FOOTNOTE

A Yukon Canoe.

Indian Fish-Traps.

All this day and the next we passed many Indian villages, made up of white tents, with red dried salmon hung up on frames in front. Although these natives are classed as Indians, (belonging to the group of Athabascans) and although they show certain traits of physiognomy like them, yet in their general nature they are entirely different. Unlike the stoical Sioux or Arapahoe of the United States, these people are childlike and open in their manners. They chatter freely in their own language, whether it is understood or not; they are anxiousto give and get information; and they seize the slightest excuse for a joke to giggle convulsively. They are fine boatmen, and good hunters and fishermen. All along the river could be seen their traps of stakes, set in some eddy near a bend of the river, and in the early frosty mornings the squaws would come down to the traps in their canoes,—which are broader than those of the men, and managed by a wider paddle—propelling them swiftly and rhythmically along, crooning a song. They are an intelligent, good-humored people, already a littlespoiled in their manners and ideas by contact with whites who were hardly fitted to teach the untutored savage. Yet they are on the whole far from disagreeable people to deal with, and although their habits did not always seem up to the civilized standard, yet in contrast to the Eskimos whom we saw further down the river, they were models of cleanliness. There is no lack of variety in their faces, and in one camp I saw a woman whose dark beauty would have ornamented the finest drawing-room. Whether or not she had some share of white blood I do not know.

These Indians, as a rule, have no chief, but live in the most complete independence, the only authority over them being that of theshamanor medicine man, who attains his ascendency by his cleverness in duping others to believe he has supernatural gifts, such as prophecy. It is the custom for any one who aspires to high position to make prediction as to the weather, when the next steamboat will arrive, and so on. When his predictions become true frequently, he gradually obtains influence.

Great travellers are the Alaskan Indians too,and at a trading post along this part of the Yukon one may see, besides the Yukon Indians, others from the Koyukuk, the Tanana, and even the Kuskokwim; but one rarely sees Eskimos, who are not such great wanderers, and when they make voyages visit only the regions peopled by their own race. Those Indians who live on the flats of the river frequently go to the mountains a long distance off to hunt. Dr. Dall, in his "Alaska and its Resources," gives the following translation of a song which he heard a Koyukuk woman singing to her infant.

"The wind blows over the Yukon.My husband hunts the deer on the Koyukun mountains.Ahmi, Ahmi, sleep, little one."There is no wood for the fire.The stone axe is broken, my husband carries the other.Where is the sun-warmth? Hid in the dam of the beaver, waiting the springtime?Ahmi, Ahmi, sleep, little one, wake not!"Look not for ukali,[2]old woman.Long since the cache was emptied, and the crow does not light on the ridge-pole!Long since my husband departed. Why does he wait on the mountains?Ahmi, Ahmi, sleep, little one, softly."Where is my own?Does he lie starving on the hillside? Why does he linger?Comes he not soon, I will seek him among the mountains.Ahmi, Ahmi, sleep, little one, sleep."The crow has come, laughing.His beak is red, his eyes glisten, the false one.'Thanks for a good meal to Kuskokala the shaman.On the sharp mountain quietly lies your husband.'Ahmi, Ahmi, sleep, little one, wake not."Twenty deer's tongues tied to the pack on his shoulders;Not a tongue in his mouth to call to his wife with.Wolves, foxes, and ravens are tearing for morsels.Tough and hard are the sinews; not so the child in your bosom.Ahmi, Ahmi, sleep, little one, wake not!"Over the mountain slowly staggers the hunter.Two bucks' thighs on his shoulders, with bladders of fat between them.Twenty deer's tongues in his belt. Go gather wood, old woman!Off flew the crow,—liar, cheat, and deceiver!Wake, little sleeper, wake, and call to your father!"He brings you back fat, marrow, and venison fresh from the mountains.Tired and worn, he has carved a toy of the deer's horn,While he was sitting and waiting long for the deer on the hillside.Wake, and see the crow, hiding himself from the arrow!Wake, little one, wake, for here is your father."

Although we saw fish in front of all the tents and apparent contentment in every face, yet we were told that the catch had not been nearly so great as usual that summer, and that there must inevitably be much suffering during the winter. "Yes," said Mynook, at Mynook Creek, philosophically, "Goin' be hard winter; tink old people all die." We asked him why just the old people, and he explained that the old people had not been able to gather so much provisions as the young and vigorous ones, and would therefore sooner starve. We told him that in our country we cared for the old first, and he seemed to think such a custom very unjust, observing that the old who had lived should die if there was any famine, and make room for the younger ones who could live yet a long time if they could get food. It is starvation, one may add, which keeps the Indian population of the whole Alaskan interior within very meagre limits.

