THROUGH THE UPPER RAMPARTS.
[Illustration: "In the Upper Ramparts."]
At the site of old Fort Selkirk commences the Upper Ramparts of the
Yukon, or where that mighty stream cuts through the terminal spurs of
the Rocky Mountains, a distance of nearly four hundred miles, the first
hundred of which, terminating near the mouth of the Stewart River, are
almost equal to the Yosemite or Yellowstone in stupendous grandeur.
I was very anxious to determine beyond all reasonable doubt the
relative sizes of the two rivers whose waters unite just above old
Fort Selkirk, as upon this determination rested the important question
whether the Pelly or the Lewis River of the old Hudson Bay traders,
who had roughly explored the former, ought to be called the Yukon
proper; and in order to settle this point I was fully prepared and
determined to make exact measurements, soundings, rate of current and
any other data that might be necessary. This information, however, was
unnecessary except in a rough form, as the preponderance of the old
Lewis River was too evident to the most casual inspection to require
any exactness to confirm it. The ratio of their respective width is
about five to three, with about the ratio of five to four in depth;
the latter, however, being a very rough approximation; the Lewis River
being superior in both, and for this reason I abandoned the latter
name, and it appears on the map as the Yukon to Crater Lake at its head.
At old Fort Selkirk nothing but the chimneys, three in number--two
of them quite conspicuous at some distance--are left standing, the
blackened embers scattered around still attesting the manner of its
fate. From the careful and substantial manner in which the rubble stone
chimneys were constructed, this Hudson Bay Company post was evidently
intended to be permanent, and from the complete destruction of all the
wood work, the Chilkat Indians, its destroyers, evidently intended
that its effacement should be complete. The fate of this post has been
alluded to in an earlier part of the narrative. Here we remained two or
three days, making an astronomical determination of position, the mean
of our results being latitude 62° 45' 46" north, longitude 137° 22' 45"
west from Greenwich.
[Illustration: LOOKING INTO THE MOUTH OF THE PELLY RIVER.
(The Pelly enters between the black perpendicular bluff and the high
hills beyond.)]
No meteorological observations were taken thus far on the river, the
party not being furnished with a complete set of instruments, and our
rapid passage through a vast tract of territory making the usefulness
to science highly problematical. The nearest point to the Upper Yukon
at which regular observations of this character are recorded is the
Chilkat salmon-cannery of the North-west Trading Company, on Chilkat
Inlet. The two regions are separated by the Kotusk Mountains, a
circumstance which makes meteorological inferences very unreliable.
Climatology is better represented, however, in regard to the subject
of botany. Quite a number of botanical specimens were collected on the
Upper Yukon, and have since been placed in the able hands of Professor
Watson, curator of the Harvard herbarium, for analysis. While only a
partial and crude collection made by an amateur, it has thrown some
little light on the general character of the flora, as limited to
the river bed, which we seldom quitted in the discharge of our more
important duties connected with the main object of the expedition.
Professor Watson's report on this small collection will be found in the
Appendix.
The extent of the Alaskan expedition of 1883 was so great that I deemed
it best to divide the map of its route into convenient sections; and
the three subdivisions, the second of which this chapter commences,
were made wholly with reference to my own travels. It is therefore
not intended in any other way as a geographical division of this
great river, although it might not be altogether unavailable or
inappropriate for such a purpose. The Middle Yukon, as we called it on
our expedition, extends from the site of old Fort Selkirk to old Fort
Yukon, at _the great Arctic bend of the Yukon_, as it is sometimes
and very appropriately termed--a part of the stream which we know
approximately from the rough maps of the Hudson Bay Company's traders,
who formerly trafficked along these waters, and from information
derived from pioneers of the Western Union Telegraph Company and
others. This part of the river, nearly five hundred miles in length,
had, therefore, already been explored; and to my expedition fell the
lot of being the first to give it a survey, which though far from
perfection, is the first worthy of the name, and is, I believe, like
that of the Upper Yukon, sufficient to answer all purposes until such
time as commerce may be established on the river subservient to the
industries, either of mining or of fishing, that may hereafter spring
up along its course.
I have just spoken of the comparative sizes of the Pelly and Lewis
Rivers, as showing the latter to be undoubtedly the Yukon proper; and
the view on page 209, taken looking into the mouth of the Pelly from
an island at the junction of the two streams, as well as that on page
213, looking back up the Yukon (old Lewis River), from the site of old
Selkirk, shows the evident preponderance of the latter, although in the
case of the Pelly but one of its mouths, the lower and larger of the
two that encircle the island, can be seen distinctly.
The bars at the mouth of the Pelly are a little richer in placer gold
"color" than any for a considerable distance on either side along the
Yukon, creating the reasonable inference that the mineral has been
carried down the former stream, an inference which is strengthened by
the reports that gold in paying quantities has been discovered on the
Pelly, and is now being worked successfully, although upon a somewhat
limited scale. Even the high, flat plateau on which old Fort Selkirk
was built is a bed of fine gravel that glistens with grains of gold in
the miner's pan, and might possibly "pay" in more favorable climes,
where the ground is not frozen the greater part of the year. Little did
the old traders of the Hudson's Bay Company imagine that their house
was built on such an auriferous soil, and possibly little did they
care, as in this rich fur district they possessed an enterprise more
valuable than a gold mine, if an American can imagine such a thing.
