Copyright by E. A. Hegg, Juneau Courtesy of Webster & Stevens, Seattle "Wolf"Copyright by E. A. Hegg, Juneau Courtesy of Webster & Stevens, Seattle"Wolf"
These Indians are simple, kind-hearted, and have ever been friendly and hospitable to the white man. They respect his cache, although their own has not always been respected by him.
At Copper Centre, which is connected by military wagon road with the coast at Valdez, flour sells for twenty-four dollars a hundredweight, and all other provisions and clothing in proportion; so it may be readily understood that the white people of the interior cannot afford to divide their provisions with the starving Indians, else they would soon be in the same condition themselves. Therefore, for these Indians, too,—fortunately few in number,—the government must provide liberally and at once.
At sunset on the day of our landing at Belkoffski we passed the active volcanoes of Pogromni and Shishaldin, on the island of Unimak. For years I had longed to see Shishaldin; and one of my nightly prayers during the voyage had been for a clear and beautiful light in which to see it. Not to pass it in the night, nor in the rain, nor in the fog; not to be too ill to get on deck in some fashion—this had been my prayer.
For days I had trembled at the thought of missing Shishaldin. To long for a thing for years; to think of it by day and to dream of it by night, as though it were a sweetheart; to draw near to it once, and once only in a lifetime—and then, to pass it without one glimpse of its coveted loveliness!—that would be too bitter a fate to be endured.
In a few earnest words, soon after leaving Valdez, I had acquainted the captain with my desire.
It was his watch when I told him. He was pacing in front of the pilot-house. A cigar was set immovably between his lips. He heard me to the end and then, without looking at me, smiled out into the golden distance ahead of us.
"You fix the weather," said he, "and I'll fix the mountain."
I, or some other, had surely "fixed" the weather.
No such trip had ever been known by the oldest member of the crew. Only one rainy night and one sweet half-cloudy afternoon. For the rest, blue and golden days and nights of amethyst.
But would the captain forget? The thought always made my heart pause; yet there was something in the firm lines of his strong, brown face that made it impossible for me to mention it to him again.
But on that evening I was sitting in the dining room which, when the tables were cleared, was a kind of general family living room, when Charlie came to me with his angelic smile.
"The captain, he say you please come on deck right away."
I went up the companionway and stepped out upon the deck; and there in the north, across the blue, mist-softened sea, in the rich splendor of an Aleutian sunset, trembled and glowed the exquisite thing of my desire.
In the absolute perfection of its conical form, its chaste and delicate beauty of outline, and the slender column of smoke pushing up from its finely pointed crest, Shishaldin stands alone. Its height is not great, only nine thousand feet; but in any company of loftier mountains it would shine out with a peerlessness that would set it apart.
The sunset trembled upon the North Pacific Ocean, changing hourly as the evening wore on. Through scarlet and purple and gold, the mountain shone; through lavender, pearl, and rose; growing ever more distant and more dim, but not less beautiful. At last, it could barely be seen, in a flood of rich violet mist, just touched with rose.
So steadily I looked, and with such a longing passion of greeting, rapture, possession, and farewell in my gaze and in my heart, that lo! when its last outline had blurred lingeringly and sweetly into the rose-violet mist, I found that it was painted in all its delicacy of outline and soft splendor of coloring upon my memory. There it burnsto-day in all its loveliness as vividly as it burned that night, ere it faded, line by line, across the widening sea. It is mine. I own it as surely as I own the green hill upon which I live, the blue sea that sparkles daily beneath my windows, the gold-brilliant constellations that move nightly above my home, or the song that the meadow-lark sings to his mate in the April dawn.
The sea breaks into surf upon Shishaldin's base, and snow covers the slender cone from summit to sea level, save for a month or two in summer when it melts around the base. Owing to the mists, it is almost impossible to obtain a sharp negative of Shishaldin from the water.
They played with it constantly. They wrapped soft rose-colored scarfs about its crest; they wound girdles of purple and gold and pearl about its middle; they set rayed gold upon it, like a crown. Now and then, for a few seconds at a time, they drew away completely, as if to contemplate its loveliness; and then, as if overcome and compelled by its dazzling brilliance, they flung themselves back upon it impetuously and crushed it for several moments completely from our view.
Large and small, the islands of the Aleutian Archipelago number about one hundred. They drift for nearly fifteen hundred miles from the point of the Aliaska Peninsula toward the Kamchatkan shore; and Attu, the last one, lies within the eastern hemisphere. This chain of islands, reaching as far west as the Komandórski, or Commander, Islands—upon one of which Commander Behring died and was buried—was named, in 1786, the Catherina Archipelago, by Forster, in honor of the liberal and enlightened Empress Catherine the Second, of Russia.
The Aleutian Islands are divided into four groups. The most westerly are Nearer, or Blizni, Islands, of whichthe famed Attu is the largest; the next group to eastward is known as Rat, or Kreesi, Islands; then, Andreanoffski Islands, named for Andreanoff, who discovered them, and whose largest island is Atka, where it is said the baskets known as the Attu baskets are now woven.
East of this group are the Fox, or Leesi, Islands. This is the largest of the four Aleutian groups, and contains thirty-one islands, including Unimak, which is the largest in the archipelago. Others of importance in this group are Unalaska, formerly spelled Unalashka; Umnak; Akutan; Akhun; Ukamak; and the famed volcano islands of St. John the Theologian, or Joanna Bogoslova, and the Four Craters. Unimak Pass, the best known and most used passage into Behring Sea, is between Unimak and Akhun islands. Akutan Pass is between Akutan and Unalaska islands; Umnak Pass, between Unalaska and Umnak islands. (Theseu's are pronounced as though spelledoo.)