On the 3d of September we came to the mouth of the Tanana, a large tributary which enters the Yukon on the left side; the country around its mouth is low, and the river itself splits into many channels, forming a delta. On the bankof the Yukon opposite the mouth of the Tanana we found a trading post with two white men and a host of Indians. When we landed at the store we were met by the Indians, the white men having not yet observed us. The first was evidently a shaman or medicine man, a copper-colored old fellow with cross eyes and a cunning wrinkle around his mouth. He ceremoniously pulled off his buckskin gloves before offering his hand to shake; then pointing his finger to the sky he began a long speech in his own language, with many gestures. We all listened very gravely, and when he got through and looked at me with an air of self-satisfaction and triumph, I placed both hands on my stomach, and rolled my eyes, then thumbed my nose at him, and finally began to quote to him the immortal soliloquy of Hamlet "To be or not to be," with much emphasis and many variations. Everybody listened with evident delight, especially the shaman, and when we were through they conducted us up to the trading post. An old fellow was smoking a curiously carved wooden pipe, which filled the soul of one of our party with the desire to obtain it, since it seemed such a remarkable bit of nativework. He offered five dollars for it as a starter, and the old fellow, astounded but willing to accept the gifts of the gods without questioning, handed over the pipe with an alacrity that made Goodrich examine it a little more before parting with his money. On the bottom of the bowl was stamped in the wood "Smith & Co., New York," and on closer inspection it was evident that the apparent carving was in reality pressed, and that the pipe was worth in the neighborhood of twenty-five cents in the States.

We were welcomed by the trader, and after a lunch with him floated down the river about eight miles to the mission below. There our eyes were delighted by a neat little building with a belfry and bell, and actually two dormer windows. It was the work of the pioneer Mike Hess, from whom the stream entering the Yukon above Mynook creek had been named. The missionary was absent in a parochial call five hundred miles away, but his wife and child and a nurse were there. The missionary published the only paper on the Yukon at that time; it appeared once a year, and consisted of four small pages, printed on a hand-press. The items werefrom all over the country, and many of them were very interesting and amusing.

From here we kept on travelling with the current down the Yukon, helping our speed by continuous rowing. There being three of us, "tricks" of one hour were arranged, so each man steered for an hour, rowed an hour, and then sat in the stern for an hour, regarding the landscape and making notes. It grew so chilly that often the time for resting was hardest to endure, for the skin would cool and the teeth would chatter even with all the clothes we could get on, and we would be glad to get a little vigorous exercise again. Storms were frequent, and we often had the pleasure of sitting in the driving rain all day long. We covered over our outfit as well as we could and even rigged up a sort of awning of sail-cloth on a frame-work of boughs, which kept the rain off the steersman, while the man who was resting crawled under a tarpaulin, and the oarsman rowed and got wet; so that under these conditions the position of steersman was most coveted. The wind blew with such violence that sometimes we took water over the bow and stern of our boat, and thesteerman had to exert skill to keep from swamping. When the weather was clear, however, it was cool, and we enjoyed life more at such times than we had before done.

In a Tent Beneath Spruce Trees.

To wake up on a gloriously bright morning, in a tent pitched beneath spruce trees, and to look out lazily and sleepily for a moment from the open side of the tent, across the dead camp-fire of the night before, to the river, where the light of morning rests and perhaps some early-risingnative is gliding in his birch canoe; to go to the river and freshen one's self with the cold water, and yell exultingly to the gulls and hell-divers, in the very joy of living; or to wake at night, when you have rolled in your blankets in the frost-stricken dying grass without a tent, and to look up through the leaves above to the dark sky and the flashing stars, and hear far off the call of a night bird or the howl of a wolf: this is the poetry, the joy of a wild and roving existence, which cannot come too often. No one need look for such moments during mosquito time in Alaska. But the pests were over now, and men and animals who had been fighting them all summer rested and drew deep draughts of peace, and strengthened themselves for the stinging cold of the winter, likewise hard on the temper and on the vital powers.

In our downward journey we passed close by mountains whose tops were beginning to be snow-covered, and were higher than those of the Rampart Mountains, which we had crossed above the Tanana; yet they were further from the river, with level country between. Leaving these behind we came to flats similar to thegreat Yukon flats above the Ramparts, but not so extensive. Here the river split into many channels, enclosing low green islands. The clay banks were fifty or a hundred feet high, and as we followed the current it took us against the side which it was engaged in cutting away. We had to avoid getting too close, for one never knew when a portion, undermined by the stream, would topple over with a tremendous splash; and if such a mass should strike the boat it would bear it to the bottom of the river and bury it so deeply and easily that when the dust of the fall should clear away, the circles on the water would be as regular as usual.

