M
ANY years ago, close under the shadow of old Plymouth Rock, there was born one day a fair-skinned, blue-eyed baby. Whether from heredity, or environment, or both, the reason of his spirit will perhaps never plainly appear, but as the child grew into manhood he seemed filled with the same adventurous aspirations which had actuated his forefathers, causing them to leave their homes in old England, and come to foreign shores. Scarcely had he passed into his teens before he was devouring tales of pirates, and kindred old sea yarns, and his heart was fired with ambition to own a vessel and sail the high seas. Not that he thirsted for a pirate's life, but a seafaring man's adventures he longed for and decided he must have.
Under these conditions a close application at his desk in the village school was an unheard-of consequence; and, having repeatedly smarted under the schoolmaster's ferule, not to mention his good mother's switches plucked from the big lilac bush by her door, he decided to run away to the great harbor, and ship upon some vessel bound for a foreign land.
This he did. Then followed the usual hard, rough life of a boy among sailors in distant ports; the knotted rope's end, the lip blackening language and curses, storms, shipwrecks and misfortunes; all followed as a part of the life so hastily chosen by the adventurous young lad, until he acquired familiarity with all that appertained thereto, and he was a man.
Years passed. To say that fortune never came to him would not be true, because she is always a fickle dame, and cannot change her character for sailor men. So it came about that he finally stood on the captain's bridge of different sorts of craft, and gave orders to those beneath him.
And a typical sea captain was he. Gruff when occasion required, rollicking as any when it pleased him, he was generous to a fault, and a man of naturally good impulses. If he drank, he was never tipsy; if he swore, he always had reason; and thus he excused himself when he thought of his good old mother's early Bible teaching.
From Montevideo to Canton, from Gibraltar to San Francisco, from Cape of Good Hope to the Arctic Ocean; thus ran his itinerary year after year. Crossing Behring Strait from Siberia in the summer of 18—, he landed, with his little crew, at Cape Prince of Wales, for the purpose of trading with the natives. The furs of the animals of this region were found to be exceptionally fine, thick and glossy, and the Eskimos easily parted with them. For flour, tobacco and woolen cloth they willinglygave their furs to the sailors, who looked admiringly upon the skins of the polar bear, sea otter, beaver, silver, black and white fox, as well as those of many other animals. These furs were sold in San Francisco, and other trips were made to the Arctic Northwest.
Along the south coast of the Seward Peninsula there are few bays or natural harbors. Golovin Bay is one of them. Here for many years the Eskimos have subsisted upon the fine fish and game. The flesh and oils of the white whale, seal and walrus being principally sought for, the natives came to this bay from all directions.
After many years of wandering, and when the ambitions of the captain for a seafaring life had been satisfied, an incident occurred which changed the current of his life and decided him to settle permanently at Golovin Bay.
During his visits on the peninsula his attention had been directed to a bright and intelligent young Eskimo woman, lithe and lively, a good swimmer, trapper and hunter. Like a typical Indian, she had a clear, keen eye, steady nerves and common sense. She was a good gunner and seldom missed her mark. She was fearless on land or sea, loved her free out-door life, and was a true child of nature. Her name was Mollie.
One day in the early springtime, nearly a dozen years ago, when the winter's ice was still imprisoned in the bays and sounds of Behring Sea,though the warm sun had for weeks been shining and already seams appeared upon the ice in many places, the captain attempted the trip by dog-team from St. Michael to Golovin Bay. With him were four trusty natives, and three dog-teams, the animals being of the hardy Eskimo breed, and well-nigh impervious to cold, their long, thick hair making an effective protection.
His men were experienced, knowing the country perfectly, including a knowledge of winter trails and methods of traveling such as all Eskimos possess, and though the weather was not just what the captain might have wished, he decided to make the start, and left St. Michael in good shape for the long trip. The strong sleds with high-back handle bar and railed sides were firmly packed with freight, which was securely lashed down. The dogs were driven in pairs, eleven to a sled, the eleventh being in each case a fine leader and called such, besides having his own Eskimo name, as did also the four men who were warmly dressed in furs from head to foot. These natives were familiar with little English, but as the captain had made himself acquainted with their language they had no difficulty in making each other understood.
Early in the evening of that day they reached the Mission station of Unalaklik, on the mainland, about fifty miles northeast of the island, where they spent the night. In this settlement were white traders, as well as missionaries and numbers ofEskimos, it being an old port of considerable importance.
