CHAPTER XVIII.

MARCH 7, 1899.—I have succeeded at last in trading for two pairs of snowshoes, from some Eskimos who have just come up the river. The dickering engaged the entire afternoon, and I am completely exhausted. It is a stupendous undertaking to attempt to trade for anything. The natives want the earth, and then "some more." The following is an illustration of the proceedings: An Indian brings in a pair of snowshoes and we all rush to see them, commenting on their size and quality. "Mickaninny" (too small); "anganinny" (too big); "naguruk" (good); "caprok pechak" (string loose); "byme by fixem." And then "capsinic" (how much?) The native invariably replies, "You speak." You can never make an Indian state what he wants. You begin by offering him "sox." "Konga" (no). He wants "cow cow" (something to eat). "Flour?" "Capsinic flour?" "Neleuea" (I don't know). Being urged on flour, the native intimates "two sacks." "Oh, apazh, apazh" (too much). One sack flour all right? "No, too small." The Indian then proceeds to look over the sack of flour brought for his inspection and he finds "potoa" (hole). After this is sewed up he finds that it has been wet at one end and the flour is a little caked in advance at the bottom. He therefore states that the whole thing is "no good," and "dauxic pechak" (no trade). He wants bacon, "so long and so broad," indicating the measurements in the air with hands. "No, we pechak" (haven't any for him). Then I bring out a shirt to add to the sack of flour. He looks at the shirt and finds a torn place. "Stoney-house" (no good).

"Stoney-house" means torn or broken, and has a queer derivation. Fort Cosmos is called stoney-house by the natives, because Lieutenant Stoney and his party wintered there in 1884. The cabin they lived in at Fort Cosmos (there is no fort or anything else there now) is all broken down. So, with an Eskimo, "All same stoney-house," or simply "stoney-house," means broken.

After two hours of sweating and bargainingthe trade is consummated, and the "cabloona" is satisfied. It is much to the relief of both parties. From the foregoing it will be plainly seen that a native is amply able to care for his own interests, and has learned from a probably bitter experience to "look a leetle out."

I got a very nice pair of snowshoes to take home as curiosities for one sack of flour and a pair of socks, and another pair, stronger but not so prettily made, for every-day use, for a half sack of flour and half a pound of tea. This is very reasonable and some under winter prices. Snowshoes make nice wall decorations for halls and dining-rooms, with a suitable picture stuck in them where the foot belongs.

Wednesday, March 8.—Our extremely cold weather is at an end, I hope. But it is more disagreeable outside. I put up a spruce grouse and two redpolls this afternoon. Birds are becoming noisier and, I presume, happier and in better spirits as the sunshine increases. An Alaskan three-toed wood-pecker drums taps on a dead spruce near the cabin every morning. The jays are quiet, but have a stealthy, sly manner which indicates that they are about to engage in nest-building. Rivers has finished up two ptarmigan skins in fair shape. He is very painstaking and I hope he gets some good specimens down on the coast. I have everyone posted as to keeping birds and eggs for me, and, with this generous promise of help, I ought to obtain some rare things this spring.

The literary met this afternoon, with good attendance and a talk "On the Eye" by Dr. Gleaves. A week ago the other officers and myself thought our terms of office had about expired, so we "resigned," and our successors were elected; Joe Jury, president; Clyde, secretary; Young, vice-president. To-day, as I was retiring from the chair. Dr. Coffin arose and, after a most elaborate speech, presented me with a gavel. He spoke of its rare value on account of its associations, and grew quite sentimental. It was part of a birch tree, chopped down by Uncle Jimmy near our winter home "on the Kowak far away." Dr. Coffin selected the pieces and worked them down. The head was turned by Normandin on the famous grindstone lathe of the San Jose cabin. Joe Jury worked the crank, yielding "two barrels of sweat by measure." and Dr. Coffin turned the handle and finished up the gavel. It is a very valuable and beautiful souvenir to be kept "as long as memory lasts."