The banks showed on the upper parts, deposits of black peat, twenty or thirty feet thick, and it was evident that the accumulations are going on at the surface yet. Alaska is, like other Arctic regions, densely covered with moss, which grows alike in the swamps and on the steep hillsides; and the successive generations of mosses, one rearing itself on the remains of the others, bring about in time a deposit of peat which one can find nearly everywhere, if he digs down. It is well known that suchvegetable accumulations, after having been transformed into peat, may by further change become a lignite or sort of brown coal, and when much altered by the heat or pressure attending the uneasy movement of the earth's crust may even become anthracite. In many regions the crust, apparently still, is in reality constantly moving, although so slowly that we do not notice it; yet in the course of ages the most stupendous changes have been brought about. We are accustomed to picture coal as originating in tropical swamps of the carboniferous period, with enormous trees bearing leaves many feet long, and bullfrogs as big as men squatting in the background, while the air is so heavily laden with carbonic acid that it would put out a candle; but here, at the Arctic Circle, the formation of coal is evidently going on rapidly, and future generations may derive benefit from it.

Beds of vegetable matter belonging to a past age are abundant all along the Yukon, but the coal is as yet only a black shiny lignite, for it has not been altered much; and leaves found in it show that the vegetation of the period when the beds accumulated was not far different fromwhat it is to-day, and had nothing to do with gigantic tadpoles and malaria.

One of the most interesting of the high clay bluffs which we passed lies on the left-hand side of the river, not far below the Tanana. It has been called by some early travellers the Palisades, and this name appears on the map, but the miners and traders know it by the name of the Boneyard, from the fact that there are buried in the silts near the top (which is about two hundred feet high) many bones of large animals, which come down to the river as portions of the bluff are undermined and fall. We stopped at this place, and, slumping through the mud to the foot of the bluff, we came across the tusk of a mammoth, which probably weighed over a hundred and fifty pounds. It was as thick as a man's leg at its larger end, but the whole of it was evidently not there. Further on we found a smaller tusk with the end worn off as if the animal had been using it severely for some purpose. Afterwards we saw other bones,—leg bones, fragments of the backbone, etc.,—in great abundance. Our little boat was too small to carry these gigantic relics, but we preserved a huge molartooth from a mammoth, measuring several inches across, and we sawed off portions of one of the tusks.

The extinct hairy elephant, or mammoth, inhabited Alaska at a time previous to the memory of man, yet not very ancient, geologically speaking. Remains of these animals are also abundant in Arctic America and Siberia. It was at first supposed that the climate was tropical when they existed, since it is well known that the elephant is a native of hot countries, and the bones are almost exactly like those of the elephants of the tropics. The discovery of some of these remains in the River Lena in Siberia was one of the most interesting of modern scientific events. From some reason or the other, many mammoth had been caught in the ice of the river and had been frozen in, the ice never melting through all the thousands of years that followed. So well preserved were they at the time of their discovery that it is said they furnished food for dogs; but what amazed scientists most was to find that this elephant was covered with very long hair or fur, forming a protection against the cold such as few creatures possess. The fur and much ofthe skin of one of these mammoth may be seen in the museum at St. Petersburg.

We know from geologic evidence that Alaska, firm and solid land though it appears to be, is really slowly rising out of the sea, and we also know that this rising motion has been going on for a very long time. At a period which must have been many hundred years ago, the country was covered with a multitude of shallow lakes, many of them large, and some of immense size—rivalling our Great Lakes of the St. Lawrence river system. Most of these lakes are now drained and we have, as records of them, only broad flats composed of fine clays and silts which accumulated as sediments in the lake bottoms. Through this vast lake region roamed the mammoth in herds, and so far as we can tell the climate was much the same as it is now; but with the elevation of the land and the draining of the lakes the mammoth has disappeared—the reason no one is able to tell.

The Eskimos carve the mammoth tusks into ornaments, pipes, and other ivory articles. They are familiar, in fancy, with the animal, and have a special name for it, as well as for itsivory as distinguished from walrus ivory. They also have some vague legends about it, which the traveller may learn through an interpreter. At St. Michael's a Mahlemut Eskimo told me that a long time ago, when the whole country was full of lakes and darker than it is now, these animals were alive, and in the time of their fathers they were said to still exist, far in the interior, on the shores of a great lake; and that their fathers never went near this lake, hunting, for fear of this beast. It is more than likely, however, knowing what we do of the Eskimo habits and character, that this was simply fancy, which grew out of finding the tusks and the bones; or an invention, gotten up to satisfy the white man's curiosity, for the Eskimo is so willing to please that he always tells exactly what he thinks will be appreciated, whether or not it is the truth. Moreover, so far as I have been able to judge from other things, the Eskimo tradition does not run nearly so far back as it needs must to extend to the time of the mammoth.