[Illustration: VIEW LOOKING UP THE YUKON FROM THE SITE OF FORT
SELKIRK.]
The perpendicular bluff of eruptive rock, distinctly columnar in many
places, and with its talus reaching from half to two-thirds the way
to the top, as shown in the view looking into the mouth of the Pelly,
on page 209, and the view on page 205 also, extends up that stream on
the north or right bank as far as it was visited, some two or three
miles, and so continues down the Yukon along the same (north) bank for
twelve or thirteen miles, when the encroaching high mountains, forming
the upper gates of the ramparts, obliterate it as a later formation.
In but one place that I saw along this extended front of rocky parapet
was there a gap sufficient to permit of one's climbing from the bottom,
over the rough _débris_, to the level grassy plateau that extended
backward from its crest; although in many places this plateau could be
gained by alpine climbing for short distances, up the crevices in the
body of the steep rock. This level plateau does not extend far back
before the foot of the high rolling hills is gained.
In the illustration on page 209 the constant barricades of tangled
driftwood encountered everywhere on the up-stream ends and promontories
of the many islands of these rivers are shown, although the quantity
shown in the view falls greatly below the average, the heads of the
islands being often piled up with stacks ten or twenty feet high, which
are useful in one way, as forming a dam that serves during freshets and
high water, to protect them more or less from the eroding power of the
rapid river.
A grave or burial place of the Ayan (or Iyan) Indians probably some
three months old, planted on the very edge of the river bank near the
site of old Fort Selkirk, was a type of the many we afterward saw at
intervals from this point for about two-thirds of the distance to old
Fort Yukon, and is represented on page 217. Before burial the body
is bent with the knees up to the breast, so as to occupy as little
longitudinal space as possible, and is inclosed in a very rough box of
hewn boards two and three inches thick, cut out by means of rude native
axes, and is then buried in the ground, the lid of the coffin, if it
can be called such, seldom being over a foot or a foot and a half below
the surface of the pile. The grave's inclosure or fence is constructed
of roughly-hewn boards, standing upright and closely joined edge to
edge, four corner-posts being prolonged above, and somewhat neatly
rounded into a bed-post design represented in the figure, from which
they seldom depart. It is lashed at the top by a wattling of willow
withes, the lower ends of the boards being driven a short way into the
ground, while one or two intermediate stripes of red paint resemble
other bands when viewed at a distance. From the grave itself is erected
a long, light pole twenty or twenty-five feet in height, having usually
a piece of colored cloth flaunting from its top; although in this
particular instance the cloth was of a dirty white. Not far away, and
always close enough to show that it is some superstitious adjunct of
the grave itself, stands another pole of about equal height, to the top
of which there is fastened a poorly carved wooden figure of a fish,
duck, goose, bear, or some other animal or bird, this being, I believe,
a sort of savage _totem_ designating the family or sub-clan of the
tribe to which the deceased belonged.
[Illustration: AYAN GRAVE NEAR OLD FORT SELKIRK.
Looking across and down the Yukon River.] This second pole may be,
and very often is, a fine young spruce tree of proper height and shape
and convenient situation, stripped of its limbs and peeled of its
bark. The little "totem" figure at the top may thus be easily placed
in position before the limbs are cut off. It is sometimes constructed
as a weather-vane, or more probably it is easier to secure firmly in
its position by a wooden pin driven vertically, and so as the green
wood seasons and shrinks it becomes as it were a sepulchral anemoscope
without having been so intended. These poles may be horizontally
striped with native red paint, and the outside pole has one or more
pieces of cloth suspended from its trunk. These graves are always near
the river shore, generally on the edge of a high gravel bank which is
in course of excavation by the swift current, and when fresh and the
boards white are visible from a distance of many miles. There is no
tendency, as far as I could see, to group them into graveyards, beyond
the fact that they are a little more numerous near their semi-permanent
villages than elsewhere, the convenience of interment being evidently
the controlling cause of location. Leaving out the two high poles,
there is a rough resemblance to the graves of civilized countries;
and no doubt much of their form and structure is due to the direct or
indirect contact with civilization. My own Indians (Chilkats) told me
that they formerly placed the bodies of their dead on pole scaffoldings
in the branches of the trees near the river bank, somewhat after the
manner of the Sioux and other Indian tribes of our great western
plains; and in one instance a very old, rotten and dilapidated scaffold
in a tree was pointed out to me as having once served that purpose,
although there were no indications to confirm the story; but these
might have easily been obliterated. They also make small scaffoldings
or little _caches_ in the lower branches of trees to protect their
contents, usually provisions and clothing, from bears, wolves, and
possibly from their own dogs, of which they possess large numbers
of a black and brown mongrel breed. In the summer time these curs
are eminently worthless except as scavengers for the refuse decaying
salmon, but in the winter season they are used to draw the rude native
sledges and to assist in trailing moose and caribou.
[Illustration: CROSS-SECTION AYAN CANOE PADDLE.]
Mr. Homan succeeded in getting a photograph (page 221), of a group of
Ayan or Iyan Indians, with their birch-bark canoes. We found it very
difficult to keep these nervous fellows still; and, as far as fine
rendering of features is concerned, the photograph was not perfect.
