savage ceremonials, no doubt well worth seeing, to which I was invited;
but my preparations for my expedition kept me from accepting the
invitation.
[Illustration: SITKA, ALASKA.]
Leaving Killisnoo, we cross Chatham Strait almost at right angles to its
course (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 about _nil_.
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 square _bas 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 the
innermost 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.
[Illustration: CHANCEL OF THE GREEK CHURCH, SITKA.]
Almost directly west from Sitka, about fifteen miles distant, is Mount
Edgecumbe, 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 the _Century Magazine_
of 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-kleck 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-ahn-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-ahn-ahkon climbed above the waters, and reached the summit of
Edgecumbe. 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-ahn-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-ahn-ahkon is good
and strong, so the earth is safe. Chethl lives in the bird
Kunna-Kaht-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.
[Illustration: ALASKA'S THOUSAND ISLANDS, AS SEEN FROM SITKA.]
The only way out of Sitka harbor, without putting to sea, is back
through Peril Straits again; and, passing back, one can hardly realize
that it is the same waterway, so radically different are the views
presented. In the harbor of Sitka is Japonskoi (Japanese) Island, which
may be identified by the captain's chart of the harbor, and which has a
curious history. Here, about eighty years ago, an old Japanese junk,
that had drifted across the sea on the Kuro-Siwo, or Japanese current,
was stranded, and the Russians kindly cared for the castaway sailors who
had survived the dreadful drift, and returned them to their country,
after an experience that is seldom equaled, even in the romantic
accounts of maritime misfortunes. The drifting of Japanese junks, and
those of adjacent countries, is not so infrequent as one would suppose,
and this fact might set the reflective man to thinking as to the
ethnical possibilities accruing therefrom, the settlement of North
America, etc.
This Kuro-Siwo, or Japanese current,--sometimes called black current, or
Japanese black current, from its hue,--corresponds in many ways to the
Gulf Stream of the Atlantic: like it, its waters are warmed in the
equatorial regions under a vertical sun; and, like it, a great portion
of these waters are carried northward in its flow, and their heat poured
upon the eastern shores of its ocean, till their climate is phenomenally
temperate compared with the western shores in the same parallels. Sitka
is said to have, as a result of facing this current, a mean winter
temperature of a point half way between Baltimore and Washington, or
slightly milder than the winter temperature of Baltimore. It is said to
be no unusual thing to suffer from an ice famine in Sitka. A short way
inland the winters are not so temperate, more snow falling at that
season, while rain characterizes the coast face; but during the summer,
or excursion season, these rains are not unpleasantly frequent. I take
the following from a letter from Sitka, and published in the San
Francisco _Bulletin_ of January 9, 1882, before this country was really
opened to excursionists, although the subject was being discussed, so
much had been heard of this wonderland:
"The climate, as shown by the meteorological data collected by the
signal service observers, is not of such a disagreeable character as
some would have us believe. The scientific data collected and tabulated
for the year 1881, as shown by the records at Sitka, Chilkoot, Juneau
and Killisnoo, disprove most emphatically the seemingly malicious
assertions in reference to its climate.
=========================================================================
|April.|May.|June.|July.|Aug. |Sept.|Oct. |Nov.| Dec.
--------------------+------+----+-----+-----+-----+-----+-----+----+-----
Mean Temperature | 42.5 |45.4|51.2 | 54.2|56.7 |54. |46.3 |41.8|34.8
Max. Temperature | 56.5 |61. |65. | 67. |79. |63.8 |57.8 |52.8|44.9
Min. Temperature | 31. |31. |41. | 43. |43.9 |40.5 |32. |22.5|14.
Total rainfall, | | | | | | | | |
inches | 4.21| 3.1| 1.54| 4.4| 1.98|12.11| 5.04|13.5|10.52
--------------------+------+----+-----+-----+-----+-----+-----+----+-----
"A study of the above data, combined with an actual experience, compels
the writer to admit that the summer weather of Southeastern Alaska is
the most delightful that can be enjoyed throughout the length and
breadth of this vast territory, and throws in the shade all the boasted
claims of many, if not most, of the famous summer resorts in the
'States.' There were only two days during the long, pleasant summer,
that were rendered disagreeable by that feeling of oppressiveness caused
by heat. The nights were cool and pleasant; the days always warm enough
for open windows, through which the invigorating breezes from the
snow-capped mountains or the broad Pacific, would blow at will; the
long, bright days, when the sun disappeared only for a few hours, when
twilight, after sunset, seemed to mingle with the rays of early dawn;
the nights beautified by the dancing beams of the _aurora borealis_, and
the myriad stars that seemed as if hung on invisible threads in the deep
blue firmament. * * In regard to the summer weather, I reiterate that no
one could possibly choose a more delightful place in which to spend a
portion of the heated term than in making a trip through this portion of
the Territory."
"In Alaska, in midsummer," according to a late letter, "the almost
continuous light of day shines upon bright green slopes, shaded here and
there with dark timber belts, rising up from the deep blue waters. An
endless variety of bright-hued flowers, the hum of insects, and
melodious song of birds, * * * would cause a stranger, suddenly
translated there, to think himself in any country but Alaska."--_Chicago
Herald, 1885._
When we are some five or six miles back on our northward way to Peril
Straits, a pretty little bay, on Baronoff Island, is pointed out to us,
on our starboard (by this time all the passengers are able seamen) side,
called Old Harbor, or Starri-Gaven, in Russian. It was there that
Baronoff built his first fort, called the Archangel Gabriel, in 1799,
which, after a number of rapidly recurring vicissitudes, was
annihilated, and its garrison massacred, by the Sitka Indians, three
years later. Baronoff re-established his power at the present site of
Sitka, calling the new place Archangel Michael,--Archangel Gabriel
having failed in his duty as a protector; and from this name it was
called New Archangel, which changed to Sitka with the change of flags in
1867, although American maps had dubbed it Sitka before this.
