Man travels for business and pleasure. The former can be easily
described, by a slight interpolation in a well-known mathematical
definition, as "the shortest distance and quickest time between two
points." The latter bears to this mathematical rectilinear exactness the
relation of the curves,--Hogarth's "line of beauty," the rotund circle
and graceful sweep of the Archimedean spiral, and bends of beauty beyond
computation; and, as any of these are more pleasing to the eye than the
stiff straight line, so any tourist's jaunt is more pleasing to all the
senses than the business man's travels. But, as all straight lines are
alike, and all curves are different, so are their equivalents in travel,
to which we have alluded. One tourist, as a Nimrod, dons his hunting
shirt and high-topped boots, and, seeking the solemn recesses of the
Rockies, slays the grizzly and mountain lion, and thus has his "good
time;" another drives through the grand old gorges of the Yellowstone
Park, and the deep impressions left by a lofty nature are his ample
rewards; and yet again, where physical exertion is to be avoided by
delicate ones or those averse to its peculiarities, one may float down
the distant Columbia, with its colossal contours, and, without even
lifting a finger to aid one's progress, view as vast and stupendous
scenery as the world can produce. Thus each place suits each varying
disposition, from the most roystering "roughing it," developing the
muscles in mighty knots, to where the most ponderous panorama of nature
may be enjoyed from a moving mansion, as it were. Could we conceive a
place where all these advantages would be united into one, or where one
after the other might be indulged at pleasure, we would certainly have a
tourists' paradise, an ever-to-be-sought and never-to-be-forgotten nook
of creation. Such a tour is to be encountered on "the inland passage to
Alaska," as it is called by those knowing it best.
In this rough, rocky region, Nature has been prodigal of both land and
water,--making the former high and picturesque, and the latter deep and
navigable, and running in all directions through the other, apparently
for the purpose that it might be easily viewed. From the northwest
corner of Washington Territory, through all of the coast line of British
Columbia, and along Alaska's shores to the long-cast shadows of Mount
St. Elias, stretches for nearly two thousand miles a picturesque
panorama that seems as if the Yellowstone, the Yosemite, Colorado, and
Switzerland and the Alps, were passing in review before the spectator;
and, when the greatest northing is gained, Greenland and Norway have
added their glacier-crowned and iceberg-bearing vistas to the view. It
looks as if the Yellowstone National Park had sunk into the sea until
the valleys were waterways, and the feet of the high mountains had been
converted into shores. A grand salt-water river it is that stretches
from Puget Sound, itself a beautiful sheet of water, to our distant
colony of Alaska, a good round thousand miles, and whose waters are as
quiet as an Alpine lake, even though a fierce gale rage on the broad
Pacific outside.
Beyond the parallel of Sitka, though the grand scenery may be no more
imposing than that through which the tourist will have passed in coming
from Washington Territory, he will find some of the curiosities of
nature which are to be found only in the dreaded frigid zones,--icebergs
and glaciers. Before the waters of Northwestern Washington Territory are
out of sight, great patches of snow are to be seen on the highest of the
grand mountains bordering the inland passage. These little white
blotches in the northern gullies become larger and larger as the
excursion steamer wends her way northward, until the loftiest peaks are
crowned with snow. Then, across connecting ridges, they join their white
mantles; and, in a few more miles, the blue ice of glaciers peeps from
out the lower edges of the deep snow. Lower and lower they descend as
the steamer crawls northward, until the upper parts of the passage are
essayed, when they have come to the ocean's level, and, plunging into
the sea, snap off at intervals, and float away as icebergs, some of them
higher than the masts of the large, commodious steamers that bear
tourists to this fairy-land of the frigid zones, if one can be allowed
such an expression. Glacier Bay, which the excursion steamers visit on
their summer trips, has a great number of these frozen rivers of ice
debouching into it; and its clear, quiet waters, reflecting the Alpine
scenery of its shores, are ruffled only by the breaking of the icebergs
from the terminal fronts of the glacier, that send waves across its
whole breadth, and with a noise like the firing of a sea-coast cannon.