Breaking camp one morning, just as the smoke was beginning to curl from the camp of ourSiwash neighbors on the other bank of the river, we ran rapidly down stream, and by the early afternoon passed the mouth of the Koyukuk. This is a large stream of clear water contrasting sharply with the muddy roily waters of the Yukon, from which it is separated almost by a distinct line. Above the rivers at the point of junction rises a beautiful sharp cliff, probably a thousand feet high and nearly perpendicular to the top.

On reaching this place we were met by heavy winds which tossed the surface of the river into waves, and where it blew against the current made a chop sea, so that the Skookum took in a good deal of water. Soon we were unable to make any headway at all against the wind, so we landed, and tracking our boat along the bank till we came to a little "slough" or shallow side channel where the water, protected by trees which grew on both sides, was smooth, we made camp. It was a flat smooth place, and the ground was covered thickly with fuzzy bright green plants of the horse-tail family, which made everything look so downy that one felt like rolling in it. These beautiful plants are easily crushed underfoot, and a little tramping around had the effect of pressing out the water with which the sand was filled, and transforming all into a very soft mud. We had to keep our heavy boots on, therefore, especially around the fire, which is the most frequented spot in a pioneer's camp; and finally we had to lay poles along the path between the camp and the boat, to prevent slumping too deeply. To add to our discomforts, the rain came down in torrents that night, piercing our somewhat service-worn tent, so that by morning most of our outfit, including blankets, was more or less wet.

Starting out again, we found, soon after leaving our sheltered nook, that the wind was still blowing, and in stretches of the river where the wind was ahead we could move only very slowly, while on other curves we went at a high rate of speed. So we moved along by jerks till about noon, when we were brought to a standstill by an increase in the wind, and after an effort to proceed further, which resulted in our being blown back a little up the river, we landed, waited an hour and lunched; after this, the wind having gone down somewhat, we proceeded.We passed several native villages, both winter and summer camps, the former with their clumsily built log houses and attendant log caches, the latter with their white tents and lines of fish drying on frames in front. The inhabitants shouted out vociferous greetings to us as we passed, which we did not understand; but we responded quite as cordially in our own tongue. At about five o'clock we reached the native village of Nulato, one of the largest on the river, with a population of several hundred, and a small trading post, at that time kept by a half-breed trader.

Our first question on landing was whether the steamer had passed down the Yukon for St. Michael's. This steamer would be the last which would make connections with Seattle or San Francisco, so if we missed it we would be obliged to remain all winter in the country. We knew approximately when the boat would leave Circle City, and from time to time, as we had been floating down the river, we had inquired at trading posts whether she had yet passed us, for this would be very easy by day in the many channels of the Flats, and still easier by night, especiallyas the river, even when confined in a single channel, is often several miles wide in this lower part, and a steamer passing on one side would hardly be observed from our camp on the other bank.

We had last heard at the station opposite the mouth of the Tanana that she had not yet passed, though she was daily expected—but that was several days ago. Of course we would have been able to lie by at any of these posts and camp until the steamer should arrive; but so great was our desire to make the best possible use of every minute we had to stay in Alaska that we preferred to take the risk of being left all winter, with an opportunity of building a log hut and laying in fire-wood till spring, rather than lose the last part of our journey in the Skookum. But we were relieved by the trader at Nulato, who told us that the steamer had not arrived. We were then given the use of a log cabin, with glass windows, which was sumptuously furnished with a stove, a hewn-wood bed, a table and a three-legged stool.

After supper we made the tour of the village, crawling into the little cabins of the natives,where the women sat cross-legged in groups, occupied in their sewing. They were making gloves of moose-skin trimmed with beaver, caps of the ground squirrel or marmot fur, and high boots of the hair seal with bottoms of walrus hide. Most of them used steel needles, though many still kept to those of pierced bone, which seemed in skillful hands to serve the purpose quite as well. Our curiosity was soon satisfied, for each dwelling was much like every other; so after we had made bargains for some of the articles, we went back to our cabin and turned in. The joy of having a roof over our heads as a protection against the rain which was now pelting down was so great that I lay awake some little time staring gloatingly up at the logs.

In the morning the one whose turn it was to cook rose early, and soon large kettles were full of beans, dried apples and rice, and all were boiling merrily away, while the bacon sizzled and smoked in the frying-pan. The other two of us lay lazily in our blankets, and sniffed the delicious odors, turning now and then from side to side when the hewn logs upon which we were lying grew conspicuously hard. Suddenly thedoor was burst open and a deaf-and-dumb Indian who had made himself useful the night before, bringing us wood and water in consideration of a square meal afterwards, rushed in, and with many gestures began to try to make us understand something. We had seen a surprisingly large number of deaf mutes among the natives, and they were always more easy to understand than the others, who had the habit of sputtering and choking away in their own tongue, although they knew very well that we did not understand a word of it; while the deaf mutes immediately enlightened us by some of the signs they were so practiced in making. This one, by energetic revolutions of his hands around one another, recalled to us immediately the stern-wheel of a steamboat, while the puffing he made with his mouth took away all doubt as to his meaning. Then he pointed up the river, and gesticulated violently.