In the cold grey morning light Punni Churah and the men called to the malemutes, patting their furry heads and talking kindly to them, for many a weary, long mile of snow trail stretched northward for them that day before they could rest and eat. Only at night, when their day's work was done, were these faithful creatures ever fed on seal, fish, whale, or walrus meat, for otherwise they would be drowsy, and not willing to travel; so they were called early from their snow beds in a drift or hollow, where they liked best to sleep, and made ready for the start.
Dressed in their squirrel skin parkies, with wide-bordered hoods upon their heads, reindeer muckluks on their feet and mittens of skin upon their hands, stood Ah Chugor Ruk, Ung Kah Ah Ruk, Iamkiluk and Punni Churah, long lashed whips in hand, and waiting.
On one of the sleds, dressed and enveloped in furs, sat the captain, before giving the order to start. At the word from him, the dogs sprang to their collars, the little bells jingled, and away they all dashed. Team after team, over the well-trodden trail they went, keeping up a continuous and sprightly trot for hours, while behind at the handle bars ran the natives, and rocks, hills and mountains were passed all unnoticed.
That night another Eskimo village was reached,and sixty miles of snow trail were left behind. Shaktolik lay on the shore southeast of a portage which would have to be made over a small point of land jutting out into Norton Bay.
During the night a storm came up which would necessarily much impede their progress, being called in the western world a "blizzard." This storm fiend, once met, is never forgotten. None but the man in the Arctic has seen him. None know so well how to elude him. Like a Peele, or a "tremblor" this Arctic king gathers his forces, more mighty than armies in battle, and sweeps all opponents before him. To resist means death. To crouch, cower or bow down to this implacable lord of the polar world is the only way to evade his wrath when he rides abroad, and woe to the man who thinks otherwise.
Not long had the wind and snow been blowing when the little train prepared to move. Ahead they could see the sled tracks of other "mushers" (travelers by dog-team), and the captain concluded to hurry along, notwithstanding that Ah Chugor Ruk shook his head, and spat tobacco juice upon the ground, and Ung Kah Ah Ruk demurred stoutly in few words. Punni Churah thought as the rest, but would go ahead if the captain so ordered, and they headed northwest for the portage.
On the dogs trotted for hours. The snow and sleet were blinding, the wind had risen to a gale. The dogs traveled less rapidly now, and their faceswere covered with frost, the moisture freezing as they breathed.
By this time the natives wanted to camp where they were, or head about northeast for another Eskimo village called Ungaliktulik, which would make the journey longer by twenty-five miles, but the captain decided to keep on as they were going.
By the middle of the afternoon the gale had increased to fury, causing the thermometer to fall with great rapidity, while the snow was blinding. The dogs were curling up in the wind like leaves before a blaze.
Ah Chugor Ruk was ahead with his team. His leader suddenly halted.
"Muk-a-muk!" cried the Eskimo.
"Muk!" echoed Punni Churah, running up alongside to look, and then back to the captain's sled, where he shouted something loudly in order to be heard above the storm.
An ice crack crossed their trail. There was no help for it. There it lay, dark and cold—the dreaded water.
In the blinding blizzard they could not see the width of the chasm. It was too wide for them to bridge; it was death to remain where they were—they must turn back, and they did so. The wind was not now in their faces as before, which made traveling some easier, but they had not gone far when: "Muk-a-muk!" from Punni this time, who was ahead.
Again the dogs stopped. Again Punni Churah came back, and reported.
They were adrift on a cake of ice. Wind from the northeast was blowing a hurricane, carrying them on their ice cake directly out to sea; but the snow was drifting in hummocks, and in one of them the natives began digging a hole for a hut. When this was of sufficient size, they pitched a sled cover of canvas over it, made the sleighs fast outside, and crawled underneath. Once inside their temporary igloo, they made a fire of white drilling and bacon, taken from the sled loads of merchandise; melted snow for water, and boiled coffee, being nearly famished. Then for hours they all slept heavily, the dogs being huddled together in the snow, as is their habit, but the blizzard raged frightfully, and drove the dogs nearer the men in the hut.
Crawling upon the canvas for more warmth, the poor, freezing creatures, struggling for shelter, with the weight of their bodies caused the hut to collapse, and all fell, in one writhing heap, upon the heads of the unfortunates below. Howling, barking, struggling to free themselves from the tangle, the pack of brutes added torment to the lot of the men; but the storm raged with such terrific force that all lay as they fell, until morning, under the snow.