Unalaska and Dutch Harbor are situated on the Island of Unalaska. By the little flower-bordered path leading up and down the green, velvety hills, these two settlements are fully two miles apart; by water, they seem scarcely two hundred yards from one another. The steamer, after landing at Dutch Harbor, draws her prow from the wharf, turns it gently around a green point, and lays it beside the wharf at Unalaska.
The bay is so surrounded by hills that slope softly to the water, that one can scarcely remember which blue water-way leads to the sea. There is a curving white beach, from which the town of Unalaska received its ancient name of Iliuliuk, meaning "the beach that curves." The white-painted, red-roofed buildings follow this beach, and loiter picturesquely back over the green level to the stream that flows around the base of the hills and finds the sea at the Unalaska wharf.
This is one of the safest harbors in the world. It is one great, sparkling sapphire, set deep in solid emerald and pearl. It is entered more beautifully than even the Bay of Sitka. It is completely surrounded by high mountains, peak rising behind peak, and all covered with a thick, green, velvety nap and crowned with eternal pearl.
The entrance way is so winding that these peaks have the appearance of leaning aside to let us slide through, and then drawing together behind us, to keep out the storms; for ships of the heaviest draught find refuge here and lie safely at anchor while tempests rage outside.
Now and then, between two enchantingly green near peaks, a third shines out white, far, glistening mistily—covered with snow from summit to base, but with a dark scarf of its own internal passion twisted about its outwardly serene brow.
TheKuro Siwo, or Japan Current, breaks on the western end of the Aleutian Chain; half flows eastward south of the islands, and carries with it the warm, moist atmosphere which is condensed on the snow-peaks and sinks downward in the fine and delicious mist that gives the grass and mosses their vivid, brilliant, perpetual green. The other half passes northward into Behring Sea and drives the ice back into the "Frozen Ocean." Dall was told that the whalers in early spring have seen large icebergs steadily sailing northward through the strait at a knot and a half an hour, against a very stiff breeze from the north. In May the first whalers follow the Kamchatkan Coast northward, as the ice melts on that shore earlier than on ours. The first whaler to pass East Cape secures the spring trade and the best catch of whales.
The color of theKuro Siwois darker than the waters through which it flows, and its Japanese name signifies "Black Stream." Passing on down the coast, it carries awarm and vivifying moisture as far southwest as Oregon. It gives the Aleutians their balmy climate. The average winter temperature is about thirty degrees above zero; and the summer temperature, from fifty to sixty degrees.
The volcano Makushin is the noted "smoker" of this island, and there is a hot spring, containing sulphur, in the vicinity, from which loud, cannon-like reports are frequently heard. The natives believe that the mountains fought together and that Makushin remained the victor. These reports were probably supposed to be fired at his command, as warnings of his fortified position to any inquisitive peak that might chance to fire a lava interrogation-point at him.
In June, and again in October, of 1778, Cook visited the vicinity, anchoring in Samghanooda Harbor. There he was visited by the commander of the Russian expedition in this region, Gregorovich Ismaïloff. The usual civilities and gifts were exchanged. Cook sent the Russian some liquid gifts which were keenly appreciated, and was in return offered a sea-otter skin of such value that Cook courteously declined it, accepting, instead, some dried fish and several baskets of lily root.
The Russian settlement was at Iliuliuk, which was distant several miles from Samghanooda. Several of the members of Cook's party visited the settlement, notably Corporal Ledyard, who reported that it consisted of a dwelling-house and two storehouses, about thirty Russians, and a number of Kamchatkans and natives who were used as servants by the Russians. They all lived in the same houses, but ate at three different tables.
Cook considered the natives themselves the most gentle and inoffensive people he had ever "met with" in his travels; while as to honesty, "they might serve as a pattern to the most civilized nation upon earth." He was convinced, however, that this disposition had beenproduced by the severities at first practised upon them by the Russians in an effort to subdue them.
Cook described them as low of stature, but plump and well-formed, dark-eyed, and dark-haired. The women wore a single garment, loose-fitting, of sealskin, reaching below the knee—the parka; the men, the same kind of garment, made of the skin of birds, with the feathers worn against the flesh. Over this garment, the men wore another made of gut, which I have elsewhere described under the name of kamelinka, or kamelayka. All wore "oval-snouted" caps made of wood, dyed in colors and decorated with glass beads.
The women punctured their lips and wore bone labrets. "It is as uncommon, at Oonalashka, to see a man with this ornament as to see a woman without it," he adds.
The chief was seen making his dinner of the raw head of a large halibut. Two of his servants ate the gills, which were cleaned simply "by squeezing out the slime." The chief devoured large pieces of the raw meat with as great satisfaction as though they had been raw oysters.
These natives lived in barabaras. (This word is pronounced with the accent on the second syllable; the correct spelling cannot be vouched for here, because no two authorities spell it in the same way.)
They were usually made by forming shallow circular excavations and erecting over them a framework of driftwood, or whale-ribs, with double walls filled with earth and stones and covered over with sod.
The roofs contained square openings in the centre for the escape of smoke; and these low earth roofs were used by the natives as family gathering places in pleasant weather. Here they would sit for hours, doing nothing and gazing blankly at nothing.
The entrance was through a square hole in, or near, the roof. It was reached by a ladder, and descent intothe interior was made in the same way, or by means of steps cut in a post. A narrow dark tunnel led to the inner room, which was from ten to twenty feet in diameter.
