Sitka is beautifully located at the foot of the mountains and commands
a fine view seaward. The streets are not regularly laid out. Everyone
appears to have chosen the site that pleased him best, regardless of
his neighbors. Many of the buildings are old. At every turn one is
made aware of Russian architecture. Several blocks from the wharf and
directly in the middle of the street stands the Russian orthodox church
of St. Michaels. The interior is richly decorated. Many rich paintings
adorn the walls. A handsome brass chandelier hangs from the ceiling.
Massive brass candlesticks stand on either side of the door. The
interior is finished in white and gold, and the inner sanctuary where
women may not enter is separated from the church proper by fine bronze
doors.
The Sitka Mission and Industrial School was established by the
Presbyterian board in 1878. There are now enrolled sixty-four boys and
forty-six girls. School continues nine months of the year. The boys
and girls occupy separate buildings. The forenoon the pupils spend
in the school rooms and the afternoons the girls spend in the sewing
room and the boys in the shops. The superintendent called a bright boy
about twelve years of age and asked him if he could show me about the
grounds and through the workshops while he conducted a larger party in
a different direction. “Yes sir,” and with a touch of his cap to me,
led the way to the carpenter shop. Two young men busy at work at a long
bench touched their caps and a “Good afternoon, madam,” greeted me.
“Yes madam, I am a carpenter,” proudly replied one of the young men to
my question. He was about eighteen years old, while his companion was
only sixteen. In this shop the pupils make tables, chairs and all sorts
of furniture. I was next conducted to the tin shop, where besides pots
and pans, stoves are made out of sheet iron and scraps of any old thing
that is left over. All of the stoves in the school buildings are made
in this way. My young Indian guide next conducted me to the shoe shop.
[Illustration: INDIAN AVENUE, SITKA.]
The schools are having vacation now, so the shops are not running
a full number of pupils. The conductor and two pupils were at work,
the former on fine shoes and the latter on heavy Klondike boots. Each
boy has his own cobbler’s bench and a full set of tools. A third
boy was sauntering about the room making himself familiar with his
surroundings. The conductor of the shop told me that this lad had
chosen the shoe maker’s trade and was to begin work on the following
morning.
The boys all greeted me with a smile of welcome when I entered and
bade me good-by when I departed. My guide said that the paint shop was
closed, but he explained to me the object of the shop and the work
done there. When I asked him if he had chosen his trade he politely
explained that he had only been in the school a year and that he had
not decided what he would like. The pupils enter for five years,
the parents or guardian signing a contract to that effect. My guide
conducted me to the gate, where I thanked him for his kindness. He
gracefully touched his cap and said: “Good-by madam, I was glad to show
you about.”
All of the dormitories, play rooms and school rooms are models of
neatness. In the girls’ building the bread was just being taken out
of the bake oven. Thirty loaves was the day’s baking. The boys make
the bread and put it to rise. The girls mould it out and bake it. The
Indians are very proud of the school and come of their own accord
seeking admission for their children. This school is making these
Indians self-supporting and consequently prosperous. One sees many
bright faces among them and the younger people are happy and contented,
with nothing in their dress or manner to distinguish them from young
white Americans of the same age. In an old blockhouse located on a
rocky prominence overlooking the sea some of the boys of the school
spend the evening hours in band practice. They played until eleven
o’clock on the parade ground without a light, reading their music by
twilight. The selections were choice and well rendered. They played
“Star Spangled Banner” as an opening piece. Sitka is rightfully proud
of her Indian band. The Indian is given his chance in this land of the
midnight sun and he is making the most of his opportunities.
[Illustration: BLOCKHOUSE ON BANK OF INDIAN RIVER, SITKA, ALASKA.]
Opposite the Mission on the bank of the Indian River is a large square
rock called the Blarney-stone, which dowers the kisser with a magic
tongue, but never a four leafed shamrock in all the merry dell with
which to weave a magic spell.
The Sitkans, like all native races have a mythical legend as to their
origin.
Two brothers, twins, lived in paradise. One of them ate a sea cucumber.
It was the one forbidden fruit. The paradise became a wilderness. The
brothers were starving when a band of roving Stickines came that way
one day and pitying them left them wives to care for them.
From one of these pairs sprang all the Kaksatti, the Crow clan. From
the other descended all the Kokwantons, the Wolf clan.