Their birch-bark canoes are the best on any part of the long river for
lightness, compactness, and neatness of build and design, and form a
most remarkable contrast to the unwieldy dilapidated "dug-outs'" of
the Tahk-heesh Indians above them on the Yukon. The Ayan canoe paddle,
well shown in outline in the hands of one of the group, is of the
cross-section on this page, the ridge or rib _r_ being always held to
the rear in using it. In addition to the paddle, the canoeman keeps
with him two light poles, about as long as the paddle itself, and as
heavy as its handle; and these are employed in ascending the river,
the pole man keeping near the shallow shores, and using one in each
hand on either side of the canoe, poling against the bottom. So swift
is the river in these parts (and in fact it is extremely rapid during
its entire course), that the native canoemen use no other method in
ascending it, except for very short distances. The Eskimo method, in
use on the lower part of the river, of harnessing dogs to their craft
like canal horses and towing them along the banks, I did not see in
operation during my stay among the Ayans, although they possessed all
the requisites for such an easy and convenient method of navigation. In
descending the river the current is the main motive power, especially
for long journeys, and the paddle is only sparingly used to keep the
canoe in the swiftest part of the stream. When required, however, they
can go at a speed that few canoemen in the world, savage or civilized,
can equal.
[Illustration: AYAN INDIANS AND THEIR BIRCH-BARK CANOES.]
Two species of fish were caught from the banks near the site of
Selkirk, the grayling being of the same kind we had caught near the
rapids just above and below the Grand Cañon, and had found in varying
numbers from Perthes Point in Lake Bove, to the mouth of White River,
nearly a hundred miles below Selkirk, averaging a trifle over a pound
in weight; and a trout-like salmon, caught occasionally from Lake Nares
to White River, sometimes with an artificial fly, but more frequently
on the trout lines with baited hooks that were put out over night
wherever we camped. A most disgusting and hideous species of eel-pout
monopolized our trout lines whenever they were put out at this point,
from which even the invincible stomachs of our Indian allies and
visitors had to refrain. Small black gnats, somewhat resembling the
buffalo gnats of the plains, were observed near Selkirk in considerable
numbers, and our Indians hinted that they indicated the presence of
large game, a story which we would gladly have had corroborated, but
in this we were disappointed.
We got away from Selkirk on July 15th, shortly after noontime,
having waited for a meridian culmination of the sun in order to take
an observation for latitude. The country gradually becomes more
mountainous as we descend, and this bold character continues with but
slight exceptions for over a hundred miles further. The river view
reminded me strongly of the Columbia River near the Cascades, the
Hudson at West Point, or the Potomac at Harper's Ferry, differing
only in the presence everywhere of innumerable islands, a permanent
characteristic of the Yukon, and one in which it exceeds any other
stream known to me, whether from observation or description.
Although we had understood from the few Indians who had visited us
in their canoes, that their village was but a few miles below Fort
Selkirk, we had become so accustomed to finding insignificant parties
of natives, here and there, that it was a great surprise to us when we
suddenly rounded the lower end of an island about four o'clock that
afternoon, and saw from a hundred and seventy-five to two hundred wild
savages drawn up ready to receive us on the narrow beach in front
of their brush village on the south side of the river. Our coming
had evidently been heralded by couriers, and all of the natives were
apparently half-frantic with excitement for fear we might drift by
without visiting them. They ran up and down the bank wildly swaying
their arms in the air, and shouting and screaming to the great fleet of
canoes that surrounded us, until I feared they might have unfriendly
designs, and in fact, their numbers appeared so overwhelming when
compared with our little band that I gave the necessary orders in
respect to arms so as to give the Indians as little advantage as
possible in case of an encounter at such close quarters. A line was
carried ashore by means of these canoes, and every man, woman and child
in the crowd made an attempt to get hold of it, the foremost of them
running out into the ice-cold water up to the very arm-pits in order to
seize it, and the great gridiron of logs went cutting through the water
like a steam-launch, and brought up against the shore in a way that
nearly took us off our feet.
Immediately after our raft was securely moored, the crowd of Indians
who lined the narrow beach commenced singing and dancing--men and boys
on the (their) left, and women and girls on the right. The song was
low and monotonous, but not melodious, bearing a resemblance to savage
music in general. Their outspread hands were placed on their hips,
their arms _akimbo_, and they swayed from side to side as far as their
lithe bodies would permit, keeping time to the rude tune in alternate
oscillations to the right and left, all moving synchronously and in
the same direction, their long black masses of hair floating wildly to
and fro, and serving the practical purpose of keeping off the gnats
and mosquitoes which otherwise might have made any out-door enjoyments
impossible. During all this time the medicine men went through the most
hideous gymnastics possible along the front of the line, one who had
a blue-black blanket with a St. George's cross of flaming red in its
center being especially conspicuous. He excelled in striking theatrical
attitudes of the most sensational order, in which the showy blanket was
made to do its part, and he was forthwith dubbed Hamlet by the men
of the party, by way of a substitute for his almost unpronounceable
name. Even after the performance, this pompous individual strutted
along the banks as if he owned the whole British North-west territory;
a pretension that was contradicted by his persistent begging for every
trifling object that attracted his eye, as though he had never owned
any thing of value in his life. After the singing and dancing were
over, a few trifling presents were given to most of the Indians as a
reward for their entertainment. A photograph was attempted by Mr. Homan
of this dancing group, but the day was so unfavorable, with its black
lowering clouds, the amateur apparatus so incomplete, and the right
moment so hard to seize, that the effect was a complete failure. Once
or twice we got the long line in position in their best attitudes,
"Hamlet" looking his most ferocious, and resembling a spread eagle with
the feathers pulled out, but just as the photographer was ready to pull
the cap off the camera, some impatient young fellow, inspired by the
crowd and the attitude of dancing, would begin to hum their low song of
Yi-yi-yi-yi's and it was as impossible to keep the others from taking
up the cadence and swaying themselves as it was to arrest the earth's
revolution.