These barabaras were sometimes warmed only by lamps; but usually a fire was built in the centre, directly under the opening in the roof. Mats and skins were placed on shelves, slightly elevated above the floor, around the walls. Many persons of both sexes and all ages lived in these places; frequently several dwellings were connected by tunnels and had one common hole-entrance. The filth of these airless habitations was nauseating.
Their household furniture consisted of bowls, spoons, buckets, cans, baskets, and one or two Russian pots; a knife and a hatchet were the only tools they possessed.
The huts were lighted by lamps made of flat stones which were hollowed on one side to hold oil, in which dry grass was burned. Both men and women warmed their bodies by sitting over these lamps and spreading their garments around them.
The natives used the bidarka here, as elsewhere.
They buried their dead on the summits of hills, raising little hillocks over the graves. Cook saw one grave covered with stones, to which every one passing added a stone, after the manner fancied by Helen Hunt Jackson a hundred years later; and he saw several stone hillocks that had an appearance of great antiquity.
In Unalaska to-day may still be seen several barabaras. They must be very old, because the native habitations of the coast are constructed along the lines of the white man's dwellings at the present time. They add to the general quaint and picturesque appearance of the town, however. Their sod roofs are overgrown with tall grasses, among which wild flowers flame out brightly.
(Unalaska is pronounced Oö-na-las'-ka, thea's havingthe sound ofain arm. Aleutian is pronounced in five syllables: Ä-le-oo'-shi-an, with the same sound ofa.)
The island of Unalaska was sighted by Chirikoff on his return to Kamchatka, on the 4th of September, 1741.
The chronicles of the first expeditions of the Russian traders—or promyshleniki, as they were called—are wrapped in mystery. But it is believed that as early as 1744 Emilian Bassof and Andrei Serebrennikof voyaged into the islands and were rewarded by a catch of sixteen hundred sea-otters, two thousand fur-seals, and as many blue foxes.
Stephan Glottoff was the first to trade with the natives of Unalaska, whom he found peaceable and friendly. The next, however, Korovin, attempted to make a settlement upon the island, but met with repulse from the natives, and several of his party were killed.
Glottoff returned to his rescue, and the latter's expedition was the most important of the earlier ones to the islands. On his previous visit he had found the highly prized black foxes on the island of Unalaska, and had carried a number to Kamchatka.
I have related elsewhere the story of the atrocities perpetrated upon the natives of these islands by the early promyshleniki. During the years between 1760 and 1770 the natives were in active revolt against their oppressors; and it was not until the advent of Solovioff the Butcher that they were tortured into the mild state of submission in which they were found by Cook in 1778, and in which they have since dwelt.
Father Veniaminoff made the most careful study of the Aleutians, beginning about 1824. It has been claimed that this noble and devout priest was so good that he perceived good where it did not exist; and his statements concerning his beloved Aleutians are not borne out bythe promyshleniki. Considering the character of the latter, I prefer to believe Veniaminoff.
The most influential Aleuts were those who were most successful in hunting, which seemed to be their highest ambition. The best hunters possessed the greatest number of wives; and they were never stinted in this luxury. Even Veniaminoff, with his rose-colored glasses on, failed to discover virtue or the faintest moral sense among them.
"They incline to sensuality," he put it, politely. "Before the teachings of the Christian religion had enlightened them, this inclination had full sway. The nearest consanguinity, only, puts limits to their passions. Although polygamy was general, nevertheless there were frequently secret orgies, in which all joined.... The bad example and worse teachings of the early Russian settlers increased their tendency to licentiousness."
Child-murder was rare, owing to the belief that it brought misfortune upon the whole village.
Among the half-breeds, the character of the dark mother invariably came out more strongly than that of the Russian father. They learned readily and intelligently, and fulfilled all church duties imposed upon them cheerfully, punctually, and with apparent pleasure.
Under the teaching of Veniaminoff, the Aleuts were easily weaned from their early Pantheism, and from their savage songs and dances, described by the earlier voyagers. They no longer wore their painted masks and hats, although some treasured them in secret.
The successful hunter, in times of famine or scarcity of food, shared with all who were in need. The latter met him when his boat returned, and sat down silently on the shore. This is a sign that they ask for aid; and the hunter supplies them, without receiving, or expecting, either restitution or thanks. This generosity is like that of the people of Belkoffski; it comes from the heart.
The Aleutians were frequently intoxicated; but this condition did not lead to quarrelling or trouble. Murder and attempts at murder were unknown among them.
If an Aleut were injured, or offended, after the introduction of Christianity, he received and bore the insult in silence. They had no oaths or violent epithets in their language; and they would rather commit suicide than to receive a blow. The sting that lies in cruel words they dreaded as keenly.
Veniaminoff found that the Aleuts would steal nothing more than a few leaves of tobacco, a few swallows of brandy, or a little food; and these articles but rarely.
The most striking trait of character displayed by the Aleut was, and still is, his patience. He never complained, even when slowly starving to death. He sat by the shore; and if food were not offered to him, he would not ask. He was never known to sigh, nor to groan, nor to shed tears.
These people were found to be very sensitive, however, and capable of deep emotion, even though it was never revealed in their faces. They were exceedingly fond of, and tender with, their children, and readily interpreted a look of contempt or ridicule, which invariably offended in the highest degree.
The most beautiful thing recorded of the Aleut is that when one has done him a favor or kindness, and has afterward offended him, he does not forget the former favor, but permits it to cancel the offence.