We all turned out on the double quick, and, sure enough, the steamer was not more than a half a mile away. She was due to stop at Nulato a half hour to get wood, and so heavy was the traffic on the river at this time of the year andso important every hour in making connections with the ocean steamer that we knew she could not be got to stay longer. So we began hasty and energetic preparations, first rolling our blankets and strapping them with our personal outfit into the pack-sacks which we had carried throughout the trip, then hurriedly bundling together tents, specimens, and whatever else we deemed necessary and practicable to take out of Alaska with us. Many of the more cumbersome articles we abandoned, as they were much worn, and it would cost more than the original price to carry them back to the United States at the extraordinary prices for freight then prevailing. The natives soon became aware of our hurry and hung around in numbers, eager to help, but generally getting in the way; each had his eye on some article which he hoped to fall heir to. To many of these natives, poor beyond our ordinary conception of poverty, a nicked camp-axe is a substantial private fortune, and one Siwash to whom this article was awarded for general good conduct marched off in great happiness. Another fell heir to our boat—the faithful old Skookum, who had carried us twothousand miles, and now was somewhat battered and leaky as the result of her travels.

Meanwhile the steamer had swung in close to the flat high bank, the gang planks had been dropped down, and scores of natives, partly those of the village and partly those who had come on the steamer, scampered back and forth carrying wood on board in the most clumsy and ridiculous fashion, but still accomplishing much work by reason of their numbers. Miners, with whom the boat was crowded, came ashore and strolled around the village; they walked into our cabin and pestered us with idle and aimless questions, as we were working hard to get our stuff ready to take on board. At the last moment, when sufficient wood had been gotten in, the whistle was blown; we grabbed our pack-sacks and gave the remaining burdens to the natives to carry, and hurried on board. We had left some things, others than those mentioned. I felt then a keen regret, which occurs to me whenever I think of it, at being obliged to abandon all the good "grub" which had been boiling and frying away so merrily on the stove when our deaf-and-dumb friend had roused us from our dream.None of us being enthusiastic cooks, it had been our custom to prepare large amounts of the stock articles of diet at a time, in order that one cooking, with some few additions, might last most of each man's allotted time of three days; so the quantity we left behind was ample to feed quite a number of Siwash, and I have no doubt they gorged themselves, and had lively times trying to see who could eat the most and the quickest.

The steamer was packed. Miners who had intended to go to the "Outside" this year, had waited as late as they dared, so as to work their claim and bring out as much as possible, and then had taken this last boat. We found every sleeping accommodation taken, and not until late in the afternoon did the steward's resources find us a place. The only available space left under cover was that occupied by the tables in the steerage division. After supper was eaten, these tables were taken out, and the floor-room thus gained was allotted us. The rest of the floor was already occupied, and we had to exercise great care to keep from rolling over into another man's preserves. We spread our rubber blankets on the deck to protect us from tobaccojuice and other unpleasant things, and spread our woollen blankets on these. Lights were put out at about ten o'clock, and after that there was considerable stumbling around.

On the forward deck in front of the steerage department an active poker game, conducted by a professional gambler, was continually in progress, under a sail which had been rigged up as a cover. This game always wore on until midnight and attracted many interested spectators as well as players, all crowding around the table on which stacks of gold pieces were piled, under the light of a lantern tied overhead. When the men finally started to bed, they lost their bearings in the almost complete darkness and wandered far and wide, stumbling over the prostrate sleepers, whose loud and heartfelt oaths disturbed the peace almost as much as the hobnailed boots on one's stomach. At the first glimmer of dawn—i.e., about three in the morning—we were routed out and made to roll up our blankets out of the way in order that the tables might be set up for a seven o'clock breakfast; so on the whole our sleep was light and short. Yet we had paid first-class fares on boarding the boat. I have sincetaken a comfortable two-weeks' voyage on a transatlantic steamer to Germany for the same price as I paid for this passage to St. Michael's, occupying four or five days.

