CLAIM NUMBER FOUR, ANVIL CREEK, NOME.
"There it is," pointing to a black hulk which lay sullenly, without a spark of light visible, close to us.
"But do they not know we are coming? Have they no light on board? How can we get upon deck?" we asked anxiously.
"O, they will bring a lantern, I guess," laughed the sailor, then thinking to put us at our ease, he called lustily as he rested himself at his oars. Not getting a reply, he shouted again.
Presently two men appeared with as many lanterns.
"Here, you fellows, get a move on, and help these ladies on board, will you? Were you asleep, hey?"
"Wall, no, not 'zactly, sah, but I'se done been working hard today," it was the colored cook replying, as he rubbed his sleepy eyes.
"Haul up alongside this dory," said the other man as he put his lantern down, "and let the ladies get into that first, then we'll help 'em up here."
With that we climbed out as we best could in the darkness, one after another, the boys assisting, until we all stood laughing in the little cabin, and counted noses.
"Are we all here?" asked Mr. G., who, as usual had a thoughtful care over all.
"All here, I think, but the baggage. How about that?" said I.
"I'll see to that," and he was already on deck, while I continued counting.
"Alma, Ricka, Miss L., Mr. G., Mr. L., Mr. B., and myself—the lucky number of seven. How fortunate we are. We are sure to have good luck. Too bad Mary is not here, but then we would not be seven," and we were all laughing and talking at the same time.
In the cabin there was only one lamp, and that was swung over the table, looking in all its smoky smelliness as if it had hung there for ages without a scrubbing. The table was covered with dirty dishes scattered upon an oilcloth spread. The room smelled of fish, tobacco, and coal-oil, and we were obliged to go to the door now and then for fresh air. There was no fire, nor heat, neither was there a place for any. Rows of berths in two tiers lined each side of the cabin, but they were supplied with mattresses only. Dark curtains hung on wires before the berths, and these would furnish us with our only privacy on the trip.
Finally we selected our berths, assorted our luggage, and sat down to rest. We were disappointed in the "Elk." She was not a "St. Paul," that was certain. The colored cook soon entered. His apologies were profuse.
"Hope de ladies will 'scuze de state ob dis yearroom, but I'se done been mighty busy today, and will hab tings fine tomorer."
"That's all right, Jim, if you only give us a good dinner tomorrow. Can you do it?" asked Mr. L.
"Yas, sah, dis chile good cook when de tings are gibben him to cook, but when dere's no taters, no fresh meat, no chicken, no fruit, den it's mighty hard to set up fine meals. Dat's de truf!" and Jim nodded his woolly head emphatically at the frequent undesirable state of his larder.
"Prices high heah, sah, but dis old man almos' fru wid de business; de las' trip ob de 'Elk' dis summah, an' I'se glad of it," and he disappeared in the galley carrying his arms full of dishes.
When the table was cleared and Jim had spread an old and much rumpled red cover over it, I took from my basket a small square clock, and winding it up with its little key, started it going. It was a musical clock I had purchased when in Nome, of a small boy about to leave for the outside. It had been given him by a lady, and he had grown tired of it, his mind being so much upon his contemplated long journey. He would sell it for three dollars, he said, and I paid the money, needing a time piece, and having none. So now the little music box ticked off its music to the entertainment of all.
However, we were all tired and the place was cold, so after we had taken our last look at the lights of Nome, scattered as they were along the shore for miles in the darkness, we turned in forthe night, all dressed as we were, and drew the curtains around us. The long, deep-toned whistle of the "Elk," had sounded some time before, and we were headed east, making our way quietly over the smooth waters.
Another chapter of our lives had begun. What would the end be, I wondered.
During the night I was awakened by men running and shouting on deck. The steamer stopped. Somebody went out to inquire the cause. In a little while he returned, saying that four men had been picked up, nearly frozen, in an open boat which was leaking badly, and they were found just in time. Dry clothes, with food and hot drinks, and they would be all right again; so I turned over and tried to sleep, but the men lounged about, smoking and talking with the captain a good share of the night, so that sleep was almost out of the question.
How I wished for fresh air! How I hated the tobacco smoke! But we could say nothing, for the men had no beds, no other place to sit, and it was too cold on deck. We must be patient, and I was patient, feeling thankful that the lives of the four men had been saved, if each one did smoke like a volcano and come near choking us to death.
After a while there was another commotion. What now? Their five dogs had been left in the leaking dory, which was trailing behind us, the boat was swamping, and the animals were almost drowned. They were whining, crying, and soakingwet; so the "Elk" was again stopped, the dogs taken on board, along with some of the miners' outfits, and we again started on our way.
The men said their dory had been blown ten miles out to sea by a wind many hours before, and had then sprung a leak, wetting their food, and threatening them with destruction, when the "Elk" appeared and took them aboard in the night.
"Wall, yes, we had given ourselves up for lost, though none said much about it," remarked one of the saved men next day, in speaking of their experience. "Some one mentioned God Almighty, I believe, and I could almost have spoken to Him myself, but it does look like He had done something for us, don't it?" said the miner, laughing quietly, in a pleased, relieved way as he finished.
We were exceedingly glad for their deliverance from a watery grave, but we pitied ourselves for our discomforts, until we pictured ourselves in their forlorn condition, far out from land, at night, in a leaky boat, without food and freezing; then I found myself feeling really grateful for the privilege of sailing on the "Elk," and not discontented as at first. We would get fresh air enough this winter, no doubt, to drive away all remembrances of the air in the little steamer's cabin, which was cold as well as foul. There were no windows or ports that we could see; there was doubtless a closed skylight somewhere, but to keep warm even in our berths required management. In my hand luggage I carrieda bright woolen Indian blanket, a souvenir of St. Michael the year before, in which I now rolled myself, already dressed in my warmest clothing and heavy coat.
A light-weight grey blanket was loaned me by the cook, who had purloined it from the pilot's bunk, he being on duty and not needing it that night. This I was rather chary of using, for reasons of my own, but it was that or nothing, only the mattress being underneath. On my head I wore a pink crocheted affair, called sometimes a "fascinator," which was now used simply and solely for service, I assured my friends, and not from any lighter motive,—but my feet! How I should keep them comfortable while on board was a question. With my feet cold I would be perfectly miserable, and although I wore wool hose and high, stout laced boots, I soon found on going aboard the "Elk" that to be comfortable I must make a change.
