see captionSCENES IN THE INLAND PASSAGE.From Schwatka's “Along Alaska's Great River,” Cassell & Co. New York. Publisher
SCENES IN THE INLAND PASSAGE.From Schwatka's “Along Alaska's Great River,” Cassell & Co. New York. Publisher
Chatham Point marks the northern entrance to Discovery Passage, and herethe tourist apparently sees the inland passage bearing off slightly to the east from this cape, when, with a sudden swerve to the westward, the ship swings around at full right angles to her original course, and enters a channel which a minute before seemed to be but a bay on the west side of the original water-way. The new channel is Johnstone Strait, and is over twice as long as Discovery Passage, that we have just left; or, to be more exact, about fifty-five miles in length. The shores are now getting truly mountainous in character, ridges and peaks on the south side bearing snow throughout the summer on their summits, 4,000 to 5,000 feet high, and the pilot will tell you that the waters on which you are sailing correspond in their dimensions, in many places 100 to 150 fathoms of line failing to reach bottom. The rough and rugged islands which we pass to our right, about three or four miles beyond Chatham Point, are the Pender Islands. The high mountains to the left and front are the Prince of Wales range. About fifteen to twenty miles after entering Johnstone Strait, a conspicuous valley is seen on Vancouver Island, the only break in the high mountain range on that side. It is the valley of a stream called Salmon river, named from that delicious fish, which here abound, and in the pursuit of which the Indians have shown this stream to be navigable for canoes for a number of miles inland. A conspicuous conical hill, probably a thousand feet high, rises in the valley and marks it to the traveler. Just beyond Salmon river's mouth, some three miles, the strait widens, another joining it from the north. The mountains to our left are now the New Castle range, Mount Palmerston attaining the height of 5,000 feet. At the northern end of Johnstone Strait we have a number of channels to choose from,—Blackfish Sound, Weynton Passage, Race Passage and Broughton Strait, the longest of all, and only fifteen miles in length, which we take. All these channels simply indicate that there is a cluster of islands where Johnstone Strait swells out into Queen Charlotte Sound, which we enter as Broughton Strait is left behind, and that as we select between different islands we take a different-named channel. These particular islands are the Malcolm Islands, sometimes confined in its application to the largest island. About half way through the Broughton Strait comes in the Nimpkish river from the Vancouver side. Mount Holdsworth is the high, conical peak we see to the south from here. At the mouth of the river is the Indian village of Cheslakee. It is said that an ascent of this river reveals the most picturesque scenery in lakes and falls, a saying to which all the surroundings in the inland passage itself, at this point, would give the most ample corroboration. Directly north from the river's mouth is Cormorant Island, which we leave to our right; and the bay in its side is Alert Bay, where exist a salmon cannery, an Indian mission, a wharf at which ships can land, and other signs of civilization.
Queen Charlotte Sound is one of the few openings to the Pacific Ocean. It is about fifty miles long, and, in some places, nearly half as wide, and looks like getting out to sea after having passed through the narrow channels just left behind. It was entered and named by Wedgeborough in the summer of 1786; so those visitors of 1886 to its grand waters may celebrate its centennial, and drink a toast to Queen Charlotte, the queen of King George III., and queen for fifty-seven years. About nine or ten miles on its waters, and to our left, is Fort Rupert, a Hudson Bay Company's trading post, with a large Indian village clustered around it. Here fruits and vegetables are grown for the local demand. Abouthalf way through Queen Charlotte Sound, and we pass through a narrow channel, twenty-two miles long, named Goletas Channel. Emerging from it, we leave Cape Commerell on our left side, and bid good-bye to Vancouver Island, for this is its northernmost cape. Near the exit from Goletas Channel, but by another passage, now seldom used, is where the United States man-of-war “Suwanee” was wrecked, on a submerged rock, in July, 1869, when the inland passage was not so well known by pilots as it is now. We can now look out to sea toward the Pacific Ocean; but a short journey plunges us into one of the many passages ahead of us, the smallest, or one nearest the mainland, being taken, called Fitzhugh Sound. It was named in 1786 by Captain Hanna, is about forty miles long, and with a width of about three miles. The first island to our left on entering is Calvert Island. About ten miles from its southern cape is an indentation in the island, called Safety Cove or Port Safety, probably a mile deep. It was while delayed in this picturesque little harbor, in 1885, that Mr. Charles Hallock, the well-known author on piscatorial pursuits, penned the following lines, descriptive of the inland passage, which we find in theAmerican Anglerof September, 1885:
“The mainland is flanked throughout nearly its entire extent by a belt of islands, of which the majority are sea-girt mountains. Of course, throughout this extended coast-line there are many islands of many different phases,—some of them mere rocks, to which the kelps cling for dear life, like stranded sailors in a storm; while others are gently rounded mounds, wooded with fir; and others, still, precipitous cliffs standing breast deep in the waves. Most aptly has this wave-washed region been termed an archipelago of mountains and land-locked seas. Steaming through the labyrinths of straits and channels which seem to have no outlets; straining the neck to scan the tops of snow-capped peaks which rise abruptly from the basin where you ride at anchor; watching the gambols of great whales, thresher-sharks and herds of sea-lions, which seem as if penned up in an aquarium, so completely are they enclosed by the shadowy hills,—one seems, indeed, in a new creation, and watches the strange forms around him with an intensity of interest which almost amounts to awe.
