enthusiastically, as if Hoxey were an old friend, Missy and Matt and Arkikov guffawed. So for the next hour they compared notes on Hoxey and his disciple Judge Grant, and the others became hilarious when they learned that the judge was now a respected member of the Iowa bench. 'Hooray for justice!' Matt cried, and the people who had suffered so grievously from the misbehavior of Hoxey and Grant laughed at the pretensions of those two scoundrels, and the bitterness of those frantic days was lost in merriment, after which they filled in the details of the last few years for one another.
Tom learned that Missy, Matt and Arkikov had decided that there was not much future in Nome, now that the seashore provided no more easy gold. 'We thought,' said Missy, 'that the future of Alaska would be decided here in Juneau, and we wanted to be a part of it.'
'What part?'
'Who knows? Did you expect to be running a salmon cannery?'
'Never came into my head. But neither did running a restaurant along the banks of the Yukon.'
'Weren't they the best pancakes? That John Klope!'
At the mention of their benefactor, Missy and Tom fell silent, and Matt proposed a toast to the man who had finally found his gold mine. And then Missy started to laugh, and she explained to the Arkikovs: 'John Klope had this marvelous sourdough, and I would mix up and cook maybe forty, maybe fifty pancakes, stack them outside in twenty-below and allow them to freeze. Anybody came in hungry, he took one of my frozen cakes, thawed it out, and had a good meal.'
Then she asked Tom: 'What do you suppose we brought to Juneau with us. Yep, that jar of sourdough. You're all invited to come over when we find a house.'
'But what are you going to do here in Juneau?' cautious Tom asked, and both she and Arkikov replied: 'Something will turn up.'
THE NEXT VISITOR TO THE JUNEAU AREA CAME ON A MORE sober mission. Tom was in his office at the c
annery during the final week of the campaign, casting up preliminary estimates of how the season had gone. His carpenters had built about fifty thousand boxes, of which more than forty-four thousand would be filled by the end of the run. At forty-eight # 1 cans to the box, that meant that Totem would be shipping out well over two million individual cans. And since each sockeye, by no means the largest of the salmon family, would fill about three and a half cans, Totem had handled over six hundred thousand fish.
"The Iron Chink certainly did the job,' Tom said as he pushed back his calculations.
'We'll get about four cents a can and the final customer will pay about sixteen cents.
Nowhere else can she get a food bargain like that.' The industry had recently published a widely circulated brochure which showed that salmon could provide the basic food requirement at twelve cents a pound, chicken at twenty-two cents, steak at thirty-three, and eggs at thirty-six, but as Tom conceded: 'That's the cheaper types of salmon.
But even at sixteen cents a pound, our choice sockeye will be the housewife's best bargain.' He closed his calculations with a guess that for the 1905 campaign, Totem Cannery would show a profit of at least seventy thousand dollars, a stupendous sum for those days.
He was congratulating himself when he saw to his surprise that the Montreal Queen was disembarking passengers at the Totem dock, and this was so unusual that he ran from his office to see what was happening. When he reached the dock he saw coming toward him a tall gentleman dressed in the handsome uniform with which Tom had been so familiar during the Klondike days. It was the uniform of the North West Mounted Police and the man wearing it was Sergeant Will Kirby, behind whom trailed a committee of five men in rather formal business suits.
As soon as Tom recognized Kirby, he ran forward to greet him, but to his surprise Will drew back, maintaining his posture of stiff formality: 'Mr. Venn, you are the manager of this cannery, are you not?'
Astonished at his friend's rigid decorum, Tom admitted that he was, whereupon one of the other men stepped forward to introduce himself: 'I am Sir Thomas Washburn, Canadian government. And these are members of our Fisheries Commission. I presume you've received word from Washington about our visit?'
'I know nothing.'
'I'm sure papers are on their way. Captain Kirby will show you our credentials when we're seated. And I assure you, we're here at the invitation of your government.'
And when the committee was seated in the office, Kirby placed before Tom documents signed by officials in Washington asking all cannery operators in Alaska waters to cooperate with this 'commission of experts from our good neighbor Canada.'
'The purpose of our visit,' Sir Thomas said, 'is to ascertain the effect of your new traps on the movement of salmon up and down the various rivers, which, as you know, all start deep in Canada and run only short distances in Alaska. Your Taku River is a prime example of what we mean. May I show you our map?'
When Tom nodded, Sir Thomas asked Kirby to let Mr. Venn see the map which delineated the situation, but as soon as the map was unrolled, one of the committee members laughed: 'You've got the Stikine, Kirby,' and when Tom looked more closely he saw that the man was right. This map showed the Stikine River, which ran for many miles in Canada before spending less than twenty-five miles in Alaska to join the sea near Wrangell.
'Wait a minute!' Sir Thomas interrupted. 'Leave the map, Kirby. It will explain our problems rather nicely, I think.' And with his pencil he traced out the far reaches of the Stikine River system, indicating the many lakes it fed and the almost endless tributaries in which salmon bred. 'It's a salmon empire, you might say,' he concluded as he indicated the extremely brief length of the river in Alaska. 'But any dam or dams improperly placed in your small territory forcefully affects all of this.' Leaning back as if he had proved his point, he instructed Kirby to lay out the map of the Taku River system, and when this complicated network of rivers, creeks and lakes was displayed, even Tom had to admit that the relative situations were the same:
'I see what you mean, Sir Thomas. A great deal in Canada, much less in Alaska.' But he added quickly: 'However, as you must already know, our trap does not prevent the return of spawning salmon to Canada.'