I said nothing, but turned the situation well over in mind. At last I found a solution. Going to my bags once more, on the aside I drew out my new reindeer skin muckluks, or high fur boots, and looked at them. What enormous footgear, to be sure. Could I wear those things? I had put five good, hard-earned dollars into them, and they were said to be warm and very comfortable when worn properly, with hay in the bottoms, and Arctic socksover one's hose, but I had no hay and could not get any.
I had the socks in my trunk, but that was in the hold of the ship, or somewhere out of my reach. I held the muckluks in my hands, and slowly turned them round. Suddenly a bright thought came. I would pull them on over my shoes. I did it. They went on easily. I drew the strings attached at the back of the ankle forward over the instep, crossed them, carried them back, crossed them a second time and tied them in front, in order to use up the strings so they would not trip me in walking. Just below the knees I pulled a woolen drawstring which was run into the green flannel, inch-wide heading, and tied this loosely; then I studied them. Shades of my buried ancestry! What a fright! My own mother would never know me. I wanted to scream with laughter, but could not, for I had performed the operation in a most surreptitious manner, behind closed doors (bunk curtains), after the others had retired.
I had no compunctions of conscience as to putting my shoes upon the bed, for the mattress was both sombre and lonely, and as for the muckluks, they had never been worn by man (and were surely never made for woman). The most that I could do was to lie back upon my bed, cram my fascinator into my mouth, and struggle to suppress my risibles.
After a time I succeeded, and lay enjoying thenew sensation of feet and limbs warm and cozy as if in my mother's warm parlor at home; and then I slept.
Next morning I kept my berth late. My sleep had been much broken, and the place was cold. The bad air had taken my appetite, and there were already too many in the small cabin for convenience. Four or five men and three women besides our own party of seven, crowded in between the dining table and the berths, filled the small cabin quite beyond comfort.
The main question in my mind, however, was how to prevent the company from seeing my feet. I would put off the evil hour as long as possible, for they were sure to laugh heartily when they saw my muckluks, and to take them off—I would not. Some one brought me a sandwich finally, inquiring at the same time for my health, but I assured them it was first class,—I was only resting. Watching my opportunity, toward noon I slipped out of my berth quietly and made myself ready for dinner, keeping my feet well out of sight, for cook Jim had promised a fine spread for the two o'clock meal.
When it came I was ready. It is said that hunger is a good sauce, and I believe this is true, for otherwise I could never have eaten the dinner that day. Upon a soiled and rumpled white (?) cloth Jim placed his "big spread," which consisted of whole jacketed boiled and baked potatoes, meat stew (noquestions allowed), dried prunes stewed, biscuits, and fourth rate butter, with tea and coffee.
MAP OF ALASKA.
At only one camp was there a stop made. There were two or three passengers on board for Bluff City, a new and prosperous mining camp, composed chiefly, though so late in the season, of tents. Lumber and supplies of different kinds had to be put off. As the entrance to the hold of the ship where the stores were kept was in our cabin, we had plenty of fresh air while the doors were all open, along with the mustiness from below, for several hours. However, I managed to keep pretty comfortable and snug in "fascinator" and muckluks, enveloped as I was in my Indian blanket.
Hearing a bluff, hearty voice which sounded familiar, I looked around, and in walked a man whom I had seen at St. Michael the fall before. He had charge of the eating house there, where my brother and I had taken our meals for two weeks. I had not forgotten his kindness in giving me sore throat medicine when there had been nothing of the sort to buy, and I was suffering.
This man remembered me well, and sat down to chat for a little while with us. He was a miner now, and a successful one, he said, for he was taking out "big money" from his lay on Daniels Creek, only five minutes' walk from the beach. I had been informed of his good fortune before meeting him, so was ready with congratulations.
He told me of his cabin building, his winter'sstores and fuel, and seemed in high spirits. Of course I could not ask him what he meant by "big money," or what he had taken from his claim, although it would not here, as in the Klondyke, be a breach of etiquette to inquire. After a few minutes chat the man bade us good-bye, and descended to the small boat alongside, which was to carry him and his freight ashore.
It was nearly dark by this time, and another night must be passed on board. Some were complaining of the cold. Others were shuffling their feet to get them warm.
"My feet are awfully cold," said Alma, moving them uneasily about. "Aren't yours, Mrs. Sullivan?"
"Not at all," I replied, trying to look unconcerned, at the same time putting my feet further under my skirts, which were not the very short ones I had worn at Nome. "You know what having cold feet in this country means, I suppose, Alma?"
"O, I am not in the least homesick, if that is what you mean. I am perfectly happy; but—" (here she glanced down upon the floor in the direction of my feet) "what have you over your shoes, any way, to keep so warm, Mrs. Sullivan?"
There was no help for it, and the muckluks had to come to light, and did. At sight of them they all shouted, and Alma laughed till the tears ran down her cheeks.
"And you have had these on all day without our seeing them? Where have you kept your feet, in your pocket?" she persisted.
"Well, no, not exactly, but of course, under the circumstances, you could hardly expect me to hang a signboard out to call attention to them, could you?" I laughed.
"I should say not. Will we all look like that in muckluks? Is there nothing else we can wear this winter? They will make our feet look so awfully large, you see?"
"That's the way we will all look, only a good deal worse, for some of us have no skirts to cover them with, as you have," spoke up Mr. G. for the first time.
"I thought the 'Elk' leaned to the land side more today than usual," said Mr. B. with a twinkle, "but now it is explained."
"Bad boy! My muckluks were on that side of the ship from the first, only they were in my bag for a while. They are no heavier now than they were then. You shall have no supper," said I, with mock severity.
So I kept the fur boots on, in spite of their jokes, wondering what they would say when I arrived at Golovin and removed my fascinator (another surprise I was keeping for them), and contented myself by thinking I had the laugh on them, when they complained of cold feet, and my own were so perfectly comfortable.