Muir Glacier is the greatest of this grand group, and surpasses anything
nearer than the polar zones themselves. There is no use in going into
mathematical measurements,--its two and three hundred feet in height and
its breadth of several miles; for they but feebly represent its
grandeur, the deep impressions that figures can not measure when viewing
this frozen Niagara of the North. Not until the blue Adriatic has
pierced its way into the heart of the high Alps, or some ocean inlet has
invaded the valleys of the vast Yellowstone Park, will we ever have an
equivalent to this display of Nature's noblest efforts in scenic
effects. Were the other scenery as monotonous as the ceaseless plains, a
visit to the Alaskan glaciers and icebergs would well repay any one's
time and effort; but, when the tourist travels through the greatest
Wonderland of the wide West to reach these curious sights, he or she
will be paid over and over tenfold.
So far everything may be seen from the decks of an elegant steamer; but,
should the tourist want a little "roughing it," let him stop over in
Glacier Bay, from one steamer's visit to another, two weeks to a month
apart, and clamber over the glaciers and row around among the icebergs
to his heart's content, and until he almost imagines he is an arctic
explorer. He will descend from the tumbled surface of the frozen seas of
ice on the glacier's surface, only to wade through grass up to his
waist, that waves in the light winds like the pretty pampas fields of
South America. In these fields of grasses he may pitch his tent, which,
with a cook stove and a month's rations for each person, is all that is
needed, beyond the baggage of the other tourists. Hunting is found in
the mountains back of the bay, fish in the waters, and small game in the
woods near by.
Or, if longer and rougher jaunts are wanted, ascend the Lynn Channel,
and then the Chilkat, or Chilkoot, Inlet, hiring two or three Indians to
carry one's camping effects on their backs to the lakes at the source of
the great Yukon river of the British Northwest Territory and
Alaska,--the third river of America. Going by the Chilkoot trail, over
the Alaskan coast range of mountains, which will furnish Alpine climbing
enough to suit the most eager, on snow and glacier ice, one comes to a
series of lakes aggregating 150 miles in extent; and along these he may
paddle and return, shooting an occasional brown or black bear, moose,
caribou or mountain goat, while aquatic life is everywhere on these
pretty Alpine lakes.
Throughout the whole inland passage, one is passing now and then some
Indian village, of more or less imposing appearance and numbers. In
Alaska they all belong to a single great tribe, the T'linkit, bound
together by a common language, but by no stronger ties, for each
village, or cluster of villages, makes a sub-tribe, having no sympathies
with the other, and they often war against one another.
It is not often that one would want to call a tourist's attention to an
Indian village, for the average encampment or habitation of the "noble
red man" is not the most attractive sight or study; but, in the T'linkit
towns, we have no such hesitation, for, in the curiosities to be seen in
their houses and surroundings, they are certainly one of the strangest
people on earth. They are the artistic savages of the world. In front of
each log house, and often rearing its head much higher than it by two or
three fold, are one or two posts, called "totem poles," which are merely
logs on end; but, on the seaward face, the savage sculptor has exhausted
all the resources of his barbaric imagination in cutting in hideous
faces and figures, that, with a hundred or so such terrible "totems" in
front of a village, makes one think of some nightmare of his childish
days. The houses, too, are carved inside and out. Every utensil they
have is sculptured deep with diabolical but well executed designs, and
their spoons of mountain sheep and goat horn are marvels of savage work.
All these are for sale to tourists, and every excursion steamer brings
numbers of these romantic remembrances of a yet more romantic journey
back to civilization.