Once more in Chatham Strait, with the ship's head pointed northward, we
are on our way to the northernmost recesses of the inland passage, and
with the greatest wonders of our wonderland ahead of us. At its northern
end, Chatham Strait divides into two narrow waterways, Icy Strait
leading off to the west, to the land and waters of glaciers and
icebergs, while Lynn Canal continues broad Chatham to the north. Lynn
Canal is a double-headed inlet, the western arm at its head being called
the Chilkat Inlet, and the eastern arm the Chilkoot Inlet, after two
tribes of T'linkit Indians living on these respective channels. It is a
beautiful sheet of water, more Alpine in character than any yet entered.
Glaciers of blue and emerald ice can be seen almost everywhere, peeping
from underneath the snow-capped mountains and ranges that closely
enclose this well-protected canal, and render it picturesque in the
extreme. Here is the Eagle Glacier on the right, and dozens that have
never been named, and a most massive one (Davison's) on our left, just
as we enter Chilkat Inlet. At the head of Chilkat Inlet is Pyramid
Harbor, so named after an island of pyramidal profile in its waters. It
marks the highest point you will probably reach in the inland passage,
unless Chilkoot Inlet is entered, which is occasionally done.
[Illustration: CHILKAT BLANKET.]
We are now in the land of the Chilkats, one of the most aggressive and
arrogant, yet withal industrious and wealthy, Indian tribes of the
T'linkits. It should be remembered that all the Alaskan Indians of the
inland passage (except the Hy-dahs of Dixon Entrance) are bound together
by a common language, called the T'linkit; but having so little else in
sympathy that the sub-tribes often war against each other, these
sub-tribes having separate chiefs, medicine men and countries, in fact,
and being known by different names. We have already spoken of the
Stickeens, Kootznahoos, Sitkas, etc.; and by these names they are known
among the whites of this portion of the Territory, the title T'linkit
being seldom heard. At the salmon cannery, on the west shore, a small
but recently built village of Chilkats is clustered; but, to see them in
"all their glory," the Chilkat river should be ascended to their
principal village of Klukwan.
Of this country,--the Chilkat and Chilkoot,--Mrs. Eugene S. Willard, the
wife of the missionary presiding at Haines Mission, in Chilkoot Inlet,
and who has resided here a number of years, writes in the _Century
Magazine_, of October, 1885:
"From Portage Bay (of Chilkoot Inlet) west to the Chilkat river and
southward to the point, lies the largest tract of arable land, so far as
my knowledge goes, in Southeastern Alaska, while the climate does not
differ greatly from that of Pennsylvania * * * Here summer reaches
perfection, never sultry, rarely chilling. * * * In May the world and
the sun wake up together. In his new zeal, we find old Sol up before us
at 2:15 A. M., and he urges us on until 9:45 at night. Even then the
light is only turned down; for the darkest hour is like early summer
twilight, not too dark for reading.
"From our front door to the pebbly beach below, the wild sweet pea runs
rampant; while under and in and through it spring the luxuriant phlox,
Indian rice, the white-blossomed 'yun-ate,' and wild roses which make
redolent every breath from the bay. Passing out the back door, a few
steps lead us into the dense pine woods, whose solitudes are peopled
with great bears, and owls, and--T'linkit ghosts! while eagles and
ravens soar without number. On one tree alone we counted thirty bald
eagles. These trees are heavily draped with moss, hanging in rich
festoons from every limb; and into the rich carpeting underneath, one's
foot may sink for inches. Here the ferns reach mammoth size, though many
of fairy daintiness are found among the moss; and the devil's walking
stick stands in royal beauty at every turn, with its broad, graceful
leaves, and waxen, red berries.
"Out again into the sunshine, and we discover meadows of grass and
clover, through which run bright little streams, grown over with
willows, just as at home. And here and there are clumps of trees, so
like the peach and apple, that a lump comes into your throat. But you
lift your eyes, and there beyond is the broad shining of the river, and
above it the ever-present, dream-dispelling peaks of snow, with their
blue ice sliding down and down. * *
"The Chilkat people long ago gained for themselves the reputation of
being the most fierce and warlike tribe in the Archipelago. Certain it
is, that, between themselves and southern Hy-dah, there is not another
which can compare with them in strength, either as to numbers,
intelligence, physical perfection, or wealth. * * * The children always
belong to their mother, and are of her to-tem. This to-temic relation
is considered closer than that of blood. If the father's and mother's
tribes be at war, the children must take the maternal side, even if
against their father. * * * In very rare cases a woman has two husbands;
oftener we find a man with two wives, even three; but more frequently
met than either is the consecutive wife.
"The Chilkats are comparatively an industrious people. On the mainland
we have none of the deer which so densely populate the islands, owing,
it is said, to the presence of bears and wolves; but we have the white
mountain goat, which, while it is lamb, is delicious meat. From its
black horns the finest carved spoons are made, and its pelt, when washed
and combed, forms a necessary part of the Indian's bedding and household
furniture. The combings are made by the women into rolls similar to
those made by machinery at home. Then, with a great basket of these
white rolls on one side, and a basket on the other to receive the yarn,
a woman sits on the floor, and, on her bared knee, with her palm, rolls
it into cord. This they dye in most brilliant colors made of roots,
grasses and moss, and of different kinds of bark.