At last, on the morning of October twentieth, with the sun just rising over the snowy hills surrounding the water, the cliffs on both sides of the entrance standing out clear and sharp in the cold morning light, and with one ship already there, we dropped anchor, being in Golovin Bay. The settlement, a score of houses, a hotel, a flagstaff or two, and the Mission.
I now waked the girls, who turned out of their bunks, dressed as they had been since coming on board the "Elk," and we made ready to go ashore. We were out in deep water, still some distance from the beach, and must again get out into a small boat, probably for the last time this year. Not all could get into the boat; we must take turns, but we were bundled into it some way, and soon we were upon the sands, a dozen feet from dry land. Again we were transferred by one man power, as at Nome, to the sands, which were here frozen quite hard, and upon which I had the sensation, at first, of walking with a gunboat attached to each foot.
Some one conducted us to the Mission House, only a few hundred yards from our landing place, while the boat went back to the "Elk" for the others. Miss E., who had come up on the "St. Paul" with us, and now the housekeeper here, came running out to welcome all cordially. By her we were shown into the cozy little parlor, so tidy, bright and warm that we immediately felt ourselves again in civilization. Soon Mr. H., the headmissionary, whom I had already met in Nome, came in with Miss J., the teacher of the Mission children. She also had spent some days with us at Nome. These all made us very welcome, and our party of seven was soon sitting together before a good, smoking hot breakfast, to which we did real justice.
When entering the house I had, upon first removing my wraps and "fascinator," given my friends another surprise equal to the one of the muckluks on the steamer. The day before leaving Nome I had (surreptitiously again) made a visit to the hairdresser, and when I left her room I appeared another woman. My head now, instead of being covered with long, thin hair, done up hastily in a twist at the back, had short hair and curled all over, a great improvement, they all voted, when the first surprise was over.
My hair, all summer, had been like that of most women when first in Alaska, falling out so rapidly that I feared total baldness if something was not done to prevent. This was the only sure remedy for the trouble, as I knew from former experience, and as I again proved, for it entirely stopped coming out. Ricka soon followed my example, and we, with Miss J., who had been relieved of her hair by fever the year before, made almost a colony of short-haired women, much to the amusement of some of our party.
After we had eaten our breakfasts, several of usset to work at writing letters to send out to Nome by the "Elk," which would remain a few hours unloading freight, as this might be our last opportunity for many weeks, or until the winter mails were carried by dog-teams over the trails. We fancied our friends on the outside would be glad to hear that we had arrived safely at Golovin, and our pens flew rapidly over the paper. These letters, finally collected, were placed in the hands of one of the "Elk's" crew for mailing at Nome, and the steamer sailed away.
Not all, however, wrote letters. The business head of the "Star" firm had not been idle, nor writing letters, and while I wrote Alma was deeply engaged, well seconded by Ricka, in making arrangements with Mr. H. by which we could remain in this Mission House all winter. Before noon it was decided that we should stay, assisting the missionaries all in our power until such time as they could move to their new station, as soon as the ice was firm enough in the bay to travel upon and the Home was far enough toward completion. It was impossible to finish the building now, but so far as practicable it would be made habitable, and all necessary and movable articles of furniture would be carried to the Home, though many large pieces would be left for our use.
This arrangement included our party of seven, Mary at Nome, and the three boys at work at this time on the new Home building, and would doaway with all necessity for building a cabin, lumber being expensive and good logs scarce.
This intelligence came just in time for insertion in our home letters sent away on the "Elk," and it was a day of rejoicing for at least seven persons (Miss L. was to go to the Home, but Mary was to come to us from Nome), who already considered themselves a "lucky number."
O
UR first duty after arriving at Golovin was to look up our freight, which seemed to be in a general mix-up. Each person was searching on the beach and in the warehouse for something. For my part, I was greatly concerned over the probable loss of a case of coal oil, and a box containing wool blankets, feather pillow, and other things too precious to lose after paying freight, especially as some of the articles could not be replaced, and all were useful and necessary. The "Elk's" crew had dumped the freight promiscuously upon the frozen sands, considering their duty at that point done, and no assurance was given us that the freight was all there, or that it was in good condition. The risk was all ours. We could find it or lose it—that did not concern the "Elk." As we had no idea as to the honesty of the community in which we had come to reside, and little confidence in some of the "Elk's" passengers who were also receiving freight, we visited the beach a number of times during the first two days. While at Nome and packing up to leave I had remembered the story of the person who, going tomarket, put all the eggs into one basket, and for that reason, when an accident occurred, she lost the whole lot; while, if she had placed them in two baskets, one-half might have-been saved. For this reason I then packed my blankets in two boxes, and now as one was missing I was glad I had done so, for to be entering upon a cold, long winter without woolen blankets would be hard lines indeed.
The first day was spent by the boys in hauling baggage and freight into the old school house, near the mission, which was to be our store room for a time. This building was made of logs, sod and mud plaster, with small doors and windows, and thatched roof, now overgrown with grass and weeds.
It had long-been deserted, or given over to storing purposes, as the new school and church building was put up alongside, and was being used at the present time. We would unpack as little as possible, while the Mission family remained, as their house was too small to accommodate comfortably so many. Mr. H. was like the old woman who lived in a shoe, for he really had such a family that he was puzzled as to what disposition he should make of them. However, the men were all lodged in the new school building, as it was vacation time, and no session; trunks and baggage, except bedding, were put in the store house.
The Eskimo children and the women occupiedthe second floor of the mission. Mr. H. had his room on the first floor, oftentimes shared with some visiting missionary or friend, and I was the best lodged of all. The big velvet couch in the sitting-room by the fire was allotted to me, and I slept luxuriously, as well as comfortably. The newest and most modern article of furniture in the establishment, this couch, was soft, wide, and in a warm, cozy corner of the room.
From being lodged above a bar-room in Nome, I had come to a parlor in the Mission, and I was well pleased with the changed atmosphere, as well as the reduction of charges; for, whereas I had paid five dollars per week for my small, unfurnished room there, I now paid nothing, except such help as I could give the women in the house.