“In this weird region of bottomless depths, there are no sand beaches or gravelly shores. All the margins of mainland and islands drop down plump into inky fathoms of water, and the fall of the tide only exposes the rank yellow weeds which cling to the damp crags and slippery rocks, and the mussels and barnacles which crackle and hiss when the lapping waves recede. * * * * * When the tide sets in, great rafts of algæ, with stems fifty feet long, career along the surface; millions of jelly-fish and anemones crowded as closely as the stars in the firmament; great air-bulbs, with streamers floating like the long hair of female corpses; schools of porpoises and fin-back whale rolling and plunging headlong through the boiling foam; all sorts of marine and Mediterranean fauna pour in a ceaseless surge, like an irresistible army. Hosts of gulls scream overhead, or whiten the ledges, where they squat content or run about feeding.
“Here and there along the almost perpendicular cliffs the outflow of themelting snow in the pockets of the mountains leaps down in dizzy waterfalls from heights that are higher than the Yosemite. From the cañons which divide the foot-hills, cascades pour out into the brine, and all their channels are choked with salmon crowding toward the upper waters. I could catch them with my hands as long as my strength endured, so helpless and infatuated are these creatures of predestination. At the heads of many of these rivulets there are lakes in which dwell salmon trout, spotted with crimson spots as large as a pea; and the rainbow trout, with his iridescent lateral stripe; and his cousin germain, the ‘cut-throat trout,’ slashed with carmine under the gills. And there is another trout, most familiar to the eye in Eastern waters, and doubly welcome to the sight in this far-off region—theSalvelinus Canadensis, or ‘sea-trout,’ which I have recognized these many years as a separate species. * * * Here he is in his garniture of crimson, blue and gold, just like his up-stream neighbors of New England and the Provinces. * *
“The seas are full of strange species. Here the familyPercidæis regnant and supreme among the food fishes. The number of species and varieties is remarkable. Here are theEmbiotocidæ, orviviparousperch, which bring forth their young in litters, like cats or dogs, to the number of eight to forty at a time. There are no less than seventeen known varieties of them. Here, also, are at least fifteen varieties ofScorpænidæ, all fine table fish, which are locally known as rock-cod, groupers and snappers, but having no close relations at all to the family ofGadidæ. I send herewith the differential characteristics of four of them taken near our present berth, in latitude 51 degrees 30 minutes. The scarlet snapper seems very closely allied to theLutjanus Blackfordiof Eastern Florida and the Gulf of Mexico, from which he could scarcely be distinguished in appearance. The others are all fish of brilliant colors. No. 2 can scarcely be distinguished from the fresh-water bass of the lakes lying west of the Mississippi,—theMicropterus,—either in form, fin system or color. At Sitka I found a fish of exactly the same shape, but black as a sea-bass of the Atlantic (Centropristis atrarius). No. 4 belongs, I believe, to the family ofChiridæ, and is locally known as a sea-trout. * * * These fish take salmon roe, clams, sand-worms, crabs, meat and cut-fish bait. The black bass of Sitka is taken alongshore with a trolling spoon. * * * The other fish were taken chiefly in thirty fathoms of water on the young flood tide.
“Besides these fish, we have taken halibut, two kinds of flounder, skates, dogfish of several kinds and strange shapes, sharks, sculpins, etc.; some of the sculpins were beautifully marked in blue, red and brown. * * I have had several of the species painted in oil, and will forward them to the Smithsonian, with descriptions.”
But let us leave this piscatorial paradise, as painted by one who is an artist in his line, and wend our way through the forty miles of Fitzhugh Sound. Then comes Lama Passage, contracted, winding and picturesque, about fourteen or fifteen miles long. About half way through we pass very near the Indian village of Bella-Bella, and which is also a HudsonBay Company trading post. The Bella-Bellas were once a large tribe living in these parts; but the little village, of about twenty Indian houses, that the tourist passes on his left, represents the greater portion of the tribe at present, and gives one a practical and forcible illustration of the disappearance of “the noble red man.” A mission residence and a church, with the cattle on the cleared hills, give the place quite a civilized aspect. After Lama Passage comes Seaforth Channel, just as winding and pretty; the swingings to the right and left, in places where the passage is apparently right ahead, increase your respect for the pilot, and you wonder, in all these intricacies, like Goldsmith's village schoolmaster, “how one small head could carry all he knew.” At Milbank Sound we look out to sea for a brief half-hour, and then plunge into Finlayson Channel, a typical waterway of the inland passage, like a great river. The sides are very high mountains, densely timbered nearly to the top, where snow exists the year round, forming a base of supplies for the beautiful waterfalls that dash down the precipitous heights, like silvery columns, on a deep green background. It is said that all the little streams of this region swarm with salmon, giving the Indians a most bountiful supply. Then comes Graham Reach, about twenty miles long; then Fraser Reach, of ten miles; and McKay Reach, of seven,—that could all have been given a single name, and much trouble have been saved. A little, irregular sheet of water, called Wright Sound, and Grenville Channel, “as straight as an arrow,” gives us nearly fifty miles of rectilinear sailing.