Joe Jury took the chair which I had vacated to-day and made things lively, using a big hand-ax for a gavel and otherwise making this, probably our final meeting, a merry one. Several of the Kowak men are about to leave. Nine of the Sunny siders started up yesterday with their sled loads. They have lots of courage and perseverance, but I doubt their making the mountain passes with their supplies. Solsbury and Joe Jury start down to-morrow on a three weeks' trip to look after the condition of their barge, sixty-eight miles below us. Dr. Gleaves and the boys from "Quality Hill" are getting ready for a hunting trip across to the Naatak. Oh, I believe I have not made previous mention of Quality Hill. It is an interesting spot, the cabin being occupied by four young men of the aristocracy. They have been exclusive, as became men of their distinction. Few of us have been on intimate terms with them, but they are said to lie in their bunks until twelve o'clock noon, and to stay up, when once out, until two the following morning. They divert themselves by shooting at mice which run across the floor, using their six-shooters. Various boxes and knot-holes about the walls of their residence suggest targets. The walls themselves are riddled with bullet holes. They are said to have trained a young Eskimo as personal attendant, who does all the work of the cabin, building fires, bringing wood and water, and even cooking. He sleeps on the floor, so that he may lye handy to rekindle the fires of a cold night. The first man to arouse in the morning tosses a boot or other article at the native servant, which reminds him of his domestic duties. He blacks their muckluks, it is rumored, and serves coffee and cigars in bed. They live in style on Quality Hill. Thus even the remote Kowak has its aristocratic society.

March 10.—I put up five more rock ptarmigan to-day. They are difficult to skin and it is slow work, and their being pure white makes it necessary to be extra nice with them. I have already used more than half of my supply of plaster-of-paris and the migrations have not begun. I use this plaster in cleaning the skins.

Yesterday the doctor and I went hunting for three hours in the forenoon and secured eight ptarmigan. It was pleasant when we started, but after a while the north wind blew. We were about to return when we discovered a flock of ptarmigan on a hillside.The fine snow was driving along the ground in a continuous blinding stream. The birds squatted down close in the snow, facing the wind, evidently tired. They paid little attention to us until we were within easy shot, when they rose and, after a short flight, settled again. I felt sorry to take advantage of them, they are usually so wary. The doctor wore his snowshoes for the first time and on the whole got along pretty well. Once, however, he got mixed up in a snowdrift. He tripped, the pointed heel of one shoe stuck, and down went the toe of the other. He plunged head first into the snow, where he could scarcely move. During the progress of his wallowing his shot-gun got crammed full of snow, and he poked it out just in time to see four ptarmigan fly past.

The Doctor Makes a Good Start—

But Finds Himself in a Changed Position.

March 15, 9 a. m.—It has been storming three days. This morning the wind is roaring among the trees louder than ever, and the snow tills the air so thickly one cannot see a hundred yards. It is warmer, however, as it always is with an east wind; warmer than we have seen it since last September. I have been on my first hunt for jay's nests. When it is cloudy one can see through the foliage of the spruces more readily than when the sun shines, throwing shadows everywhere. Last week several of the "Amblerites" came down. They report many cases of scurvy at Ambler City, and they came to our camps to get tomatoes, fruit and pickles. They are now stormbound, and two of them, Phillips and La Voy, are with us. They will have hard sledding back again unless it thaws enough to form a crust. Money is very scarce up here now and provisions and clothing are below par, with half the money we spent in the States one could buy up a good outfit. If one could only see ahead! But In that case we would not have been here, and I should probably never have seen the spring migrations on the Kowak. An ill wind that blows nobody any good.