The next day we stopped at the native village of Anvik. By this time we had left the land of the Indians or Ingeliks, which reaches down the river below Nulato, and had reached that of the Innuits or Eskimos. Anvik was the first Eskimo village I had seen and the impression I carried away with me was one of extreme disgust. The whole place was a human sty, from which arose an overpowering stink. The houses were mere shacks built of poles laid close together, with holes in the centre to allow the smoke to escape. All around the houses, in front, behind, and along the paths, was ordure. Most of the people whom we saw had the appearance of being diseased: whole rows of the maimed, the halt, the blind, and the scrofulous, sunned themselves in front of the huts. Others sat huddled in their long fur shirts or parkas (which constitute their only garment), and coughed constantly, too sick to show much interest in the white visitors. A little apart, infront of the houses, a woman squatted, sobbing, while beside her crouched an old crone with a mouth like a fish, who crooned incessantly a weird, monotonous and mournful chant, to which the sobbing woman made brief responses at intervals. Other women sat around in their doors, all looking sad, and many sobbing. A young Indian boy from the steamer, who had picked up some English in a mission school, explained the scene to us. "That woman's baby die," he said. "Everybody all day cry."

We were glad to turn away from the most dismal and degraded set of human beings it had ever been my lot to see; on our way back to the steamer we passed a building of sawed boards used as a mission, and met the missionary, who was properly attired in a suit of clerical black, with white linen and tie. He had a book in his hand. I had rather seen him dressed in a parka, with an axe over his shoulder.

Below Anvik a short distance, we came to the Holy Cross Mission, a Catholic station located at another Eskimo village. The village was only a little better than that of Anvik to look at, but somewhat better to smell of. The mission itself,however, was a model. The buildings were well-built and clean, and there was a flourishing garden, containing potatoes, rutabagas, cabbages and lettuce, the whole surrounded by a rail fence; and in another little enclosure there was a real live cow, almost as much a novelty to us as to the natives from further up the river, who left the steamboat and pressed around the strange animal with wondering eyes, as children view the elephant at their first circus. We saw many little girls, pupils of the school, spotlessly arrayed in new calico dresses, with gay silk or cotton handkerchiefs on their heads. They made quite a pretty picture, and the contrast of the little maidens with their relatives at Anvik was something almost startling. These children had been taken away from their parents by the sisters who teach at the Mission and were being brought up by them, to be sent away again only when grown.

Between the Holy Cross Mission and the Yukon delta the river grows continually wider till it is in places fully five miles from bank to bank, without islands. The banks themselves become low and very flat, and the timber disappears almostentirely, leaving the swampy plains known as tundra. Along here the only fuel is driftwood; and this the natives had stacked up in places ready for the steamer. Landing to take on wood was always the opportunity for a run on shore, dickering with the natives for curiosities, and general hilarity. The people here were wonderfully different from those on the Yukon from Nulato to the headwaters, being round and rosy, rather small in stature, and with a certain Mongolian appearance. They are childlike in look and action, with round wondering eyes, and mouths always ready to smile broadly and unreservedly at any hint of a joke. They were dressed in the Eskimo parka, made of furs of various sorts, especially squirrel, mink, reindeer, or muskrat. The whole sustenance of the people in this barren tundra district appeared to be fish, and many of them had been obliged to make their parkas and leggings out of the fish skins, which were sewn together with much neatness and taste, and were ornamented with red ochre. In wet weather they wore long shirts made of the entrails of animals, split open and sewn together; these had tight-fitting hoods and sleeves, andwere practically watertight. The Eskimo kayak or covered boat, made by stretching seal or walrus skins over a wooden frame, makes its appearance along here, although the birch canoe is still to be seen. In the houses of these people we saw sealskins full of oil laid up as a provision against the winter.

Three-Hatch Skin Boat, or Bidarka.

At a mission further up the river a Russian priest of the Greek Catholic church had gotten on board. He wore the plain black gown, full beard and long hair of men of his class, and spoke broken English. He seemed well acquainted with the country, however, and assuredus that these people were distinct both from the Kolchane or Indians, who were found all along the Yukon above Nulato, and from the Mahlemut Eskimos. These middle people he called Kwikpaks; but I am sure they are really Eskimos, with perhaps some peculiarities, due to their position on the border-line of two races differing so greatly as do the Eskimos and the Indians.

The same day we left the Yukon for good, emerging from the northern or Ap-hoon mouth, (for the Yukon forms a delta which spreads out many miles and includes many channels) out on the open sea. We were struck with the color of the clear green water, after so long viewing the muddy brown Yukon or the clear black of some of its tributaries. Before us the country was barren, untimbered, and black, with volcanic cones rising here and there. As we advanced, low islands rose out of the sea around these cones,—fields of lava, covered with swamps and ponds,—while we left behind us the dead level untimbered tundra of the Yukon delta. We anchored under the lee of an island that night, and as usual we were roused from our sleeping places before daylight the next morning by thecook. The sun rose gloriously from behind the low black volcanic hills and just as we were getting around to breakfast at the fourth table we steamed into St. Michael's.

FOOTNOTE[2]Dried salmon.

[2]Dried salmon.