We are now getting far enough north to make the sight of snow a familiar one, and the dense timber is striped with perpendicular windrows, where large avalanches have cut their way through them in the winter, when the snow falls heavily in these parts. Chatham Sound is the last channel we essay in British domain, and a royal old sheet of water it is, with a width of nearly ten miles, and about three or four times as long. After about three hours on its bosom a great channel is opened east and west before us, on which the swells from the broad Pacific enter. This is Dixon Entrance, and the boundary between British Columbia and Alaska beyond, whose blue mountains we see in the distance. The islands still continue; and the number, in this part of Alaska alone, has been estimated at eleven hundred, and this, too, excludes the rocks and islets. Clarence Strait is the main channel as soon as Alaskan waters are entered; but there are others on both sides of it which may be taken. It is a little over a hundred miles long, and somewhat variable in its width. It was named by Vancouver, nearly a hundred years ago, after the Duke of Clarence. From Clarence Strait we enter Stickeen Strait; for most of the steamers call at Wrangell, and this bends us off of our course.
Wrangell is a tumble-down, dilapidated-looking town, in a most beautifully picturesque situation, and the first impression is to make one ashamed of the displays of the human race compared with those of nature. It is the port to the Cassiar mines; or, better speaking, it was, for they have seen their palmiest days, a fact which is quite evident on looking at their dependency, the town of Wrangell. TheCassiar mines are in British Columbia, and to reach them the Stickeen river, emptying near Wrangell, must be ascended, itself a most picturesque stream, and one well worth visiting if the tourist can catch one of the little boats that yet occasionally depart from Wrangell to ascend the rushing, impetuous river. Says one writer of it, in the PhiladelphiaDispatch: “The Stickeen is navigable for small steamers to Glenora, one hundred and fifty miles, flowing first in a general westerly direction, through grassy, undulating plains, darkened here and there with patches of evergreens; then, curving southward, and receiving numerous tributaries from the north, it enters the Coast Range, and sweeps across it to the sea through a Yosemite valley more than a hundred miles long, and one to three miles wide at the bottom, and from five thousand to eight thousand feet deep, marvelously beautiful and inspiring from end to end. To the appreciative tourist, sailing up the river through the midst of it all, the cañon, for a distance of one hundred and ten miles, is a gallery of sublime pictures,—an unbroken series of majestic mountains, glaciers, falls, cascades, forests, groves, flowery garden spots, grassy meadows in endless variety of form and composition,—furniture enough for a dozen Yosemites! while, back of the walls, and thousands of feet above them, innumerable peaks and spires and domes of ice and snow tower grandly into the sky. About fifteen miles above the mouth of the river you come to the first of the great glaciers, pouring down through the forest in a shattered ice-cascade nearly to the level of the river. Twelve miles above this point a noble view is opened along the Skoot river cañon—a group of glacier-laden Alps, from ten thousand to twelve thousand feet high. Thirty-five miles above the mouth of the river the most striking object of all comes in sight; this is the lower expansion of the great glacier, measuring about six miles around the ‘snout,’ pushed boldly forward into the middle of the valley among the trees, while its sources are mostly hidden. It takes its rise in the heart of the range, some thirty or forty miles away. Compared with this, the Swissmer de glaceis a small thing. It is called the ‘Ice Mountain.’ The front of the snout is three hundred feet high, but rises rapidly back for a few miles to a height of about one thousand feet. Seen through gaps in the trees growing on one of its terminal moraines, as one sails slowly along against the current, the marvelous beauty of the chasms and clustered pinnacles shows to fine advantage in the sunshine.”
Wrangell's log-cabin backwoods stores are good places to search for Indian relics, the Stickeen Indians living in the vicinity being the most prolific in the manufacture of these savage curios. Leaving Wrangell, a westward-trending strait (Sumner Strait, after Senator Sumner) of forty or fifty miles carries us directly out to the Pacific Ocean; but an hour's run finds us turning into another passage,—Chatham Strait,—one of the largest of the almost innumerable channels of the inland passage, and which points squarely to the north. It is nearly one hundred and fifty miles long, and about five or six miles wide. It was named by Vancouver, about the end of last century, after the then Earl of Chatham, and is a most noble sheet of water.
Formerly the pilots used to go around Cape Ommaney, and put out to seain order to reach Sitka, although there was a channel leading from Chatham Strait thereto which saved the roughness of a sea voyage. It was shunned, however, by most of them, and, in getting the ominous name of Peril Strait, certain supposed dangers were thought to be lurking in it. Captain Carroll, who has spent half an ordinary lifetime in these waters, and done much toward practically determining their navigability, found that most of the peril was in the name,—at least to ships under his management,—and Peril Straits[A]are used nearly altogether now, making Sitka, though facing the Pacific Ocean, practically on the inland passage.
