Tales of the Alaskan Fur Trade - Chapter 2:

By mid-afternoon, the warmth of the sun had taken over the atmosphere in town. People walked about the streets conducting their business; dockhands finishing their workdays were walking up the boardwalk and starting to fill the seats in the saloon. A couple of ladies in worn pastel dresses were flirting with them, seeing if the men could be separated from their silver. The old innkeeper whistled as he poured drinks and kept track of everybody’s tabs, coins clinking in his smock pockets. Upstairs in the hotel’s corner suite—a mere two rooms with a chamber pot and vanity sink—Mosley sat at the desk in front of the window overlooking the main street. On the desk sat several stacks of neatly organized papers, annotated maps, an inlaid fountain pen with a silver inkwell, and a leather-bound journal. On the back of the chair on which he sat, Mosley had laid down his tweed jacket. He sat upright in the chair, holding a monocle to his eye as he dipped his pen into the inkwell.

As Mosley began to pen a letter, he heard the sound of heavy footsteps coming upstairs from the saloon. As the footsteps ceased, a knock sounded on the door to his room. He looked up from the desk and turned his head toward the doorway.

“Just a moment,” Mosley said. Turning back to the desk, he capped his pen and inkwell, placing them side by side. He centered the letter he had been working on and stood up, taking a brief moment to stiffen his posture.

There came another knock at the door.

“I’ll be right with you,” Mosley replied as he pushed the chair in under the desk. Retrieving his sport coat from the back of the chair, he put it on one sleeve at a time and pulled his vest taut before walking to the door. Pulling a monogrammed pocket square from his vest pocket, he grasped the doorknob and turned it to the left. Opening the door, he looked down at the slightly shorter, stout, hairy man on the other side. He took a good look at the man: mottled grey and hazel eyes, a thick reddish-brown beard (freshly trimmed) with a handful of gray hairs, and a rugged, pockmarked face.

“Good afternoon, how might I be of assistance?”

The gruff bear stood in silence for a moment, looking the tall gentleman over from head to toe. Never in his life had he been in the presence of such a person—not even when he saw the mine owners and their wives coming in off the big steamships in Juneau. The yo-ng man was delicate and beautiful, with faint blue eyes and flawless white skin accented with pastel, rose-tinted cheeks. Kodiak could detect the subtle aroma of lavander and citrus aftershave. His elegant dress framed his head like a portrait, and for a moment the normally gnarly trail guide found himself taken aback, both by the gentleman’s grace and by how utterly out of place he was—like a silver salmon flopping in the dirt and mud.

“I say, may I be of assistance, my good man?”

“Erm, the name’s Kodiak. The proprietor mentioned you were looking for an experienced guide, sent me your way.”

“Oh, excellent.” Mosley looked the rough man over from head to toe and offered a polite smile. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mister… Kodiak. I am Nigel Arthur Mosley, of Burnaston. Won’t you please come in?” he said, taking a step back and opening the door wider.

“A pleasure.” Kodiak begrudgingly bent his head downward in a token gesture toward the man of high status and crossed the threshold into the cramped quarters.

“I am afraid it is not much,” Mosley began.

“It’s the best room in town,” Kodiak interrupted before biting his lower lip, “but I’m sure you’re used to better.”

“Quite right,” Mosley said, gesturing toward the wooden chair by the vanity. “Won’t you please have a seat?”

“Thank you, Mister Mosley.” Kodiak sat, the legs of the small chair creaking as his weight pressed downward. “I take it you’re from England?”

“Yes, I grew up at Burnaston House; that’s my family’s estate in Derbyshire. It is a beautiful piece of countryside; there are rolling green hills, little copses, and manicured pasture for miles around.”

“Must be quite different, being here.” Kodiak’s eyes met Mosley’s. The yo-ng gentleman seemed earnest in his enthusiasm. “Quite a bit different from where you’re from.”

“Very much so. I must say, all the woodlands I’ve seen here and on the train across Canada—forests like none I have ever seen in Europe, and the wildlife…”

“Yeah, wildlife’s sure impressive—when it isn’t trying to eat you for lunch.”

Mosley laughed. “A daunting prospect, indeed! Now, onto business. You said you were a field guide, did you not?”

“Yes, this is my seventh season up in Alaska. Done work for the Treadwell Mining Company, Ebner, and Nowell—mostly scouting for building sites. Also did stints with the Alaska Commercial Company clearing trails to their outposts.”

“You must like it here if you return every year.”

“Actually, I overwintered last year. Probably will this year, too. Speaking of winter,” Kodiak leaned in slightly, his heavy frame shifting the small chair, “mind if I ask you something?”

“Go right ahead.”

“Well, I don't mean no disrespect, but why are you looking for a guide this time of year? Winter’s right around the corner.”