St. Michael's is the usual port for the Yukon, though seventy miles from its mouth. The Russians had a fort and garrison at this place before they sold the territory to the United States, and since then the commercial companies have had posts here. The chief part of the population, however, consists of Eskimos.

These people are very expert in carving. From stone they make axes, lamps, skin-scrapers and many other implements; and from bone, and especially from the walrus and mammoth ivory, they carve many things, among them polished pipes. These pipes are evidently modelled after the opium pipes of the East, with a peculiar shaped bowl having only a very small cavity in it, and a long stem. They are ornamented with many figures scratched on the ivory with a sharp knife, and then colored by having charcoal and grease rubbed into the scratches; these figures,of which there may be several hundred on a single pipe, represent the Eskimo in his daily occupations, especially his hunting of deer, wolf, and whale, his dancing in thekashim, or his travelling in his kayak.

Eskimo Houses at St. Michael's.

A Native Doorway.

Strolling around the village, and peering into thebarabarras, or private houses, I ran across an old savage who was handling an object which immediately attracted my attention; when he saw my curiosity he explained by signs that it was an apparatus for making fire, and at my request he actually performed the feat. It wasthe old plan of rubbing two sticks of wood together, such as we have often read that savages do; yet I had never known any one who knew exactly how it was done, although as a boy I had often worn myself out in vain endeavors to make fire in this way. So far as I know, no one had ever satisfactorily explained how the Alaskan natives get their fire, one writer having even supposed that they brought it from volcanoes in the first place; and from the extraordinary care which they take in preserving hot coals and often in carrying them considerable distances,one does not often see them in the process of obtaining a new supply.

The apparatus which I saw here used was simple and ingenious. In a thoroughly dry stick of spruce were cut a number of little grooves,—this was the wood destined to catch fire. The other piece of wood was a rounded stick of some very hard variety, which the Eskimo told me was picked up in the driftwood along the shore: it was very likely a foreign wood. The point of the hard stick was set upright in one of the grooves of the soft dry piece and by means of a leather thong was made to revolve rapidly in it, the hard upright piece being kept in place by a stone socket set in a piece of wood, which was held in the mouth of the operator. After vigorously twirling the stick by means of the thong for about a minute the soft wood began to smoke; a moment afterwards a faint spark was visible. Then the Eskimo stopped revolving the stick and heaping all the fine dust of the soft wood which had been worn off by the grinding on the spark, and blew it carefully till it grew to larger dimensions; then he placed a blade of dry grass on the spark, and, blowing again, it burst into flame.The whole process had lasted about three minutes. The old man explained also that in boring the holes in stone, bone or ivory, they used the same device, employing a stone drill instead of the wooden stick.

There was great commotion among the natives at St. Michael's the morning after we arrived, and the men all dragged their kayaks into the water and getting into them paddled out into the harbor, where a number of small whales were seen disporting themselves. When they neared the school the men separated, and when a whale would sound they spread themselves out so as to be nearly at the spot where he should come up. Each man had several of the light spears they used for capturing fish; these weapons are perhaps three and a half feet long, and weigh about a pound, the shaft being slender and of light wood and the tip of a barbed piece of bone. To each of these they had fastened by a long thong, as they were paddling out, a blown-up bladder. As soon as a whale rose the Eskimo who happened to be near sent his little spear with great force deeply into its flesh. The wound was of course insignificant, and the animal,taking alarm, sank into the water again; but when after some time he was forced to return to the surface, he encountered several hunters again, and received several more spears with attached bladders. This time the buoyancy of the bladders made it difficult for him to sink, and he rose soon afterwards, only to be filled with so many spears that the bladders kept him from sinking at all; then the natives drew near and with all kinds of weapons cut and slashed and worried the creature till he finally gave up from loss of blood, and died. Then he was towed ashore amid great excitement and with rejoicing, not only by the hunters, but by the women, children and old men who flocked down to the beach as it came in.

The next thing was to cut up and divide the carcass, and this was done thoroughly, everybody in the village coming in for a share. Nothing was wasted. Even the blood was carefully saved and divided, and the sinews were given to the women, who would dry and make them into threads for sewing. Soon all the fires in the village were burning, and the smell of boiling whale-flesh came from many pots, into whichthe women peered expectantly. One old lady whom I noticed doing this showed in her dress some of the effects of civilization, which is a rare thing with the Eskimo, as they dress by preference in their squirrel or muskrat-skin parkas; her flowing garment was made of flour-sacks sewn together, and one might read the legend, inscribed many times and standing in many attitudes, that the wearer (presumably) was Anchor Brand.

The Captured Whale.