[Illustration: T'LINKET WAR CANOE.]
"It is of this yarn that the famous Chilkat dancing-blanket is made.
This is done by the women with great nicety and care. The warp, all
white, is hung from a handsomely carved upright frame. Into it the
bright colors are wrought by means of ivory shuttles. The work is
protected during the tedious course of its manufacture by a covering
resembling oiled silk, made from the dressed intestines of the bear.
Bright striped stockings of this yarn are also knitted on little needles
whittled from wood."
An illustration of a dancing-blanket is given on page 81. These are made
by several of the T'linkit tribes; but the Chilkats so predominate in
the manufacture, both in numbers and excellence, that you seldom hear
them mentioned in Alaska, except as Chilkat blankets. Nearly all of the
T'linkit tribes, as the tourist will have seen by this time, spend most
of their out-of-door time in the water, in their canoes; and this
constant semi-aquatic life has told on their physical development to the
extent of giving them very dwarfed and illy developed lower limbs,
although the trunk and arms are well developed. When walking, they seem
to shamble along more like an aquatic fowl on land than a human being.
The Chilkats are noticeable exceptions. Although their country is much
more mountainous in appearance than others lower down, yet here are some
of the most accessible of the few mountain passes by which the interior,
a rich fur-bearing district, can be gained. The Chilkats have yearly
taken trading goods from the white men, lashed them into packs of about
a hundred pounds, and carried them on their backs through these
glacier-clad passes, and traded them for furs, bringing them out in the
same way. They monopolized the trade by the simple process of
prohibiting the interior Indians from coming to the sea-coast to trade.
The Chilkats therefore are probably the richest tribe of Indians in the
Northwest, the chief having two houses full of blankets, their standard
of value, at the village of Kluk-wan.
To those who find their greatest pleasure in a rough, out-of-door life,
let them leave the steamer at this point, hire three or four Indians to
carry their company effects on their backs, and make an Alpine journey
to the head of the Yukon river, where lakes aggregating 150 miles in
length can be passed over in a canoe. The route leads up the Dayay
river, over the Perrier Pass in the Kotusk Mountains. The trip could be
made between visiting steamers, and I will guarantee the persons will
come back with more muscle than they took in.
Bidding good-bye to the picturesque country of the Chilkats, the
steamer's head is turned south again; and, when just about ready to
leave Lynn Canal, we entered an intricate series of channels bearing
eastward, and which bring us to the great mining town of Juneau, where
many Alaskan hopes are centred. This is what a correspondent of the
Chicago _Times_, under date of February 23, 1885, says of this Alaskan
town and its curious history:
"The centre from which radiates whatever of excitement and interest
there is in Alaskan mines is Douglas Island. The history of the
discovery of ore near this island, which eventually led to the location
of the present much-talked-of property, is similar to that attending the
finding of most of the large mines in the West. It seems that some
half-dozen years ago two needy and seedy prospectors named Juneau and
Harris arrived at an Indian village that still remains visible on the
shore across the bay from Douglas Island, in search of ore. They
prospected the country as thoroughly as they could, with but little
success, and were about to return home when an Indian said that he knew
where gold existed, and that he would reveal the place for a certain sum
of money. Hardly believing, but yet curious, Harris and Juneau accepted
the offer, and, with their guide, set out on a pilgrimage into the
interior to a spot now known as 'The Basin.' After a long tramp through
the forests, and up a deep valley, the Indian showed them a place where
there were nuggets of free gold and dirt, which, when panned, yielded a
handsome return. Claims were immediately staked out, and the adventurers
began their work in earnest. Later, the fact of the discovery became
known, and other miners entered the valley, and the region gained no
little celebrity, and became the scene of much animation. Four years the
work progressed, and a town, which to-day is of respectable size and
great expectations, was founded, and christened Juneau.
"The Douglas Island mine is located within fifty yards of the waters of
Juneau Bay, and was discovered by a man named Treadwell, who sold his
claim a year or two ago to a San Francisco company. The new owners set
up a fine stamp-mill to begin with, and made thorough tests of the ore.
It is a 120-stamp mill, the largest in the world, and the company has
refused, it is said, $16,000,000 for the mine."
[Illustration: T'LINKET CARVED SPOONS.
(Made from the Horns of Mountain Goats.)]
Since the above was written, and as late as last August, reports from
there gave the astonishing showing of enough ore in sight to keep the
120-stamp mill "running for a lifetime." The uninitiated in mining
mills, ledges and lodes, may grasp the value of the mine by saying its
output for a twenty-days run of the stamp-mill was $100,000 in gold, or
at the rate of $1,800,000 per year; which, estimating its value on an
income of five per cent. annually, would make the mine worth
$36,000,000, or just five times the amount we paid for the whole
Territory. There is no doubt whatever in the minds of many experts, that
there are a number of such places as the Treadwell mine yet to be found,
the great difficulty of prospecting in the dense, deep mass of fallen
timber covered with wet moss and thick underbrush on the steepest
mountain sides, coupled with the little probability of the Treadwell
being an isolated case in such a uniformly Alpine country, amply
justifying them in coming to such conclusions. A visit to the mines is
one the tourists can readily make. At Juneau we find the Takoo band of
T'linkits in a village near by, where nearly all that has been said
regarding Alaskan Indians may be here repeated. The very curious spoons
they carve from the horns of the mountain goat, which are figured on
page 85, and beautifully woven mats, and the baskets shown on page 68,
may be purchased; and, in leaving a few pieces of silver among them for
their own handiwork, little as it is that we have thus done for them, it
is far more than the extremists of either side in the Indian question
have done, those who would exterminate, or those who would
sentimentalize in print over their wrongs.
