The Clara Nevada: Gold, Greed, Murder and Alaska's Inside Passage Read online

  Published by The History Press

  Charleston, SC 29403

  www.historypress.net

  Copyright © 2011 by Steven C. Levi

  All rights reserved

  Front cover image: While the water in the Lynn Canal can be calm, as seen here, when there is a storm, twelve-foot waves and wind exceeding ninety miles per hour are not uncommon. Photo by Peter Metcalfe. Courtesy of the State of Alaksa Department of Commerce and Economic Development.

  First published 2011

  e-book edition 2012

  ISBN 978.1.61423.355.8

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Levi, Steven C.

  The Clara Nevada : gold, greed, murder, and Alaska’s Inside Passage / Steven C. Levi.

  p. cm.

  Includes bibliographical references and index.

  print edition ISBN 978-1-60949-288-5

  1. Clara Nevada (Steamboat)--Explosion, 1898. 2. Explosions--Alaska--History--19th century. 3. Shipwrecks--Alaska--History--19th century. 4. Shipping--Washington (State)--Seattle--History--19th century. 5. Avarice--Social aspects--Case studies. 6. Seattle (Wash.)--History--19th century. 7. Lynn Canal (Alaska)--History--19th century. 8. Alaska--History--1867-1959. 9. Inside Passage--History--19th century. 10. Klondike River Valley (Yukon)--Gold discoveries. I. Title.

  F909.L434 2011

  979.8’02--dc22

  2011010590

  Notice: The information in this book is true and complete to the best of our knowledge. It is offered without guarantee on the part of the author or The History Press. The author and The History Press disclaim all liability in connection with the use of this book.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form whatsoever without prior written permission from the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  Dedicated to the passengers and crew of the Clara Nevada who may well have been the victims of one of the largest robberies in American history.

  Contents

  1. The Maritime Rush to Skagway and Dyea

  2. The Wreck of the Clara Nevada

  3. The Seattle Times and Post-Intelligencer Do Battle

  4. “Curiouser and Curiouser”

  5. The Search for Answers

  6. What Happened to C.H. Lewis?

  7. The End of the Maritime Frontier

  8. Mass Murder and Robbery or an Accident?

  Appendix

  Notes

  Bibliography

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  The Maritime Rush to Skagway and Dyea

  The saga of the Clara Nevada actually began in Canada two years before the ship was even launched. In May 1896, prospector George Carmack and his brothers-in-law, Skookum Jim and Tagish Charley, stumbled onto one of the richest gold finds in North American history at Rabbit Creek, one of the numerous small streams leading into the remote Thron-diuck River. Skookum Jim made the discovery while cleaning a dish pan in the waters of the creek. That dish pan yielded four dollars. The next day, August 17, 1896, the three men staked their claim.

  The news of the strike spread quickly, and soon the creek banks were packed with men digging for the yellow metal. Rabbit Creek was triumphantly renamed Bonanza Creek, and Dawson City sprang to life at the confluence of the now-renamed Klondike River and mighty Yukon.

  About a year later, in July 1897, news of the strike reached the United States in dramatic fashion: Tom Lippy stepped off the steamboat Excelsior in San Francisco with $50,000 in gold dust. Little did he know that he was going to change the face of the age—he set off a clap of thunder heard ’round the world.

  If there was any doubt as to the existence of the Klondike Strike, it was extinguished two days later when the Portland docked in Seattle carrying more gold dust–laden prospectors. Though it was only carrying $700,000 in gold, according to the Seattle Post-Intelligencer, the Chicago Tribune increased the quantity to “a ton.” There was so much gold on board, a Seattle paper noted, that some gold had been smuggled aboard the Portland to avoid the freight charge. The San Francisco Call declared, “Nuggets are reported as big as potatoes.” The story was flashed across the country and around the world. Within two weeks, more than 1,500 prospectors had left Seattle for the Klondike, and there were nine more ships in the harbor ready to sail. The greatest gold rush in North American history was on!