But the inland passage to Alaska is not the only grand and picturesque
part of that great territory visited by the excursion steamers; for
beyond and as far as Mount St. Elias, they often sail to this the
greatest cluster of high mountains on the Western Continent,--Lituya
Peak, 10,000 feet high; and Fairweather and Crillon, a third taller;
then beyond, Cook and Vancouver cluster near sublime St. Elias, nearly
20,000 feet above the ocean that thunders at its base, and whose jagged
top may be seen a hundred and fifty miles to sea. How disappointing are
the Colorado peaks of 12,000 and 14,000 feet to one, for the simple
reason that they spring from a plain already 6,000 to 8,000 feet above
sea-level, and seem, as they are, but high hills on a high plateau. How
like pygmies they appear to Hood, Tacoma, Shasta, and others not so high
above the ocean base line, but whose nearly every foot above sea-level
is in mountain slope. How grand, then, must be hoary-headed St. Elias,
whose waist is the waters of the wide sea, and whose 20,000 feet above
sea-level springs from the Pacific Ocean, from whose calm waters we view
its majestic height.
But let us commence at the starting point of our journey, and take our
readers step by step over the whole route.
For many years the people of our great Northwest country, Oregon,
Washington and Idaho Territories, have spoken familiarly of "the Sound"
as one of their great geographical features,--in much the same way as
the people of Southern Connecticut or Long Island speak of "the
Sound,"--referring thereby to Puget Sound, that cuts deep into the
northwestern corner of Washington Territory. Many have visited it, and
sailed on its beautiful waters; beautiful enough in themselves or their
own immediate surroundings, but thrice grand and gorgeous in their
silver framing of snow-clad peaks and mountain ranges, surrounding them
on all sides. The long, narrow, picturesque sound, that looked not
unlike a Greenland fjord, or close-walled bay at the mouth of some grand
river,--one of those bays so slowly converging that a person can hardly
define where it ceases and the river commences,--was considered one of
the most beautiful and scenic places of the Northwest; and its people
delighted to show it to strangers, with its enhancing surroundings,
reaching from the prettily situated capital of the Territory, Olympia,
at the head of "the sound," to where the broad Juan de Fuca Strait leads
to the great Pacific Sea. Then Alaska was known only as Russian America,
when it was spoken of at all, so seldom was it heard, and seemed to be
as far away from the United States on that side of the continent, and as
little thought of, as Greenland or Iceland is to-day with our people of
the Atlantic coast. An occasional Hudson's Bay Company trading boat
steamed out of Victoria harbor, and disappeared northward, crawling
through a maze of intricate inland channels and Alpine-like waterways to
some distant and seemingly half-mythical trading post of that lonesome
land; but, as to anything definite as to where she was going, as little
was known by the people as if an arctic expedition was leaving the
harbor of New York or Boston, and not one hundredth of the _furor_ was
made about the departure, if, in fact, any notice was taken of it at
all. With the accession of Alaska, through the efforts of Secretary
Seward and Senator Sumner, the discovery of the Cassiar mines, in
British Columbia, but which must be reached through Alaska, and a few
other minor incentives, set many people to looking northward; they then
found that they could continue their trips on a long inland salt-water
river, of which the well-known Puget Sound was but a small part,--hardly
the equivalent of Narragansett Bay taken from Long Island Sound, or
Green Bay from Lake Michigan. Not that these were the first explorations
and discoveries of importance in the inland passage and its surrounding
woods and waters, by any manner of means. Cook and Clerke, as early as
1776; Dixon, from 1785 to 1788; Langsdorff, in 1803-8; La Perouse, in
1785-88; Lisianski, from 1803 to 1806; Meares, of the Royal navy, from
1788 to 1789; and especially Vancouver, from 1790 to 1795,--had all
peeped into this part of the country, and many of the explorations and
surveys were of the most extended nature; but, at about the time of
which I speak, the knowledge of the inland passage to the bulk of the
people, even in these parts so near to it, was nearly as musty as the
old volumes on the library shelves that gave the most information. In
fact, but little knowledge or interest was to be found regarding these
parts. Their history of development from that embryonic state where
everything told is regarded as bordering on the mythical, to where a
line of ocean steamers visits them with crowded passenger lists, is the
usual history of such developments.
