CHAPTER XV.
J
JAN. 23, 2 p. m.—I went out to look at the thermometer, when I heard the cackling of ptarmigan the other side of the river. Harry Reynolds and I armed ourselves and started out for game. We spotted the flockin a willow thicket where the sun, which nowadays is just at the horizon, had probably attracted them. Several of the birds were perched on top of the bushes, and were very conspicuous against the dark sky. We sneaked up to them and got a shot. Harry's gun got choked with snow and missed fire. We followed up the birds and, after two hours of hard tramping, I had four shots, securing three ptarmigan. The walking was extremely difficult. The snow from the tundras northward was deeply drifted along the willow thickets. It was packed just hard enough on top so that at about every other step it would sustain one's weight, but the alternate steps would break through nearly to one's waist. In some places we fell and floundered, and we considered our sport rather too well earned One of my cheeks was frosted, but Harry brought it out all right by a vigorous rubbing with snow.
Grave Decorations.
Grave Decorations.
It is too cold for hunting. I cannot shoot with gloves on, and my bare fingers get burned by the cold steel of the hammers and triggers. Harry had the doctor's Winchester repeating shot-gun Although a fine gun in warm weather, it seems to get out of gear now. My plain double-barreled Remington is the stand-by. I look at it and it seems to say. "Wait till spring comes, Joe, and we'll get in our work."
The literary society is as interesting as at first. Last Wednesday Joe Jury talked on the "Art of Printing." He is a printer by trade and has quite a business in San Jose. The week before Jack Messing told us about the Hawaiian Islands. He was there for two mouths a year ago. Nearly all of us are in favor of sailing around and visiting our new islands on the way home. It is only about two thousand miles out of our way. Personally I would like to make a long cruise and visit the Philippines and Ladrones. Several of the boys are growing desperately homesick. Time drags for them, and they are counting the days to next July when they can get out of the Kowak Valley and start for home. I have overheard a couple of them planning how they might even now go across country to St. Michaels, so as to be ready for the first steamer in the spring. Enthusiasm is a myth. It was less than a year ago that, "No matter what happens, we will push on into the interior and explore the unknown mountains until we strike gold." Now it is. "How soon can we get home?" Such is human nature.
Everyone is making snowshoes or getting the natives to make them. I must get a pair as curiosities to send home. The natives do nice work, and are improving their opportunities to get a good price. They get three to five dollars worth of food or clothes for a pair of muckluks. Snowshoes bring ten dollars. Indian Charley has made the doctor a nice miniature sled and pair of snowshoes for treating him when he was sick. Charley shows more gratitude and good-will than any other of the natives. But he has some great ideas. Last week he worked hard from daylight till dark in a cold wind clearing away the trees and brush from his little child's grave. He cut down everything clean between the grave and the river, saying this was so "the Kowak-mitts traveling up and down the river" could see his "mickaninie's" burial-place. He took the tree trunks and poles and leaned them together over the grave, tepee fashion, so the dogsand wolves cannot dig in. He left several of the taller trees immediately surrounding the grave, and climbed to their tops, trimming off the brandies as he came down. He then fastened flags to these poles until he had fourteen up, with every prospect of more. He used everything, such as sail-cloth, handkerchiefs and sacks. We thought if he kept on he might have all the clothes he possessed fluttering in the wind like a Monday morning wash, only the clothes lines were perpendicular instead of horizontal. We remonstrated with him, telling him the "cabloonas" never put flags over their graves; but he Insisted that he wanted to make this spot conspicuous so that everyone would notice it. The doctor thought of a scheme and Clyde put it into operation. He made a windmill about four feet in diameter and with a big fan. It was well made, and took Clyde two whole days to finish. Charley was very much pleased with it, and it was promptly lashed to the top of the tallest tree, whence resound its mournful creaks whenever the wind blows. Charley wanted to know if all cabloonas put wind-mills over the graves of their dead. Charley is very ambitious to do exactly like a white man and yet, like many another, he seems to think a disregard of native superstitions would be disastrous. He asked us yesterday if he would die if he should take some little pills the doctor gave him for some trifling ailment. He said that some Kowak-mitts told him so. There is an old woman in the middle igloo of the village who keeps these natives in such ideas. The sooner she goes "mucky" (dead) the better it will be for her people. About New Year's an old man at her igloo was very sick and was expected to die. For fear of having him die in her igloo, and thus, as she believed, render the house uninhabitable, she turned him out into the extreme cold. His son stayed with him and made a big fire. As soon as we found it out the nearest cabin took the sick man in, and did all they could for him, although he died in a short time. Women here have a harder life than can be imagined. A child is never born in an igloo, but, no matter how cold the weather is, the mother is driven out, not to return with her child until it is five days old. There have been three such cases so far near us. The last was during a ten-days' windstorm. The woman went alone back into as sheltered a place as she could find in the woods, and made a screen of spruce boughs to protect her from the storm. In front of this she kept a small fire burning and there she remained with but little clothing all the bitter days of her allotted time. An old woman occasionally visited her and brought her food and wood. The baby froze to death.