They scorn lying, hypocrisy, and exaggeration; and they never betray a secret. They are so hospitable that they will deny themselves to give to the stranger that is in need. They detest a braggart, but they never dispute—not even when they know that their own opinion is the correct one.
Veniaminoff admitted that the Aleuts who had lived among the Russians were passionately addicted to the useof liquor and tobacco. But even with their drunkenness, their uncleanness, and their immorality, the Aleutian character seems to have possessed so many admirable, and even unusual, traits that, if the training and everyday influences of these people had been of a different nature from what they have been since they lost Veniaminoff, they would have, ere this, been able to overcome their inherited and acquired vices, and to have become useful and desirable citizens.
They were formerly of a revengeful nature, but after coming under the influence of Veniaminoff, no instance of revenge was discovered by him.
They learned readily, with but little teaching, not only mechanical things, but those, also, which require deep thought—such as chess, at which they became experts.
One became an excellent navigator, and made charts which were followed by other voyagers for many years. Others worked skilfully in ivory, and the dark-eyed women wove their dreams into the most precious basketry of the world.
We sailed into the lovely bay of Unalaska on the fourth day of July. The entire village, native and white, had gone on a picnic to the hills.
We spent the afternoon loitering about the deserted streets and the green and flowery hills. One could sit contentedly for a week upon the hills,—as the natives used to sit upon the roofs of their barabaras,—doing nothing but looking down upon the idyllic loveliness shimmering in every direction.
In the centre of the town rises the Greek-Russian church, green-roofed and bulbous-domed, adding the final touch of mysticism and poetry to this already enchanting scene.
At sunset the mists gathered, slowly, delicately, beautifully. They moved in softly through the same strait by which we had entered—little rose-colored masses that drifted up to meet the violet-tinted ones from the other end of the bay. In the centre of the water valley they met and mixed together, and, in their new and more marvellous coloring, pushed up about the town and the lower slopes. Out of them lifted and shone the green roof and domes of the church; more brilliantly above them, napped thick and soft as velvet, glowed the hills; and more lustrously against the saffron sky flashed the pearl of the higher peaks.
There was a gay dinner party aboard theDorathat night. Afterward, we all attended a dance. There was only onewhite woman in the hall besides my friend and myself; and we three were belles! We danced with every man who asked us to dance, to the most wonderful music I have ever heard. One of the musicians played a violin with his hands and a French harp with his mouth, both at the same time—besides making quite as much noise with one foot as he did with both of the instruments together.
There were several good-looking Aleutian girls at the dance. They had pretty, slender figures, would have been considered well dressed in any small village in the states, and danced with exceeding grace and ease.
We went to this dance not without some qualms of various kinds; but we went for the same reason that "Cyanide Bill" told us he had journeyed three times to the shores of the "Frozen Ocean"—"just to see."
Toward midnight a pretty and stylishly gowned young woman came in with an escort and joined in the dancing. As she whirled past us, with diamonds flashing from her hands, ears, and neck, my inquiring Scotch friend asked a gentleman with whom she was dancing, "Who is the pretty dark-eyed lady? We have not seen her before."
She was completely extinguished for some time by his reply, given with the cheerful frankness of the North.
"Oh, that's Nelly, miss. I don't know any other name for her. We just always call her Nelly, miss."
We returned to the steamer, leaving "Nelly" to twinkle on. Our curiosity was entirely satisfied. We went "to see," and we had seen.
Captain Gray might be called "the lord of Unalaska." He is the "great gentleman" of the place. He has for many years managed the affairs of the Alaska Commercial Company, and he has acted as host to almost every traveller who has voyaged to this lovely isle.
After supper, which was served on the steamer at midnight, we were invited to his home "to finish the evening."
"At one o'clock in the morning!" gasped my companion.
"Hours don't count up here," said our captain. "It is broad daylight. Besides, it is the 4th of July. I think we should accept the invitation."
We did accept it, in the same spirit in which it was given, and it was one of the most profitable of evenings. We found a home of comfort and refinement in the farthest outpost of civilization in the North Pacific. The hours were spent pleasantly with good music, singing, and reading; and delicate refreshments were served.
The sun shone upon my friend's scandalized face as we returned to our steamer. It was nearly five o'clock.
"I know it was innocent enough," said she, "but think how itsounds!—a dance, with only three white women present—not to mention 'Nelly'!—a midnight supper, and then an invitation to 'finish the evening'! It sounds like one of Edith Wharton's novels."
"It's Alaska," said the captain. "You want local color—and you're getting it. But let me tell you that you have never been safer in your life than you have been to-night."
"Safe!" echoed she. "I'm not talking about the safety of it. It's theformof it."
"Form doesn't count, as yet, in the Aleutians," said the captain. "'There's never a law of God or man runs north offifty-three!'"
"There's surely never asociallaw runs north of it," was the scornful reply.
The next morning we went to the great warehouses of the company, to look at old Russian samovars. Captain Gray personally escorted us through their dim, cobwebby, high-raftered spaces. There was one long counter covered with samovars, and we began eagerly to examine and price them.
Copyright by E. A. Hegg, Juneau Courtesy of Webster & Stevens, Seattle Dog-team Express, NomeCopyright by E. A. Hegg, Juneau Courtesy of Webster & Stevens, SeattleDog-team Express, Nome
The cheapest was twenty-five dollars; and the most expensive, more than a hundred.
"But they are all sold," added Captain Gray, gloomily.
"All sold!" we exclaimed, in a breath. "What—all? Every one?"
"Yes; every one," he answered mournfully.
"Why, how very odd," said I, "for them all to be sold, and all to be left here."