March 18.—The cloudy weather continues. The warmth from the room is penetrating the roof and the water is dripping through in several places. The frost and ice in the lean-to are melting, making a sloppy place. Icicles hang down from above, like stalactites in a cave, and slippery cones rise from the floor like stalagmites. The snow is about two feet deep on the level and is soft and damp, making walking even with snowshoes difficult. I went into the woods this morning a few hundred yards, wading in snow above my knees, which was tiring. I got a shot at a raven, but lost it. I heard a wood-pecker drumming and a couple of pine grosbeaks calling. I long for the time when the birds will arrive. Every moment will be precious then, but the time hangs a little heavy now. I am glad I have something to look forward to. "Looking forward to something" is about half the pleasure oflife. I have compiled my last year's bird notes, have loaded all my shells, gotten boxes ready, and still must wait. I spend some of the time in getting as much information from the natives as possible about the birds. They know the natural history of the region pretty well, and but for their superstitions would be of practical service to me. I have been looking for jay's nests and watching these birds for several days now. I cannot induce the natives to hunt for me, or even to tell me of nests. They tell me that if a person looks at the eggs of a jay or spruce grouse he will surely "mucky" (die). They firmly believe what they say. Kallak told me that a man who lived in her father's igloo several snows ago, looked into a jay's nest and promptly went "mucky." Doctor Charley tells me the same thing, except that if the person who disturbs the nest shoots one of the parent birds and, holding it behind his back, extracts the entrails and throws them away out of his sight, he possibly may not die. I am afraid it will be hard for me to obtain assistance from these people at the time when I shall most need it, and which I had fondly hoped for all along.

March 20.—My eyes are smarting with snow blindness while I write. They feel full of sand. To-day the sun shone and the glare was dreadful. Last evening I went down to the Hanson camp and spent the night with Dr. Gleaves, and to-day have been hunting jays. I found one nest just started and feel very much elated. It was only by accident that I found it, for the birds are so shy. I saw a jay flying in the direction of a strip of spruces, but lost sight of it on account of intervening timber. I did not see the birds again, but followed in the direction of their flight, keeping up a systematic search through the spruces. By chance I caught sight of a small aggregation of twigs in a young tree, which, by a few tell-tale feathers clinging around the edge, gave me the scent. The nest was not more than half built and I made haste to leave the vicinity so as not to disturb the birds. I think the full set of eggs will be ready in about three weeks. This, with the snow several feet deep and the landscape white! I returned to Dr. Gleaves' in time for dinner at two o'clock, and was treated to "Gleaves' Justly Celebrated," which is an original soup of the doctor's own concoction.

After a half day's tramp on snowshoes through deep, damp snow, one enjoys a dinner of the "Gleaves' consomme," hash, baked sweet potato and sweet corn.

Last night an Eskimo died at the village, and every savage neighbor of the deceased has moved into tents out of their warm igloos, which are vacated for good. They are all going to move across the river and put up wick-i-ups. The person who died was an old woman who went by the natural route of old age. She was dragged out of her igloo a few yards and left in the snow, for the dogs to eat up, we are told, as she had no especial friends. C. C.'s instinct was aroused, and he and Dr. Coffin went up to attend to the ceremonies. Wonderful to relate, the undertaker did not bury the body, but put it on a scaffold in true native style. He is being convinced that this is the proper form of burial. It is expected that he will institute the same on his return to California.

March 24.—Guy Solsbury and Joe Jury returned from their trip to look after the barge. Guy has some big stories to relate about their "perilous trip," which is the identical one Cox and I made last New Year's. They have been absent two weeks, part of the time snowed in. We shall probably have a full account of it in the San Jose "Mercury" next summer. It will bring the mercury down. Colclough came up with them. He had been to the Mission, and brought us a letter from Harry Reynolds and Captain Delano, who report everything "all right." Several men have lately come down the Kowak. The word from everywhere, Naatak, Buckland, Allashook, Koyukuk, and the entire Kowak region, is "nothing." Men are waiting impatiently for spring to open up so they can "go home." C. C., Rivers and Clyde are now waiting for the boys to come down from the upper camp, when they will all go down to the "Penelope." There is little of note going on about the cabin these days. We have altogether too much sunshine. The doctor and I were hunting ptarmigan Thursday. We tramped seven hours and never saw a bird save a few redpolls and a small squad of chickadees. As a result of his tramp the doctor is laid up with snow blindness. I am not so far affected. I cannot hunt with snow-glasses on, as they dim the vision. But I have some natural advantage. My ancestors, who did not hunt ptarmigan on the Kowak, bequeathed to me a pair of rather deep-set eyes with roofing brows, which are the best protection.