The legends of these Indians as well as all other tribes in this
country, contain a full account of the landing of Columbus. The news
was carried overland from post to post and tribe to tribe by runners.
The history of the tribe at Sitka runs back five hundred years. Beyond
that period they have no record and frankly say that they have no
authentic account of their origin.
Their stature, their industry, their faith in the shaman, their belief
in transmigration of souls, all point to Asiatic origin. Their word
for water is agua, much like the Latin aqua.
The Mission and Training schools have transformed these savages, whose
ancestors murdered the intrepid Muscovites, into frontier fishermen,
boatmen and loggers.
An Indian never willingly consents to have his photograph taken,
because, when you have a picture of him, he firmly believes that you
have power over his soul. The educated Indian, however, is fearless of
the camera.
The Kletwantans and the Klukwahuttes, two branches of the Frog clan,
are at variance over the erection of a totem pole and have gone into
court to settle the matter. The Klukwahuttes are the true aristocrats
of Indian society in Sitka. The Kletwantons are the wealthy members of
the real Indian four hundred, but having made their money in fish and
oil, are considered upstarts by their more aristocratic brothers. The
Kletwantons decided to build a new home for the chief and to set up
an elaborately carved and decorated totem pole. The eyes of the frog
which was to surmount this wonderful pole were to be twenty-dollar
gold pieces. A grand potlatch was to be held when the pole was ready
to set up. All of the Indians up and down the coast, from Juneau,
Killisnoo, Skagway, Ft. Wrangel and Bella Bella, were invited, but the
aristocratic Klukwahuttes were left out. Did they sit down and quietly
ignore this insult? No indeed. They told their wealthy brothers in true
American style what they thought of such conduct, and the matter would,
no doubt, have been dropped here had not the wealthy fish oil makers
denied that the Klukwahuttes belonged to the Frog clan at all. Upon
this things grew so warm that the missionary appealed to the district
attorney to aid him in making the Indians keep the peace. Then the
disgusted Klukwahuttes went to him asking for an injunction to keep
the pretended Frogs from holding the potlatch and setting up the pole.
He replied to them that he would take the case upon them paying him
a retainer of five hundred dollars, feeling sure that would end the
matter, well knowing that they could not raise the money. Petitioned
again he reduced his fee to two hundred and fifty dollars, feeling
quite sure that they could not raise even that amount. But he reckoned
without his host. In less than two hours the leading men of the
Klukwahuttes filed into his office, carrying goat skin bags and pouches
filled with money and counted out the two hundred and fifty dollars in
small coins, no coin being larger than a fifty-cent piece. The attorney
was obliged to keep his word and take the case. The injunction was
issued restraining the oil makers from building the house and setting
up the totem pole. The potlatch, however, was held.
When the Juneau Indians arrived in their canoes off the shore the chief
stood up and chanted their traditions to prove that they belonged to
the Frog clan and were rightfully invited. When he had finished the
leaders of the Klukwahuttes, who were standing on the beach, recited
their traditions to prove that they and not the Kletwantans were the
true Frogs. The Klukwahuttes, however, made no disturbance during the
feast. Later the Kletwantans employed a young Boston lawyer who was
stopping at Sitka and sued the Klukwahuttes for damages. Not wishing to
be outdone by the aristocratic Klukwahuttes, they at once paid their
lawyer a retainer of two hundred and fifty dollars. There the case
rests. The lawyers are trying to settle it out of court.
On an eminence which commands a fine view of the harbor and the town,
stood the Baranhoff castle, which was burned a few years ago. It did
not in the least resemble a castle. The picture makes it look like an
old country inn. The ruins are still visible and the two flights of
steps leading to it still exist. Around this historic ground cluster
the scenes and incidents of the past century. The castle, like the
island on which it stood, took its name from the Russian governor,
Baranhoff, who in the early part of the century ruled the people with
an iron hand, beginning with the knout and ending with the ax.
Not one of the intrepid Muscovites who landed here in 1741 were left to
tell the tale of their capture and execution by the native Sitkans. In
1800 another party arrived and placed themselves under the protection
of the Archangel Gabriel instead of trusting to the power of gunpowder
and stockades. They too were massacred and their homes destroyed by
fire. Baranhoff was at once sent out by the Russian government. He
erected the castle and stockade, withdrew the town from the protection
of Gabriel and placed it under the protection of the Archangel Michael.