  Within days of the arrival of the Portland, Seattle streets began teeming with would-be millionaires seeking passage north. Thousands of men—and more than a few women—left their jobs without so much as a day’s notice. Thousands grabbed their valises and bedrolls and headed to Portland and Seattle, the gateways to the Klondike.

  But the era of the Klondike Strike was short, barely sixteen months. What began with the arrival of the Portland on July l7, l897, ended in May 1899 with the news of the gold strike in Nome. Stampeders left Dawson by the thousands for the golden beaches of Nome.

  From the four corners of the earth, Argonauts—the name itself coined from the ship of the legendary Greek hero Jason in quest of the golden fleece, the ARGO—converged on Seattle, Portland and Vancouver with a single thought in mind: passage north. All that mattered was getting to the gold fields as fast as possible. Each day was a fortune lost, a day in which someone else might find the Eldorado.

  Getting to the Klondike, however, was a bit more difficult than just getting to the Pacific Northwest and catching a ship. The fastest way was by ship, but not everyone could afford passage. Those with less money used whatever means they could afford. Some came by foot, others by bicycles or canoe. Unusual modes of transportation included rowboat, balloon, airplane and even reindeer.1 No means of transportation was considered too bizarre to be considered.

  By far the most popular route was by ship, from Seattle to the twin Alaska boomtowns of Dyea and Skagway. Here the stampeders disembarked and made their way up the infamous Chilkoot Pass ice stairway or the longer but less steep White Pass. Once the passes had been crested and the Argonauts were inside Canada, they would follow the rivers and chain of lakes northward to Dawson, the heart of the gold fields.

  The gold route over the Chilkoot and White Passes is best known today courtesy of a band of outlaws who ruled Skagway. A gang led by the nefarious Jefferson Randolph “Soapy” Smith found that it was infinitely easier to fleece stampeders than to expose themselves to the hard labor of digging for nuggets. Those whom the gang could not roll, they robbed; those they could not rob, they hoodwinked. Soapy Smith and his gang ruled Skagway, despoiling and hoodwinking stampeders with impunity until July 8, 1898, the day Soapy was shot dead on the Skagway dock. Leaderless, the gang scattered and lost its menace.

  But the trip to Skagway was often more hellish than dealing with Soapy Smith and his minions. The Clara Nevada was the epitome of what could go wrong on the Inside Passage, the shortest sea route from Seattle to Skagway and Dyea, the salt-water gallery of channels protected from the turbulent storms of the open Pacific.

  During the summer, the waters were calm and storms more an annoyance than a danger. To this day, summer cruises up the Inside Passage are one of the most popular summer luxury liner routes. Whales, majestic scenery and quaint fishing villages charm visitors to Alaska, while the weather is mild enough to allow jogging on the open top decks of the pleasure ships.

  But during the winter, the Inside Passage can be exceedingly treacherous. Funneled by the islands, ferocious Pacific winds blast through the straits and barrel up the channels. Known as takus, such w
inds can easily roll a poorly loaded ship. Frigid winds can coat a ship with ice in a few hours. Snow can fall so heavily that whiteout conditions exist, and fog can hang so low that the rugged shoals of the channels cannot be seen until a luckless ship runs aground.

  In the Klondike stampede of 1898, as in all other gold rushes, entrepreneurs learned quickly that there was more money to be had from the pockets of the stampeders than out of ground. The greatest scams were not in the sales of fry pans, trousers, flour or shovels; they were in transportation. Stampeders had to go north—a high demand; the number of ships was limited—a low supply. Thus, by that natural mechanism, the shipping industry was destined to make money—lots of money.

  Seattle and Portland also had their Soapy Smiths—too many of them. In the mad rush to provide transportation, every ship on the Pacific coast that could be found, regardless of its seaworthiness, was launched into the trade. Here was a fleet born of greed. Rotting derelicts were yanked off beaches or unearthed from maritime graveyards. Refitted, they became members of a doom-haunted flotilla. Sailing vessels, blockade runners, private yachts and decrepit steamers of every description were swiftly refurbished, repainted and rechristened to be offered to the gold-dazzled public. Often these repairs were slight.