I felt, too, that I had earned, by my hard work during the summer, all the rest and comfort I could get, and I thoroughly enjoyed the change. Where among the drones and laggards is one who can find such sweets as well-earned rest and comfort after labor? What satisfaction to feel the joy all one's own. None assisted in the earning, and consequently none expected a division of reward. It was all my own. If this is selfishness, it is surely a refined sort, and excusable.
I was not, however, the only one in the Mission who enjoyed a well-earned rest. Each one of our party of seven had worked for months as hard and harder than I, and all found a vacation as pleasing,while the Mission people had the same round of work and as much as they could accomplish all the year round.
The day after our arrival at Golovin was Sunday. The weather was clear and sunny, but cold. We were now not only to have a vacation ourselves, but could give our working clothes a rest as well, and I took great pleasure in unearthing a good black dress which was not abbreviated as to length, surprising my friends by my height, after being in short skirts so long. It was really Sunday now, and we wore our Sunday clothes for the first time in months, not having had an opportunity for Sabbath observance in the work we had done at Nome.
To complete our enjoyment of the good day, there was the organ in the sitting-room, and upon my first entering the room, and seeing the instrument I had drawn a deep sigh of inward delight. To find an organ, yes, two of them, for there was also one standing in the schoolroom, or little church, was to feel sure of many bright and happy hours during the coming winter, and I felt more than ever that for strangers in the Arctic world we were, indeed, highly favored.
It was not long before I discovered that with at least two of our party of seven music was a passion, for Ricka, as well as Mr. B., could never have enough, and it was a pleasure to see the real and unaffected delight upon their faces when I played. We were really quite well supplied with musical instruments,for there were now in the Mission two guitars, one mandolin, a violin and a few harmonicas, besides the two organs, while as for vocalists everybody sang from Mr. H. down to the Eskimo boys, girls and the baby.
But this day's climax was the three o'clock dinner, prepared by Miss E. Could anything be more restful to three tired restaurant workers than to sit quietly in easy chairs, allow others to prepare the meal and invite them to partake, without having given a thought to the preparation of the same, gaining, as we did, a knowledge of what was coming only by the pleasant odors proceeding from the kitchen? Certainly not, and the increased appetite that comes with this rest is only a part of the enjoyment. So when we were seated at the table on Sunday, the second day of our arrival at Golovin, before us fresh roast mutton, baked potatoes, stewed tomatoes, coffee, bread and butter, with pickles, and a most delicious soup made of dried prunes, apricots, raisins and tapioca for dessert, we were about the happiest people in Alaska and appreciated it immensely. What bread Miss E. did make, with slices as large as saucers, not too thin, snowy, but fresh and sweet. What coffee from the big pot, with Eagle brand cream from the pint can having two small holes in the top, one to admit air and the other to let the cream out. Nothing had tasted so good to us since we had come home, as hungry children, from school. As then, we werecare-free, if only for a little while, and we were a jolly, happy crowd.
In the evening, when the children were once in bed, we all gathered in the sitting-room for music, stories and plans for the future, including the placing of a few new strings on the musical instruments and tuning of the same. Mr. H. had gone to the Home the afternoon before, so there had been no preaching service as ordinarily in the little schoolhouse across the road. The boys were talking of going to the Home across the bay next day in a boat, but a wind came up which finally developed into a stout southwester, and Monday was a most disagreeable day. Alma worked on a fur cap, to practise, she said, on some one before making her own. Ricka mended mittens and other garments for the boys, while I sewed on night clothes for the little Eskimo baby.
The child was probably between three and four years old, but nobody knew exactly, for she was picked up on the beach, half dead, a year before, by the missionary, where she was dying of neglect. Her mother was dead, and her grandfather was giving her the least attention possible, so that she was sickly, dirty and starved. She had well repaid the kind people who took her into the Mission, being now fat and healthy, as well as quite intelligent. She was a real pet with all the women immediately, being the youngest of this brood of twenty youngsters and having many cunning littleways. In appearance she looked like a Japanese, as, in fact, all Eskimos do, having straight black hair, and eyes shaped much like those of these people, while all are short and thick of stature, with few exceptions.
Among this score of little natives there were some who were very bright. All were called by English names, and Peter, John, Mary, Ellen and Susan, as well as Garfield, Lincoln and George Washington, with many others, became familiar household words, though the two last named were grown men, and now gone out from the Mission into houses of their own.
As to the dressing of these children, it was also in English fashion, except for boots, which were always muckluks, and parkies of fur for outside garments, including, perhaps, drill parkies for mild weather, or to pull on over the furs, when it rained or snowed, to keep out the water. As the weather grew more severe, heavy cloth or fur mittens were worn, and little calico and gingham waists and dresses were discarded for flannel ones.
The children, for weeks after our arrival, ran out often to play, bareheaded and without wraps, having frequently to be reminded when the weather was severe, to put them on. In the kitchen they had their own table, where they were separately served, though at the same time as their elders at another table in the room. To preserve the health of the little ones, not taking entirely away their nativefoods of seal meat and oil, tom-cod (small fish), reindeer meat and wild game, these were fed to them on certain days of the week, as well as other native dishes dear to the Eskimo palate, but they were well fed at all times, and grew fat and hearty as well as happy.
As we sewed contentedly in the sitting-room on Monday the storm continued, snowing and blowing a gale from the southwest, which, though not disturbing us even slightly, we felt sure would be bad for those at sea and at Nome; our own experiences at that place giving us always a large sympathy for others in similar plight. Long afterwards we learned that in this storm the "Elk" had been blown ashore at Nome, and was pretty thoroughly disabled, if not entirely wrecked, and we wondered if poor cook Jim had "done been mighty busy, sah, gittin' tings fixed" ever since.
When evening came the children and Baby Bessie were put to bed; work, indoors and out, was finished for that day, and we were twelve in the sitting-room, as merry a crowd as one could find in all Alaska. Miss J. had taken a lesson on the organ in the afternoon and was all interested in making progress on that instrument, assuring her friends who declared she would never practise her lessons, that she certainly would do so, as they would afterwards learn.