“Can’t be helped, I’m afraid. You see—” Mosley paused, biting his lower lip as a slight flush rose to his cheeks. “You see, I’ve just inherited an estate from my father. He passed away rather unexpectedly this summer.”

“Oh. Well, I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Thank you, Mister Kodiak. It was very sudden. Unfortunately, my uncle has contested the estate, and the probate court needs a considerable amount of paperwork tidied up across his holdings to settle it.”

“I beg your pardon, sir, but isn’t that a job for your lawyers?”

Mosley hesitated, his blue eyes meeting Kodiak’s gaze. “My father’s estate was in considerable arrearage when he died. At the moment, I’m afraid I could only afford to make the trip myself. I have to have the whole affair wrapped up by June of next year—on the anniversary of his passing—or the estate defaults.”

“I see. Do you have a list of the places you’re intending on visitin’?” Kodiak asked, exhaling sharply through his nose.

“Yes, of course.” Mosley turned around and leaned over the desk, picking up a small bundle of sheets bound with a straight pin from the top of the pile. “Here is a comprehensive list of my father’s holdings in the territory.”

Kodiak took the papers and scanned the list. “Douglas Island, St. Paul Harbor, St. George, Cook Inlet, the Stikine River Delta, St. Michael, Skagway, even Dutch Harbor. Goddamn, your pappy’s money got around. You have any idea how long it’ll take to get to all these places and back again?”

“I dare say that I do not, but whatever the case, it must be done. I must be back in London by the end of June next year.”

“My boy, this would take at least four to six months in the summer. Over winter, you’d be damn lucky to be back in Vancouver by May—hell, you’d be lucky to get back at all!”

“And just what’s that supposed to mean?”

Kodiak scanned the room in bemusement, then gestured toward Mosley’s fur overcoat and beaver hat hanging from the coat rack. “Just look at you. You aren’t outfitted for a proper expedition. This ain’t no pleasure cruise.”

“I brought a considerable sum with me, just about all I had in savings. I had it wired to the bank in Juneau. I anticipated that I might need to purchase supplies when I got here.”

Kodiak’s jaw dropped. “You’re gonna need a helluva lot more than supplies if you wanna come out of this alive. You’re all skin and bones propping up a sport coat! Ain’t a bit of muscle under that tweed…”

Mosley pursed his lips. “I figured that I could avail myself of the local infrastructure—”

“Infrastructure—here?”

“I thought that I might, perhaps,” Mosley continued undeterred, “if need be, prevail upon somebody to purchase a horse—”

“A horse—?!”

“Yes, a horse. I dare say, my good man, what the devil’s the matter with you?”

“Oh, brother.” Kodiak stood up and rubbed his hand across his face. “Sir, you’re going to need a lot more—and I mean a lot more—than a horse, some supplies, and a guide to get what you want done by the time you want it done. This is nigh impossible!”

“Impossible or not, Mister Kodiak,” Mosley took a quiet breath, “it must be done. My family depends upon it.”

Taking a breath, Kodiak took a second look at the list, then at the articles on the desk. “Do you have a map there I could use?”

“Of course, it’s in my coat pocket.” Mosley took a couple of steps toward the coat rack and fished a small folding pocket map from the right pocket of his fur overcoat. It was bound in stiff navy-blue cloth with gold-foil embossing. Mosley extended his hand and offered the map to Kodiak. “Purchased it at Stanford’s on Charing Cross before I left.”

Kodiak took the map into his calloused hands and examined the gold lettering on the cover: Stanford’s Map of Alaska, the Yukon, and the Canadian Gold Fields (1897).

“Clear off the desk,” Kodiak said, nodding as he unfolded the linen panels. “I need to lay the map out.”

Mosley took the stacks of papers and carefully placed them onto the floor by the desk, pushed flat against the wall. Then he took his pen and ink and placed them back in his velvet-lined traveling writing kit. With the desk cleared, Kodiak laid the full map out across the surface. Mosley leaned over it with him, in slight awe of the vastness of the territory.

“We’re in the first week of autumn now. Within a few weeks,” Kodiak began, pointing toward the center of the map, “the Yukon River is going to start freezing over. After that, anything inland is going to be inaccessible until the spring thaw. Anything west of that,” he drew his finger across the coastline, “is also going to be inaccessible until next year. During the winter, the gales in the Bering Sea will capsize any vessel, and there’s no way to sail against the tides and up Turnagain Arm until the winter gales cease. If you head there now, you’re going to get frozen up there for the winter, and then you’re going to have a bad time of it.”

“Could we not cover the inland trails by mount?”

“Mister Mosley, there’s a reason the main route to the interior out of Skagway is called ‘Dead Horse Trail.’ No, we have to save those for next year. Reasonably, you’ll be able to cover the Southeast islands and the sites around Juneau and Wrangell. The Gastineau Channel is saltwater—there’s year-round steamship service in those ports.”

“I see. Do you think there will be enough time after the spring thaw?”