Bidding the mining metropolis of Alaska farewell, our bowsprit is once
more pointed for the Pacific Sea; but, before we reach it, or get quite
to it, we turn northward and enter Glacier Bay, its name signifying its
main attractions. Glaciers, which are great rivers or sheets of ice made
from compacted snows, are functions as much of altitude as of high
latitude; and both unite here, with an air charged with moisture from
the warm Pacific waters, to make the grand glaciers which are to be seen
in this bay. In the immediate vicinity are the Mount St. Elias Alps, a
snowy range which culminates in the well-known peak from which it
derives its name; and, radiating from their flanks, come down these
rivers of ice, reaching the sea-level in the greatest perfection in
Glacier Bay, the largest one of the grand group being the Muir Glacier,
after Professor John Muir, the scientist, of California, who is said to
be the first to discover it. I will give the language of the man who
claims to be the second to arrive upon the scene, and who gives his
account in the St. Louis _Globe-Democrat_, writing from Glacier Bay,
July 14, 1883:
"When Dick Willoughby told of the great glacier, thirty miles up the
bay, the thud of whose falling ice could be heard and felt at his house,
the captain of the 'Idaho' said he would go there, and took this Dick
Willoughby along to find the place and prove the tale. Away we went
coursing up Glacier Bay, a fleet of 112 little icebergs gayly sailing
out to meet us as we left our anchorage the next morning. Entering into
these unknown and unsurveyed waters, the lead was cast through miles of
bottomless channels; and, when the pilot neared a green and mountainous
little island, he made me an unconditional present of the domain, and
duly entered its bearings on the ship's log. For a summer resort my
island possesses unusual advantages, and I hereby invite all suffering
and perspiring St. Louis to come to that emerald spot in latitude 58
degrees 29 minutes north, and longitude 135 degrees 52 minutes west from
Greenwich, and enjoy the July temperature of 42 degrees, the whale
fishing, the duck hunting, and a sight of the grandest glacier in the
world.
"But one white man had ever visited the glacier before us, and he was
the irrepressible geologist and scientist, John Muir, who started out in
an Indian canoe, with a few blankets and some hard-tack, and spent days
scrambling over the icy wastes. Feeling our way along carefully, we cast
anchor beside a grounded iceberg, and the photographers were rowed off
to a small island to take the view of the ship in the midst of that
arctic scenery. Mount Crillon showed his hoary head to us in glimpses
between the clouds; and then, rounding Willoughby Island, which the
owner declares is solid marble of a quality to rival that of Pentelicus
and Carrara, we saw the full front of the great Muir Glacier, where it
dips down and breaks into the sea. At the first breathless glance at
that glorious ice-world, all fancies and dreams were surpassed: the
marvelous beauty of those shining, silvery pinnacles and spires, the
deep blue buttresses, the arches and aisles of that fretted front,
struck one with awe. In all Switzerland there is nothing comparable to
these Alaskan glaciers, where the frozen wastes rise straight from the
sea, and a steamer can go up within an eighth of a mile, and cruise
beside them. Add to the picture of high mountains and snowy glaciers a
sapphire bay scattered over with glittering little icebergs, and nature
can supply nothing more to stir one's soul, to rouse the fancy and
imagination, and enchant the senses. The vastness of this Muir Glacier
is enough alone to overpower one with a sense of the might and strength
of these forces of nature. Dry figures can give one little idea of the
great, desolate stretches of gray ice and snow that slope out of sight
behind the jutting mountains, and the tumbled and broken front forced
down to and into the sea. Although not half of the glacier has been
explored, it is said to extend back 40 miles.
"What we could know accurately was, that the front of the glacier was
two miles across, and that the ice-wall rose 500 and 1,000 feet from the
water. The lead cast at the point nearest to the icy front gave eighty
fathoms, or 240 feet, of water; and, in the midst of those deep
soundings, icebergs filled with boulders lay grounded with forty feet of
their summits visible above water. At very low tide, there is a
continual crash of falling ice; and, for the half-day we spent beside
this glacier, there was a roar as of artillery every few minutes, when
tons of ice would go thundering down into the water. After the prosaic
matter of lunch had been settled, and we had watched the
practical-minded steward order his men down on the iceberg to cut off a
week's supply with their axes, we embarked in the life-boats, and landed
in a ravine beside the glacier. * * * We wandered at will over the
seamed and ragged surface, the ice cracked under our feet with a
pleasant midwinter sound, and the wind blew keenly from over those
hundreds of miles of glacier fields; but there were the gurgle and
hollow roar of the water heard in every deep crevasse, and trickling
streams spread a silver network in the sunshine. Reluctantly we obeyed
the steamer's whistle, and started back to the boats.
"A magnificent sunset flooded the sky that night, and filled every icy
ravine with rose and orange lights. At the last view of the glacier, as
we steamed away from it, the whole brow was glorified and transfigured
with the fires of sunset; the blue and silvery pinnacles, the white and
shining front floating dreamlike on a roseate and amber sea, and the
range and circle of dull violet mountains lighting their glowing summits
into a sky flecked with crimson and gold."
Since the above was written, in July, 1883, Glacier Bay has been one of
the constant visiting points of the excursion steamer, and the
experience of two or three years has shown the company how to exhibit
this great panorama of nature to its patrons to the best advantage, and
one will now be astonished at the ease with which the whole field may
be surveyed in this the most wonderful bay on a line of steamboat
travel.