The winds might sigh and moan, and whirl the falling snow in the darkness as they liked; waterscongeal under the fingers of the frost king, closing the mouth of innumerable creeks, rivers, and bays; but here under cover we had light, health, warmth and food, without a single care. In my cozy, soft bed under the blankets, the firelight playing on the walls, the fine organ open and ready for use, I lay often with wide open eyes, wondering if I were myself or another.
In one corner of the room stood a case containing books enough to supply us with reading matter for a year, those printed in Swedish being, of course, of no use to me, but a variety of subjects were here presented in English, ranging from Drummond's "Natural Law in the Spiritual World" to nursery rhymes for the children. Volumes on medicine, law, science, travels, stories, ethics and religion—all were here for the instruction and edification of inmates of the Mission. In another corner there was a large case of medicines, and here were remedies in powders, liquids, salves and pills, drawers filled with lint, bandages, cotton, and books of instruction teaching the uses of all. Even surgical instruments were found here, as well as appliances for emergencies, from broken and frozen limbs, mad-dog bites, and "capital operations," to a scratched finger or the nose-bleed.
This outfit was for the use of any and all, without charge, who should be so unfortunate as to require assistance of this sort in this region. Without money and without price, the only case of remediesfor many miles around, this Mission provided for all suffering ones who applied, and during the winter many were relieved and assisted toward recovery.
In the third corner of this room stood the large cabinet organ, nearly new, and in good condition. Instruction books, hymnals, "Gospel Hymns," small collections of words without music, Swedish songs—all were here in abundance.
The fourth corner contained my couch-bed. A heating stove, made of sheet iron, a table with its pretty spread, a large student lamp, easy chairs, a pretty ingrain rug covering the floor, window shades and lace curtains, with pictures and Scripture texts upon the wall, completed the room furnishings, making a homey place, which for years had been a haven of refuge for the homeless Eskimo children. Besides these, it had given food, shelter and clothing to many a white-faced wanderer, who came penniless, hungry and cold, perhaps ill and starving.
About seven years before this unpretending, now weather-beaten house had been erected, and the kindly little dark-eyed man put in charge was at once at home. He was blessed with rare versatility and patience, as well as a great heart of love for all mankind, including the dark-skinned, seal-eating races of the Arctic.
From a door-latch to a baby's cradle, from a log-house to a sail-boat rigged with runners on the ice, he planned, contrived and executed, principallyfor others, for years. Here we found, in one room, from his hands a bedstead, a table, and a washstand commode, all made in white wood, of regulation size, shape and pattern, though without paint or staining. Relegated now to an upper room, since the velvet couch had arrived, was a long, wooden settle, with back, ends and sliding seat, the latter to be pushed forward upon legs and made into double bed at night.
One day in the winter, when searching for open places under the roof through which the snow was sifting, wetting the ceiling of the room below, I found in the attic a number of curious things, and among them a child's cradle. Not all the thought of the good man had been given to the needs of the "grown-ups," but the small, weak and helpless ones of his flock had received their equal share of attention. The cradle was well made with solid high sides and ends, and curved upper edges, swinging low and easily upon its two strong rockers. All was smooth, well finished, and rounded, though there was no paint nor varnish, these articles being doubtless unprocurable and not deemed strictly essential. Near by were the remnants of a white fox robe fitting the cradle. It was made of baby fox skin, fine, soft and pretty. A flannel lining with a pinked-out edge completed what had once been a lovely cover for baby, whether with white face or black, and I fell to wishing I might have seen the complete outfit in its former days.
From the rafters of the attic hung articles of wearing apparel of curious make and pattern, sometimes of skins of the wild reindeer or spotted seal. Of old mittens and muckluks there were numbers, still preserved for the good they had done or might yet do at piecing out somewhere. There were things for which I had not yet learned the uses, but might do so before the cold winter had passed. There were also many fur skins, and new articles of value stored in the attic.
Tuesday, October twenty-third, the weather was not cold, but snow fell part of the day, and it grew dark about half-past four in the afternoon. The gale of Monday had subsided, and the sky was overcast. The steamer "Sadie" of the Alaska Commercial Company surprised us by coming into Golovin, and again suddenly we fell to letter writing in order to send them out by her, remaining several hours as she always did to unload freight and baggage, for this would positively be our last steamer. Outside the boys worked as industriously as we women. In the old log-house, a hundred feet from our door, was the building now used for a woodshed. Here, upon a big "double-decker" saw-buck, two of the boys, with the big saw between them, worked away, hour after hour, at the great logs of driftwood brought from the beach, as this was the only kind of fuel here used, and much was needed for the winter fires.
When I had finished my work of sewing, and itgrew too dark to thread needles, between that hour and the one for the lamp lighting, I was usually seated at the organ, and our music was not all Hymns from the Hymnals, certainly. There were marches and polkas, and sprightly waltzes, too, and nothing was ever tabooed, though these classic selections were always omitted on Sunday. None ever minded how long I sat at the organ, or how many times a day a certain piece was played, and a few could never be sated; but I took good care that my work never lagged, and a duty was never neglected for such pleasure, thereby making it always the recreation and enjoyable exercise it was intended to be and not tiresome.
Miss J. now took a lesson on the instrument each day for a half hour after the lamps were lighted, and as she had already had a few lessons, and could play a few hymns, she was much interested in acquiring a further knowledge which would be helpful in church and Sunday school services. Miss E., too, thought of beginning lessons if she could find time from her manifold duties as house-mother of the numerous flock, and did take a few lessons before they moved away.
In the evening there was always singing, for some were sure to be present then, who had been absent during the day. Perhaps Mr. H. had arrived with a Christian native from the Home, to spend the night before going back on the morrow, with supplies of some sort for the completion ofhis new house. He now headed the two establishments and vibrated between them, simply camping at the new place and enjoying everything of home life possible in the Mission. At jokes and repartee he was as good as the best of them, and always enjoyed a laugh like the youngest.
A level head and firm hand had this Swedish missionary of long experience. From a dozen or more years at Yakutat, in southern Alaska, where he had done invaluable work for that Mission, he had come about two years before to Golovin Bay, and now had, besides the Eskimo children in that place, over four hundred government reindeer in charge. For these he kept a number of experienced and trusty native drivers, and these either lived in his Mission or with their families near at hand, as a few of them now were married.