From a book written by a previous traveler on the lower river, who
pretended to a knowledge of the tribes upon its upper part also, I had
been deluded into the idea that useful articles--such as knives, saws,
and files,--were the best for trading purposes with these Indians,
or for the hire of native help; but I was not long in finding out
that this was most gratuitous misinformation; for the constant burden
of their solicitations was a request for tea and tobacco, small
quantities of which they get by barter with intermediate riparian
tribes. These wants I found to extend among the natives throughout
the whole length of the river in varying degrees, and, as the former
article is very light, I would especially recommend it to those about
to enter the country for purposes of scientific research, for which it
is such a grand field. Next to tea and tobacco, which we could only
spare in small quantities, fish-hooks seemed to be in good demand among
this particular tribe; and the very few articles they had to spare,
mostly horn spoons, and birch-bark ladles and buckets were eagerly
exchanged. Below White River, fishing on the Yukon with hook and line
ceases, and fish-hooks are worthless as articles of exchange. Another
article freely brought us was the pair of small bone gambling-tools
(shown on this page) so characteristic of the whole north-west country.
They have been described when speaking of the Chilkat Indians and I saw
no material difference in their _use_ by this particular tribe.
[Illustration: AYAN AND CHILKAT GAMBLING TOOLS. Scale 1/2.]
These Indians call themselves the A-yans--with an occasional leaning
of the pronunciation toward I-yan; and this village, so they said,
contained the majority of the tribe, although from their understanding
of the question they may have meant that it was the largest village of
the tribe. Their country, as they claim it, extends up the Pelly--the
Indian name of which is _Ayan_--to the lakes, up the Yukon from this
point to the village of Kitl-ah-gon, and down that stream to near the
mouth of the White and Stewart Rivers, where they are succeeded by a
tribe called the _Netch-on'-dees_ or _Na-chon'-des_--the Indian name
of the Stewart River being Na-chon'-de. They are a strictly riparian
race of people and define their country only as it extends along the
principal streams. From the river as a home or base, however, they
make frequent hunting excursions to the interior in the winter time
for moose and caribou. This village, which they called _Kah-tung_,
seemed to be of a semi-permanent character; the houses or huts made
of spruce brush, over the top of which there was an occasional piece
of well-worn cloth or dirty canvas, but more often a moose or caribou
skin. These brush houses were squalid affairs, and especially so
compared with the bright intelligent features of the makers, and with
some of their other handicraft, such as their canoes and native wearing
apparel. The little civilized clothing they possess is obtained by
barter with neighboring tribes, and has generally been worn out by the
latter before they exchange, hence it is tattered and filthy beyond
measure, and in no wise so well adapted to their purpose as the native
clothing of buckskin. One could hardly stand up in these brush houses,
they were built so low, and any attempt to do so was frustrated by the
quantities of odoriferous salmon hanging down from the squat roofs,
undergoing a process of smoking in the dense clouds that emanated from
spruce-knot fires on the floor. These ornaments, coupled with the thick
carpeting of live dogs upon the floor, made the outside of the house
the most pleasant part of it. The houses were generally double, facing
each other, with a narrow aisle a foot or two wide between, each one
containing a single family, and being about the area of a common or
government A tent. The ridge-poles were common to the two houses, and
as both leaned forward considerably this gave them strength to resist
violent winds. The diagram on this page gives a ground plan of an Ayan
double brush-house. The village of Kah-tung contained about twenty of
these squalid huts, huddled near the river bank, and altogether was the
largest Indian village we saw on the whole length of the Yukon River.
[Illustration: PLAN OF AYAN SUMMER HOUSE OF BRUSH.]
There was a most decided Hebrew cast of countenance among many of the
Ayans; more pronounced, in fact, than I have ever seen among savages,
and so much so as to make it a subject of constant remark.
Their household implements were of the most primitive type,--such as
spoons of the horn of the mountain goat, very similar to those of the
Tlinkits, but by no means so well carved; and a few buckets, pans, and
trays of birch-bark, ingeniously constructed of one piece so as not to
leak, and neatly sewed with long withes of trailing roots. (The finer
thread-like spruce roots, well-boiled, are, I believe, generally used
by them in sewing their birch-bark canoes and utensils.)