None now disputed the storm king's sway. All were laid low before him. With the united fury offiends of Hades, he laughed in demoniacal glee at the desperation of the Arctic travelers under his heel. The whole world was now his. Far from the icy and unknown wastes of the interior, around the great Circle and Rockies, riding above the heads of rivers and mountains, he came from the Koyuk and Koyukuk. Like a child at play, as if weary of so long holding them in his cold embrace, he drove the massive ice floes out into ocean, only, perhaps, in childish fitfulness, to bring them back directly, by gales quite contrary.
When morning dawned, the captain and his men crawled out of the crushed snow hut, and, with hard work, made a new cave in the snow drift, burying the sleighs in the old one. The dogs were starving, and, to appease their appetites, were purloining bacon from the sled's stores; but Providence, for once, was kind to them, and a large, fat seal of several hundred pounds weight was shot that day on the edge of the ice cake upon which they were camped, and this gave them food and fuel. Dogs and natives were then well fed on the fresh seal meat and blubber, their natural and favorite viands. From tin dishes upon the sleds, the natives made little stoves, or lamps, using drilling for wicks, seal oil for fuel, and their coffee was made. Among the stores on the sleds were canned goods, beans, sausages, flour and other things, and on these the captain subsisted.
Day after day passed. The storm gradually diedaway, and the sun came out. Then watches were set to keep a lookout, and the captain took his turn with his men. Walking about in the cold morning air, he could see the mainland to the northwest, many miles away, and his heart sank within him. Would he ever put his foot upon that shore again? How long could they live on the ice cake if they floated far out in the Behring Sea? To him the outlook was growing darker each day, though the natives seemed not to be troubled.
Nearly two weeks passed. One night the captain was awakened by a hand on his shoulder. It was Ung Kah Ah Ruk. The wind, he said, was blowing steadily from the southwest, and if it continued they might be able to reach the shore ice and the mainland. Anxiously together then they watched and waited for long, weary hours, getting the sleds loaded, and in readiness for a start; then, with bitterest disappointment, they found the wind again changed to the southwest, which would carry them out to sea as before.
What were they to do? This might be their best and only chance to escape. The shore ice lay near them, but, as yet, beyond their reach. This treacherous wind might continue for days and even weeks. From experience they knew that the wind blew where he listed, regardless of the forlorn creatures under him, and with the thermometer at forty degrees below zero, as it was, swimming was out of the question. The crack appeared a dozen or sofeet in width, and escape was only possible by reaching the other side.
Their strait was a desperate one. The captain decided to make the leap. Removing his furs, he rolled them tightly, and threw them across the chasm. It was now a positive dash for life, as without his furs he would soon perish with the cold.
He made the run and leaped. At that instant one of the natives, from intense interest, or from a desire to assist, gave a loud Eskimo whoop, which startled the captain, and he missed his footing, falling forward upon the ice, but with his lower limbs in the water.
The natives now bestirred themselves and threw to the captain a large hunting knife and rifle, attached to their long sled lashings. With a good deal of exertion, the captain crawled upon the ice, and with the knife he chopped a hole, and inserted the rifle barrel, fastening the lashings to it and holding it firmly in place. The natives then pulled with united strength on the line, bringing the ice cake slowly up toward the captain until within a few feet of the shore ice, when, using a sled for a bridge, they and the dogs crossed safely over, without so much as wetting their feet. To all, this was a matter for great rejoicing, and no regretful farewells were given to the ice floe which had been their prison house so long. They were not yet out of danger, however, for the shore ice upon whichthey stood might, in the gale, at any moment be loosened and carry them, like the other, out into the ocean. So with all haste possible, they proceeded to get away. Punni Churah brought the captain's fur sleeping bag and robes, in which he was stowed away in one of the sleds, though his wet clothing was now frozen. There was no time nor place to make a change, with the thermometer nearly forty degrees below zero.
Hours afterward they reached the mainland. How good once more to step foot on terra firma! The dogs barked, and the natives hallooed cheerfully to each other, for they were now going home. A deserted native village was soon entered, an igloo in passable condition taken possession of, and the dogs tied up for the night.