This herd of animals was kept upon the hills where the reindeer moss grew in plenty, for they could not, and would not, eat anything else if they literally starved to death, and they were now five miles away. To remove this great family of a score and more with their belongings over the ice, a distance of twelve miles in winter by dog-team, getting settled in a large frame building, unplastered, and upon a bleak, unprotected shore, was an undertaking which would have discouraged most men; especially as a shipload of needed supplies for their new Home, including furniture, had been lost at sea, leaving them short of many suchnecessities. But this was not all. The whole reindeer herd and their drivers, with their several families, were also to be moved near the new Home, and to fresh moss pastures.
Near the Home was a good-sized creek of fresh and pure water, which ran singing along through the hills to the ocean, and for this reason the site had been selected and built upon.
T
HE first few garments I made for Little Bessie were not a great success. I had told Miss E. that I would be delighted to assist her in any way that I could, never dreaming what would come; and she being more in need of warm clothing for the children than anything else, with rolls of uncut flannels, and baskets piled high with materials to be made into underwear, said immediately that I might help with their sewing.
She then brought a piece of Canton flannel, and the shears, and put them into my hands, saying that I might make two pairs of night-trowsers for the baby. My heart sank within me in a moment. I made a desperate effort to collect myself, however, and quietly asked if she had a pattern. No, she had none. The child, she said, kicked the cover off her in the night so often, and the weather was growing so cold, that she and Miss J. thought a garment of the trouser description, taking in the feet at the same time, would very well answer her needs, and this I was requested to originate, pattern and all. Whatever should I do? I could more easily have climbed Mt. McKinley! If shehad told me to concoct a new pudding, write an essay, or make a trip to Kotzebue, I should not have been so much dismayed; but to make a garment like that, out of "whole cloth," so to speak, from my own design—that was really an utter impossibility.
"O, well," she said, "I am sure you can do this well enough. It is not such a very particular job; just make something in which to keep the child warm nights, you know. That is all I care for," kindly added she, as she closed the door behind her and went back to the kitchen.
Finally I appealed to Alma. She was busy. She had never cut out anything of the sort, neither had Ricka nor Miss L., but I being a married woman was supposed to have a superior knowledge of all such things. I admitted that I might have a theory on the subject, but a "working hypothesis," alas, I had none.
Still I hung around Alma, who was an expert dressmaker of years' standing in San Francisco.
"No, I can't cut them out, really; but why don't you make a pattern from some garment on hand?"
Here was an idea. Something to build upon.
"But there are the feet, and the waist?" I said still anxiously.
"O, build them on to your pattern," she said carelessly; as if anyone with half an eye and one hand could do that sort of building, and she left the room for more important matters.
There was nothing else for me to do. I secureda suit of the baby's clothing throughout, and, taking the cloth, the shears, and an old newspaper, I went upstairs to Miss J.'s room and closed the door. I wanted to be alone. I longed to have my dear old mother there for just one short hour, for in that time I felt certain she would have cut out these as well as other garments, enough to keep us for weeks sewing, as her own babies had kept her at one time.
However, there was no help for me, and I went to work. For an hour I cut and whittled on that old newspaper, along with a number of others, before I got a pattern that I fancied might do. Then I submitted it to Miss J. herself, who told me to go ahead and cut it out. It appeared all right, so far as she could see. Then I cut, and basted, and tried the garment on Bessie. It was too wide across the chest, too short in the legs, and the feet were monstrosities. What was to be done, I asked of the others?
"Make new feet, and sew them on around the ankle," said Miss J., thoughtfully, surveying her little charge from all sides, as the child stood first on one foot, then on the other, "then you can lengthen the legs a little if you want to," careful not to offend by criticising abruptly, but still feeling that the height of the gearing should be increased.
"Dear me, that's easy enough," suggested Alma, "just put a wide box plait down the front, like that in a shirtwaist, and it will be all right."
"The back can be taken out in the placket," and Ricka folded and lapped the cloth on the little child's shoulders, and then we called Miss E. from the kitchen. After making a few suggestions in a very conservative way, as if they did not come readily because the garment was just about right; she left the room hastily, saying her bread would burn in the oven; and I thought I heard her giggling with Miss L. in Swedish until she ran away out into the woodshed, ostensibly for an armful of wood; though if her bread were already burning I wondered what she wanted of more fire.
I did not blame her; I laughed too. The little child looked exceedingly funny as she stood there in that wonderful garment, with black eyes shining like beads, and face perfectly unsmiling, as she nearly always looks, wondering why it was we were laughing.
October twenty-fourth the boys worked all day at making the house more comfortable for winter, nailing tar paper upon the north side, where some clapboards were missing, putting on storm or double windows outside of the others, and filling the cracks with putty. A couple of the boys also worked at hauling supplies of apples and potatoes from the warehouse by dog-team, putting the eatables into the cellar under the kitchen, which was well packed in with hay. This cellar was a rude one, and in summer frequently filled with water from the surface and the hill above the house,making it not altogether wholesome at times, but by management, it was still being used for some things, and of course, in cold weather, it made no difference, for everything was solidly frozen.
Snow enough had fallen by this time, a little coming quietly down every few hours, to make fair roads for the sleds, the ground being quite hard; while Fish River and adjoining creeks were fast freezing over, as were also the waters of the bay.
In the evening Mr. H. came in, and we all gathered in the sitting room, some sewing, some mending, but all chatting pleasantly. The missionary had just been informed, he told us, of a gold strike on the Kuskokquim River, some one having only recently returned from St. Michael, and brought the report. From that place men were leaving for the new diggings each day, and it might or might not prove a bona fide strike. With reindeer, on a good winter trail, this distance would not be a formidable trip, Mr. H. told us.
This was the information we wanted to hear, and it probably started a train of golden dreams that night in more than one head, which was long in stopping, especially when he informed us that every acre of land around us was then staked out in quartz claims, though no extensive prospecting had yet been done, and we were pleased at finding ourselves "so near" even though we were "yet so far."
