The
ALASKA SOURDOUGH
Published for the Sourdough and
the Chechako as well, by A. B. C’alla
ham.
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Home Office, Old Methodist Church
Building, Douglas, Alaska. Tel. 36.
SEQUESTERING A SECRETARY
A few days after the steamship
ship Sampson had proceeded north with
Governor Clark and Secretary Fisher
on board, there appeared in the Dis
patch an anonymous communication
from Ketchikan, the burden of which
was that the people of that place had
been defeated in an attempt to present
certain unnamed grievances to the vis
iting cabinet officer, and that this de
feat had been aided and abetted by the
governor of the territory.
As the Dispatch remarks, in a recent
issue, the communication caused more
or less discussion. It is only fair to
say, however, that nearly all those who
discussed it with the editor of this pa
per, wondered just what it meant, and
just what had happened at Ketchikan.
The editor of this paper believes
that the only way to publish a paper
in this country is to publish it for the
subscribers. The vast majority of the
the advertisers are independent, and
will, ultimately, place their advertis
ing with reference to the merits of
publications as an advertising medium,
and therefore give the largest patron
age to the publication with the largest
number of readers, and not on account
of its editorial policy.
So far as an editorial policy is in
strumental in gaining readers, the
Sourdough believes there is only one
which will win in the end, and that is
the policy of telling the truth.
In the last issue of the Sourdough,
there appeared an editorial in commen
dation of Governor Clark. The sole
reason of that editorial was that the
editor of this paper believed that he
deserved it on account of what - he has
done, but if anyone imagines that this
paper is definitely committed to the
policy of commending Go. Clark or any
body elese, without regard to his official
course or conduct, they have very much
to find out with regard to the editorial
policy of this paper. Like Emerson,
the Sourdough believes that consisten
cy is a hobgoblin of little minds. The
Sourdough would have been glad to
have eriven an editorial oninion of the
Ketchikan incident at the time if it
had been sufficiently advised as to the
facts.
It must be admitted, however, that
the communication in question was
long on eloquence and conclusion, and
short on logic and facts, however just
how uncertain the grievance may have
been. The details of this conspiracy
against the ear of the secretary would
make an exceedingly interesting stpry.
It is difficult to see, and interesting to
know, how the secretary, who, the
writer of the Dispatch letter says,
“made an impression on the communi
ty of being honest and sincere in his
wish to better conditions, employing
his efforts to correct such abuses as he
can discover,” could have been so thor
oughly and scrupulously guarded, as to
prevent anyone getting the ear of the
secretary, and that too, without the
secretary’s suspecting it.
When a distinguished visitor arrives
in a large city, a cordon of police is
thrown about the gang plank, extend
ing from the rail to the carriage on the
dock. If that could be done in Alas
ka, the sequestration of the secretary
might have been accomplished without
any particular cleverness. Nobody be
lieves, however, that that was done at
Ketchikan. It is morally certain that
the secretary walked off the gang
plank, and acompanied by his com
panions, sauntered about the town in
much the same fashion that a Treadwell
miner in his evening clothes would
have done. If any man had had any
thing to say to the secretary, and had
approached the group courteously, there
is not the slightest doubt that unless
he showed indications of dementia, no
one would have laid violent hands up
on him. Therefore, the unbiased read
er of the Dispatch's communication
could hardly have failed to be impress
ed with the fact that if there was any
thing at the bottom of the feeling the
writer manifests, there must have been
an exceedingly interesting story, which
the author of the communication had
strangely failed to tell.