The natives now worked rapidly and cheerfully, two putting up their camp stove, another bringing snow for water with which to make the coffee, and Punni Churah looking after the captain, who tried to remove his clothing, but to no purpose. Muckluks and trousers were frozen together, and as fast as the ice melted sufficiently they were cut away. Contrary to his expectations, he was not severely frozen, a white patch, the size of his hand, appearing upon each limb above the knee. With these they did the best they could, and dry clothing from the sleds was put on.
Their supper that night was a feast of rejoicing. They were now on the home trail, and would soonbe among friends. One more day of travel and their long, hazardous, and eventful trip of two hundred miles over an Arctic waste would be successfully accomplished. As they rolled themselves in their furs at midnight for a few hours of needed rest and sleep, they could almost fancy themselves at home again and happy. The dogs huddled in the snow outside, now and then barking in their usual way, but the tired men in the igloo did not hear them, for their sleep was oblivion, after the strain of the last two weeks.
Next morning, after traveling for several hours, a halt was made, and a lunch was taken in an Eskimo camp; but the captain, by this time, was suffering from exposure and frosted limbs, the trail was bad, and he concluded to hurry on ahead of the teams. The way was familiar, and only one low mountain, called the Portage, was to be crossed. It was early in the day, and his teams would follow immediately; so on his snowshoes the captain hastened toward home.
God help the man who travels alone in the Arctic in winter! Little matters it if the sun shines brightly at starting, and the sky appears clear as a summer pool. In one short hour the aspect of all may be changed, heavens overcast, snow flying, and wind rapidly driving. Under the gathering darkness and whirling snowflakes the narrow trail is soon obscured, or entirely obliterated, the icy wind congeals the traveler's breath and courage simultaneously,he becomes confused and goes round and round in a circle, until, benumbed by the frost, he sinks down to die. This was what now happened to the captain.
Another storm was upon him when he reached the hill portage, and as he expected his natives momentarily, and beyond this point the trail was good, so that he could ride behind the dogs, he waited until they should come up to him. Hour after hour he waited. Night came on, and the blizzard increased in severity. Hungry, cold and already frost-bitten, he must spend the night on the mountain alone. Still he listened for the bells on the malemutes, and the calls of his Eskimo drivers.
They did not come. Nothing but snow, and the shriek of that storm king whose rage he had so recently encountered while drifting to sea on the ice floe, and from whom only cruelty was ever expected, now whistled in his ears.
He knew he must keep on walking, so removing his snowshoes he stuck one in the snow drift and fastened a seal rope at the top. Taking the end of this in his hand, he circled round and round for hours to keep himself moving. At last he grew weary, and closed his eyes, still walking as before. It was more pleasant to keep his eyes closed, for then he saw visions of bright, warm rooms, blazing fires and cozy couches, and smelled the odors of appetizing foods. There were flowers, sweet music and children, and he was again in far-off sunny lands.
He grew drowsy. He would only rest a little in a soft white drift, and then go on again. Making a place in the bank with the snowshoe, while the wind whistled horribly and the whirling snow bewildered him, he lay down to——
Some men, one night, drove their dog-teams into Chinik. They had come from St. Michael, two hundred miles over the trail. They said the captain and his party left there many days before them, and by this they were surely dead, unless drifted out to sea, which really meant the same thing, as no man could live upon the ice during the recent great blizzard. An Eskimo woman heard what they said. She was a cousin to Punni Churah, but she said nothing.
An hour later, the woman and two men with dogs and sleds left Chinik for the Portage, going east. It was storming, but it was not dark, and they knew each foot of the way. At first, on the level, the woman rode in one of the sleds, but when it grew hilly, she trudged behind. Her sharp eyes now keenly searched every dark or obscure spot along the hillside trail. The wind lessened somewhat, and the moon came out behind the clouds.
The dogs finally stopped, throwing back their heads and howling; then, in more excitement, gave the short, quick bark of the chase.
The natives began poking about with sticks in the drifts, and Mollie (for it was she) soon found the unconscious man in the snow.
Quick work then they made of the return trip. They were only a few miles from home now, and the malemutes seemed to comprehend. Every nerve in their bodies tingled. Every tiny bell on their harnesses jingled, and the fleet-footed natives sped rapidly behind. The dogs needed no guidance, for they were going home, and well knew it. The voice of big Ituk, as he gave out his Eskimo calls, the sleigh-bells, and the creak of the sled runners over the frosty snow, were the only sounds heard on the clear morning air.
The life of the captain was saved.