Our same correspondent speaks of an unknown passage down which they
traveled in a way that will delight the heart of a Nimrod; but he should
have added that almost half the inland passage is of that character so
far as the general world is wiser concerning it, and half of this,
again, may be wholly unknown, offering one of the finest fields for
short explorations without any of the dangers and difficulties which so
often beset greater undertakings, and rob them of all pleasure while
they are being prosecuted, and only compensating the explorer in the
results attained. Here is what he has to say:
"For the twenty miles that we had come down the beautiful inlet, the
coast survey charts showed an unbroken stretch of dry land. To the
sportsman that unknown inlet is the dreamed-of paradise. When we went
out in the small boats, salmon and flounders could be seen darting in
schools through the water; and, as we approached the mouth of a creek,
the freshening current was alive with the fish. The stewards who went to
the shore with the tank-boats for fresh water, startled seven deer as
they pushed their way to the foot of a cascade, and the young men caught
thirteen great salmon with their own inexperienced spearing. The captain
of the ship took his rifle, and was rowed away to shallow waters, where
he shot a salmon, waded in, and threw it ashore. While wandering along
after some huge bear tracks, he saw an eagle at work on his salmon, and
another fine shot laid the bird of freedom low. When the captain
returned to the ship he threw the eagle and salmon on deck, and, at the
size of the former, every one marveled. The outspread wings measured the
traditional six feet from tip to tip, and the beak, the claws, and the
huge, stiff feathers were rapidly seized upon as trophies and souvenirs
of the day. A broad double rainbow arched over us as we left the lovely
niche between the mountains, and then we swept back to Icy Straits, and
started out to the open ocean."
But we will not confine ourselves to the description of one person in
considering this the most fascinating and curious scene presented to the
Alaskan tourists. Grand, even to the extent of being almost appalling,
as are the Alaskan fjords, they are but the Yosemite or Colorado Parks,
with navigable valleys, as they would appear greatly enlarged; much as
we are awestruck at the feet of Mount St. Elias, it is but Tacoma or
Shasta in grander proportions, and so on through the list of scenes we
view: but in the glaciers we have no counterpart that can be viewed from
a steamer's deck, unless the polar zones themselves be invaded; and
here, in fact, we view the grandest sight to be seen in that dreary
zone, without any of its many dangers. Says Professor Denman, of San
Francisco, who has devoted much of his attention to glaciers, and
especially these of Alaska, compared with which he pronounces those to
be seen in Switzerland and other parts of Europe to be "babies:"
"Muir Glacier is a spectacle whose grandeur can not be described,--a
vast frozen river of ice, ever slowly moving to the sea, and piling the
enormous masses higher between the mountain banks, until their summit
towers hundreds of feet in the air. Where the point of the glacier
pushes out into and overhangs the water, vast fragments breaking apart
every few moments of their own weight, and falling with a thundering
crash into the sea, to float away as enormous icebergs, it affords a
spectacle which can only be understood and appreciated by one who
beholds it with his own eyes. From the summit of Muir Glacier no less
than twenty-nine others are to be seen in various directions, all
grinding and crowding their huge masses toward the sea, a sight which
must certainly be one which few other scenes can equal."
[Illustration: SCENES AMONG THE ALASKAN GLACIERS. (From Photographs.)
No. 1 (Top). A Near View of the Terminal Front of the Muir Glacier. No.
2. Looking Seaward from the Surface of the Glacier. No 3. The Excursion
Steamer at the Front of the Glacier. No. 4 (Bottom). On the Great Frozen
Sea; a Near View of the Surface of the Glacier.]
Says a writer, Mr. Edward Roberts, in the _Overland Monthly_: "I do not
know how wide, nor how long, nor how deep Glacier Bay is. One does not
think of figures and facts when sailing over its waters and enjoying the
novel features. Flood Switzerland, and sail up some of its canons toward
Mont Blanc, and you will have there another Glacier Bay. But until the
sea-waves wash the feet of that Swiss peak, and until one can sail past
the glaciers of that country, there will never be found a companion bay
to this of Alaska. Norway, with all its ruggedness, has nothing to equal
it; and there is not a mountain in all the ranges of the Rockies which
has the majestic gracefulness of Fairweather Peak, which looks down upon
the bay.
"Imagine the view we had as we turned out of Lynn Canal and moved into
the ice-strewn waters of the strange place. Above hung the sun, warm and
clear, and lighting up the wide waste of waters till they glistened like
flashing brilliants. Away to the left and right ran sombre forests, and
long stretches of yellow-colored stone, and rocky cliffs that now ran
out into the bay, and, again, rose high and straight from out it. No
villages were in sight; no canoes dotted the waters; but all was
desolate, neglected, still; and cakes of ice, white in the distance and
highly colored nearer to, floated about our ship. And there, in the
northwest, rising so high above the intervening hills that all its
pinnacles, all its gorges, and its deep ravines of moving ice were
visible, was Fairweather, loftiest, whitest, most delicately moulded
peak of all the snowy crests in this north land. From a central spur,
topping all its fellows, lesser heights helped form a range which
stretched for miles across the country, and on whose massive shoulders
lay a mantle of such pure whiteness that the sky above was bluer still
by contrast, and the forests grew doubly dark and drear. All through the
afternoon we sailed toward the glorious beacon, while the air grew
colder every hour, and the ice cakes, hundreds of tons in weight, grew
more numerous as the daylight began to wane. The glaciers of Glacier Bay
are the largest in Alaska. Formed among the highest crags of the
Fairweather range, they gradually deepen and widen as they near the sea,
and end, at last, in massive cliffs of solid ice, often measuring three
hundred feet high, and having a width of several miles. The surface of
the glaciers is rough and billowy, resembling the waves of a troubled
sea frozen into solid blocks of ice at the moment of their wildest
gambols. Constantly pressed forward by the heavy blocks that gradually
slide down the mountain ravines, the great frozen river keeps pressing
seaward, until the action of the waves crumbles away gigantic cakes,
that fall into the waters with a noise like the booming of cannon, and
with a force that sends columns of water high into the air. The scene
was one of arctic splendor,--white, ghostly and cheerless; while the
light was that so often described by visitors to the polar
sea,--uncertain, bluish, and strongly resembling a November twilight in
New England, when the sky is overcast, the trees are bare, and the
clouds are full of snow. Gaining at last a point barely three hundred
yards from the glacier, the ship was stopped short. Before us rose the
towers and solid walls, forming an embankment higher than our mast-head,
and towering upward in dense masses against the leaden sky. Taken to
Switzerland, the glacier of Alaska would cover that country three times
over; for the frozen rivers of our largest purchase are not only fifty
miles in length and three in width, but often twice that distance long
and ten times that distance wide."