Just before entering Peril Straits,—by the way, one of the most charming of the many channels described,—we stop at a little place ensconced in a narrow inlet of Chatham Strait, called Killisnoo. At Killisnoo the Northwest Trading Company, of Portland, Oregon, have erected quite extensive works for the capture and curing of cod-fish, which has made this something of a port, at least for Alaska. There is also a phosphate factory here, where phosphates are made from herring, after the oil is extracted. This company formerly caught whales in this strait; but I understand the enterprise has been partially, or wholly, given up as not paying; or, at least, in proportion to the new enterprises they have more recently opened. Around this part of Admiralty Island are the Kootznahoo Indians, who have been quite a warlike band of savages in the past, but have been quite mollified by an incident in their troubles, which I will give in the language of a correspondent to the New YorkTimes, of November 23, 1884:
“The Kootznahoo village, near the fishing station of Killisnoo, was the scene of the latest naval battle and bombardment on the coast, two years ago. A medicine man of the tribe who went out in a whale-boat was killed by the explosion of a bomb harpoon, and the Indians demanded money or a life as an equivalent for their loss. The Killisnoo traders did not respect this Indian law of atonement, and the Indians seized a white man for hostage. Finding that the hostage had only one eye, they declared himcultus(bad), and sent word that they must have a whole and sound man, or his equivalent in blankets, to make up for their lost medicine man. They threatened the massacre of the settlement, and word was sent to Sitka for help. Captain Merriman, United States navy, went over with the revenue cutter ‘Corwin’ and the steamer ‘Favorite,’ and made a counter demand for blankets as a guarantee for their future peace and quiet. Failing to respond, he carried out his threat of shelling their village, the Indians having improved their hours of delay by removing their canoes, valuables and provisions. Most of the houses were destroyed, and the humbled Indians came to terms, and have been the most penitent and reliable friends of the whites ever since. They have built their houses now around the Killisnoo settlement; and, although Captain Merriman left the Territory some time ago, they all speak of him as the best oftyees, and the settlers say that the naval battle of Killisnoo has made life and property more secure throughout the Territory.”
see captionAN ALASKA INDIAN HOUSE WITH TOTEM POLES.
AN ALASKA INDIAN HOUSE WITH TOTEM POLES.
At present the inland passage in the Territory and British Columbia isas safe from Indians as Broadway, in New York City, or State street, Chicago. In no place in the world of which I know, or have ever heard, are the facilities for studying Indian life so good for those who only spend a tourist's jaunt among them. Many people along the far Western railroads will remember seeing here and there a dirty group of assorted Indians, begging for alms, and taking full advantage of all the silver-plated sympathy showered upon them in that metal; for they were parts of the curious scenes to behold. Generally they were a slim delegation from some far-away agency, and a person living in Washington, where the Indian chiefs occasionally visit in their full regalia, would have a better chance to see typical Indians than the tourist, unless he left the road and visited their agencies, a journey of toil and trouble, and less welcome if the agent be a stranger. Alaska is widely different. From its mountainous, Alpine nature, living inland is out of the question; and the Indians seek the few narrow beaches and low points scattered here and there through the inland passage as the places whereon to build their little villages, and these are in as full view to the passing steamer as New York and Brooklyn are to a boat going up or down the East river channel. At rarer intervals more extensive plats of level or rolling land have been found; and at some of these, in proximity to certain places where business pursuits are carried on, white men have erected their little towns; and around these, again, the Indians have clustered their curious cabins in the most friendly way, giving the greatest access to tourists during even the short time that vessels stop at the ports to load and unload their freight. At Wrangell, Sitka, Pyramid Harbor, etc., are to be seen villages of Stickeens, Sitkas, Chilkats, Kootznahoos, etc., in close juxtaposition. In thePolaris, of Portland, Oregon, under date of November 19, 1881, I find the following description of the old Stickeen village, just below Wrangell, from the pen of the Rev. Dr. Lindsley, a well-known divine and missionary of the Northwest:
“The next day we went to the site of the old Stickeen town. It was a beautiful situation, looking out upon the sea, sheltered and with sunny exposure. In the bay were several islands. One of them was kept sacred as a burial place. The tombs were visible at a distance. These were strong boxes raised above the ground for protection, built in the shape of houses, sometimes painted, and within which the remains are deposited. We could not but admire the rude taste, as well as the sentiments which were thus conveyed. The buildings were falling into decay; but enough remained to impress us with the fact that their mechanical skill was of no recent origin. The Stickeens have occupied the site for generations past; and here were immense wooden houses thatmight have been standing a century ago, judging from the condition of the wooden buildings which I had examined on the Atlantic coast, and which are known to have been erected before the Revolutionary War. Those buildings were frail; these, built of massive timbers and posts of from two to three feet in diameter, some round, and others squared. The planks for the floors were several inches thick. The mortise and tenon work in the frames joined with accuracy, and other mechanical contrivances appeared in these structures. All were large, and some immense. I measured one house sixty by eighty feet.
see captionT'LINKET BASKET WORK.(Made by the Indians of the Inland Passage.)