"Yes," said he, sighing. "The captain of a government cutter bought them for his friends in Boston. He has gone on up into Behring Sea, and will call for them on his return."
Far be it from me to try to buy anything that is not for sale. I thanked him politely for showing them to us; and we went on to another part of the warehouse.
We found nothing else that was already "sold." We bought several holy-lamps, baskets, and other things.
"I'm sorry about the samovars," said I, as I paid Captain Gray.
"So am I," said he. Then he sighed. "There's one, now," said he, after a moment, thoughtfully. "I might—Wait a moment."
He disappeared, and presently returned with a perfect treasure of a samovar,—old, battered, green with age and use. We went into ecstasies over it.
"I'll take it," I said. "How much is it?"
"It was twenty-five dollars," said he, dismally. "It is sold."
"How very peculiar," said my companion, as we went away, "to keep bringing out samovars that are sold."
For two years my thoughts reverted at intervals to those "sold" samovars at Unalaska. Last summer I went down the Yukon. At St. Michael I was entertainedat the famous "Cottage" for several days. One day at dinner I asked a gentleman if he knew Captain Gray.
"Of Unalaska?" exclaimed two or three at once. Then they all burst out laughing.
"We all know him," one said. "Everybody knows him."
"But why do you laugh?"
"Oh, because he is so 'slick' at taking in a tourist."
"In what manner?" asked I, stiffly. I remembered that Captain Gray had asked me if I were a tourist.
They all laughed again.
"Oh,especiallyon samovars."
My face burned suddenly.
"On samovars!"
"Yes. You see he gets a tourist into his warehouses and shows him samovar after samovar—fifty or sixty of them—and tells him that every one is sold. He puts on the most mournful look.
"'This one was twenty-five dollars,' he says. 'A captain on a government cutter bought them to take to Boston.' Then the tourist gets wild. He offers five, ten, twenty dollars more to get one of those samovars. He always gets it; because, you see, Gray wants to sell it to him even worse than he wants to buy it. It always works."
We walked over the hills to Dutch Harbor—once called Lincoln Harbor. There is a stretch of blue water to cross, and we were ferried over by a gentleman having much Fourth-of-July in his speech and upon his breath.
His efforts at politeness are remembered joys, while a sober ferryman would have been forgotten long ago. But the sober ferrymen that morning were like the core of the little boy's apple.
It was the most beautiful walk of my life. A hard, narrow, white path climbed and wound and fell over the vivid green hills; it led around lakes that lay in the hollows like still, liquid sapphire, set with the pearl of clouds; it lured through banks of violets and over slopes of trembling bluebells; it sent out tempting by-paths that ended in the fireweed's rosy drifts; but always it led on—narrow, well-trodden, yet oh, so lonely and so still! Birds sang and the sound of the waves came to us—that was all. Once a little brown Aleutian lad came whistling around the curve in the path, stood still, and gazed at us with startled eyes as soft and dark as a gazelle's; but he was the only human being we saw upon the hills that day.
We saw acres that were deep blue with violets. They were large enough to cover silver half-dollars, and their stems were several inches in length. Fireweed grew low, but the blooms were large and of a deep rose color.
Standing still, we counted thirteen varieties of wild flowers within a radius of six feet. There were the snapdragon, wild rose, columbine, buttercup, Solomon's seal, anemone, larkspur, lupine, dandelion, iris, geranium, monk's-hood, and too many others to name, to be found on the hills of Unalaska. There are more than two thousand varieties of wild flowers in Alaska and the Yukon Territory. The blossoms are large and brilliant, and they cover whole hillsides and fill deep hollows with beautiful color. The bluebells and violets are exquisite. The latter are unbelievably large; of a rich blue veined with silver. They poise delicately on stems longer than those of the hot-house flower; so that we could gather and carry armfuls of them.
The site of Dutch Harbor is green and level. Fronting the bay are the large buildings of the North AmericanCommercial Company, with many small frame cottages scattered around them. All are painted white, with bright red roofs, and the town presents a clean and attractive appearance.
Dutch Harbor is the prose, and Unalaska the poetry, of the island. There is neither a hotel nor a restaurant at either place. It was one o'clock when we reached Dutch Harbor; we had breakfasted early, and we sought, in vain, for some building that might resemble an "eating-house."
We finally went into the big store, and meeting the manager of the company, asked to be directed to the nearest restaurant.
He smiled.
"There isn't any," he said.
"Is there no place where one may getsomethingto eat? Bread and milk? We saw cows upon the hills."
"You would not care to go to the native houses," he replied, still smiling. "But come with me."
He led the way along a neat board walk to a residence that would attract attention in any town. It was large and of artistic design.
"It was designed by Molly Garfield," the young man somewhat proudly informed us. "Her husband was connected with the company for several years, and they built and lived in this house."
The house was richly papered and furnished. It was past the luncheon hour, but we were excellently served by a perfectly trained Chinaman.
For more than a hundred years the great commercial companies—beginning with the Shelikoff Company—have dispensed the hospitality of Alaska, and have acted as hosts to the stranger within their gates. The managers are instructed to sell provisions at reasonable prices, and to supply any one who may be in distress and unable to pay for food.
They frequently entertain, as guests of the company they represent, travellers to these lonely places, not because the latter are in need, but merely as a courtesy; and their hospitality is as free and generous—but not as embarrassing—as that of Baranoff.
That night I sat late alone upon the hills, on a tundra slope that was blue with violets. I could not put my hand down without crushing them. The lights moving across Unalaska were as poignantly interesting as the thoughts that come and go across a stranger's face when he does not know that one is observing.
