How a mail carrier mushed from Nome to Washington D.C. to settle a bet

Part of a continuing weekly series on local history by local historian David Reamer. Have a question about Anchorage history or an idea for a future article? Go to the form at the bottom of this story.

It was Nome in 1905. The local miners and mail carriers had a slight disagreement over the limits of mushing. Could a driver run a team from Nome to Washington, D.C.? The miners said no. The mail carriers said yes. Eventually, serious amounts of money were put on the line.

The wager was simple enough. For $10,000, the musher had to deliver a letter from Judge Alfred Moore to the White House by May 1, 1907. After accounting for inflation, $10,000 in 1905 is very roughly $320,000 today. The money was deposited into a bank account for surety, but the musher had to support himself on the journey and not accept any donations. One of the more senior mail carriers, Eli Smith, agreed to the challenge. The entire episode raises many questions. Foremost, how far would you go for a bet?

Eli Smith was born around 1855 in Wisconsin. After stepping out on his own, he wound his way from job to job. He was a butcher in Montana, a cattleman in Idaho, a steward on Hudson Bay Company ferries, a prospector in the Klondike, and likely many other temporary occupations. In the early 1900s, he settled down in Nome, where he did a bit of mining but primarily made his living as a mail carrier. He soon gained a reputation for speed and endurance, mushing his way around the Seward Peninsula.

On Nov. 14, 1905, he departed Nome. The Alaska portion of the trip was easy enough, a familiar terrain. By January 1906, he was in Valdez, where he and his team boarded a steamer for Seattle and continued overland.

As he later described the journey, “It was an up and downhill pull so to speak.” “Sometimes, the trail was bad. I did not ride in the sled but took my place in the team, playing the part of the eighth dog.”

A good day meant he made 25 miles, and his best day, per his flexible memory, covered 116 miles in the Northwest.

The team was a traveling sensation. Each new town meant a new crowd eager to partake of the spectacle. Many had never seen a dog team in action, let alone one from Alaska driven by an authentic sourdough. The experience was like a Jack London novel come to life, proof that there was truth in all the seemingly tall tales and legends of the north.

By the time Smith reached the Midwest, he was no longer a complete surprise. News spread ahead of him like a wave. And Smith was eager to please. Rather than pass through quickly, he liked to stop and offer lectures on life in Alaska.

In June, he reached Milwaukee, where he had family. Though he lived a long time, homecomings were rare opportunities. So, he hung around in Wisconsin for a couple of months before restarting the journey in September.

As he hit Pittsburgh, daily updates became the norm in the capital as residents — and press eager for a guaranteed hit story — prepared for his arrival. Yet, as the anticipation rose in Washington, rain and mud slowed Smith’s progress.

Finally, on February 20, 1907, Smith and his team entered the city. As they made their way through the urban environment, onlookers began following along. By the time he reached the White House, he was at the head of a ragged parade of gawkers, street urchins, and photographers.

He parked his sled directly in front of the White House’s main portico. To be clear, he did not simply show up like a door-to-door salesman and ask to see President Theodore “Teddy” Roosevelt. The visit had been planned and approved. White House security then was a fraction of what it is today. Until the 1920s, visitors could roam around the grounds. But after three assassinations and many more such attempts, the once open-door policy at the executive mansion had been strictly limited. By 1907, it had been decades since anything like Andrew Jackson’s disastrous 1829 open house, when an out-of-control mob trampled around the White House.

Even as Smith entered the grounds, news spread like wildfire among those inside the building. Staff, police, guards, reporters, politicians, and visiting dignitaries abandoned their posts or spots in line and poured outside to take in the spectacle. Within minutes, two of the president’s children, Quentin and Archie, were climbing over the sled, asking questions, inspecting the dogs, and demanding a ride. Smith dutifully perched Quentin on the sled and made a quick run around the grounds as the attending photographers happily burned through their film.

With that wish granted, Smith parked and joined the line to meet the president. His attire was as he dressed on the trails around Nome: sealskin leggings, woolen shirt, cap with earflaps, and mukluks made from walrus and reindeer hide. His heavy gloves hung from his back and swung as he moved. He did remove his coat, the one allowance for the warmer weather.

After a brief wait, the president greeted him, and the two chatted privately for a few minutes. Roosevelt took receipt of the letter from Judge Moore and wrote a short note certifying the delivery for the sake of the wager. Before leaving, Smith entertained the crowd with several more circuits around the White House.

The trip from Nome to Washington took a year, three months, and six days. As Smith eagerly pointed out to reporters, he beat the deadline by more than two months. The subsequent weeks consisted primarily of public appearances. Despite his busy schedule, he met, courted, and finally married a woman less than a month after showing up at the White House.

The already short and wiry musher lost 20 pounds while crossing the continent. However, the journey was hardest on the dogs, though it is hard to know the precise impact. Smith was a storyteller, a natural raconteur prone to exaggeration. The details shifted significantly over time. His descriptions of his original team ranged from seven to 10 dogs. He also enjoyed telling spellbound audiences that many of the dogs were full-blooded wolves.

Still, he consistently reported that many of his dogs died on the trip. Three were supposedly poisoned in Wisconsin. As the miles stacked onto miles, more perished along the way. Smith was repeatedly forced to obtain and train new dogs, thus creating delays.

On top of the White House delivery, Smith had a side wager to mush to each state capital. After some time in Alaska, he returned south to complete the quest. By 1912, he had toured the country’s eastern half before turning toward the west. Of his original dog team, only one, a malemute named Jack, survived.

With the admission of Arizona that January, there were 48 states in the union. He was in Oklahoma by March. Texas came in April. Arizona was checked off in October. There was only one state left. After another lengthy break, he pulled into Sacramento, Calif., in May 1913.

Celebrity came and went while Smith returned to Alaska. By the early 1940s, the wife was long gone. His money was gone too, the last of it lost in a mining venture gone sour. By 1942, he was the unknown and penniless resident of a Chico, California nursing home. And it was there, on Jan. 13, 1948, that he died. He was around 92 years old. Since he had no known relatives, the employees checked his belongings. There they discovered a carefully saved stack of clippings and a diary, details of Smith’s adventures dating back to Wisconsin. Thanks to this revelation, his story once more surfaced in the press, one last round of accolades.

Key sources:

Cauldwell, Frank. “Nervy Alaskan ‘Musher’ Will in a Few Days Enter the National Capital with a Malamute Dog Team Headed by a Pure-Blooded Wolf.” Washington Post, January 27, 1907, 1.

“Dogs Carry Him on Long Journey.” Prescott Journal Miner, October 3, 1912, 5.

“Eli Smith—His Life a Fabulous Story.” [California] Chico Enterprise, January 18, 1948, 2.

“End of Long Journey.” [Washington, D.C.] Evening Star, February 20, 1907, 2.

“Is Visiting Every Capital City with Dog Team on Wager of $25,000.” Bakersfield Californian, May 13, 1913, 8.

“Legendary Pioneer Alaskan Dies Penniless Here Today.” [California] Chico Enterprise, January 13, 1948, 1.

[untitled note]. [Valdez] Alaska Prospector, January 18, 1906, 7.