The sequel of his story is not long. With the best care known to a native woman, brought up near and inside a Mission station, the captain was tended and brought back to life, though weeks passed before he was well. In fact, he was never strong again, and, needing a life-long nurse, decided, with Mollie's consent, to take her for his wife, and so the missionary married them. Then they settled permanently at Golovin Bay, where a trading post was already established, and where they are living happily to this day.
O
N Saturday, November third, began a great sewing of fur caps, children's clothes, and also garments for the teacher. For the caps, a pattern had to be made before beginning, but Alma and not I did it. About four in the afternoon Mr. H., Mr. G. and Mr. B. came in from the Home, having worked all day at collecting driftwood as they came along, piling it upon end so it will not be buried in the snow, for that is the only fuel we will have this winter, and it must be gathered and hauled by the boys.
While in the sitting room after supper three gentlemen and the wife of one of them called to spend the evening from the A. E. Company's establishment. One was the manager and head of the company's store here, another was his clerk, and the man and his wife were neighbors.
We soon found out that the young clerk had been up the Koyuk River prospecting, and wanted to go again. The boys want to go there themselves, and we gathered considerable information from our callers regarding the country, manner of getting there, the best route, etc., and spent a pleasant evening, as they seemed also to do.
Sunday, November fourth, was marked as the first time of holding church service in the schoolhouse since our arrival, and a good number were present. Twenty-two Eskimos and ten white people made a cozy little audience for Mr. H. and his interpreter, Ivan. I played the organ, and they all sang from Gospel songs. For some reason a lump would come up in my throat when I played the old home songs that I had so many times played under widely differing circumstances, thousands of miles away; but under the current of sadness there was one also of thanksgiving for protection and guidance all the way.
It was a motley crowd listening to the preacher that day, from various and widely separated countries, Sweden, Norway, Finland, United States, Alaska and possibly some others, were represented at this service as well as at the one of the evening held in the Mission House which needed no extra lights nor warming. A few more natives came in at this time, and Mollie, the captain's wife, was there with her mother. Again I played the instrument, while the rest sang. The little sitting-room and hall were crowded, seats having been brought in from the kitchen, and some were standing at the doors. One old Eskimo woman seemed in deep trouble, for she wiped her eyes a great deal, and she, with some others, were very dirty, at least if odors tell stories without lying.
Monday, November fifth: This has been a fineday, and brought with it a new lot of experiences. I took a few kodak views of a dog-team and fur-dressed people in front of the Mission. After supper four neighbors came (the same who called on us the other evening) with their horse to take us out for a moonlight ride, and it proved a very novel one. A big, grey horse, with long legs supporting his great hulk, and carrying him away up above us as we sat on the sled; the conveyance, a home-made "bob" sled upon which had been placed rough boards piled with hay and fur robes for the comfort of passengers, and the harness home-made like the "rig," was ingeniously constructed of odds and ends of old rope of different colors which the men assured us, when interrogated upon the point, were perfectly strong and secure.
In it were knots, loops, twists, and coils, with traces spliced at great length in order to keep us clear of the horse's heels, but which frequently got him entangled, so that he had to be released by the footman (the clerk). When this occurred, the latter, with an Indian war-whoop, leaped off the sledge, flourished and cracked his big "black snake" whip in air to encourage the animal to run faster, and I, sitting with the driver on the front seat, gripped for dear life the board upon which I sat. No Jehu, I feel sure, ever drove as did our driver tonight, assisted by the whooping footman with his black snake. Through drifts and over the pond, which was frozen, down steep banks to the beach,through snow deep and still deeper, helter-skelter they drove, skurrying, shouting, urging the poor beast on until he was wild of eye, short of breath, weary in limb, and reeking.
Overhead the air was clear as crystal, stars bright, and a perfect full moon shining with brilliant whiteness over all. Only the jingle of the bells upon the horse, the shrieks of our footman and driver, and the laughter of the passengers on the "bob" broke the stillness of the quiet, frosty air, which, in its intense purity and lightness seemed fairly to vibrate with electricity as we breathed.
November sixth: I have spent the day at making a warm winter hood for myself. Finding that Mr. H. had grey squirrel skins, I bought six of him for twenty-five cents apiece, for a lining for hood and mittens. The hood I made pretty large every way, sewing two red fox tails around the face for a border to keep the wind off my face, as is the Eskimo fashion.