Lieutenant Wood, whom we have quoted before, in speaking of the T'linkit
Indians in the ice, says: "I noticed that, when journeying through the
floating ice in good weather, our Indians would carefully avoid striking
pieces of ice, lest they should offend the Ice Spirit. But, when the Ice
Spirit beset us with peril, they did not hesitate to retaliate by
banging his subjects. After picking our way through the ice for three
days, we came upon a small, temporary camp of Hoonahs, who were seal
hunting. We found little camps of a family or two scattered along both
shores. One of the largest glaciers from Fairweather comes into the bay,
and thus keeps its waters filled with the largest icebergs, even in the
summer season, for which reason the bay is a favorite place for seal
hunting. The seal is the native's meat, drink (the oil is like melted
butter) and clothing. I went seal hunting to learn the art, which
requires care and patience. The hunter, whether on an ice floe or in a
canoe, never moves when the seal is aroused. When the animal is asleep,
or has dived, the hunter darts forward. The spear has a barbed,
detachable head, fastened to the shaft by a plaited line made from
sinew. The line has attached to it a marking buoy, which is merely an
inflated seal's bladder. The young seals are the victims of the T'linkit
boys, who kill them with bow and arrow. These seal hunters used a little
moss and seal oil and some driftwood for fuel. * * * After about forty
miles' travel, we came to a small village of Asonques. They received us
with great hospitality, and, as our canoe had been too small to carry
any shelter, the head man gave me a bed in his own cabin. He had a great
many wives, who busied themselves making me comfortable. The buckskin
re-enforcement of my riding trousers excited childish wonder. I drew
pictures of horses and men separate, and then of men mounted on horses.
Their astonishment over the wonderful animal was greater than their
delight at comprehending the utility of the trousers. The Alaskan women
are childish and pleasant, yet quick-witted, and capable of heartless
vindictiveness. Their authority in all matters is unquestioned. No
bargain is made, no expedition set on foot, without first consulting
the women. Their veto is never disregarded. I bought a silver-fox skin
from Tsatate; but his wife made him return the articles of trade and
recover the skin. In the same way I was perpetually being annoyed by
having to undo bargains because his wife said '_clekh_;' that is, 'no.'
I hired a fellow to take me about thirty miles in his canoe, when my own
crew was tired. He agreed. I paid him the tobacco, and we were about to
start, when his wife came to the beach and stopped him. He quietly
unloaded the canoe and handed me back the tobacco. The whole people are
curious in the matter of trade. I was never sure that I had done with a
bargain; for they claimed and exercised the right to undo a contract at
any time, provided they could return the consideration received. This is
their code among themselves. For example: I met, at the mouth of the
Chilkat, a native trader who had been to Fort Simpson, about six hundred
miles away, and, failing to get as much as he gave in the interior of
Alaska for the skins, was now returning to the interior to find the
first vender, and revoke the whole transaction.
"From the Asonque village I went, with a party of mountain goat hunters,
up into the Mount St. Elias Alps back of Mount Fairweather,--that is, to
the northeast of that mountain. For this trip our party made elaborate
preparations. We donned belted shirts made of squirrel skins, fur
head-dresses (generally conical), sealskin bootees, fitting very
closely, and laced half way to the knee. We carried spears for
alpenstocks, bows and arrows, raw-hide ropes, and one or two old Hudson
Bay rifles. Ptarmigan were seen on the lower levels where the ground was
bare. The goats kept well up toward the summit, amid the snow fields,
and fed on the grass which sprouted along the edges of melting drifts.
The animal is like a large, white goat, with long, coarse hair and a
heavy coat of silky underfleece. We found a bear that, so far as I know,
is peculiar to this country. It is of a beautiful bluish under-color,
with the tips of the long hairs silvery white. The traders call it 'St.
Elias silver bear.' The skins are not uncommon." This little mountain
trip of Lieutenant Wood's is especially spread before the attention of
those who find in this form of exercise their best recreation from their
regular duties.