"Doctor Charley," the Eskimo who received so much kindness from Dr. Coffin last fall, has been anxious to return the courtesy, and yesterday his opportunity came.

The doctor was attacked with snow blindness with great suffering. Dr. Charley called on him professionally, and advised him to try a treatment at the hands of his wife, who was a specialist in eye cases of this nature. The doctor was ready to submit to almost anything at the hands of his friends, thinking that perhaps they might possess some secret worthy of note. Such proved to be the case. Indian Charley's wife called and looked at the patient's eyes, swollen and inflamed and painful to a degree. She pointed to some toothpicks on the cabin table, and, being told to "proceed." she whittled three of them to a sharp point. Handing one to the suffering doctor, she bade him thrust it into his nostril. He did so and found to his astonishment that the mucous membrane was without sensation. Obeying his doctress, he continued to thrust in the point of this pick and likewise the two others, when a hemorrhage of considerable severity occurred. This was the thing greatly to be desired. In an hour the nose was inflamed and very painful, but the eyes were relieved. After a few hours both nose and eyes were normal, and the doctor believes the operation rational. He declares that he will practice it upon himself and others at the first opportunity. When he returns to California he will doubtless hang out his sign as "Specialist on Snow Blindness." Only there is no snow in California. I will remind him of this fact.

We have a "scurvy trail" now, and every day it is traveled. There are two cases at the Los Angeles Camp. Our boys keep busy at something. Rivers started the idea of making rustic furniture, and several others followed. This resulted in a search through the woods nearly every day for crooked birch sticks. Piles of these awkward "crooks" adorn our back yard, only a select few ever coming up to all the requirements of a "natural crook." They might be of some use as stove wood, but it is impossible to get at them with a saw. The doctor spent days and days whittling out candle-sticks, and so must C. C. It is nice to have something to keep the people busy. It helps time to limp by. One of our "best and bravest" walks the floor as if he had the toothache, he is so homesick. He will not let Eskimo Charley treat him for nostalgia.

March 30.—To-day the crowd left for the Mission. They are C. C., Clyde, Cox, Rivers, Alec and a Mr. Driggs, a stranger. The most of them will stay on the "Penelope" at Escholtz Bay, and be on hand there to help when the ice breaks up. Miller, who came down from the upper camp, will remain here with us. That leaves us live. Dr. Coffin. Uncle Jimmy. Brownie. Miller and myself. It is a relief after the congestion. Yesterday we had seventeen for dinner. The doctor is trying his hand at cooking now. He is a specialist on toasted cheese and macaroni. We expect to have this combination served up three times a day, or until the material is exhausted. We each seem to have our culinary idiosyncrasies; Cox for light bread and pea soup; Rivers for beans; C. C. for pie; and I for mush and hash.

This man Driggs has joined our company till we get back to the States. He is a sailor and navigator, with captain's papers, and may be of use to us later. We have also another prospective addition to our numbers, a Mr. Van Dyke, a preacher. He will join us in the spring and take passage on the "Penelope." He knows of a "sure thing." He says that on his way up here last year his party stopped on the mainland near Sledge Island, and he and another man in three hours panned out two dollars' worth of gold from a creek bed. He had the gold in a bottle last fall and some of our boys examined it.

That is certainly a much better prospect than we have heard of this side of Circle City; that is, that we have any reason to rely on. He joins us under the condition that we furnish him passage back to the States if nothing results, but he promises to take us to this place within two days, towing up a stream from the coast, and he firmly believes himself that he has a "sure thing." We shall see. We have heard so many stories of this sort that even a preacher cannot arouse much enthusiasm. However, we have taken up his offer and will sail for the place indicated as soon as the "Penelope" can get away from her moorings. I'd give five dollars for the chance to pan out two dollars' worth of gold-dust.

Oh, yes. Van Dyke says that he met an Indian near Sledge Island who had nuggets, and took him to a spot covered many feet by a snowdrift, which he assured him was a mother lode, or something that sounded very nice. Ah. I'd like to see a mother lode! She's what we are after.

Ancient Indian Grave.

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