During the day G. and B. went out over the beach to collect driftwood for winter, and G. came home finally without his companion. It was thought that B. went on to the Home, as he found himself not so far from that as from the Mission, where he would probably remain all night, and come over next day. Two natives, with as many reindeer and sleds, came for flour and other things, taking Mr. H.'s trunk of clothing with them forthe missionary. The little Eskimos were delighted to see the deer, and ran out to them, petting and talking to them. Then they rattled on among themselves about the animals, inspecting and feeling of their horns, patting their fat sides, calling their names, and showing their pleasure at seeing the pretty creatures in various ways. I did not know which were of most interest, the deer with long, branching antlers, sleek spotted sides and funny heads, or the group of odd little Eskimo children, with their plump dark faces, dressed in furry parkies and boots, tumbling gleefully around in the snow.
Wednesday, November seventh: The weather is beautifully clear and sunny today, with charming sky effects at sunrise and sunset. Red, yellow and crimson lines stretched far along the eastern horizon, cut by vertical ones of lighter tints, until a big golden ball climbed up higher, and by his increased strength warmed the whole snowy landscape. A few hours later, this great yellow ball, looking bright and clear-cut, like copper, sank gently beneath the long banks of purple-red clouds massed in artistic and majestic confusion. Everything, at this time, was enveloped in the cooler, quieter tints of purple and blue, and hills, peaks, and icy bay all lay bathed in exquisite color.
The two Eskimos brought the reindeer back from the Home today, stopped for lunch, and then went on their way to the herd again. Ricka, Almaand Miss J. went out as far as the cliff for a ride on the sleds behind the deer, but I felt safer indoors. Ricka says when the animals dashed over the big bank, out upon the ice near the cliff, she thought her last hour had come. At first the deer trotted steadily along on the trail, but going faster and faster they rushed headlong through the drifts, dragging the sleds on one runner, and tearing up the snow like a blizzard as they went, until it seemed to the two girls, unused to such riding as they were, that the animals were running away, and they would be certainly killed.
Miss J. was quite used to this kind of traveling, and made no outcry, but Alma and Ricka finally got the natives to stop the deer and let them get off and walk home, saying it might be great fun when one was accustomed to it.
The sleds used by the natives are called reindeer sleds because made especially for use when driving deer. They are close to the ground, and very strongly built, as they could not otherwise stand the wear and tear of such "rapid transit." Side rails are put on, but no high handle-bar at the back, and when a load is placed upon the sled it is lashed securely on with ropes or thongs made of seal or walrus hide; otherwise there would be no load before the journey was completed.
Mr. H. says he has long experience with them, but never feels quite sure that an animal will do what is wanted of him, though when driven by natives who are well used to their tricks and antics,especially if the animals have reached mature age, they make good travelers, and get over the ground very fast. A hundred miles a day is nothing to them if the snow is not too deep and their load reasonable.
Men and dog-teams are coming into camp from Nome each day now, and say that the trails are in first-class condition. We hope for mail soon from Nome. Mr. H. came, bringing with him a Swedish preacher who is wintering here, though not officially connected with the Mission. He is a sweet singer, liking well to accompany his Swedish songs upon the guitar or organ, for he plays both instruments.
Mr. L. left at six in the morning for the Home, walked there and back, and arrived at six in the evening. He went to ask Mr. H. if he and the others could have reindeer with which to go to Koyuk River on a prospecting trip. He gave his consent and they think of starting next week. They think there may be some good creek up there that would do to stake, and the clerk is going with them.
We have jolly times each evening singing, visiting and knitting. My black stocking grows under my needles a few inches each day, and will be warm and comfortable footwear under my muckluks surely.
November eighth: Some ptarmigan were brought in today, which are the first birds of the kind I haveseen, and they are beautiful. They look like snow-white doves, only larger, with silky feathers and lovely wings. They are soon to be cooked, for they are the Arctic winter birds and make good eating. We are all blessed with ravenous appetites.
A man was killed with a club last night in a drunken brawl, in a hotel near by. He only lived a few hours after getting hurt, but it is said that the other killed him in self defense. Both the United States marshal and the commissioner were away at the time. It is a pity they were not at home, for the affair, perhaps, would then have been prevented. There are probably not more than one hundred white persons in the camp altogether, but there must be fully half as many Eskimos, and they are always coming and going. There are several saloons (one kept by a woman), a large hotel and one or two smaller ones, besides two or three company's stores and a few log cabins and native huts, besides the Mission.