But, however much the tourists may want to dwell amidst the curious and
marvelous scenes of Glacier Bay (and so great has been this demand that
it is contemplated building a summer resort near by, that passengers may
remain over one steamer), yet a time must come when we will have to bid
good-bye to this polar part of our wonderland, and pass on to the next
grand panorama in view. Southeastward out of Glacier Bay into Icy
Straits, and we turn southwestward into Cross Sound, headed for the
Pacific Ocean, and for the first time enter its limitless waters. Cross
Sound was named by Vancouver, in 1778, in honor of the day on which it
was discovered, and is about fifty-five miles long. It corresponds on
the north to the Strait of Juan de Fuca on the south, these two
waterways being the limiting channels north and south of the inland
passage as it connects with the Pacific Ocean. As the Puget Sound
projects much farther to the south from Fuca Strait into the mainland,
hemmed in by snowy peaks, so Lynn Canal, "the Puget Sound of the North,"
continues the Sound of the Holy Cross far to the northward, embayed by
glaciers, icebergs, and fields of snow.
Recently, a trip out of Cross Sound, and northwestward about two hundred
miles along the Pacific coast, has been occasionally added to the scenes
of the inland passage, the new views presented being the Mount St. Elias
Alps, directly facing the Pacific, for the distance noted, and
containing within those limits the greatest number of high and imposing
peaks to be found in any range in the world. The inland passage (by the
use of Peril Straits to Sitka) became so perfect a river-like journey,
absolutely free from sea-sickness, that no one felt like breaking this
delightful trip by a sea journey, in any of its parts, however tempting
the display might be. A trip or two, however, soon convinced the company
that the mildness of the sea during the excursion season would warrant
them in taking it as a part of the journey; and since, as I have said,
it is taken occasionally, I think a short description of it would be
appropriate here. Should the hotel in Glacier Bay, or near vicinity, be
completed soon, it would be a good stopping-point for those who are sure
to feel sea-sick with the least motion of the waves; while, to all
others, the chances for good weather on the Fairweather Grounds, as they
are not inappropriately termed, are very good, and, conjoined with the
grand mountain scenery, should not be missed. Rounding Cape Spencer
(_Punta de Villaluenga_ of old Spanish charts), the northern point of
the Pacific entrance to Cross Sound, the journey out to sea is
commenced; a view about ten to fifteen miles off shore being the best,
or on what is known to the fishermen who here used to pursue the right
whale, "the Fairweather Grounds," being so named, it is said, from
Fairweather peak being in sight of most of it; and this, again, was
named by the indomitable Cook, in 1778, as a monument to the fair
weather he had cruising in sight of the grand old chain, a name which
most tourists may congratulate themselves is well bestowed.
Almost as soon as Cape Spencer is doubled, the southern spurs of the
Mount St. Elias Alps burst into view, Crillon and Fairweather being
prominent, and the latter easily recognized from our acquaintance with
it from the waters of Glacier Bay. A trip of an hour or two takes us
along a comparatively uninteresting coast, as viewed from "square off
our starboard beam;" but all this time the mind is fixed by the grand
Alpine views we have ahead of us that are slowly developing in plainer
outline here and there as we speed toward them. Soon we are abreast of
Icy Point: while, just beyond it, comes down a glacier to the ocean that
gives about three miles of solid sea-wall of ice, while its source is
lost in the heights covering the bases of the snowy peaks just behind.
The high peak to the right, as we steam by the glacier front, is Mount
La Perouse, named for one of the most daring of France's long list of
explorers, and who lost his life in the interest of geographical
science. His eyes rested on this range of Alpine peaks in 1786, just a
century ago. Its highest point reaches well above 10,000 feet, and its
sides are furrowed with glaciers, one of which is the ice-wall before
our eyes, and which is generally known as the La Perouse Glacier. The
highest peak of all, and on the left of this noble range, is Mount
Crillon, named by La Perouse, in 1786, after the French Minister of the
Marine; while between Crillon and La Perouse is Mount D'Agelet, the
astronomer of that celebrated expedition. Crillon cleaves the air for
16,000 feet above the sea on which we rest, and can be seen for over a
hundred miles to sea. It, too, is surrounded with glaciers, in all
directions from its crown. Crillon and La Perouse are about seven miles
apart, nearly north and south of each other. About fifteen miles
northwest from Crillon is Lituya Peak, 10,000 feet high; and the little
bay opening that we pass, between the two, is the entrance to Lituya
Bay, a sheet of water which La Perouse has pronounced as one of the most
extraordinary in the world for grand scenery, with its glaciers and
Alpine shores. Our steamer will not enter, however; for the passage is
dangerous to even small boats,--one island bearing a monument to the
officers and men of La Perouse's expedition, lost in the tidal wave
which sweeps through the contracted passage like a breaker over a
treacherous bar. Some ten or twelve miles northwest from Lituya Peak is
Mount Fairweather, which bears abreast us after a little over an hour's
run from Lituya Bay. It was named by Cook in 1778, and is generally
considered to be a few hundred feet shorter than Mount Crillon. It is in
every way, by its peculiar isolation from near ridges almost as high as
itself, a much grander peak than Crillon, whose surroundings are not so
good for a fine Alpine display. Fairweather, too, has its frozen rivers
flowing down its sides; but none of them reach the sea, for a low,
wooded country, some three or four miles in width, lies like a glacis at
the seaward side of the St. Elias Alps, for a short distance along this
part of the coast. The sombre, deep green forests add an impressive
feature to the scene, however, lying between the dancing waves below and
the white and blue glacier ice above. Rounding Cape Fairweather, the
coast trends northward; and, as our bowsprit is pointed in the same
direction, directly before us are seen immense glaciers reaching to the
sea. From Cape Fairweather (abreast of Mount Fairweather) to Yakutat Bay
(abreast of Mount Vancouver), no conspicuous peak rears its head above
the grand mountain chain which for nearly a hundred miles lies between
these two Alpine bastions; but nevertheless every hour reveals a new
mountain of 5,000 to 8,000 feet in height, which, if placed anywhere
else, would be held up with national or State pride as a grand
acquisition. Here they are only dwarfed by grander peaks. The glacier
which we are approaching from Cape Fairweather was named, by La Perouse,
_La Grande Plateau_. It is a very low lying glacier, its grade as it
fades away inland being very slight, more like a frozen river than the
precipitous masses of ice which we have been used to seeing. Little is
known of it, beyond the seaward aspect; but it is probably the largest
glacier in Alaska, and the largest in the world, south of the polar
regions themselves.