The inland passage to Alaska may be said to practically extend from
Tacoma, in Washington Territory, at the head of Puget Sound, to Chilkat,
Alaska, at the head of Lynn Channel, a distance of nearly 1,100 miles,
where the tourist taking a sea voyage has high shores in close proximity
on either side of him, except a few places here and there, where a short
communication with the ocean outside is to be had. But this "inland
passage," so called, is not the only one leading between the points
named. It is, rather, a Broadway in New York City, a Pennsylvania avenue
in Washington, State street in Chicago,--i. e., the main way; but every
few miles a vessel could turn off down another passage as readily as a
pedestrian or vehicle could down a side street, and, continuing a short
way, return to the main thoroughfare again. Probably all the channels
and straits and sounds and inlets in this part of Alaska, British
Columbia and Washington Territory, susceptible of navigation by
fair-sized ocean and river steamers, and all of them connecting with
each other in a perfect network of waterways, would, if placed end to
end, reach from a quarter to a third of the way around the world. Many
of them are so illy charted--or not charted at all--that no craft of
value would trust herself to follow their courses, while some of the
smaller ways, but probably none the less picturesque, have yet to bear
the first white man on their bosom. The most picturesque of all the ways
through this intricacy of picturesque channels has been selected,
carefully surveyed, and experienced pilots conduct the vessels to and
from Alaska on its waters. The whole length of the passage is heavily
timbered with various kinds of pine, fir, hemlock, cedar and spruce.
Here and there avalanches from the mountain tops have swept through the
dense timber, like a sickle through so much grain; and, although in a
few years the growth is restored, yet the varying shades of green in the
old and new growth of trees, running in perpendicular stripes up the
steep hillsides, plainly show the ancient and recent devastations.
Prettily situated Indian villages dot the narrow, shelving shores at
rare intervals along the passage; and, when these nomads of the
Northwest are seen, which is not infrequent, the chances are more than
likely that it will be in a canoe, where they spend two-thirds of their
out-of-door life.
Says the "American Cyclopaedia," speaking of this interesting part of
Washington Territory, the southern part of the inland passage:
"Washington Territory possesses a great multitude of harbors, perhaps
more than any other country of equal extent on the globe. Puget Sound,
which has an average width of two miles, never less than one nor more
than four, and a depth never less than eight fathoms, runs 100 miles
inland in a southward direction from the Straits of Fuca; and Hood's
Canal, twelve miles further west, with half the width, runs in the same
general direction about 60 miles. These two great estuaries, or arms of
tidewater, have depth sufficient for the largest vessels, and numerous
bends and corners where the most perfect protection may be found against
the winds." Captain Wilkes, in the report of his famous exploring
expedition, writes of Puget Sound: "I venture nothing in saying there is
no country in the world that possesses waters equal to these." The Coast
Range and Cascade Range of mountains are plainly visible from the sound.
Near the Columbia river the Coast Range is not very high; but west of
Hood's Canal it rises, in abrupt, beetling ridges, 7,000 to 9,000 feet
high, called the Olympian Mountains, many of the peaks being
snow-crowned throughout the year. The Cascade Range fairly bristles with
snow-clad peaks from 8,000 to over 14,000 feet in height, and in every
direction, almost, may be seen the grandest Alpine scenery in the
distance.