T'LINKET BASKET WORK.(Made by the Indians of the Inland Passage.)
“The domestic life is patriarchal, several families being gathered under one roof. Genealogies were kept for ages, and honors and distinctions made hereditary. To mark these, insignia, like a coat-of-arms, were adopted, and in rude carvings they strove to represent them. I could decipher, also, the paintings that once figured these upon the posts and sides of houses. The eagle, the whale, the bear and the otter, and other animals of sea and land, were the favorites, ofttimes coupled with a warrior in the attitude of triumph. Gigantic representations of these family emblems were erected near the house, on posts, twenty to thirty feet high, covered with carvings of animals, and the devices stained with permanent pigments of black, red and blue. [See illustration on page66, which is the front of a chief's house at Kaigan village.] Imaginary creatures resembling griffins or dragons, and reminding you of the mammoth animals that flourished in a distant geological period, were carved on the posts or pictured on the walls. Raised figures resembling hieroglyphics and Asiatic alphabets were carved on the inside wall. Some of the posts containing the family coat-of-arms, thus highly carved and decorated according to the native taste, were used as receptacles forthe remains of the dead, gathered up after cremation. Great sacredness was attached to them. To injure one was to insult the family to which it belonged; to cut one down was an unpardonable offense.
“The description which I have now given will answer, with some unimportant differences, for the native houses as they are found elsewhere.”
Of the readiness of these Indians to give exhibitions of their savage manners and customs for their visitors,—and which one will seldom see elsewhere, and never with so little trouble and effort on the spectator's part,—Dr. Lindsley says: “By previous invitation, the missionaries and their guests assembled at the house of Tow-ah-att, atyee, or chief of the Stickeen tribe. An exhibition of manners and customs had been prepared for us, to show us what Indian life had been. * * * The insignia on Tow-ah-att's house were the eagle and wolf, marking the union of two families. A brief address of welcome introduced the entertainment. Among the customs shown to us by the dramatic representation, were a warrior with blackened face, with spear and helmet, and with belt containing a two-edged knife, or dagger; a chief in full dress made of skins and a robe made of the wool of a mountain sheep. [For this robe see the illustration on page81.] Each of these presented an imposing appearance. After these, masks and effigies appeared; next, apotlatchdance, in which a large number of the natives of both sexes engaged. This was followed by dances which were used only upon notable occasions which might be called sacred or religious. These dances and the chants were regarded by the natives with a species of veneration. We were struck with the comparative excellence of the singing which accompanied these dances, displaying a considerable amount of culture. Evidently much practice had been bestowed upon the art, as the large number, young and old, who engaged in them, observed the musical rests and parts with great precision. A large number of whites and Indians were present at this entertainment, and the house was not crowded. Our entertainers observed some formalities which could do no discredit to the most enlightened assemblies. After an address of welcome, and short speeches from visitors, one of the chiefs, Tow-ah-att, delivered a formal discourse.”
Mr. Ivan Petroff, a Russian, of Alaska, who was deputized by the Superintendent of the United States Census of 1880 to collect statistics for his report regarding Alaska Territory, finds the following interesting items regarding the Indian tribes which the tourist will encounter in his trip to Southeastern Alaska:
“The outward characteristics of the T'linkit tribe may be enumerated as follows: The coarse, stiff, coal-black hair, dark eyebrows, but faintly delineated over the large black eyes full of expression; protruding cheek bones; thick, full lips (the under lips of the women disfigured by the custom of inserting round or oval pieces of wood or bone), and the septum of the men pierced for the purpose of inserting ornaments; beautiful white teeth; ears pierced not only in the lobes, but allaround the rim. To these may be added the dark color of the skin, a medium stature, and a proud, erect bearing (this only applies to the men). The hands of the women are very small, and large feet are rarely met with.
“Before their acquaintance with the Russians, the only clothing of the T'linkits consisted of skins sewed together, which they threw around their naked bodies without regard to custom or fashion. In addition to this, they wore, on festive occasions, blankets woven out of the fleeces of mountain goats. From time immemorial they have possessed the art of dyeing this material black and yellow by means of charcoal and a kind of moss calledsekhone. The patterns of these blankets, wrought in colors, exhibit an astonishing degree of skill and industry; the hat, plaited of roots, is also ornamented with figures and representations of animals.
“Both men and women paint their faces black and red with charcoal or soot, and vermilion (cinnabar), which are their favorite colors. They are mixed with seal oil, and rubbed well into the cuticle; subsequently, figures and patterns are scratched upon this surface with sticks of wood. The wealthy T'linkits paint their faces every day, while the plebeians indulge in this luxury only occasionally. As a rule, the T'linkits of both sexes go barefooted.
“The men pierce the partition of the nose, the operation being performed in early childhood, frequently within a few weeks after birth. In the aperture thus made a silver ring is sometimes inserted large enough to cover the mouth; but the poorer individuals insert other articles, such as feathers, etc. They also pierce the lobes of the ear for the purpose of inserting shark's teeth, shells, and other ornaments, while through the holes around the rim of the ear they draw bits of red worsted or small feathers. Veniaminoff states that each hole in the ear was pierced in memory of some event or deed.