Wherever these glaciers reach the sea, or connect with it by draining
rivers,--and all large glaciers, at least, do this,--there is seen a
milky sediment floating in the water, which these "mills of the gods"
grind from the mountain flanks in their slow but rasping course down
their sides. Wherever they find calcareous strata to abrade, the water
is almost milklike in hue for miles around. The glacier of the Grand
Plateau is the last one facing the Pacific itself, as we move northward;
but, where little bays cut back through the flat lands at the foot of
the range, they may reach the glaciers which exist everywhere on the
mountain sides.
Off the Bay of Yakutat,--a name given it by the resident T'linkit
tribes,--we have our best view of imperial St. Elias, the crowning peak
of this noble range, and the highest mountain in all North
America,--nearly 20,000 feet above the sea-level, and all of this vast
height seemingly springing from the very sea itself. No good picture has
ever been given of it, and no words have ever fully described it. All of
the superlatives of our language have clothed so many lesser peaks that
they fall flat and mentally tasteless in the presence of this Alpine
Titan, rearing his crest among the clouds as if defying description.
This want of words has been felt by so many who have visited the grand
scenery of Alaska, who saw that, in illustrating a fjord here or a
glacier there, they have but duplicated the word-painting of some other
writer describing a puny antagonist, compared with their subject, that I
will give it in the words of one who expresses the idea more closely
than I. It is from the pen of a correspondent in the Kansas City
_Journal_, under date of September 14, 1885.
"The difficult thing for the tourist to do in regard to Alaska is to
describe what is seen for the general reader. Everything is on such an
immense and massive scale that words are diminutives for expression,
rather than--as travelers have been credited with using them--for
exaggerated descriptions. For example, people cross the continent to
sail for an hour or two among the Thousand Islands of the St. Lawrence,
and word-painting has been exhausted in exaltation of their beauties.
But here is a thousand miles of islands, ranging in size from an acre to
the proportions of a State, covered with evergreen forests of tropical
luxuriance, yet so arctic in their character as to be new to the eye,
and in regard to which botanical nomenclature but confuses and
dissatisfies. And in all this vast extent of mountain scenery, with
summits ranging from one thousand to fifteen thousand feet in height,
there is not enough level land visible to aggregate one prairie county
in Western Missouri or Kansas. Day after day there is a continuous and
unbroken chain of mountain scenery. I can not better impress the
character of the landscape, as seen from a vessel's deck, than to ask
the reader to imagine the parks, valleys, canons, gorges and depressions
of the Rocky Mountains to be filled with water to the base of the snowy
range, and then take a sail through them from Santa Fe to the northern
line of Montana. Just about what could be seen on such an imaginary
voyage is actually passed through in the sail now completed by our party
of enthusiastic tourists for the past ten days. You may divide the
scenery into parts by the days, and just as it was successively passed
through, and any one of the subdivisions will furnish more grand
combination of mountain and sea than can be seen anywhere on the globe.
It is this vast profusion of scenery, this daily and hourly unrolling of
the panorama, that overwhelms and confuses the observer. It is too great
to be separated into details, and everything is platted on such a
gigantic scale that all former experiences are dwarfed, and the
imagination rejects the adjectives that have heretofore served for other
scenes: to employ them here is only to mislead."
"As one gentleman, a veteran traveler, remarked to me, as we stood
looking north at the entrance to Glacier Bay, with the St. Elias Alps in
full view, and Mounts Crillon and Fairweather overtopping the
snow-covered peaks of that remarkable range:
"'You can take just what we see here, and put it down on Switzerland,
and it will hide all there is of mountain scenery in Europe.' And then
he added: 'I have been all over the world; but you are now looking at a
scene that has not its parallel elsewhere on the globe.'
"I cite this incident, as it is more descriptive, and gives a better
idea of contrast than anything of my own could do, giving, as it does,
to the reader, a conception of the vastness and immensity of the
topographical aspect of the shores of the inland seas through whose
labyrinthine passages we have for ten days past, and for ten days more
to come will be lost to the outside world, where nature reigns
undisturbed and unfretted by the hand of civilization."
Here, under the solemn influence of Mount St. Elias, and in the
northernmost waters of the greatest ocean of our planet, we turn
southward to repeat in inverse order the things we have seen; or
perchance, as often happens, down a number of new channels, with their
varied scenery, before home is reached again.
I have given a certain order in which the few ports of Alaska are
visited; but the reader must not for a moment think that this is always
rigidly followed. Sometimes some of them are left for the return
journey, and much depends on the amount of freight, and the number and
character of passengers. In the winter the trips are made wholly with
reference to mails, freight, and the few passengers; but in the spring,
summer, and fall these are wholly subordinate, and the trips are
converted into excursions in the broadest sense of the word. While
thousands of little channels remain almost wholly unexplored, which
probably would make the fortune of excursion companies if transported
elsewhere, yet it is evident that the greater attractions of the great
inland passage have been discovered, and are now shown to the tourists
to the Wonderland of the World.