Steaming northward through Puget Sound from Tacoma, with Seattle and
other towns upon our right, and Port Townsend, the port of entry to the
sound, upon our left, we come to Juan de Fuca Strait, which would lead
us to the Pacific Ocean were we to follow it out. It is the most
southern of all the waterways that connect the great sea with the
network of channels inside, and formerly was much used as a part of the
route to Alaska or Puget Sound from Portland, Oregon, or San Francisco,
California; the steamer putting out to sea for a day if from the former
port, and for four or five if from the latter, the passengers having all
the discomforts of a sea voyage for that time. Where Magellan sailed
over the Pacific Ocean it well deserved the name; but along the rough
northern coast the amount of stormy weather increases, and a voyage on
this part of the Pacific is not always calculated to impress one with
the appropriateness of the great ocean's name. The construction of the
Northern Pacific Railroad from the Columbia river to Puget Sound has
made these sea voyages unnecessary to reach a port on the inland
passage; and, unless a person's stomach is built on "nautical lines," so
that he really enjoys an ocean trip, he can save this discomfort by a
cut across lots on a railroad train. In fact, it must be kept in mind,
that, while the trip on the inland passage is an ocean voyage, equal to
one from New York City to Havana and return, it is, as far as
sea-sickness is concerned, as if the Hudson river was turned around in
the opposite direction, and we sailed on its waters from New York to
Havana and return; while the inland passage, in its southern part, is as
accessible by railroad travel, to the people of the United States and
Canada, as any point on the Hudson river. Therefore, broad Juan de Fuca
Strait, where the pulsations of the ocean's life outside are even felt
to its eastern end, in much diminished waves, however, carries fewer
persons than formerly, and especially of that reluctant class who look
uncomplainingly at the terrors of the sea, from the basis of dire
necessity.
Crossing this strait, which has led to so many controversies as to
whether the old Greek from whom it is named actually discovered this
beautiful body of water, or only made a lucky guess in publishing to the
world a mythical journey of his, we sight and bear down on the beautiful
British island of Vancouver, whose metropolis is Victoria, and alongside
of whose docks we shall soon be made fast.
Victoria, the city, was built on the site of old Fort Victoria, a Hudson
Bay Company trading post of that great British monopoly that held nearly
all British America under its control for two hundred years, and,
although broken as a monopoly, has yet an influence to assist or retard
the development of the country which is incalculable. The Fraser river
gold mine excitement in the '50's did much to build up Victoria, and
send it forward into the front rank of Pacific coast cities, a position
which she has held with varying fortunes, though now, in common with the
whole Northwest, once more on the ascending wave.
Cities, like individuals, have their "hobbies," although seldom so
prominently marked; and the municipal "hobby" of Victoria is her
splendidly constructed roads, leading through the town and far beyond
the suburbs, and in which she has no superior on the Pacific coast of
North America, and but few in the world. If the steamer remains long
enough in the harbor,--and during excursion times in the summer months
they always do,--a drive should be taken on the Victoria roads, and
especially the one leading to Esquimalt harbor and return, some two or
three miles in all. It is but one, however, of the many beautiful
drives; but it is only necessary to mention them in a general way for
any one who would desire to test them, so readily can all needed
information be found on the spot.
In quaint little smoke-stained and dingy-looking stores in
out-of-the-way nooks and corners of the streets are to be found the
Victorian curiosity shops, crowded with relics of the fast-disappearing
Indian tribes that once formed a much denser population in this part of
the country than at present. Pretty little mats and baskets are made
from the sea-grass, dyed with the juices from berries and other natural
dyes, and sold for the merest trifles. Curiously carved steatite houses,
in miniature imitation of the Indian dwellings, and "totem poles" made
by the Hydah or Haida Indians, are to be seen for sale. Sometimes they
carve plaques with spread-eagles and other fanciful designs upon them;
rude but serviceable mats from the inner bark of the cedar tree, and all
the known--and unknown--knick-knacks that can come from the barbaric
ingenuity of Indian art, and which would require a pamphlet larger than
the one in the reader's hands to chronicle half. This is the beginning
of such curious wares that will be temptingly displayed before the
tourist at every town and stopping place on the route, and from which
may be selected such mementoes of the journey as will please the
individual fancy.
Says a writer in the _Overland Monthly_, the _Century Magazine_ of the
Pacific coast: "Victoria, in a rock-bound and land-protected cove, is
the most attractive and the largest city on Vancouver's Island. During
the days of the Fraser river excitement, Victoria was a much more
energetic city than it is to-day. There were exciting times there then,
and, because of the great expectations which everybody indulged in, land
was bid up to an enormously high figure, and the town's prospects were
considered wonderfully brilliant. But the Fraser was a fraud,
comparatively, and its mines were quickly exhausted, so that Victoria
received a setback, from which it is only just recovering. It is a
picturesque town, thoroughly English, staid and conservative, and its
location is an enviable one. In the distance rise the blue-hued heights
of the Vancouver ranges, and nearer at hand lie the waters of Fuca
Straits; beyond which there can be seen the snowy peaks of the
Washington Territory mountains. Rounding the long point of land which
juts out into the sea to form Victoria harbor, the town lay all revealed
to us at last. In one direction were red painted shops set upon a high
bluff overlooking the bay, and eastward there were green fields and
trimly built cottages.