Native Sweethearts.
Native Sweethearts.
Superstitious Old Woman.
Superstitious Old Woman.
Jan. 28.—Who should drop in on us night before last but three of our boys from the upper camp. Miller Casey and Alec. They report everyone in good health, but the gold outlook is altogether "nil." All the reports have been run down and there is no encouragement offered anywhere. The boys staked out fifteen claims in the districts which showed "indications." Holes have been dug, but in a few feet they strike water and can go no further. This report is for the late fall. C. C. and Mr. Samms had just arrived when the boys left. Uncle S. and Samms had seven out of their nine dogs killed by poison in some unexplained way at one of the camps. They bought five more at the Riley Camp for fifty dollars. Our dog Tingle was among the killed. C. C. and Samms intended to go twenty-five miles further to a village at the Par River. This party will remain with us until the return of C. C. They came down "just to kill time." They say it is pretty monotonous at the other camp. They carried a pack of about thirty pounds each and were very tired. Foote started with them, but gave up half way down. Casey and Miller, as well as Alec, are jolly good fellows and we hope they will stay with us a good while. Our grub is getting rather low. The boys up the river had the larger share. It will probably carry them through to July. But I think, unless we can borrow from neighbors,a delegation of us from this camp will have to go down to the "Penelope" at Escholtz Bay and bring supplies. I'm sure it will not be I. I shall be here when spring opens for the bird migrations. The boys report that two of the river steamers are lost. They were put into a side stream to freeze up for the winter. This stream is fed by warm springs which kept running after the stream froze over, depositing successive layers of ice around the boats until one of them is buried entirely out of sight, smoke-stack and all. The other, the "Agnes E. Boyd." belonging to the Hanson Company, is about half buried. If these boats had been watched at the start and dams put around them and then raised, they could have been saved. But now they are entombed in solid ice, and, unless they are chopped out before spring, the torrents when the thaw comes will smash them to pieces. The little "Helen" is so far all safe. That slow, ugly-looking little scow, which everybody made fun of last fall, may be ahead of all the big steamers next spring. Already the Hanson boys are talking about making arrangements with us for taking them down to the Mission. Thus shall the first be last and the last first. The general opinion of our boys now seems to be, if nothing is found in this country by next July, to sail down along the coast to Bristol Bay and way stations, inquiring as to the news from those sections, and finally taking in the Aleutian Islands. This suits my inclinations. Reports are coming directly from the Yukon region that there is nothing to encourage one to go there. It is safe to conclude that newspaper reports are as nine to ten exaggerated. There are thousands of disappointed people in all sections of central Alaska. Travel is almost impossible.
Jan. 31, Tuesday.—We are having cloudy weather with a little snow. The thermometer stands at ten degrees below zero, and it is uncomfortably warm in our winter clothes. I shot four ptarmigan yesterday, two of which I have just finished skinning. I got three at one shot, standing, and the other on the wing. The doctor is out now hunting the birds. Whenever I get any game it excites him so that he immediately goes hunting. He seldom starts until I have set the example. I do not have success oftener than each third hunt. Walking through the snow is very tiresome, but one must be persistent in this as in other things. It seems to be only chance that I ever do find the ptarmigan. I usually search for fresh tracks along the bushy margins of lakes or sloughs and then follow them up. Mornings I find them mostly near their roosting-places, and they seldom fly far. They sleep on the ground, burrowing into the snow and clearing a bare wallow on the warm, soft moss. It is difficult to see them on the snow, and this accounts in part for my ill success. Yesterday I walked right into a flock without seeing them until they flew. I also got two pine grosbeaks and two redpolls. The days are growing rapidly longer. Only three months until the spring birds come.
Sunday there were fifty-seven persons at church, including thirty-two white men. A stranger conducted the services in C. C.'s place. Nothing occurred of an unexpected nature excepting the fact that one of our boys went to sleep and snored so loud that it made us all think we were back in the States at church somewhere. Last night we had what Kowak boys call a "great blow-out." Brownie made a big wad of taffy and we all pulled at it. By the way, three or four of us were surprised at Christmas by receiving a box each, "straight from home." They had been packed and given into the care of different persons, so that the recipient of each box did not suspect that he was to have one. By some oversight of the party to whom my own was committed, I did not get my Christmas box, but am assured that it is "safe somewhere," and will come to light when somebody stumbles over it. Dr. Coffin received his on time, and the contents have yielded us no end of comfort. Brownie drew upon its nuts and crystallized fruits for his taffy. After the candy was washed off from the table and chairs and candle-sticks and faces and hands, we played a game of crokonole, which lasted far into the night. The result was that I did not have breakfast on time. Miller and I played the doctor and Rivers, the latter combine winning two out of three games after a very close struggle. They had the "ha-ha" on me. The game finally depended on the last shot, which was mine. We both had 195-200 to make. There were three blacks on the board and two whites. The whites are Miller's and mine. I had a fairly good split shot to take off two blacks, which would have given us the odd game by a good margin. Everyone was talking and the opposition was doing its best to "rattle" me. Anyhow, by some extraordinary roundabout, my shot cleared the board of every whiteone and put all three blacks in the center ring. Oh, but the howl from the enemy!