“Maybe. I can’t be sure—it all depends on whether or not it comes early next year. If it is early, you just might have a chance, but we’ll have to time almost everything correctly, or else you won’t be back in Vancouver in time to head home.”

“I understand. I’m willing to do whatever it takes.”

“You’d better be.” Kodiak ran his fingers through his beard. “After we have your affairs here in order, we’ll head toward Juneau—that’s where we’ll spend the winter. It’s a livelier town, but you’ll be close to your bank…”

“Good idea. I’ll be able to take over the affairs of my father’s mining operation on Douglas Island from there. That will help keep our little expedition financed.”

“Speaking of expedition financing, there is the matter of my fee,” Kodiak said, leaning across the desk toward Mosley. “There ain’t a lot of guides available right now, and even fewer who will take a winter contract.”

“I already found that out in Vancouver,” Mosley sighed, “but dread not, I ought to have more than enough.”

“I thought you said you were hard-pressed for cash.”

“I am, at present, but between my personal savings and the pound sterling’s favorable exchange rates against the greenback, we should be adequately covered. Besides, part of me wanted to come.”

“Oh. Is that so?”

“Yes, it sounded like a jolly good adventure. Part of me fancied a true wilderness expedition,” Mosley beamed.

“Oh, I reckon it will be jolly, all right…” Kodiak leaned back and clasped his suspenders. “I’m gonna need two hundred and fifty dollars a month salary, plus expenses. Two months’ salary in advance.”

Mosley pursed his lips and nodded. “Those terms are agreeable.”

“Hold on, I ain’t done.” Kodiak held up a thick index finger. “If I do manage to get you back to Vancouver in time, I’ll want a bonus. Let’s call it an extra thousand dollars.”

“Done. Another thousand if I am back in Vancouver by the first of June next year.”

Kodiak paused, clutching his beard and looking over Mosley once more. “All right then, sounds like we got ourselves a deal.”

“Quite right. I can withdraw your advance from the bank here tomorrow, I brought a certificate of deposit with me in case I needed a cash advance.”

“We’re also gonna have to get you properly outfitted.”

“But—I spent so much on my apparel and gear already. I have two whole steamer trunks in addition to my personal baggage.”

Kodiak sighed again. “Look, a lot of this fancy-pants stuff is okay for an alpine holiday, but you’re going to be going into the backcountry here for days, perhaps weeks on end. You’re gonna need something more practical,” he said, his eyes drifting toward the Russian furs.

“I understand,” said Mosley drearily.

Kodiak opened one of the steamer trunks, it was packed to the brim with parcels and compartments full of instruments, refined tools, camping gear, and general accouterments. Kodiak started peaking into the packages and opening the compartments to take an ad hoc inventory. There was a mercury thermometer, a brass barometer, a scale with matching weight set, as well as a medicine bag. Inside the medicine bag was am ample stock of pharmacueticals, neatly labeled from their original pharmacy in London. There was a small field telescope tucked in corner underneath a small pickaxe and a set of crampons. Less than halfway through he gave up and took a step back from the trunkload of items.

“What in God’s name is all this?”

“My equipment. I did read up on Northern expeditions in the trade magazines.” Sighing Mosley stepped over and began packing things away again. “You never know when something might come in handy.”

Kodiak rolled his eyes. “We’ll go through all this tomorrow. What we don’t need, you can leave at the hotel in Juneau when we get there. I’ll take the map with me tonight—I need to spend some time going over our route.”

“All right,” said Mosley. “That will give me time to withdraw your money and set my affairs here in order. My father owns majority stakes in several of the local fur-trapping outfits.”

“You don’t say…” said Kodiak, looking once again at the beaver hat and overcoat.

Outside, the town bell struck four times.

“I say, my good man, I should like to have an early supper tonight. Travel by steamship tires one so.”

“Aye.” Kodiak nodded, holding his tongue.

“Did you have any plans, or…”

Kodiak stared dumbfounded into Mosley’s eyes. “Mister Mosley, nobody in this town makes dinner plans. Most folk just get by on biscuits and pork ’n’ beans.”

“I see. Well, surely there’s…”

“If you go back downstairs and flash some more silver coins, I’m sure somebody can rustle you up a steak dinner. Would that work for you?”

“Yes, that would hit the spot nicely.” Mosley smiled eagerly. “Would you care to join me, Mister Kodiak?”

“I—uh, I don’t reckon I’d make good dinner company.”

“Not at all, my good man! Truth be told, I’ve been traveling by myself for weeks now and would welcome the company. Besides, we have much to discuss and a tight schedule ahead of us; you must join me. I am eager to talk about our upcoming journey together.”

Mosley looked at Kodiak with a gaze that spoke of a boyish sense of adventure. Kodiak sighed and shrugged his shoulders. “Whatever you say. You’re the boss, after all.”

“Quite right. Now then, what should I wear to dinner…?”