All the lights and shadows of the vanishing Aleutian race seemed to be moving across the hills, the village, the blue bay.
Scarcely a day has passed that I have not gone back across the blue and emerald water-ways that stretch between, to that lovely place and that luminous hour.
Perhaps, I thought, Veniaminoff may have looked down upon this exquisite scene from this same violeted spot—Veniaminoff, the humble, devout, and devoted missionary, whom I should rather have been than any man or woman whose history I know; Veniaminoff, wholived—instead ofwrote—a great, a sublime, poem.
Unalaska's commercial glory has faded. It was once port of entry for all vessels passing in or out of Behring Sea; the ships of the Arctic whaling fleet called here for water, coal, supplies, and mail; during the years that themodus vivendiwas in force it was headquarters of the United States and the British fleets patrolling Behring Sea, and lines of captured sealers often lay here at anchor.
During the early part of the present decade Unalaska saw its most prosperous times. Thousands of people waited here for transportation to the Klondike, via St.Michael and the Yukon. Many ships were built here, and one still lies rotting upon the ways.
The Greek church is second in size and importance to the one at Sitka only, and the bishop once resided here. There is a Russian parish school, a government day-school, and a Methodist mission, the Jessie Lee Home. The only white women on the island reside at the Home. The bay has frequently presented the appearance of a naval parade, from the number of government and other vessels lying at anchor.
No traveller will weary soon of Unalaska. There are caves and waterfalls to visit, and unnumbered excursions to make to beautiful places among the hills. Especially interesting is Samghanooda, or English, Harbor, where Cook mended his ships; while Makushin Harbor, on the western coast, where Glottoff and his Russians first landed in 1756, is only thirty miles away.
The great volcano itself is easy of ascent, and the view from its crest is one of the memories of a lifetime. Borka, a tiny village at Samghanooda, is as noted for its Dutch-like cleanliness as Belkoffski is for its filth.
The other islands of the Aleutian chain drift on to westward, lonely, unknown—almost, if not entirely, uninhabited. Now and then a small trading settlement is found, which is visited only by Captain Applegate,—the last remaining white deep-sea otter hunter,—and once a year by a government cutter, or the Russian priest from Unalaska, or a shrewd and wandering trader.
These green and unknown islands are the islands of my dreams—and dreams do "come true" sometimes. This voyage out among the Aleutians is the most poetic and enchanting in the world to-day; and I shall never be entirely happy until I have drifted on out to the farthest island of Attu, lying within the eastern hemisphere, and watched those lonely, dark women, with the souls of poetsand artists and the patience of angels, weavingtheirdreams into ravishing beauty and sending them out into the world as the farewell messages of a betrayed and vanishing people. As we treat them for their few remaining years, so let us in the end be treated.
Alaska is to-day the centre of the world's volcanic activity, and the mountainous appearances and disappearances that have been recorded in the Aleutian Islands are marvellous and awesome. To these upheavals in the North Pacific and Behring Sea Whidbey's adjectives, "stupendous," "tremendous," and "awfully dreadful," might be appropriately applied.
On July the fourth, 1907, officers of the revenue cutterMcCullochdiscovered the new peak which they named in honor of their vessel. It was in the vicinity of the famous volcano of Joanna Bogoslova, or Saint John the Theologian.
In 1796 the natives of Unalaska and the adjoining islands for many miles were startled by violent reports, like continued cannonading, followed by frightful tremblings of the earth upon which they stood.
A dense volume of smoke, ashes, and gas descended upon them in a kind of cloud, and shut everything from their view. They were thus enveloped and cannonaded for about ten days, when the atmosphere gradually cleared and they observed a bright light shining upon the sea from thirty to forty miles north of Unalaska. The brave ones of the island went forth in bidarkas and discovered that a small island had risen from the sea to a height of one hundred feet and that it was still rising.
This was the main peak of the Bogosloff group, and it continued to grow until 1825, when it reached a height of about three hundred feet and cooled sufficiently for Russians to land upon it for the first time. The heat wasstill so intense, however, and the danger from running lava so great, that they soon withdrew to their boats.
In the early eighties, after similar disturbances, another peak arose near the first and joined to it by a low isthmus, upon which stood a rock seventy feet in height, which was named Ship-Rock. In 1891 the isthmus sank out of sight in the sea, and a new peak arose.
Since then no important changes have occurred. The peaks themselves remained too hot and dangerous for examination; but the short voyage out from Unalaska has been a favorite one for tourists who were able to land upon the lower rocks and spend a day gathering specimens and studying the sea-lions that doze in polygamous herds in the warmth, and the shrieking murres that nest in the cliffs and cover them like a tremulous gray-white cloud.
Every inch of space on these cliffs seems to be taken by these birds for the creation of life. On every tiniest shelf they perch upright, black-backed and white-bellied, brooding their eggs—although these hot and steamy cliffs are sufficient incubators to bring forth life out of every egg deposited upon them. When the murres are suddenly disturbed, their eggs slip from their hold and plunge down the cliffs, splattering them with the yellow of their broken yolks.
The last week in July, 1907, I passed close to the Bogosloff Islands, which had grown to the importance of four peaks. Three days later a violent earthquake occurred in this vicinity. Once more dense clouds of smoke descended upon Unalaska and the adjoining islands, and ashes poured upon the sea and land, as far north as Nome, covering the decks of passing steamers to a depth of several inches, and affecting sailors so powerfully that they could only stay on deck for a few moments at a time.