This old castle was once the home of nobility and the scene of grand
festivities. Here princes and princesses of the blood royal ate their
caviare, quaffed their vodka and measured a minuet. It was in this
old castle that Lady Franklin spent three weeks twenty-five years ago
when in search of her husband, Sir John. It was here that W. H. Seward
spent several days when on a trip to Alaska after its purchase from
Russia, through the sagacity of himself and Charles Sumner. At one
of the windows sat the beautiful Princess Maksoutoff weeping bitter
tears as the Russian flag was lowered for the last time. On the 18th
of October, 1867, three United States warships lay at anchor in the
bay. They were the Ossipee, Resaca and Jamestown, commanded by Captains
Emmons, Bradford and McDougal. Each vessel was dressed in the national
colors, while the Russian soldiers, citizens and Indians assembled upon
the open space at the foot of the castle carrying aloft the eagle of
the czar of all the Russias. At a given signal the American navy fired
a salute in honor of the Russian flag, which was lowered from the staff
on the castle. After a national salute from the Russian garrison in
honor of our flag, the stars and stripes were hoisted to the top of the
old flag staff.
The Russian parade ground has been converted into a base ball
ground, where Indian and white teams contest for honors.
The native races of Alaska are slowly dying out. The bright light of
civilization is always the death doom of savagism.
[Illustration: RAPIDS, INDIAN RIVER, SITKA.]
The most beautiful natural park in the world lies just above Sitka, on
the banks of the Indian River, which rises in the valley between the
mountains and winding down, empties into the sea.
Here are the greenest of pines, cedars and firs. The grasses and mosses
are the brilliant green of the tropics. A neat suspension foot bridge
swings clear of the water from buttress to buttress. The shallow,
murmuring, sparkling water bathes the brown roots of shrubs and trees.
Great cedars lie prostrate, covered with short green moss. Giant firs
are draped with a delicate sea green moss, which hangs in festoons and
pendants from branch, limb and trunk. The pine tops sigh softly the
music of the seas.
Sunny banks are yellow with the familiar cinquefoil, the blossoms of
which are five or six times as large as they are at home. In open
glades the ground is white with cornells, and tiny dogwood shrubs
growing from two to five inches high. The wild purple geranium
brightens sunny glades, while the mountain spiraea, the most beautiful
of all spiraeas, bends and sways in the breeze.
Thickets of salmon berry and wonderful mazes of strange ferns meet
one at every turn. One of the handsomest bushes in the park is the
magnificent Devil’s Club. There are great thickets of them twenty feet
high casting an enticing but dangerous shade. The dainty green leaves,
as large as dinner plates, rear their heads aloft, umbrella-like. The
stems, limbs, and trunk are covered with thousands of tiny poisonous
prickles, which work deep into the flesh, making ugly sores.
Down on the beach are the graves of Lisiansky’s men, who were killed by
ambuscaded Indians while taking water for their ship, in 1804.
Friday evening we weighed anchor and steamed out of the harbor. The
beautiful bay, with its beautiful islands, slowly receded from view and
we bade farewell to the historic old town of Sitka.
Hamerton, in his charming work on Landscape, says: “There are, I
believe, four new experiences for which no description ever adequately
prepares us, the first sight of the sea, the first journey in the
desert, the sight of flowing molten lava, and a walk on a great
glacier. We feel in each case that the strange thing is pure nature, as
much nature as a familiar English moor, yet so extraordinary that we
might be in another planet.”
I would add a fifth, sunset at sea. Earth holds nothing more fair,
nothing more beautiful than sunshine.
A little while ago the sky was blue, flaked with fleecy white clouds,
the snows on the coast range lay sparkling like diamonds in the sun,
the forest lay dark and green on the mountainside, the sea gray and
blue by turns; but now a change comes over nature’s moods, the clouds
glow, the snows take on brilliant hues, the dark old forest grows
darker, the sea shimmers and sparkles, a flaming molten mass.
The imperial sunset throws its red flame afar, ’till the land, the sea,
the mountains, the sky, the very air it incarnadines in one grand flame
of scarlet. Long, long will the beholder remember that glorious sunset
at Sitka.