Since then there have been two com
munications published in the Ketchi
kan Miner, which threw considerable
light on the matter. Both of these were
signed, and the author of the first com
munication has come to light. None of
the communications are written in the
best of tempers, but after they have
laid on the ice chest for a few days,
these appear to be the facts, as one
may glean them from the three com
munications:
A meeting was held in Ketchikan be
fore the coming of the secretary, and
a reception committee was appointed,
but, presumably, neither Governor
Clark nor Secretary Fisher were ever
apprised that such a committee was in
existence; that J. R. Heckman, who
owns a general merchandise store at
Ivetehikan, and H. C. Strong, a resident
of Ketchikan, owner of an ungainly
craft which has offered some oposition
to the Guggenheim lines, and who has
recently converted a barge into a can
nery in opposition to the salmon trust,
walked up to the governor and the cab
inet officer, as probably any other cit
izen might have done, and talked to
them. The reception committee never
appeared on the scene, apparently, at
any time. That a public meeting was
held at which Attorney Cosgrove, ”a
Democratic warhorse, ” as the Dispatch
says, aud who is the author of one of
the communications in the Dispatch,
in which he appears to be in sympa
thy with the man who wrote the orig
inal communication to the Dispatch,
and a representative of the opposition,
in Alaska, was offered the ear of the
secretary for the purpose of pouring
grievances into it “ad libatum,” but
Cosgrove declined. From these com
munications, there seems to be little
ground for doubting that any may who
had anything to say, might have said
it at that mass meeting. Further, it
appears that whatever soreness there
may be in eKtchikan, and the Sour
dough does not think that there is
much, is due not to the fact that some
one who had something to say w-as
prevented from getting the ear of-the
secretary, but that men who were not
on the committee and not on the slate
seized the opportunity of talking to
the distinguished visitor, and that the
grievance, if there is any, is just the
reverse of what it apepars to be.
It would seem to the Sourdough that
any newspaper reader who does not en
joy being lied to, who is not fond of
being prejudiced, would naturally be
very much disgusted with such an ef
fort to mislead him as the original com
munication printed in the Dispatch un
doubtedly was.
In the issue of the Dispatch in which
that paper prints all three of the com
munications, it commends itself as be
ing “ noted locally as a paper which
prints the news regardless of cannery
magnates, big advertisers or local in
fluences.” The Sourdough sincerely
hopes that it may never be put to the
extremity of proving its independence
by an article so groundless, so unjust
and so unfair as was this letter in
which the Dispatch takes so much
pride.
The assertion that the Alaska visit
of Secretary Fisher “is known to be a
joke, ’ ’ is doubtless made simply to
show that the Dispatch is independent
of the canneries and “local influenc
es.” A great many people think that
the pjurpose of the secretary in coming
to Alaska was to interview the thou
sands of inhabitants and encourage
them to make complaints—if that had
been the purpose, the trip would have
been a very silly joke. The adminis
tration is very well satisfied with lo
cal administration of affairs in Alas
ka, and has no dispositoin to send out
cabinet officers looking for trouble.
There is some reason, based on the in
terviews which he has given out since
he reached the States, that the secre
tary has received a much broader view
of the Alaska situation since his brief
visit here, and has an attitude which ia
much nearer that of Alaskans, than he
had before the trip was made. It ia
far too soon, however, to forecast the
results of that excursion, necessarily
brief, into this much neglected terri
tory.
By MIKE RICE
The “Blue Horizon” was a mine,
Us fellows all thought well of,
And there happened there the episode
I now propose to tell of.
1 Twas in the year of ’86
Somewhere along in summer,
There hove in sight one afternoon,
A new and curious comer.
His name was William Silas Pettibone,
An artist by perfeshun
With a kit of tools, a big mustash
And a pipe in his possession.
He told us by our leaves, he’d
Like to make some sketches
Of the snowy peaks, the foaming creeks
And the distant mountain stretches.
“Yer welcome, sir,” said we, although
This scenery dodge seemed to us
A waste of time when scenery
Was already superfluous.
All through the summer Pettibone
Was busy at his sketching
At daybreak off for Eagle Pass,
At nightfall homeward pitehin’
That everlasting book of his
With spider lines all through it,
’Till Three Finger Hoover used to say,
“There warn’t no meanin’ to it.”
“Doggone a man,” says he to him,
“Whose shiftless hand is sot at
Drawin’ hills that’s full of quartz
That’s pinin’ to be got at.”
“Go on,” says Pettybone, “go on,’
If joshin’ gratifies yers,
But some fine day I’ll show' yer,
Somethin’s t’will surprise vers.
The which remark led us to think,
Altho he didn’t say it,
That Pettybone owed us a grudge,
And meant to pay it.