The boys want to get off as soon as possible for Koyuk, but fear they will have to go to Nome for camp stoves and pipe, as there are none to buy here. They brought wood from the beach today on the sleds, and there is no lack of fuel here, nor of strong, willing arms to gather it. It seems a long, long time to wait without hearing from the home folks. I wonder how it seems to them. I only wish they could see how comfortably andhappily we are situated, and what jolly times we have, for it would do their hearts good. Few are so favored in all Alaska, of that I am certain.
Saturday, November tenth: I have sewed all day on a canvas coat for Mr. B., Alma helping with the cutting. He wants it to put on over his fur parkie to keep the snow and rain off it, and has himself made the loops and fastenings. He whittled out the buttons from small pieces of wood, twisted cord to loop over them, and put them all firmly on the coat so that it looks well, and will be serviceable. I put a good-sized hood of the same, with a fur border around the face, on the coat, and it will be a good garment to hunt ptarmigan in, for it is the color of snow, and the birds cannot see him.
The visiting preacher has had an experience in being in the water, and from it has contracted rheumatism in one limb, which he is nursing, so he sits by the fire and plays and sings for us while we sew. He is very pleasant, and all seem to like him. The weather is not cold and Miss J. and Mr. H. started out with reindeer for the Home at seven in the morning. It was a singular sight to see them when leaving. All the little natives in fur parkies stood around, watching. The two sleds were loaded with baggage, and Miss J. sat on the top of one of them, holding the rope that went under the body of the deer and around his Head and horns for a harness. This deer was tiedto the back of the sled in front of him, and Mr. H. went ahead having hold of the rope that was fastened to the first deer.
Sunday, November eleventh: We are having a heavy and wet snow storm. All stayed in until three in the afternoon, when we attended church service in the schoolhouse. I played the organ, the Swedish preacher read the Scriptures, and Ivan interpreted. We sang hymns and songs, and the hour was enjoyed by all, though the preacher did not feel quite well enough acquainted with the English to preach in that tongue, and Mr. H. was away. There were about twenty natives present, and ten or twelve white people, Miss E. remaining at home to get the dinner. I went in thought over the great waters to my southern home, where today the churches are decorated with palms and floral beauties, and I saw the friends in their accustomed seats—but I was not there. Thousands of miles away to the frozen north we have come, and little do we know if we shall ever see home again. Tears came to my eyes, but I kept them hidden, for none shall say I am homesick; I am glad to be here. I have faith to believe that the Father's loving watch-care will be still further extended, and I shall reach my homeland and friends some time in the future.
November thirteenth: Weather is warm, wet, and sunny. Water is running in the bay and snow is soft under foot. I worked this afternoon on a mitten pattern for myself, assisted by Alma. Evidently pattern making was intended for others todo, for though my spirit is as willing as possible, the flesh is very weak in that direction; but I did finally get a mitten, thumb and all, that looks not half bad. This was banner day for my laundry work, and my handkerchiefs have been ironed for the first time since I sailed from San Francisco. Heretofore I was in luck to get a time and place in which to wash them. At half-past four o'clock in the afternoon, when it was too dark to sew longer, Alma, Ricka and I went out upon the beach to meet the boys who had been gathering wood, and we walked a half mile over the rough trail of ice blocks, drifts and hummocks.
We floundered on through all until we saw them coming, and then sat resting on some logs until they came up. Two of Mr. H.'s dogs, Fido and Muckaleta, had followed us, and ran at our heels playing in the snow, which was more than one foot deep in places. The boys had found a long ladder on the beach, probably from some wreck, and they had brought it on the sled with the wood. It was most difficult work hauling the sled over the uneven trail, and all were puffing and perspiring when they reached home.
A little prayer meeting was afterwards held in the kitchen during which Mr. H. and Miss J. came in from the Home with reindeer, tired and hungry. We spent a pleasant evening visiting, singing and knitting.
A man has come from Nome, and says that thesteamer bringing Mission supplies from San Francisco was obliged during the last hard storm to throw some of its cargo overboard, and part of the Mission's stores were thus lost. All are sorry to hear this, as it means a shortage of necessary things, like furniture for the Home, where much is needed.