Their present village was, as I have said, evidently only of a
semi-permanent character, used in the summer during the time that
salmon were ascending the river to spawn; the bright red sides of
this fish, as they were hanging around, split open, forming a not
inartistic contrast with the dark green spruce boughs of the houses and
surrounding forests; the artistic effect, however, was best appreciated
when holding one's nose. Scattered around in every direction was a
horde of dogs that defied computation, and it must be an immense drain
on their commissariat to keep these animals alive let alone in good
condition. The amount of active exercise they took, however, would not
suffice to reduce them in flesh, for their principal occupation seemed
to be unlimited sleep.
[Illustration: KON-IT'L, CHIEF OF THE AYANS.]
Although we were not successful in getting a photograph of the long
group of dancers, we were more fortunate with a group of the chiefs
and medicine-man "Hamlet," from which the portrait on this page, of
Kon-it'l, their chief, is taken. It was impossible to get them to
face the camera at such short range until one of the members of the
exploring party took his position with them, while Mr. Homan secured
the photograph.
The Ayan mothers, instead of carrying their babes on their backs with
their faces to the front, as is usually done by savage women, unless
when using a cradle, turn them around so as to have them back to back,
and carry them so low as to fit as it were into the "small of the back."
[Illustration: AYAN MOOSE ARROW.]
Most of the Ayan men, and especially the younger members, were armed
with bows and arrows, but there was quite a considerable sprinkling
of old flintlock Hudson Bay Company muskets among them, which they
had procured by trade many years ago when Fort Selkirk flourished,
or by intertribal barter, and their cost to these poor savages was
almost fabulous. The Company's manner of selling a gun was to set it
upright on the floor of the trader's store, and then to pile up furs
alongside of it until they reached the muzzle, when the exchange was
made, many of the skins being those of the black and silver-gray fox,
and their aggregate value being probably three to four hundred dollars.
Their bows and arrows were of the stereotyped Indian make, with no
distinguishing ornament or peculiarity of construction worthy of notice.
The moose arrows used by this tribe, shown in illustration on this
page, have at the point the usual double barb of common arrows,
while one side is prolonged for two or three inches into a series of
barbs; these latter they claim have the effect of working inward with
the motions of the muscles of the animal if it be only wounded. Once
wounded in this manner these sleuth-hounds of savages will remain on
the trail of a moose for days if need be, until this dreadful weapon
has reached a vital point, or so disabled the animal that it easily
succumbs to its pursuers. In hunting moose in the summer time, while
these animals are swimming across the lakes or broad streams, I was
told by one of my interpreters who had often traded among them, and was
well acquainted with their habits and customs, that these Ayans (and
in fact several tribes below them on the river), do not hesitate to
jump on the animals' back in the lake or river, leaving the canoe to
look after itself, and dispatch the brute with a hand knife, cutting
its throat or stabbing it in the neck as illustrated on page 261. Of
course, a companion in another canoe is needed to assist in getting the
carcass ashore, and secure the hunter's canoe. They often attack the
moose in their canoes while swimming as described by previous explorers
on the lower river, but say that if by any unskillful movement they
should only wound the animal it may turn and wreck their vessel, which
is too great a loss for them to risk. A flying moose will not turn in
the water unless irritated by wounds. The knives they use in hunting
are great double-edged ones, with flaring ornamental handles, well
illustrated in the upper left hand corner of the picture mentioned.
They tell me these knives are of native manufacture, the handles
being wrapped with moose leather so as to give the hand a good grip.
Altogether, they are most villainous and piratical looking things.
[Illustration: CROSS-SECTION THROUGH AYAN WINTER TENT.]
Only one or two log-cabins were seen anywhere in the Ayan country, and
these had the dilapidated air of complete and permanent abandonment,
although this whole district of the river is teeming with timber
appropriate for such use. Probably the nomadic and restless character
of the inhabitants makes it irksome for them to dwell in such permanent
abodes, in spite of the great comfort to be derived in their almost
Arctic winters from such buildings, if well constructed. The severity
of the winter is shown by the moist banks of the river, the appearance
of which indicates that they have been frozen some six or eight feet in
depth. In winter the Ayans live mostly in tents, but by an ingenious
arrangement these ordinarily cold habitations are made reasonably
comfortable. This winter tent is shown in cross-section above, I being
the interior, and P P the tent poles well covered with moose or caribou
skins. A second set of poles, P P, are given a wider spread, inclosing
an air space, A S, a foot or two across. These, too, are covered with
animal skins, and a thick banking of snow, ss, two or three feet deep
is thrown over the outside tent during the coldest weather of winter,
making a sort of hybrid between the Eskimo _igloo_, or snow house, and
the Indian skin lodge.
Many of the Ayans were persistent beggars, and next morning, the 16th
of July, we got an early start before many of them were about, for as a
tribe they did not seem to be very early risers.
Nearly directly opposite the Kah-tung village the perpendicular
basaltic bluffs shown in the view at the mouth of the Pelly cease; and
from this point on, the hills on both sides of the river were higher
and even mountainous in character; "the upper gates of the upper
ramparts."
From this point on down through the ramparts small black gnats became
annoyingly numerous and pugnacious, while the plague of mosquitoes
seemed to abate a little. The mosquito-bars, which were some protection
from the latter, were of no use against the former, the little imps
sailing right between the meshes without even stopping to crawl
through. Veils with the very finest meshes would be needed to repulse
their onslaughts, and with these we were not provided.