  Many of these vessels could hardly be called safe even when upgraded. They were loaded for profit, not safety. Holds were crammed dangerously full. Hallways were lined with swaying, unsteady crates. Deck cargo was piled as high as ropes could reach. Uneven loading often caused ships to list dangerously. Sometimes even the hatches were left open and crammed with cargo. Should the ship encounter a storm, the open hatches could spell doom.

  Adding to the mélange, part of the cargo was often animal. On some ships, horses, dogs and cattle were taken onboard first, and human passengers were squeezed into the remaining space. Often this was not much. The epitome of overloading was the Al-Ki, which left Seattle on July 19, 1898. The ship carried 110 human passengers, 900 sheep, 65 cattle, 30 horses and still managed to load 350 tons of supplies. Another dilapidated wreck, the Colorado, left Seattle with 350 horses, 150 cattle and 100 dogs. Securing animals and cargo was frequently done without much care, even on the larger ships. When the Queen went aground in Wrangell Narrows, the ship tilted to forty degrees. Falling baggage crushed a number of horses and injured many more. A passenger on the Islander, stampeder Alexander Whyte, wrote to his wife that the steamer was so packed it had a “100 ton overload,” including “about 600 dogs and 8 oxen and 50 to 75 horses,” besides the “420 to 450 passengers and crew.” Whyte estimated that was about 150 passengers too many, but the steamer company didn’t seem to care because the transportation business was just “a skin game all through.”

  Humans were often treated as just another form of troublesome cargo. If staterooms were full, passengers had to find sleeping quarters between crates, in the engine room or wherever else a human body could wriggle. The Canadian steamer Amur overbooked its passengers by a factor of five. In first class, rooms that normally held two were booked to ten. Second class was substantially more crowded. Passengers had to seize any open bed if they wanted to sleep. To eat, the stampeders had to snatch food from trays as they passed down the hallway on their way to the dining room, a salon that could only accommodate twenty-seven people at a time.

  In Dyea, customs officers reported “nearly every vessel arriving here carr[ied] twice the passengers the law allow[ed] it to carry and many of them are condemned craft that have been fitted up for this trade.”2 Tales of raw terror onboard were commonplace. One passenger described his voyage north as “a floating bedlam, Pandemonium let loose, the Black Hole of Calcutta in an Arctic setting.”

  Second-class quarters were likened to “a veritable beehive [where] the atmosphere resembled that of a dungeon in Afghanistan.” Fred Kimball, postmaster of St. Michael during the Klondike Rush, reported seeing the Homer at the Dutch Harbor dock “loaded with freight so that not a ray of daylight could get into a stateroom.” Had the ship gone down, “her passengers would have stood no more a show than rats in a trap.”

  Passengers could be a danger, too. Many were not the least concerned with overloading. They wanted to go north immediately. This was a gold rush. Every hour spent on a Seattle dock meant that someone else was staking the best claims. Passengers often proved cantankerous, even if their demands meant placing the ship in danger. On August 18, 1897, as an example, the Post-Intelligencer reported a full-scale passenger riot when the Humboldt attempted to leave with the passengers but not their supplies. Threats of “gun play, mutiny and violence” kept the ship from sailing. The cargo was finally loaded.

  Rebellions and mutinies were not unknown. Petitions filled out by passengers and given to a government official at a port were not unusual. But these were marginally effective. All in all, once passengers were on board, they were at the mercy of the hard-bitten captains and crews. One surviving petition concerns the overselling of first-class cabin space on the steamer Protection. The ship was licensed for sixteen first-class passengers, but the company had sold that space to twenty-seven people. There is no evidence that the United States government officials in St. Michael in August 1898 did anything other than accept the petition. The only proof that they did even that is due to the document still being in existence.