Today was a birthday for Mr. G., and he wasteased unmercifully for his age, but would not give it, so those who had known him the longest tried their best to figure it out from incidents in his life and from narratives of his own, and made it out to their satisfaction as about thirty-two years, though he refused (like a woman) to the very last, to tell them if they were guessing correctly.
The next day it still snowed a little at intervals between clouds and sunshine, and all "tenderfeet" were more comfortable indoors. Miss E. and Ricka had gone the day before with the boys and Mr. H. to the Home on a scow-load of lumber, though we feared it was pretty cold for them without shelter on the water; but with the wind in the right direction, they wanted to attempt it, and so started. They were to look the new building over for the first time, Miss E. being much interested in the inside arrangement of rooms, naturally, as it was to be her home and field of labor, and rightly thinking a womanly suggestion, perhaps, might make the kitchens more handy.
In their absence the rest of us continued our sewing, Miss L. taking Miss E.'s place in the kitchen, with help from the larger Eskimo girls at dish washing. The latter were docile and smiling, and one little girl called Ellen was always exceedingly careful to put each cup and saucer, spoon and dish in its proper place after drying it, showing a commendable systematic instinct, which Miss E. was trying to foster.
Between times, their school not yet being in session, they played about, either up in their rooms if it was too stormy outside, or out of doors if the weather permitted; though, for that matter, they seldom hesitated to do anything they wished on account of the weather, as it was not so cold to the natives as to us. They played with balls, both large and small, and sleds of all descriptions; and if the latter were not to be had, or all in use, a barrel stave or board would be made to answer the same purpose. It was a rush past the window down the hill, first by a pair of muckluked feet, then a barrel stave and a boy, sometimes little Pete, and sometimes John. One barrel stave would hold only one coaster, and there were usually enough for the boys, but if by chance the little girls laid hands upon the sleds before they did, the staves were then their only resource. If a child rolled, by accident, upon the ground, it never seemed to matter, for in furs he was well protected. The snow was soft, and he, being as much at home there as anywhere, seemed rather to like it.
If he was seen to fall, it was the signal for some other to roll and tumble him, keeping him under as long as possible, and it was a frequent sight to see three or four small boys tumbling about like kittens, locked in each other's arms, and all kicking and shouting good-naturedly. Snowballing, too, was their delight, and their balls were not alwaysvelvety, either, as the one stopping its course could affirm.
These children did little quarreling. I cannot remember seeing Eskimo boys angry or fighting, a thing quite noticeable among them, for nowhere in the world, perhaps, could the same number of white children be found living so quietly and harmoniously together as did these twelve little dark-faced Eskimos in the Mission.
Our days were now growing much shorter, and it was necessary to light the lamps at four o'clock in the afternoon, the sun having set some time before. The sunset skies were lovely in bright and tender colors, reflecting themselves as they did in the water of the bay, and tinting delicately all surrounding hilltops. What a beautiful sight it was, and how sadly we remembered that very soon the water would have disappeared under the solid ice, there to remain for long months imprisoned. Little did we then know that the heavenly beauty of the Arctic sky is never lacking, but close upon the departure of one season, another, no less beautiful, takes its place.
Diary of October twenty-sixth: Alma and I called today upon two neighbors in the old schoolhouse next the church, by name Dr. H. and wife. They claim to have come from Dawson not very long ago, being shipwrecked on the way, and losing their outfit. She seems a chatty, pleasant little body, and inclined to make the best of everything,her hard lot included, and she is baking and selling bread to the miners. She is a brave little woman, and could teach many a pampered and helpless one lessons of great usefulness and patience. Miss L. is ill with quincy and suffering very much, so Alma makes the bread.
I have just made four large aprons for Miss J., cutting them out and making them, and they look really well, so I am quite proud of myself, especially as Ricka has "set up" my knitting on needles for me, and I am going to make some hose. I usually knit evenings, between times at the organ, for my new yarn received from San Francisco is very nice, and will make warm winter stockings.
Saturday, October twenty-seventh: We have four inches of snow on the ground, and more coming. Miss L. is quite ill with her throat, and did not get up today. Alma, too, is very pouty, with a swollen, pudgy face, and feels badly. They both say they think they took cold coming from Nome on the "Elk," and I don't doubt it, for I would have done so myself only for my great caution in taking care of my newly shingled head and in applying a thorough dose of fur muckluks to my feet, but, thanks to them, I am the most "chipper" one at present.
Miss J. had Dr. H. examine Bessie today, and he says she has bronchitis, but told the teacher what to do for her.
The two girls came back from the Home with Mr. H. and Mr. L. about four o'clock after we had begun to be worried about them. They were hungry, and Alma and I got dinner for them, when Mr. H. started back immediately in a small boat alone, after it had begun to grow dark. We begged him not to attempt it, but he insisted on going, as he must be there tomorrow to push the work on the building, and the ice is floating, so he fears it will freeze the bay over. The sun shone out beautifully for three or four hours, and it is just one week today since we landed in Golovin, a most pleasant week to us all (pattern making not included).
Later.—I helped with the housework and made two more aprons for Miss J. There is nothing like feeling of some use in the world, is there?
Sunday, October twenty-eight: A clear, bright morning, growing cloudy about noon, and dark at four in the afternoon, when lamps were lighted. We had a long, restful day indoors, both Miss E. and Ricka being very lame from their long walk of fifteen miles over the stony beach and tundra covered hills from the Home, Mr. H.'s boat being too small for four persons. By water the distance is called a dozen miles, but by land and on foot it is much farther, as the girls have found by sad experience; and they were very glad it was Sunday, and they could rest. Miss E. said laughingly that we would play we were at home in the States again,and so she spread the breakfast table daintily in the sitting-room, with white cover, pretty embroidered centre-piece, and snowy napkins, bringing real comfort to our hearts, accustomed as we had been for so many months to bare necessities and none of the luxuries. A fashionable breakfast hour for Sunday in the States was also affected in order to make the plan complete, and because the mornings, growing darker as they are continually doing, nobody felt in haste to leave their beds. Of course every one wore his Sunday clothes and I put on my very best waist of olive green satin with a good black skirt, which had a little train, thereby effectively hiding my uncouth feet, still clad as they are in the ungainly muckluks.