That day, the 16th, we drifted forty-seven miles, through a most
picturesque section of country, our journey being marred only by a
number of recurring and disagreeable thunder showers that wet us to the
skin.
Everywhere in conspicuous positions near the edge of the river banks
we saw straggling and isolated Ayan graves, resembling, in general,
the one photographed at Selkirk, and not unlike pretty little white
cottages, when seen from the distance projected against the somber
green of the deep spruce forests.
About thirty-four miles beyond old Selkirk a small but conspicuous
mountain stream came in from the south, which I named after Professor
Selwyn, of Ottawa, Canada.
The river was still full of islands, however, many of which are covered
with tall spruce, and look very picturesque in the almost cañon-like
river-bottom, the steep mountain sides being nearly devoid of heavy
forests.
In one of the many open spaces far up the mountain side, we saw a
huge black bear, evidently hunting his daily meal among the roots and
berries that there abound. Although we passed within half a mile of
him, he took no more notice of us than if our raft had been a floating
chip, and we did not disturb his search with any long-range shots.
A little further down, and on the same side of the river, the northern,
we saw three white mountain goats on the very highest ridges of the
hills. Timid as they are, the only notice they deigned to give us was
that such as were asleep roused themselves and stood gazing at us until
we had drifted well past, when they began grazing leisurely along the
ridge.
[Illustration]
About this time our attention was quite forcibly called to a singular
phenomenon while riding on the raft, which was especially noticeable
on quiet sunny days. It was a very pronounced crackling sound, not
unlike that of a strong fire running through dry cedar brush, or that
of the first rain drops of a thunder storm falling on the roof of a
tent. Some of the men attributed it to the rattling on the logs of
the raft of a shower of pebbles brought up by the swift current from
underneath, which would have been a good enough theory as far as the
sound was concerned; but soundings in such places invariably failed
to touch bottom with a sixteen-foot pole, and, moreover, when we were
in shallower and swifter waters, where the bottom was pebbly, the
sounds were not observed. As the noise always occurred in deep water
of a boiling character, figuratively speaking,--or in that agitated
condition so common in deep water immediately after a shoal, a
condition with which our experience in prying the raft off shoals had
rendered us familiar--I attempted to account for it upon the theory
explained by the figure just below. The raft _x_, drifting with the
arrow, passes from a shallow to a deep stretch of water. The Yukon
River is a very swift stream for its size (we drifted that day, July
16, forty-seven and a half geographical miles in eleven hours and fifty
minutes, and even this rate cannot represent the swiftest current), and
the pebbles, carried forward over the shallows and reaching the crest
_a_, are borne along by their own inertia and the superficial current,
and literally _dropped_ on a gravel-bank at some point forward, such as
_b_, and, water being so excellent a conductor of sound, an observer
on a low floating craft, during quiet days, might distinctly hear this
falling, whereas it would not be heard if the pebbles were simply
rolling along the bottom in swifter and noisier water. The suddenness
with which this crackling commenced and the gradual manner in which
it died out, seem to confirm this idea. A series of soundings before
and after the occurrence of these singular noises would have settled
this theory; but the sound recurred so seldom (say twice, or perhaps
three times, a day in this part of the river), that it was impossible
to predict it in time to put the theory to the test, unless one kept
constantly sounding while upon the river. It was observed on the lower
river in a much less degree, and probably might there have passed
unnoticed if previous experience had not recalled it to our attention.
That evening we camped at 8 o'clock, after trying to conduct our
cumbersome vessel to a pretty little spot for the purpose, but our
well-used "snubbing" line parted at the critical moment and we drifted
down into a most miserable position among the high, rank willow shoots,
laden with water from the recent rains. Towing or "tracking" our craft
back against the swift current with our small force was plainly out of
the question, and as the river bank seemed of the same character, as
far as we could see, some two or three miles, we made the best of it
and camped, for we were getting used to such experiences by this time.
Next morning, about 7 o'clock, when we were nearly ready to start, we
found four Ayan Indians, each in his birch-bark canoe, visiting our
camp. They came from the Kah-tung village above, having left it, as
they said, shortly after our departure on the preceding day, and had
camped for the night on the river just above us. They expressed great
surprise at the distance we had made by simple drifting, having until
this morning felt certain that they had passed us the day before around
some one of the many islands in the broad river. They were going down
the river some two or three hundred miles to a white trader's store
of which they spoke, and we kept passing each other for the next three
or four days. They had spoken at the Kah-tung village of this trading
station (which we took to be Fort Yukon), which they said they could
reach in three days; kindly adding that we might make the distance with
our craft in a week or so. They now changed their minds and thought
we might only be a day or two behind them. I found that the progress
of the raft, when care was taken to keep in the swiftest current, for
twelve or fourteen or perhaps sixteen hours a day, with no unusual
detentions, fully equaled the average day's journey of the Indian
canoes, which remained in the water not more than six or seven hours a
day; their occupants stopping to hunt every animal that might be seen,
as well as to cook a midday lunch at their leisure. In fact my own
Indians, who had traded among them, more than hinted that they were
hurrying considerably in order to go along with us and to reach the
white trader's store as a portion of our party.