Very dryly Sir Thomas said: 'I had rather thought that it did,' but Tom pointed out:
'To protect you, we keep the trap open, totally free passage, every weekend,' and Sir Thomas said: 'I'm sure that helps somewhat.' He paused just a moment, then added:
'Our task is to ascertain whether it helps enough.'
Since the canneries had guesthouses in which visitors and company inspectors could be made reasonably comfortable, Tom was quick to extend an invitation to the committee to remain overnight at Totem, but Sir Thomas said: 'I'm afraid we shall have to remain three days. We want to see how the weekend opening affects the fish,' and he directed Kirby to fetch their bags.
They spent the rest of Friday inspecting the trap itself and comparing the eastern jigger, which was permanently installed by means of pilings driven into the bottom, with the western jigger, which merely floated, and they were amazed that the latter seemed to be as effective as the former. They also checked, with some dismay, the number of salmon that drowned in the holding pen and were not impressed when Tom tried to dismiss the loss as relatively trivial.
When they inquired as to how many salmon Totem Cannery took out of the Taku system each summer, they were not startled by the total, some six hundred thousand, for as one of their experts said: 'Quite reasonable, provided enough are allowed to get through the trap to spawn,' and then he spotted a problem about which Sam Bigears had often worried: 'But the placement of your trap means that even if enough do get through on the weekends to supply the Canadian needs, it looks to me as if your Pleiades River is pretty well cut off from its replenishment,' and Tom said with a show of assurance:
'I'm sure enough go up that river, too.'
On Saturday afternoon the entire commission, including Captain Kirby, was in small boats watching the transit of salmon past the trap and under the jiggers, and so many handsome fish swam past, only a few inches underwater and therefore clearly visible, that Sir Thomas had to admit: 'Impressive, truly impressive,' and one of his team said: 'Problem's simple. Train the salmon to swim upstream only on Sundays,' and when the laughter subsided, Tom sought to allay the doubts that had bothered the other team to whom he had explained the system: 'You realize, gentlemen, that when the young salmon swim down from your rivers to reach the sea, they encounter no problems. Entirely different season, so the traps aren't operating.'
On Sunday morning, after another visit to the trap, the Canadians got down to business, and with their map on Tom's desk they demanded to know: 'What will you canners in Alaska be doing to protect our Canadian breeding grounds?' and Tom answered flatly:
'The canneries are here, Sir Thomas. In all your area' he spread his hands over the Canadian part of the map' you haven't a single cannery. You don't need the salmon.
We do.'
Sir Thomas did not flinch: 'For the present what you say seems to be correct. But we must also consider the future when there will be many Canadians in these parts.
Then an assured supply of salmon will be most important, and if you Alaskans prevent or destroy that supply, you will be doing us grave wrong.'
Tom would concede nothing: 'Throughout Alaska we shut down the traps, as you've seen.
I'm positive enough fish get through.'
'But the wastage! The dead salmon.' ».
'Not excessive when you consider the numbers.'
Sir Thomas was somewhat irritated to be arguing with so young a man, but he had to be impressed favorably by Tom's ability to defend his company's interests, so after stating most emphatically Canada's intention to seek an international agreement protecting her interests in the salmon trade, he listened politely as Tom rebutted his arguments and said that he doubted the United States would ever submit to such an agreement.
Unwilling to prolong
the debate when the positions were so contrary, Sir Thomas asked Kirby to pass him another file, and after searching through its papers, he found the document he wanted: 'Mr. Venn, do you happen to know a Mr. Marvin Hoxey?'
The surprise on Tom's face proved that he did, and the Canadian continued: 'He seems to be our principal stumbling block in Washington. Keeps citing statistics at us demolishing all our claims. We suspect his data are fraudulent. Can you tell us anything about him? Is he really an expert in these matters?'
Without blinking, Tom said: 'He certainly is.'
'Has he inspected these traps? I mean, your trap in particular?'
'He has.'
Sir Thomas said nothing, but he did ask for another paper, which he studied for some moments as if calculating how to use its information. Finally he cleared his throat, leaned forward, and asked in a most conciliatory voice: 'Now, is it not true, Mr.
Venn, that in the Alaskan city of Nome in the year ... Let us see, could it have been 1900? Yes, I believe it was. Were you then acquainted with Mr. Hoxey?'
'I was.'
'Arid did you not offer testimony that helped send him to prison?"
Very weakly Tom replied: 'I did.' But then quickly added: 'But you must also know that Mr. Hoxey received a full pardon from the President himself. It was all a political mistake.'
'I'm sure it was,' Sir Thomas said, and he dropped the matter.
It was not till late Sunday evening that Tom found a chance to talk alone with Captain Kirby, who, after exchanging reminiscences of the old days, asked frankly: 'Tom, what kind of man is Hoxey? He's giving us a lot of trouble.'
'Confidential?'
'Like in the old days.'
'You, can use the information, but don't say I told you.'
'I think you know you can trust me.'
Looking Kirby straight in the eye, Tom said: 'If he had shown up when you and I were on the Klondike, after two days you'd have shot him.'
No more was said on that subject, but when the conversation returned to the old days, Tom said: 'You'd never guess who's in Juneau,' and when Kirby said he had no idea, Tom said: 'Missy Peckham!' and the two men leaned back and visualized that plucky woman climbing to the top of Chilkoot Pass, where she had first met Kirby. And they spoke of her whizzing down the snowy pass on the shovel, and of building their boat and of the days in the tent at Dawson and on Bonanza Creek.