The ice is moving in the bay, and we hear that still another steamer may come in, so we can send mail out to Nome, and write to have in readiness. There have been no church services today, as Mr. H. is away at the Home, but we had music and singing frequently, and Swedish hymns all evening, which I play, but do not understand.
Monday, October twenty-ninth: This has been a bright, sunny morning until a little after noon, when it grew cloudy, as it often does. Miss E. was still very lame from her long tramp of last Saturday, and Ricka and I assisted in the kitchen. Alma has cut out a pretty brown cloth dress for Miss J. and is making it. Miss L.'s throat is better, and she is out of her room again, after a siege of severesuffering with quinsy, which caused a gathering. About nine in the evening Mr. H. came in from the Home, having walked the whole distance, a boat being now unsafe in the floating ice. After drinking some hot coffee, he related to us his adventure of Friday night in the Peterborough canoe. He had left us quite late in the afternoon of that day to go to the Home, and it was already beginning to grow dark. For a while, he said, he found open water, and made good time at the paddle, but presently found himself alongside of and soon after crowded by floating ice.
It was young ice, and he did not have much fear of it. He kept on paddling, but finally found himself entirely surrounded, and manage as he would, he could not free his canoe. A breeze came up from the north, which pushed him along with the ice out toward sea, for he was near the mouth of the bay. There was nothing to do but wait. For an hour he waited.
It was well on towards midnight, and he could see no escape. The missionary, in relating the incident to us, did not dwell upon this part of his story, but he said he had given himself up for lost, and only prayed and waited. By and by the breeze died away, the ice quietly parted, and drifted away from him, and he paddled safely ashore.
Tuesday, October thirty: A brand new experience today—that of watching the natives and others fish through the ice. Little holes are made in theice, which is now quite strong in the north end of the bay near the cliff, and the Eskimos sit there patiently for hours, fishing for tom-cod. These are small fish, but quite tasty, one of the principal means of subsistence for the natives, and are also much used by others. No pole is needed on the line except a short one of three or four feet, and when a bite is felt by the fisherman, the line is quickly drawn out, given a sudden twitch, which frees the tom-cod, and he is summarily dispatched with a few raps from the fishing stick kept at hand for the purpose.
Several river boats, including small steamers, are laid up under the cliff for the winter, dismantled of loose gear and light machinery, and I did get a few views which should prove of some value. The weather was good all day, the sun setting at three in the afternoon, and it being nearly dark an hour later. Mr. H. dressed himself from top to toe in furs, hitched three dogs to a sled, took a lunch for himself, a few supplies of eatables for the Home camp to which he was going, and started out, on a longer, but we trusted a less venturesome and dangerous route than by Peterborough canoe. Our evening was pleasantly, and at the same time more or less profitably spent by our party in the sitting-room, Alma sewing on Miss J.'s new dress, Ricka and I knitting, and the others either mending or busying themselves at something. This something frequently covers a good deal of ground, for withone or two of the boys it means pranks or roguishness of some sort, which really enlivens the whole household and keeps our risibles from growing rusty by disuse.
Wednesday, October thirty-one: I find no difficulty in running the sewing machine here, which is a new and good one, and I like to use it very well. Just how they could get along without it is more than I can tell, with so much sewing to do for each of the children, not to mention the others who are waiting to come into the Mission at the earliest possible moment. During the day Mr. L. busied himself usefully in several ways as he always does, and finally mended Miss J.'s guitar. After supper we counted ourselves and found six women and a lot of children, but he was the only man in the establishment, the others being at the Home, and we hazed him considerably, all of which was taken most good-naturedly. The bay is freezing more and more each day, with an increasing depth of snow upon the ground.
A very unpleasant day as to weather was Friday, November second. Snow, high tide, and wind from the south, which blew the water further yet upon the beach; but we sewed all day, though I did not get much accomplished. I gave Miss E. her first lesson on the organ today. Alma is making herself a new dress skirt, as she has Miss J.'s wool dress nearly finished, and it looks exceedingly well, fitting, as some one remarks, "like the paper onthe wall." Alma likes dressmaking, and does it well, but draws the line at baby clothes.
Each day Miss J., the teacher, is now holding a little prayer meeting in the kitchen for the natives. When the supper is cleared away, one of the boys goes out and rings the bell, which is only a big, iron triangle hung under three posts in the ground. A piece of iron is picked up and put through the triangle, hitting it on both sides, and making a ringing, vibrating sound which calls in the natives, who come immediately, just as they are, and range themselves on the benches along the walls. Those who can sing sit at the long table upon which are the lamps and English song books, those used being principally Gospel songs. One of the grown boys called Ivan is a very fair singer, and loves music of all kinds. He is the interpreter for all meetings, understanding English and speaking it quite well. None of the Eskimos are taught Swedish—nothing but English.
Miss J. reads a song which she wishes them to learn, and Ivan interprets it into Eskimo, verse by verse, afterwards singing it. Tunes are learned more quickly than words, but they get the meaning from Ivan. Then Miss J. reads the Scripture, Ivan interpreting verse by verse. She next offers prayer in English, and calls upon some older native Christian to pray in his language, after which they sing several songs with which they are familiar. Having selected beforehand some passage from theBible, she reads and expounds that, being interpreted by Ivan; there is a short benediction and the meeting is over. They seem to like very well to come, and are never eager to go, but say little, not being great talkers, even in their own tongue.
When the last Eskimo has departed, and the children are settled in bed, the cozy hour of the day has arrived. For a good, old-fashioned tale of love, fright and adventure, there is no time like a winter's night, when the wind shrieks down the chimney and whirling snow cuddles into corners and crannies. When supper is over, and the kitchen is well cleared, the women of the house may take their yarn and bright needles, while the men toast their feet at the fire and spin—other yarns, without needles, which are, perhaps, not so essential, but far more entertaining to listeners.
This is what we did that winter at Chinik, the home of the Eskimo, in that far away spot near the Arctic Sea. There were tales of the Norsemen and Vikings, told by their hardy descendants sitting beside us, as well as the stories of Ituk and Moses, the aged, called "Uncle," Punni Churah, big Koki, and "Lowri."
To the verity of the following narrative all these and many others can willingly vouch.