Several cases of scurvy are reported along the line. One man is nearly dead. It is supposed to be due to a sameness of diet and two little exercise. Men settle down in their cabins and, not being obliged to go out, just sleep the time away. Dr. Coffin suspects another cause. A poor grade of food-stuffs has been brought up, probably with adulterations. Brownie is just now pounding up lumps of sugar on the table where I am writing. He is using the end of my rolling-pin with great effect and much scattering of sweetness, much to the delight of several Eskimo "mickaninies," who are having an active picnic in consequence.
Home from the Mission.
Home from the Mission.
Feb. 2.—C. C. and party have returned, whole but tired. Besides C. C., Cox and Mr. Samms, there are four fellows from the Upper Agnes Boyd Camp, so that we are pretty well crowded as to sleeping. I had eighteen men to feed for three meals, serving them at two tables. I had to "rustle" for breakfast this morning. Made two big pans of biscuit, a kettle of mush, a mass of salt-horse hash, bacon and gravy. The repast was successful, excepting that the gravy was somewhat salty. It is a great idea this, my cooking for eighteen men, after I have declared "quits" so many times. The fellows laugh now when I "resign."
Scurvy and "black-leg" are getting common up the river. One man at the Jesse Lou Camp has died of the latter. The "black-leg" is what the doctors call phlebitis. Black patches appear on the lower limbs, which swell and become very painful. Many are affected and at some of the camps above us they have instituted regular "scurvy trails," five to ten miles long, which they tramp every day. Exercise and a change of food seem to help and also to prevent the disease. Those who are suffering have been confined to their cabins so long, eating pork and beans and baking-powder bread, to the exclusion of fruit and fresh meats, that their cases are almost hopeless. C. C. reports nothing new above. He and Samms visited the big Indian village at the Par River. C. C. got a black bear skin in trade. Samms took a census of the native population and finds about four hundred and fifty on the Kowak. C. C. had rather a hard trip I guess, but he was anxious to get it. Nothing like having plenty of hardships to relate on one's return home. I expect to do some of the relating myself. He is a pretty heavy man and it would seem could not endure as much as a slender person. But he manages to make it. Last night and to-day we have our heaviest snowfall. Until a thaw comes to form a crust traveling will be difficult. Yesterday the literary was well attended. Mr. Young of the Iowa Camp, talked on "Butter Making and Creamery Methods." and I on the "Bacteria which Assist in the Making of Cheese and Butter." Casey sang two comic songs, "The Irish Jubilee." and "Put Me Off at Buffalo." Miller sang "Just Behind the Times" and "The Queen's Hussars." Miller has a fine voice. The literary is growing more popular as the season advances, and it may well be considered an important factor in helping many of us to pass the winter profitably. We try to bring in subjects which will interest everyone, those who are not literally inclined as well as the rest, and I think we have been quite successful. It seems to me that the mind must be employed in these long winter evenings at different points of Alaska, as a means of moral and physical health. The doctor and I agree as to this.
Feb. 4.—The other day one of the boys was rummaging about among the stores to see what he could come across of interest piled above the rafters, when he accidentally knocked down a box. It fell to the door andone corner burst open, disclosing the contents, which were not "Sugar Corn," as the label on the end indicated. A very insignificant legend near one end read "C. C. Reynolds." and it was set aside as belonging to him. Yesterday it was given to C. C, who at once recognized it as the very Christmas box which had been entrusted to him for me before we left home, by my mother and sister. He turned it over to me with many regrets, etc. It contained everything that could give pleasure to a boy from two years old to twenty-one—from tooters and jumping-jacks to warm woolen hoods and handkerchiefs and books. Stockings were stuffed full of candies corked tightly in bottles and tin boxes, and nuts were profuse. A touch of home-thought mingled with the Arctic storms. I wish we had had it for Christmas on account of the toys and candies, which would have added greatly to the presents on the natives' Christmas tree. The hoods were especially acceptable. They are knit with a piece across the nose, openings only for the eyes and mouth, and are tied under the chin. They fit like the skin itself. The books are all new to our library, which has been pretty thoroughly digested by this time. I brought the three novels out and they were immediately pounced upon. The doctor is reading "A Tennessee Judge." Miller "A Kentucky Colonel." and Mrs. Samms "Oliver Twist." I shall get at them in course of time.
I have read very little of late aside from my physiology. There is a growing faction in our company now favoring an expedition to the Philippines. We have the "Penelope" and sufficient supplies to go around the world, for that matter. For my part I think we ought not to hurry about leaving Alaska. Resolutions in regard to prospecting are dimly waning. Last summer it was, "We will stay in Alaska and push on until we find gold, if it takes three years." In the fall they thought "two years enough." Last month it was, "We will prospect all summer and start for home as late as the boat can leave the Sound." And now it is, "How can we the soonest reach home?" Several men from up the river are going to start overland for St. Michaels. Time, and plenty of it, seems to be an antidote for enthusiasm.