"'Coming ashore?' we were asked at length.
"'Not to-day,' the artist said.
"'Then, don't judge Victoria until you see the place,' came the word
from the dock.
"We promised, and said that when homeward bound we would make a call."
Returning, the narrator continues, "On the wharf at Victoria stood our
friend of a month ago.
"'Coming ashore?' he said, when he saw us.
"'Yes.'
"'Good, we can show you a pretty town. Disappointed in Alaska?'
"'No; it's the grandest country for scenery I--' began the artist.
"'Yes, yes, I know,' said our friend, interrupting him. 'Big glaciers,
fine sailing, curious sights, no sea-sickness. Same old story; hear it
every trip.'
"Victoria is picturesque in every detail," continues the narrator. "The
land faces a land-locked bay, and behind the place stretch dense
forests, through which roadways extend to the various suburbs. During
our stay the frosts of early fall began to color the leaves, and at
night the air grew sharp and chill. But still the air was clear, and
down in the harbor white-winged yachts still moved over the bluish
waters."
Vancouver Island, which forms the outlying barrier to, or seaward side
of, the inland passage from Juan de Fuca Strait to Queen Charlotte
Sound, is one of the largest islands in that vast archipelago which
forms the passage, and is the largest under British dominion. It was
called Quadra Island by the Spaniards, who held it by descent from
Mexico (then a Spanish colony) until the latter part of the eighteenth
century, when Vancouver, of the Royal navy, was sent from England to
receive its surrender from the Spanish; it having been ordered by the
home government at Madrid,--which he did from the Castilian governor,
Quadra. Vancouver called it Quadra and Vancouver's Island; but the
Spanish title has slowly disappeared under British rule. Vancouver
pushed his discoveries from here to Cook's Inlet during his two or three
years' cruise on this coast, and many of the names in the inland passage
and adjacent lands and waters are due to his explorations made nearly a
hundred years ago.
Leaving Victoria and its picturesque surroundings behind us, we swing in
a huge circle around the southeastern coast of Vancouver Island, until
we are pointed northward once more.
Strictly speaking, "the inland passage to Alaska, as defined by nautical
men, now begins, Puget Sound only belonging to it in a geographical
sense, but as similar thereto as 'peas in a pod.'" We shortly after pass
through a congerie of pretty islands, like the Thousand Islands of the
St Lawrence on a greatly magnified scale, when we come to the Gulf of
Georgia, one of the widest portions of the inland passage. The islands
we have left to the right (although it may change by the pilot not
taking the usual route, so many are they to choose from) are the San
Juan Islands, of far more importance than one would believe, looking at
the unpopulated shores; at least, they were so in 1856, when the United
States and Great Britain came very near coming to national blows about
their possession. The matter was finally left to arbitration in the
hands of the Emperor of Brazil, and then transferred to the present
Emperor of Germany, who awarded them to the United States. The British
troops then withdrew, a post of them having been on one end of the large
island, with an American post on the other.
As we steam through the Gulf of Georgia we leave the highest point
(Point Roberts) of the United States off to our right, in the distance,
on the forty-ninth parallel.
Some forty or fifty miles farther on, and we enter the first typical
waters of the inland passage,--Discovery Passage,--a narrow waterway
between high, mountainous banks; a great salt-water, river-like channel,
about a mile in breadth, and twenty-three and a half miles long by the
British Admiralty charts. A huge yellow bluff, projecting into the sea,
greets the eye as the passage is approached, and the great, wide channel
to the east is the one the tourist has selected as a matter of course
for the steamer to pursue; but she agreeably disappoints him, and enters
the narrow, picturesque way. This Discovery Passage is a Yankee "find,"
having first been entered by a Boston sloop, the "Washington," in 1789.