On September the first, the captain and men of thewhalerHerman, passing the Bogosloff group, beheld a sight to observe which I would cheerfully have yielded several years of life. They saw the two-months-old McCulloch peak burn itself down into the sea, with vast columns of steam ascending miles into the air above it, and the waters boiling madly on all sides. It went down, foot by foot, and the men stood spellbound, watching it disappear. For miles around the sea was violently agitated and was mixed with volcanic ash, which also covered the decks, and at intervals steam poured up unexpectedly out of the ocean.
As soon as possible the revenue cutterBuffalowent to the wonderful volcanic group, and it was found that their whole appearance was changed.
There were three peaks where four had been; but whereas they had formerly been separate and distinct islands, they were now connected and formed one island.
This island is two and a half miles long. Perry Peak, which arose in 1906, had increased in height; and there was a crater-like depression on its south side, around which the waters were continually throwing off vast clouds of steam and smoke. Captain Pond reported that rocks as large as a house were constantly rolling down from Perry Peak, and that the whole scene was one of wonderful interest. To his surprise, the colony of sea-lions, which must have been frightened away, had returned, and seemed to be enjoying the steamy heat on the rocks of the main and oldest peak of the group.
The disappearance of McCulloch peak was accompanied by earthquake shocks as far to eastward as Sitka. Makushin, the great volcano of Unalaska, and others, smoked violently, and ashes fell over the Aleutian Islands and the mainland. At the same time uncharted rocks began to make their appearance all along the coast, to the grave danger of navigation.
In the heart of Behring Sea, about two hundred miles north of Unalaska, lie two tiny cloud and mist haunted and wind-racked islands which are the great slaughter-grounds of Alaska. Here, for a hundred and twenty years, during the short seal season each year, men have literally waded through the bloody gore of the helpless animals, which they have clubbed to death by thousands that women may be handsomely clothed.
The surviving members of Vitus Behring's ill-starred expedition carried back with them a large number of skins of the valuable sea-otter. From that date—1742—until about 1770 the promyshleniki engaged in such an unresting slaughter of the otter that it was almost exterminated.
In desperation, they turned, then, to the chase of the fur-seal, and for years sought in vain for the rumored breeding-grounds of this pelagic animal. The islands of St. Paul and St. George were finally discovered in 1786, by Gerassim Pribyloff, who heard the seals barking and roaring through the heavy fogs, and, sailing cautiously on, surprised them as they lay in polygamous groups by the million upon the rocky shores.
Pribyloff was the son of a sailor who had accompanied Behring on theSt. Peter. He modestly named his priceless discovery "Subov," for the captain and part owner of the trading association for which he worked. He himself was not engaged in sealing, but was simply the firstmate of the sloopSt. George. The Russians, however, renamed the islands for their discoverer; and happily the name has endured.
St. George Island is ten miles in length by from two to four in width. It is higher than the larger St. Paul, which lies twenty-seven miles farther north, and rises more abruptly from the water.
The temperature of these islands is not low, rarely falling to zero; but the wind blows at so great velocity that frequently for days at a time the natives can only go from one place to another by crawling upon their hands and knees.
To conserve the sealing industry, after the purchase of Alaska, the exclusive privilege of killing seals on these islands was granted to the Alaska Commercial Company for a period of twenty years. When this lease expired in 1890, a new one was made out for a like period to the North American Commercial Company, which still holds possession. The company has agents on both islands, and the government maintains an agent and his assistant on St. Paul Island, and an assistant on St. George, to enforce the terms of the concession.
When the Russians first took possession of the Pribyloff Islands, they brought several hundred Aleutians and established them upon the islands in sod houses, where they were held under the usual slave-like conditions of this abused people. They were miserably housed and fed, received only the smallest wage,—from which they were compelled to contribute to the support of the church,—and were held, against their wishes, upon these dreary and inhospitable shores.
With the coming of the American companies all was changed. Comfortable, clean habitations of frame were erected for them; their pay was increased from ten to forty cents each for the removal of pelts; schools andhospitals were provided, children being compelled to attend the former; and the sale of intoxicating liquors was prohibited. There are between a hundred and fifty and two hundred natives on the islands at present.
The houses are lined with tar paper, painted white, with red roofs, and furnished with stoves. There are streets and large storehouses, and the village presents an attractive appearance.
As a result of good care, food, and cleanliness, the natives are able to do twice the amount of work accomplished by the same number under the old conditions. They are healthier, happier, and more industrious.
The value of the fur-seal catch from the time of the purchase of Alaska to the early part of the present decade was more than thirty-five millions of dollars. In 1903 the yearly catch, however, had dwindled from two millions at the time of discovery to twenty-two thousands.
Indiscriminate and reckless slaughter, and particularly the pelagic sealing carried on by poachers—it being impossible to distinguish the males from the females at sea—have nearly exterminated the seals. They will soon be as rare as the sea-otter, which vanished for the same shameless reasons. In the government's lease it is provided that not more than one hundred thousand seals shall be taken in a single year; but of recent years the catch has fallen so far short of that number that the annual rental, which was first set at sixty thousand dollars, has had a sliding, diminishing scale until it has finally reached twelve thousand dollars.
Great trouble has been experienced with pelagic sealers. Pelagic sealing means simply following the seals on their way north and killing them in the deep sea before they reach the breeding-grounds. There have been American poachers, but the majority have been Canadians. The United States government at first claimed exclusive rightsto the seals, and patrolled the waters of Behring Sea, as inland waters, frequently seizing vessels belonging to other nations.