These same four fellows, when they met us on the morning of the 17th,
had with them the carcass of a black bear, which they offered for sale
or barter; and on our buying one hindquarter, which was about all that
we thought we could use before spoiling, they offered us the rest
as a gift. We accepted the offer to the extent of taking the other
hindquarter, for which we gave them a trifle, whereupon the rest of the
carcass was left behind or thrown away on the beach, a circumstance
which was explained to us by the fact that all four of these Indians
were medicine-men, and as such were forbidden by some superstitious
custom from eating bears' flesh. They told us that the animal was the
same black bear we had seen on the northern hillsides of the river the
day before.
The morning of the 17th and certain other periods of the day were
characterized by a heavy fog-bank, which did not quite reach the river
bottom, but cut the hillsides at an altitude of from three hundred to
five hundred feet above the level of the stream. The fog gave a dismal
and monotonous aspect to the landscape, but proved much better for our
physical comfort than the previous day, with its alternating rain and
blistering heat. We found these fogs to be very common on this part
of the river, being almost inseparable from the southern winds that
prevail at this time of the year. I suppose these fogs proceed from the
moisture-laden air over the warm Pacific which is borne on the southern
winds across the snow-clad and glacier-crowned mountains of the Alaskan
coast range, becoming chilled and condensed in its progress, and
reaching this part of the Yukon valley is precipitated as rain or fog.
The reason that we had escaped the fogs on the lakes was that the wind
came across tracts of land to the south, and the hygrometric conditions
were different. A little further down the Yukon, but within the upper
ramparts, we suffered from almost constant rains that beat with the
southern winds upon our backs.
Shortly after one o'clock in the afternoon we floated by the mouth of
the White River flowing from the south west, which has the local name
of Yú-ko-kon Heena, or Yú-ko-kon River, a much prettier name than the
old one of the Hudson Bay traders. The Chilkats call it the Sand River,
from the innumerable bars and banks of sand along its course; and many
years ago they ascended it by a trail, which when continued leads to
their own country, but is now abandoned. Some forty to fifty miles up
its valley the Indian trading trail which leads from the headwaters of
the Tanana to old Fort Selkirk crosses its course at right angles; and
since the destruction of Fort Selkirk in 1851, the Tanana Indians, who
then made considerable use of the trail to reach the fort for trading
purposes, employ it but little; and only then as far as the White
River, whose valley they descend to reach the Yukon.
This stream resembles a river of liquid mud of an almost white hue,
from which characteristic it is said to have derived its name from
the old Hudson Bay traders--and no better illustration of its extreme
muddiness can be given than the following: One of our party mistook a
mass of timber that had lodged on the up-stream side of a low, flat
mud-bar, for floating wood, and regarded it as evidence of a freshet, a
theory which seemed corroborated by the muddy condition of the water,
until the actual character of the object was established by closer
observation as we drifted nearer. The mud-bar and adjacent waters were
so entirely of the same color that the line of demarcation was not
readily apparent, and had it not been for the drift rubbish around the
former it might have escaped our scrutiny even at our short distance
from it. The Indians say that the White River rises in glacier-bearing
lands, and that it is very swift, and full of rapids along its whole
course. So swift is it at its mouth, that as it pours its muddy waters
into the rapid Yukon it carries them nearly across that clear blue
stream; the waters of the two rivers mingling almost at once, and not
running distinct for miles side by side, as is stated in one book on
Alaska. From the mouth of the White or Yu'-ko-kon to Bering Sea,
nearly 1,500 miles, the Yukon is so muddy as to be noticeable even when
its water is taken up in the palm of the hand; and all fishing with
hook and line ceases.
About four in the afternoon the mouth of the Stewart River was passed,
and, being covered with islands, might not have been noticed except
for its valley, which is very noticeable--a broad valley fenced in by
high hills. A visit to the shore in our canoe showed its mouth to be
deltoid in character, three mouths being observed, and others probably
existing. Islands were very numerous in this portion of the Yukon,
much more so than in any part of the river we had yet visited, and
as the raft had drifted on while I went ashore in the canoe, I had a
very hard task to find it again and came within a scratch of losing
it, having passed beyond the camp, and being compelled to return. It
was about nine o'clock in the evening and the low north-western sun
shone squarely in our faces, as we descended the river, eagerly looking
for the ascending smoke of the camp-fire, which had been agreed upon,
before separation, as the signal to be kept going until we returned.
The setting sun throwing its slanting rays upon each point of woods
that ran from the hillsides down to the water's edge, illumined the
top of them with a whitish light until each one exactly resembled a
camp-fire on the river bank with the feathery smoke floating off along
the tree tops. Even my Indian canoeman was deceived at first, until
half a dozen appearing together in sight convinced him of his error.
All these islands were densely covered with spruce and poplar, and the
swift current cutting into their alluvial banks, though the latter
were frozen six or eight feet thick, kept their edges bristling with
freshly-fallen timber; and it was almost courting destruction to get
under this _abatis_ of trees with the raft, in the powerful current, to
avoid which some of our hardest work was necessary. The preservative
power of this constantly frozen ground must be very great, as in many
places we saw protruding from the high banks great accumulations of
driftwood and logs over which there was soil two and three feet thick,
which had been formerly carried by the river, and from which sprung
forests of spruce timber, as high as any in sight, at whose feet
were rotting trunks that must have been saplings centuries ago. Yet
wherever this ancient driftwood had been undermined and washed of its
dirt and thrown upon the beach along with the tree but just fallen,
the difference between the two was only that the latter still retained
its green bark, and its broken limbs were not so abraded and worn; but
there seemed to be no essential difference in the fiber of the timber.