  Passengers were not above threats of violence themselves. Even unarmed, they could be violent. In September 1899, Captain O’Brien of the Bark Hunter arrived in Seattle, making “unusually quick time.” The passengers, angry over the quality of the food on board, had “talked of hanging the master to the yardarm of the vessel.”

  Then there were the crews—or what were called “crews.” When hundreds of seasoned sailors abandoned deck timbers for the gold fields, their places had to be filled by men whose maritime experience was limited to rowboats on calm country lakes. Unscrupulous men claimed years of sea experience to get a free ride north. Farmers, bartenders, card sharks and derelicts signed on as crew, many of them so unfamiliar with the sea they were unsure what their job title entailed.

  Officers were not much better. Crew members were beaten, brutalized and punished unmercifully. Men were beaten to the point where they were permanently crippled, and few captains were punished for the crimes. The captain of the schooner Lyman D. Foster, as an example, was the subject of a libel suit that “read much like a page from a mildly colored dime novel.” The captain was accused of “inveig[ing]” three seamen onto his ship and then “shanghai[ng]” them. Some captains were out-and-out cowards. When the schooner Elsie was about to wreck on Chichagof Island, the captain rushed out on deck without hat or shoes “wild with fear. He knelt down on the icy deck and with tears streaming down his face cried out ‘God Help Us!’”3

  Often captains were as bad as their crew. Take the case of the Blakley, a square-rigged brigantine. The ship had been rotting on the beach in Tacoma for two years before it was snatched up by four Klondike exploration syndicates. The years on the beach had done the vessel permanent damage, and even when refitted, it was in such poor shape that the captain “refuse[ed] to take charge until he had consumed the [ship’s] entire supply of whiskey.”

  But officers and crew members were desperately needed, regardless of their inexperience. In March 1898, forty-two steamers and twenty-two sailing vessels and barges were made available for the Seattle to Dyea and Skagway run. The round trip took about fifteen days, and the carrying capacity of those ships was 12,472 passengers and 53,570 tons of cargo. This meant that there could have been as many as 20,000 passengers heading north that month. Considering that the ships were overloaded and overbooked, the actual number may have been substantially higher. Each of those vessels needed a crew. With so much money to be made, captains could not be choosy about whom they hired.

  Business in Seattle boomed. But there was a downside to the sudden surge of economic activity in Seattle. While the Seattle Chamber of Commerce may have been pleased with the influx of business, many mariners we
re quite concerned with the impact greed was having on their industry. Ships that should have been allowed to rot gracefully to splinters were being pressed into service in waters that were among the world’s most treacherous. Captains of dubious ability were commanding crews of questionable competence in ships so decrepit that the first storm could easily reduce them to timbers. Many were so reduced.

  These mariners became even more concerned when editorials in East Coast papers—the home ports of their competitors—began stating the obvious. In February 1898, the Providence, Rhode Island Journal touched a sensitive nerve when it stated that “in the rush to gold fields any old thing, so long as it would float, is sent forth.” In response to this and other articles and editorials, Erastus Brainerd, head of the publicity committee for the Seattle Chamber of Commerce, wrote the supervising inspector of the Steamboat Inspection Service in Washington D.C., demanding to know what the service was going to be doing in Puget Sound that summer and whether the inspections of steamboats “differ from or [are] inferior to the inspection of steamers in other parts of the United States.”

  James Dument, the supervising inspector general in Washington D.C., replied that “the fact that the inspectors [in Seattle] still [are] retained should be prima facie sufficient evidence of the opinion of this office as to such general charges.” The Post-Intelligencer ran both letters, one after the other, at the bottom of a lengthy piece on the Clara Nevada, one of the first ships to go to the bottom in 1898.4

  Such attempts at caution were ill-placed at a time where there was so much easy cash to be made. Pure greed was driving the gold rush juggernaut. Arthur Dietz from New York wrote that the “Devil reigned supreme” in Seattle. It was a town gone mad with “Klondicitis.” This, then, was the setting for the tragedy that claimed the Clara Nevada.

  Chapter 2

  The Wreck of the Clara Nevada