The matter, after much bitter feeling on both sides, was finally submitted to the "Paris Tribunal," which did not allow our claim to exclusive sealing rights in Behring Sea. It, however, forbade pelagic sealing within a zone of sixty miles of the Pribyloff islands.
These waters are now patrolled by vessels of both nations; but Japanese vessels are frequently transgressors, the Japanese claiming that they are not bound by the regulations of the Paris Tribunal. Both British and American sealers have been known to fly the Japanese flag when engaged in pelagic sealing in forbidden waters. Trouble of a serious nature with Japan may yet arise over this matter.
The habits and the life of the seal are exceedingly interesting. In many ways these graceful creatures are startlingly human-like, particularly in their appealing, reproachful looks when a death-dealing blow is about to be struck. Some, it is true, yield to a violent, fighting rage,—growing more furious as their helplessness is realized,—and at such times the eyes flame with the green and red fire of hate and passion, and resemble the eyes of a human being possessed with rage and terror.
The bull seals have been called "beach-masters," "polygamists," and "harem-lords."
These old bulls, then, are the first to return to the breeding-grounds in the spring. They begin to "haul out" upon the rocks during the first week in May. Each locates upon his chosen "ground," and awaits the arrival of the females, which does not occur until the last of June. While awaiting their arrival, incessant and terrible fighting takes place among the bulls, frequently to the death—so stubbornly and so ferociously does each struggle toretain the place he has selected in which to receive the females of his harem. The older the bull the more successful is he both in love and in war; and woe betide any young and bold bachelor who dares to pause for but an instant and cast tempting glances at a gay and coquettish young favorite under an old bull's protection. There is instant battle—in which the festive bachelor invariably goes down.
When the females arrive, a very orgy of fighting takes place. An old bull swaggers down to the water, receives a graceful and beautiful female, and beguiles her to his harem. If he but turn his back upon her for an instant another bull seizes her and bears her bodily to his harem; the first bull returns, and the fight is on—the female sometimes being torn to pieces between them, because neither will give her up. The bulls do not mind a small matter like that, however, there being so many females; and it is never the desire for a special female that impels to the fray, but the human-like lust to triumph over one who dares to set himself up as a rival.
The old bulls take possession of the lower rocks, and these they hold from all comers, yet fighting, fighting, fighting, till they are frequently but half-alive masses of torn flesh and fur.
The bachelors are at last forced, foot by foot, past the harems to the higher grounds, where they herd alone. As they are supposed to be the only seals killed for their skin, they are forced by the drivers away from the vicinity of the rookeries, to the higher slopes.
These graceful creatures drag themselves on shore with pitiable awkwardness and helplessness. They proceed painfully, with a kind of rolling movement, uttering plaintive sounds that are neither barks nor bleats. They easily become heated to exhaustion, and pause at every opportunity to rest. When they sink down for this purpose,they either separate their hind flippers, or draw them both to one side.
They are driven carefully and are permitted frequent rests, as heating ruins the fur. They usually rest and cool off, after reaching the killing grounds, while the men are eating breakfast. By seven o'clock the butchery begins.
The seals are still brutally clubbed to death. The killers are spattered with blood and bloody tufts of hair; and by-standers are said to have been horribly pelted by eyeballs bursting like bullets from the sockets, at the force of the blows. The killers aim to stun at the first blow; but the poor things are often literally beaten to death. In either event a sharp stabbing-knife is instantly run to its heart, to bleed it. The crimson life-stream gushes forth, there is a violent quivering of the great, jelly-like bulk; then, all is still. It is no longer a living, beautiful, pleading-eyed animal, but only a portion of some dainty gentlewoman's cloak. I have not seen it with my own eyes, but I have heard, in ways which make me refuse to discredit it, that sometimes the skinning is begun before the seal is dead; that sometimes the razor-like knife is run down the belly before it is run to the heart—not in useless cruelty, but because of the great need of haste. The tender, beseeching eyes, touching cries, and unavailing attempts to escape, of the seal that is being clubbed to death, are things to remember for the rest of one's life. Strong men, unused to the horrible sight, flee from it, sick and tortured with the pity of it; and surely no woman who has ever beheld it could be tempted to buy sealskin.
No effort is made to dispose of the dead bodies of the seals. They are left where they are killed, and the stench arising therefrom is not surpassed even in Belkoffski. It nauseates the white inhabitants of the islands, and drifts out to sea for miles to meet and salute the visitor. It is, however, caviar to the native nostril.
Authorities differ as to the proper boundaries of Bristol Bay, but it may be said to be the vast indentation of Behring Sea lying east of a line drawn from Unimak Island to the mouth of the Kuskokwim River; or, possibly, from Scotch Cap to Cape Newenham would be better. The commercial salmon fisheries of this district are on the Ugashik, Egegak, Naknek, Kvichak, Nushagak, and Wood rivers and the sea-waters leading to them.
Nushagak Bay is about fifteen miles long and ten wide. It is exceedingly shallow, and is obstructed by sand-bars and shoals. The Redoubt-Alexandra was established at the mouth of the river in 1834 by Kolmakoff.
The rivers are all large and, with one exception,—Wood River,—drain the western slope of the Aleutian Chain which, beginning on the western shore of Cook Inlet, extends down the Aliaska Peninsula, crowning it with fire and snow.
There are several breaks in the range which afford easy portages from Bristol Bay to the North Pacific. The rivers flowing into Bristol Bay have lake sources and have been remarkably rich spawning-streams for salmon.
The present chain of islands known as the Aleutians is supposed to have once belonged to the peninsula and to have been separated by volcanic disturbances which are so common in the region.