St. Michael's is made up of volcanic rock, and has been lifted from the sea in recent geologic times. The natives know this, and say that they find lines of driftwood marking the ancient limit of the waves, at places far above where the highest water now reaches; on the other hand, they say that the island has been thrice submerged since the memory of man. Out of the general swampy level of the land around the village rise, further back, broken cones with old craters at their tops; these were very likely under the level of the sea when they were active. We had time to spend a few days wandering over this country, climbing through the rocky craters, and looking down on the numberless swamp lakes which cover the southeast side of the island.One day, however, we received sudden word that the steamer on which we had engaged passage was about to sail, and we hurried on board. That night we were far out on Behring Sea, tossing in a strong wind which soon increased to a terrific gale.

We lay several days "hove to" in this gale, with oil casks over the bows to break the great waves which threatened more than once to smash us and often seemed about to roll us over and over. Finally, however, it quieted enough to let the seasick ones drop asleep, while the sailors made things taut again, and before long we were in harbor at the island of Unalaska—one of the great chain of Aleutian islands which reaches from America to Asia, and the chief stopping point for nearly all boats between the Yukon mouth and the coast of the United States proper. Unalaska is a country of chaotically wild scenery. The streams in turn meander over level benches and then tumble in waterfalls over steep cliffs to the next bench, and so on till they reach the sea; such a cataract we saw on the right as we entered the harbor.

In the village here we found the Aleuts semi-civilized from their long contact with white men, for here the Russians held direct control long before the territory was sold to the United States; they live in neat wooden houses, and if one peeps in by night he may even see here and there lace curtains and rocking-chairs.

Seventeen days after leaving St. Michael's we finally reached San Francisco. It was a clear, fine Sunday when we passed through the Golden Gate, tingling with excitement which we had felt since seeing the first land on the California coast. The sight of the multitude of houses on the hillside, the smoke of the city, the craft of all kinds going back and forth, had in it something very strange and discomposing for us. It was only when the ship was at the dock, and we had gone ashore, that we realized, from the way the curious crowd formed a circle around us and stared in open-mouthed wonder, that our appearance was unusual for a city. We had not taken much baggage through the Yukon country, and our camp clothes were very shabby. None of us had had opportunity to have hair and beard trimmed since we left—with the result that wehad a mane reaching to the shoulders and fierce bushy buccaneer whiskers, inches deep all around. Two of us wore ancient high leather boots and the third wore a kind of moccasin. We all had heavy "mackinaw" trousers of blanket-cloth, with belted coats of the same material, while coarse flannel shirts and dilapidated felt hats, burned with the sparks of many a camp-fire and seamed with the creases of many a night's sleep, completed our costume.

Finding the attention of the crowd embarrassing, we took a carriage for the Grand Hotel, and as we were driving through the streets I noticed that if one so much as caught a glimpse of our faces through the carriage window, he would turn and stare after the cab till it was out of sight. It was Sunday afternoon, and the streets were filled with smartly dressed men and women. For our part, the sight of all this correct and conventional dressing made a disagreeable impression on us, after so long a period of free and easy life; the white collars and cuffs of the men, in particular, obtruded themselves on my attention and irritated me.

We had left our "store clothes" in Seattle andhad to telegraph to get them. It took a couple of days for this, and in the meantime we had only to wait. We had been looking forward to going to the theatre as soon as we should arrive in San Francisco, and when our clothes did not arrive, were disappointed, till we suddenly braced up in defiance of the whole city, and said, "Let's go anyhow." We had not had time to get our hair and beard trimmed, and our costume was in all respects the same as when we left Circle City, but we sallied out bravely. We were late at the theatre, and the play had already begun; it was a popular one, and the only seats left were some in the "bald-headed" row.

Although we had by this time the idea forced on us that our appearance was unusual, we were by no means prepared for the commotion which we brought about, as we walked up the broad aisle to our seats. There was a hum and a sizzle of whispers throughout the house, which changed to laughter and exclamations; and the actors on the stage, catching sight of us, got "rattled" and forgot to go on. Up in the peanut gallery the gods began to indulge in catcalls and make personal inquiries. We hurried to ourseats to escape this storm, and meeting an usher thrust our tickets into his hand. He looked at us with a puzzled air and a broad grin, as if he thought it all some huge joke, but we were getting nervous, and gave him a glare which made him indicate our seats for us. The audience evidently believed we were part of the show; many were standing by this time, waiting to see what the next would be, but after a while the buzz subsided and the play went on. There was a constant current of conversation about us, however; behind us a young fellow was excitedly asking his companion "Who are they, who are they?" "Don't know," said the other. "Sailors, I guess."

After a while we felt like returning to the solitude of our hotel rooms; the play, too, did not please us, so in the middle of an act we got up, and having remarked very audibly "Dis is a rotten show," we went. As we started down the aisle the commotion grew louder than ever, and we slipped quickly out and down a side street.

Back to Index Next