“The ornamentation of the under lip of a female (now almost obsolete) marked an epoch in her life. As long as she remained single she wore this; but, as soon as she was married, a larger piece of wood or bone was pressed into the opening, and annually replaced by a still larger one, the inner side being hollowed out. It was, of course, impossible for these individuals to close their mouths, the under lip protruding, distended by the disk of wood or bone.
“Veniaminoff states that among the T'linkits the married women are permitted to have what are called ‘assistant husbands,’ who are maintained by the wives. Among the T'linkits the office of vice-husband can only be filled by a brother or near relative of the husband.
“The T'linkits burn their dead upon funeral pyres, with the exception of the bodies of shamans, or sorcerers, which are deposited in boxes elevated on posts. The dead slave is not considered worthy of any ceremony whatever; his corpse is thrown into the sea like the carcass of a dog. When a T'linkit dies his relatives prepare a great feast, inviting a multitude of guests, especially if the deceased has been a chief or a wealthy member of a clan. The guests are chosen only from a strange clan; for instance, if the deceased belonged to the Raven clan, the guests must be from the Wolf clan, andvice versa. No certain time is set for the cremation or for the festivities; this dependsaltogether upon the magnitude of the preparations. Poor people who are unable to defray the cost of such ceremonies, take their dead to some distant cove or bay, and burn them without any display. When the guests have assembled and the pyre has been erected, the corpse is carried out of the village by invited guests, and placed upon the fagots. The pyre is then ignited in the presence of the relatives; but these latter take no active part, confining themselves to crying, weeping and howling. On such occasions many burn their hair, placing the head in the flames; others cut the hair short, and smear the face with the ashes of the deceased. When the cremation of the body has been accomplished, the guests return to the dwelling of the deceased, and seat themselves with the widow, who belongs to their clan, around the walls of the hut; the relatives of the deceased then appear with hair burned and cropped, faces blackened and disfigured, and place themselves within the circle of guests, sadly leaning upon sticks with bowed heads, and then begin their funeral dirges with weeping and howling. The guests take up the song when the relatives are exhausted, and thus the howling is kept up for four nights in succession, with only a brief interruption for refreshment. During this period of mourning, if the deceased had been a chief, or wealthy, the relatives formerly killed one or two slaves, according to the rank of the dead, in order to give him service in the other world. At the end of the period of mourning, or on the fourth day following the cremation, the relatives wash their blackened faces and paint them with gay colors, at the same time making presents to all the guests, chiefly to those who assisted in burning the corpse. Then the guests are feasted again, and the ceremony is at an end. The heir of the deceased is his sister's son, or, if he has no such relative, a younger brother. The heir was compelled to marry the widow.”
While I was at Chilkat the chief of the Crow clan was cremated with most savage ceremonials, no doubt well worth seeing, to which I was invited; but my preparations for my expedition kept me from accepting the invitation.
see captionSITKA,ALASKA.
SITKA,ALASKA.
Leaving Killisnoo, we cross Chatham Strait almost at right angles to itscourse (or due west), here about ten miles wide, and enter Peril Straits, about thirty-five miles long. They sweep boldly to the north in a great arc, and, like all winding and rapidly and alternately widening and narrowing of the inland channels, they are extremely picturesque, more from the contrast of different scenes so swiftly changed before one's eyes, than from anything radically new so presented. The old Russian name for them was Paboogni (meaning “pernicious”) Strait, and they got this title rather from an incident of appetite than bad navigation. In the latter part of last century the Russians used to import the poor Aleuts of the Aleutian Islands, far to the westward, as mercenaries to fight their battles for them against the T'linkit Indians of this region; and, while encamped here, they partook of a large number of mussels, which proved poisonous, killing some, and putting many on the sick list for that particular campaign. In some of the very contracted places the tides run with great velocity; but, by taking advantage of the proper times (which the nearness of Killisnoo on one side and Sitka on the other makes easy) and a more thorough knowledge of the few impediments, the dangers to navigation here are now aboutnil. Once through Peril Straits, we can look out on the Pacific Ocean through Salisbury Sound for a few minutes before turning southward through a series of short straits and channels “too numerous to mention;” and then, after twenty to twenty-five miles of sailing, we come to Sitka, the capital of the Territory. It is most picturesquely located at the head of Sitka Sound, through which, looking in a southwest direction, the Pacific Ocean is plainly visible. Looking in this way, its bay seems full of pretty little islets, sprinkled all over it, that are almost invisible as seen from the ocean when approaching, so densely are they covered with timber, and so exactly like the timbered hills of the mainland, against which they are thrown. The steamer, after winding its way through a tortuous channel, finally brings to at a commodious wharf, with the city before you, which is in strange contrast with the wild, rugged scenery through which the tourist has been sailing. To our left, as we pass on to the wharf, is the Indian village of the Sitkas, one of the largest among the islands of the inland passage. To our front and right stretch the white settlements of the town. At the large Indian village, which is near—or, really, part of—Sitka, there are estimated to gather fully a thousand Indians in the winter time, the summer finding them partially dispersed over a greater area to gain their sustenance. These houses are like those described as being near Wrangell. In one way they have somewhat patterned after white men, in partitioning off the ends and sides of these large rooms into sleeping apartments by canvas and cloth drapery. It is said that the most fiendish ceremonies and diabolical cruelties were practiced at their “house-warmings,” so to speak. Before the white men put a stop to these ceremonies, a slave was killed, with the greatest cruelties, under each of the corner uprights; and, as a house could not have less than four of these, and sometimes had more, by its irregularities, one may contemplate the suffering with which a large village like that at Sitka has been baptized.