So one evening as wre sat,
Around the Restaurant de Casey,
A stringin’ songs and tellin’ yarns,
The which was somewhat racy;
In come that fellow Pettibone,
And sed, “With your permishun,
I’d like to place a picture
I hev made, on exhibition.
He sot the picture on the bar,
And drew aside the curtain,
Sayin’ “As You’ll allow, I reckon,
As how that’s art for certain.”
We stood around with jaws agape,
And nary a word was spoken,
And for a likely while the charm
Of silence was unbroken,—
Till presently, as in a dream,
Remarked “Three Fingered Hoover ”
“Unless I am mistaken this
Is Pettybone’s chef de Odver. ’ ’
It was a face—a lady’s face,
A woman’s fair and tender,
Sat gracefully upon a neck,
White as swan’s and slender.
Her hair it bore a golden tinge,
Her eyes were blue and dreamy,
Her lips, they were rosy red,
Her cheeks were soft and creamy.
She looked as tlio’ she was gazin’ off
Into the West—out under
And as she gazed off in the West,
Her eyes grew softer, fonder
Like lookin’ off into the West,
When mountain mists were failin’
She saw the face she longed to see,
And heard his voice a callin’.
“Hurrah!” we cried, “a woman
In the camp of Blue Horizon!”
Step right up, Col. Pettibone,
And nominate your poison pizen. ”
It wasn’t long before the news
Had spread the country over,
And miners come a flockin’ in,
Like honey bees to clover.
It did the critters good, they sed,
To feast their hungry eyes on
That picture of our lady
In the camp of “Blue Horizon.”
Do you wonder that this woman’s face
Consoled the lonesome critters,
Who somehow manage and contrive,
To live on sand and bitters?
For not one but what it served,
In some way to remind him,
Of a mother, wife or sister,
Or a sweetheart left behind him,
And some looked back on happier days
And saw the old time faces
And heard the old, familiar songs,
in the dear familiar places.
A gracious touch of home—
“Look here,” says Hoover, ’’Every
body
Quit thinkin’ and proceed at once
To name your favorite toddy. ’ ’
But one mean cuss from Nigger Creek
Passed criticisms on her,
Leastwise we overheard him
Call her Pettibone’s “Madonna.”
The which remark we didn’t think
To be respectful to a lady,
So we hung him in a quiet place
Where it was cool and shady,
Away back east ’twould be bad law,
But it was the best maneuver
To give the critics due respect
For Pettibone’s “Chef De Oover.”
Gone is the camp; yes, years ago,
The Blue Horizon’s busted;
And every mother’s son of us,
Got up one day and dusted.
And Pettibone proceeded east
With wealth in his possession,
And went to Europe, so I’ve heard,
To study his profession.
Quite likely now you’ll find him
Paintin’ heads and faces,
But no such face he ’ll paint again
As at old Blue Horizon—
For I’ll allow no fairer face
No human soul sat eyes on,
And when you critters talk so grand
Of Paree and the Louvre,
I say Oh! but you ought a seen
Our Pettibone’s Chef De Oover.
MINING CLAIM TITLES
Few mining claims in Alaska are the
absolute property of those whom we are
accustomed to regard as owning them.
A prospector locates a claim according
to the statutes and to the rules and
regulations laid down by the land of
fice, but he acquires only a possessory
title thereby; the equitable and the
legal title to the claim remain in the
federal government. If the holder of
the possessory title then goes still fur
ther and in accordance with the reg
ular procedure pays the required pur
chase price for the claim, he acquires
the equitable title to the claim. It
is only after he has secured a patent
for the claim that he acquires the le
gal interest in addition to the others,
and become absolute owner of the
claim.—Cordova Alaskan.
BIRDS OF FEATHER, PERHAPS
To the Editor of the Sourdough—Ac
cording to telegraphic news, Senator
LaFollette will announce his candida
cy as an aspirant for the Republican
presidential nomination, during the
month of December.
At the present time one of his lieu
tenants by the name of Gifford Pin
chot is in Alaska to investigate as to
what changes can be made in “my pol
icies ’ ’ to promote the interests of Al
aska.
It is amusing how the political sore
heads flock together. No doubt Gif
ford aspires to be the secretary of the
interior should LaPollette- become the
next president.
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