November fourteenth: Miss J. has taken in two more little Eskimos, a girl and a boy. First of all, she cuts their hair close to their heads, then each has a good bath in the tub, and they are dressed in clean clothing from head to foot, and fed plentifully. This was their program, and they look very happy after it, and evidently feel as well and look better. This boy seems to be about ten years old, and the girl a little older, but it is not customary among the Eskimos to keep account of their ages, and so nobody really knows how old any one is.
Alma has cut over a big reindeer skin parkie for the visiting preacher, and a fur sleeping bag for Miss J., while Ricka has made a fine cap for Mr. H. of dog's skin, lined with cloth. This morning when the men went out to the hills where their two reindeer had been tied in the moss, the animals were gone, and Ivan returned fearing that they had been stolen, but when Mr. H., G. and B. went to look, they found no men's footprints, and concluded that they had broken away and gone back to the herd, as their tracks went in that direction.Mr. H. went on after them, and the two boys came home wet with perspiration from floundering about in the deep, soft snow, and wearing their heavy rubber boots. I gave them coffee when they got back.
I have sewed on my new mittens, and done some knitting, besides tending the baby, who runs quickly from one thing to another like any other mischievous child, getting into first one thing, and then some other, which must be coaxed away from her by management. I usually do this by giving her some new plaything, if I can possibly find any article she has never yet had. A box of needles, buttons and thread she likes best of anything I have yet found, and a grand reckoning day will come before long when Alma finds the little Eskimo has been amusing herself with her property.
Mr. G. found a part of somebody's outfit, consisting of clothing and tin dishes, on the beach today. Miss J. held a little meeting again in the kitchen for the natives after supper, and is very happy over having the two new little Eskimos.
This is our fourth week in the Mission, and pleasant and happy ones they have been, at least, if there have been vexations to some, they have succeeded admirably in keeping them out of sight.
November fifteenth: The weather is still warm, wet and slippery under foot. This morning a young man called from Nome, with a letter fromMary, saying she is coming by dog-team as soon as the trails are good.
The commissioner called today to get the preacher to officiate at the funeral of the man who was killed, but it was postponed until tomorrow, because the grave could not be finished before dark. The commissioner sat for half an hour, and chatted in the sitting room.
November sixteenth: All hands are at work now for the children, and overalls, waists and shirts for the little boys as well as garments for the girls are on the docket. The big boys fished, and got smelt and tom-cod. B. sewed at mittens for himself, and G. took the church organ to pieces to clean and repair it. Mr. M., who has been at work on the Home, has come here to spend the winter. I wish he would set to work and catch some of the mice which infest the house, and run over me when I am asleep in the night time.
A meeting for the natives in the house again tonight, and the doors had to be left open on account of the pungent seal oil perfume from the garments of the Eskimos.
The man who was killed was buried today in the edge of the little graveyard on the hillside. The Swedish preacher was asked to go to the grave, and he did so, reading a Psalm, and offering a prayer. Only four or five men were present. It is a stony, lonely place, without a tree in sight; the few scattering graves having onlywooden slabs for head boards. Being just above the beach, the spot commands a view of the bay in front, but it is now all a snow and ice desert, and the most dreary place imaginable. Very little was known of the murdered man, and no good could be said of him, but it is supposed that he has a wife and children somewhere.
What a dreadful ending! Will his family ever know what has become of him, and is his mother still living? If so, I hope they may never learn of his horrid death and worthless life in Alaska. He was never conscious for a moment after being hurt, so they know nothing as to where to write to his relatives. It makes one shudder to think of it! He may have been a good and bright child, beloved by parents and brothers, but the drink curse claimed him for its own.
The weather is clear, with sunshine and frost. The visiting preacher has been making himself useful for a few days by helping us in cutting out overalls and blouses for the Eskimo boys. Down on his knees upon the floor, with shears, rolls of denim, and a pair of small trousers to pattern by, he has wielded the little steel instrument to good purpose, and encouraged and assisted us greatly.
With their new clothes, the children are all quite well pleased, for they are fresh and sweet. The missionaries are trying very hard to teach them cleanliness among other things, and they sometimes come and stand in the doorway and look atus sewing, their faces always good natured, and showing more or less curiosity. When told to run away to play, they obey quickly, and little Pete and the others like to keep the wood boxes filled to help us. The older girls being from ten to twelve years of age, are often caring for and amusing Bessie, and she is fond of them, until, like any other child, she cannot have her own way, and then she disapproves of them by kicking and screaming till Miss J. comes to settle the business.