In the town proper the Greek Church is the most conspicuous and interesting object to the tourist, and especially those who have never seen one of this religion. It is built in the form of a Greek cross, in plan, and is surmounted by an Oriental dome over the centre, which has been painted an emerald green color. One wing is used as a chapel, and contains, besides a curious font, an exquisite painting of the Virgin and Child, copied from the celebrated picture at Moscow. All the drapery is of silver, and the halo of gold; so, of the painting itself, nothing is seen but the faces and background. The chancel, which is raised above the body of the church, is approached by three broad steps leading to four doors, two of which are handsomely carved and richly gilded, and contain four oval and two squarebas reliefs. Above is a large picture of the Last Supper, covered, like that of the Madonna, with silver, as are two others, one on each side of the altar. Across the threshold of these doors no woman may set her foot, and across the inner ones to theinnermost sanctuary none but the priest himself, or his superiors in the general Greek Church, or the white Czar, can enter. The doors, however, usually stand open; and the priest in residence, Father Metropaulski, is exceedingly courteous to visitors, showing them the costly and magnificent vestments and the bishop's crown, almost covered with pearls and amethysts. The ornaments and the candelabra are all of silver, the walls are hung with portraits of princes and prelates, and the general effect is rich in the extreme.
Next to the church in interest—with some visitors, probably, ranking before it—is the old Muscovite castle on the hill. Here, in days gone by, the stern Romanoff ruled this land, and Baron Wrangell, one of Russia's many celebrated Polar explorers, held sway. It is said that it has been twice destroyed, once by fire and then by an earthquake, but was again erected with such staunch belongings that it will probably stand for ages much as it is to-day. It is now used as an office for United States Government officials, and it has a ball-room and theatre, with the same old brass chandeliers and huge bronze hinges that adorned it in its glory. The whole building has a semi-deserted and melancholy appearance; but it is of exceeding interest, speaking to us as it does of a grander history, when Sitka was the metropolis of the Pacific coast of North America, and it was the centre from which such power emanated. To sentimental tourists I will relate a tradition that has been published concerning the stern old castle; and, whether it fits the truth or not, it fits the sombre surroundings of the ancient pile. It runs, that, when Baron Romanoff was governor, he had living with him an orphan niece and ward, who, like all orphan nieces in feudal castles, especially those who figure in tradition, was very beautiful. But, when the baron commanded her to marry a beautiful prince, who was a guest at the castle, she refused, having given her heart to a handsome young lieutenant of the household. The old baron, who, like the rest of his race in traditional accounts, was an accomplished diplomate, feigning an interest in the young lieutenant which he did not feel, sent him away on a short expedition, and in the mean time hurried on the preparations for the marriage of the unhappy girl to the prince. Deprived of the support of her lover's counsels and presence, she yielded to the threats of her uncle, and the ceremony was solemnized. Half an hour after the marriage, while the rejoicing and the gayety were at their height, the young lieutenant strode into the ball-room, his travel-stained dress and haggard appearance contrasting strangely with the glittering costumes and gay faces of the revelers; and, during the silence which followed his ominous appearance, he stepped up to the hapless girl, and took her hand. After gazing for a few moments on the ring the prince had placed there, he, without a word, and before any one could interfere, drew a dagger from his belt, and stabbed her to the heart. In the wild confusion that followed, he escaped from the castle; and, overcome with grief, unable to live without the one he so fondly loved, yet ruthlessly murdered, he threw himself into the sea. And now her spirit is seen on the anniversary of her wedding night, her slender form robed in heavy silk brocade, pressing her hands on the wound in her heart, the tears streaming from her eyes. Sometimes, before a severe storm, she makes her appearance in the little tower at the top of the building once used as a lighthouse. There she burns a light until dawn for the spirit of her lover at sea.
see captionCHANCEL OF THE GREEK CHURCH, SITKA.
CHANCEL OF THE GREEK CHURCH, SITKA.