The broad right-hand passage could have been taken, as the land to our
right is an island (of which the yellow clay bluff is the southern
cape), called Valdez Island after an ancient mariner who visited this
part of the world in 1792, in the Spanish galleon "Mexicana." At first
one is slightly nonplused at the frequency of Spanish names in these
quarters; but, as the early history of the country is closely searched,
the conclusion is forced on one more and more that these old Castilian
navigators have not even got their dues, and, where their names once
formed an honorable majority, they have slowly disappeared before the
constant revisions of the geographers and hydrographers of another
people, who have since acquired possession. We will come to many such
changes of nomenclature on our interesting trip.
About two miles from the entrance to Discovery Passage we come to the
Indian Village of Yaculta, on Valdez Island. It is the first of many we
will see before we return to Victoria again, and, like most of them, it
is on one of the narrow, level places between the high hills and the
deep sea that happens here and there in this Alpine country; or its
inhabitants would have to live in the trees on the steep hillsides, or
in their canoes on the water. The large river coming in from the
Vancouver Island side, some five or six miles from the entrance to the
passage, is Campbell river, and is navigable for some distance inland by
boats and canoes.
About half way through Discovery Passage we come to the Seymour Narrows,
a contracted channel of the passage, about two miles long, and not much
over one-fourth the previous width, where the tides rush through with
the velocity of the swiftest rivers (said to be nine knots at
spring-tides), a current which is so strong that it is generally
calculated upon in departing from Victoria so as to reach this point
about slack water. In the narrows is a submerged rock, with the
pretty-sounding alliterative title of Ripple Rock, on which the United
States man-of-war "Saranac" was lost in the summer of 1875. Ripple Rock
is now so well marked that it is no longer dangerous to navigation.
Northward from the narrows the hills rise in bold gradients, making the
change quite noticeable, and more picturesque.
Chatham Point marks the northern entrance to Discovery Passage, and here
the 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.
[Illustration: SCENES IN THE INLAND PASSAGE.
From Schwatka's "Along Alaska's Great River," Cassell & Co. New York.
Publisher]
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. About
half 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 the _American Angler_ of 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 algae, 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 the
melting snow in the pockets of the mountains leaps down in dizzy
waterfalls from heights that are higher than the Yosemite. From the
canons 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--the _Salvelinus
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 family _Percidae_ is
regnant and supreme among the food fishes. The number of species and
varieties is remarkable. Here are the _Embiotocidae_, or _viviparous_
perch, 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 of
_Scorpaenidae_, all fine table fish, which are locally known as rock-cod,
groupers and snappers, but having no close relations at all to the
family of _Gadidae_. 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 the _Lutjanus
Blackfordi_ of 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,--the
_Micropterus_,--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 of
_Chiridae_, 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 Hudson
Bay 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. The
Cassiar 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
Philadelphia _Dispatch_: "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 canon, 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 canon--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 Swiss _mer de glace_ is 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 sea
in 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.
[A] The Russian name is Destruction or Pernicious Straits
(the reason for which appears further on), and, in its improper
translation to Peril Straits, many people supposed the name was
given on account of its dangerous navigation.
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 York _Times_, 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
him _cultus_ (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 of _tyees_, and the settlers say that the naval battle of Killisnoo
has made life and property more secure throughout the Territory."
[Illustration: AN ALASKA INDIAN HOUSE WITH TOTEM POLES.]
At present the inland passage in the Territory and British Columbia is
as 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 the
_Polaris_, 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 that
might 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.
[Illustration: 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
page 66, 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 for
the 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, a
_tyee_, 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 page 81.] Each of these
presented an imposing appearance. After these, masks and effigies
appeared; next, a _potlatch_ dance, 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 all
around 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 called _sekhone_. 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, and _vice versa_. No certain
time is set for the cremation or for the festivities; this depends
altogether 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."