Almost directly west from Sitka, about fifteen miles distant, is MountEdgecumbe, so named by Cook, it having previously been called Mount San Jacinto by Bodega in 1775, and Mount St. Hyacinth again by La Perouse. Tchirikov, before all others, I believe, got it chronicled as Mount St. Lazarus; and it looked as if it would go through the whole calendar of the saints, and their different national changes, if it had not gotten pretty firmly rooted as Mount Edgecumbe. It is nearly 3,000 feet above the level of the sea, and looks like a peak of 5,000 feet cut off by a huge shaving plane at its present height. This truncated apex is a crater, said to be, by those who have visited it, some 2,000 feet in diameter by one-tenth as deep. In the early and middle summer time, the snow from its table-like crown has partially disappeared, and the bright red volcanic rock projects in radiating ridges from the white covering that is disappearing, making a most beautiful crest to a mountain already picturesque by its singular isolation. When in this condition, with the western setting sun directly over it, and its golden beams radiating upward, and the royal red ridges radiating downward, both thrown against their background of blue sky and water and white snow, it makes a superb picture that the brush of a Turner could hardly copy, let alone a feeble pen describe.
Lieutenant C. E. S. Wood, who visited this portion of Alaska in 1877, and gave a graphic description of his travels in theCentury Magazineof July, 1882, gives therein the following interesting Indian legend concerning Mount Edgecumbe:
“One drowsy eve we saw the peak of Edgecumbe for the last time. The great truncated cone caught the hues of the sunset, and we could note the gloom gathering deeper and deeper in the hollow of the crater. Our Indians were stolidly smoking the tobacco we had given them, and were resting after the labors of the day with bovine contentment. Tah-ah-nah-kléck related to us the T'linkit legend of Edgecumbe.
“A long time ago the earth sank beneath the water, and the water rose and covered the highest places, so that no man could live. It rained so hard that it was as if the sea fell from the sky. All was black, and it became so dark, that no man knew another. Then a few people ran here and there and made a raft of cedar logs; but nothing could stand against the white waves, and the raft was broken in two.
“On one part floated the ancestors of the T'linkits; on the other, the parents of all other nations. The waters tore them apart, and they never saw each other again. Now their children are all different, and do not understand each other. In the black tempest, Chethl was torn from his sister Ah-gish-áhn-ahkon [The-woman-who-supports-the-earth], Chethl [symbolized in the osprey] called aloud to her, ‘You will never see me again; but you will hear my voice forever!’ Then he became an enormous bird, and flew to southwest, till no eye could follow him. Ah-gish-áhn-ahkon climbed above the waters, and reached the summit ofEdgecumbe. The mountain opened, and received her into the bosom of the earth. That hole [the crater] is where she went down. Ever since that time she has held the earth above the water. The earth is shaped like the back of a turtle, and rests on a pillar; Ah-gish-áhn-ahkon holds the pillar. Evil spirits that wish to destroy mankind seek to overthrow her and drive her away. The terrible battles are long and fierce in the lower darkness. Often the pillar rocks and sways in the struggle, and the earth trembles and seems like to fall; but Ah-gish-áhn-ahkon is good and strong, so the earth is safe. Chethl lives in the bird Kunna-Káht-eth; his nest is in the top of the mountain, in the hole through which his sister disappeared.
“He carries whales in his claws to this eyrie, and there devours them. He swoops from his hiding-place, and rides on the edge of the coming storm. The roaring of the tempest is his voice calling to his sister. He claps his wings in the peals of thunder, and its rumbling is the rustling of his pinions. The lightning is the flashing of his eyes.”
Looking inland are the glacier-clad summits of the interior mountains, Vostovia predominating, where few people, even among the Indians of the country, have ever been. Taking all its surroundings, it may be well said, as has been written, that Sitka Bay rivals in scenic beauty its nearest counterpart, the far-famed Bay of Naples. Near Sitka comes in a beautiful mountain stream called the Indian river. A most picturesque road leads out to this rambling brook, and a less frequented trail winds up its valley; but, if the steamer stops long enough to warrant the tramp, no one should fail to stroll along its two or three miles of winding way, embowered in absolutely tropical foliage, so dense and deep is it. It is the only road worthy of the name in Alaska; and, if one wends his way through it, and then combines his information acquired thereby with a view of the Alpine country of this part of the Territory, he will plainly comprehend why there are no more roads than this particular one, and feel willing to give full credit to its makers. It is near the half-way point of the journey, also; and this warrants a little inshore exercise that can be had at no other stopping place so well.
About ten or eleven miles south of Sitka, on the mainland, but protected seaward by a breakwater of (Necker) islands, is Hot Springs Bay, on whose shores are springs which give it its name. About six or seven years before we obtained the Territory, the Russian American Fur Company, whose headquarters were at Sitka (since Baron Wrangell established them there in 1832), built a hospital at Hot Springs, which was said to have had wonderful remedial powers in skin and rheumatic diseases; but, for some reasons, the place has been abandoned (probably the lack of government by the United States), and the buildings are reported to be in a state of decay. The Indians used the waters for illness, and thus called the attention of the Russians thereto. The temperature of the water is from 120 to 125 degrees, and it contains a number of elements held in solution, as sulphur, chlorine, manganese, sodium and iron, besides combinations of these, and with other elements. It is worth a visit to see these hot springs, with the thermometer soaring up above the hundreds; for, in a day or two, by way of strange contrast, you will be among glaciers and icebergs towering as far in feet above your head.