The evening of the 17th, having scored forty geographical miles, we
camped on a low gravel bar, and bivouacked in the open air so clear
and still was the night, although by morning huge drops of rain were
falling on our upturned faces.
On the 18th, shortly after noon, we passed a number of _Tahk-ong_
Indians, stretched upon the green sward of the right bank leisurely
enjoying themselves; their birch-bark canoes, sixteen in all, being
pulled up on the gravel beach in front of them. It was probably a
trading or hunting party, there being one person for each canoe, none
of whom were women. Already we observed an increase in the size and
a greater cumbrousness in the build of the birch-bark canoes, when
compared with the fairy-like craft of the Ayans, a characteristic
that slowly increased as we descended the river until the _kiak_, or
sealskin canoe of the Eskimo is encountered along the lower waters of
the great river. Of course this change of build reflects no discredit
upon the skill of the makers, as a heavier craft is required to
navigate the rougher water, as the broad stream is stirred up by the
persistent southern winds of the Yukon basin.
[Illustration: MOOSE-SKIN MOUNTAIN, AND CAMP 32 AT THE MOUTH OF DEER
RIVER.]
About 8.30 P.M. we passed an Indian camp on the left bank, which, from
the seeming good quality of their canvas tents as viewed from the
river, we judged might prove to be a mining party of whites. From them
we learned that there was a deserted white man's store but a few miles
beyond, but that the trader himself, had quitted the place several
months before, going down to salt-water, as they expressed it. This
was evidently the same trader the Ayans expected to meet at a little
semi-permanent station of the Alaska Commercial Company dubbed Fort
Reliance; and they seemed quite discomfited at his departure, although
he had left the preceding autumn, and as we afterward ascertained more
from fear of the Indians in his neighborhood than any other reason.
We camped that night at the mouth of a noticeable but small stream
coming in from the east, which we afterward learned was called Deer
Creek by the traders, from the large number of caribou or woodland
reindeer seen in its valley at certain times of their migrations.
At this point of its course the Yukon River is extremely narrow in
comparison with the distance from its head--about 700 miles,--and
considering its previous mean width, being here only two hundred or
two hundred and fifty yards across. It certainly must have great depth
to be able to carry the immense volume of water of so swift and wide
a river as it is above, for the current does not seem to increase
appreciably in this narrow channel.
Directly northward in plain sight is a prominent landmark on this part
of the river, viz., a high hill called by the Indians "the moose-skin
mountain." Two ravines that converge from its top again diverge when
about to meet about half way down the mountain slope, and along these
two arms of an hyperbola there has been a great landslide, laying bare
the dull red ocherous soil beneath, which contrasts almost vividly with
the bright green of the grass and foliage of the mountain flank, and
in shape and color resembles a gigantic moose-skin stretched out to
dry. That day's drift gave us forty-seven and a half miles, and all our
scores were good while passing the ramparts, the delays from sand, mud
and gravel bars being very small.
Believing that I was now in close proximity to the British boundary,
as shown by our dead reckoning--kept by Mr. Homan,--I reluctantly
determined on giving a day (the 19th of July) to astronomical
observations,--reluctantly because every day was of vital importance in
reaching St. Michael's, near the mouth of the river, in time to reach
any outgoing vessels for the United States; for if too late to catch
them, we should have to spend a dismal and profitless year at that
place. That day, however, proved so tempestuous, and the prospect so
uninviting, that after getting a couple of poor "sights" for longitude,
I ordered camp broken, and we got away shortly after eleven o'clock.
A few minutes before one o'clock we passed the abandoned trading
station on the right bank of the river, which we surmised from certain
maps and from subsequent information to be the one named Fort Reliance.
It was a most dilapidated-looking frontier pile of shanties, consisting
of one main house, probably the store, above ground, and three or four
cellar-like houses, the ruined roofs of which were the only vestiges
remaining above ground. The Indians said that Mr. McQuestion, the
trader, had left on account of severe sickness, but his own story, when
we met him afterward on the lower river, was that he was sick of the
Indians, the main tribe of which were peaceful enough, but contained
several ugly tempered communistic medicine-men who had threatened his
life in order to get rid of his competition in the drug business, which
resulted greatly to their financial detriment.
Nearly opposite Fort Reliance was the Indian village of Noo-klak-o, or
Nuclaco, numbering about one hundred and fifty people. Our approach
was welcomed by a protracted salute of from fifty to seventy-five
discharges of their old rusty muskets, to which we replied with a far
less number. Despite the great value of powder and other ammunition to
these poor isolated savages, who are often obliged to make journeys of
many hundreds of miles in order to procure them, and must oftentimes
be in sore need of them for hunting purposes, they do not hesitate in
exciting times--and every visit of a stranger causes excitement--to
waste their ammunition in foolish hangings and silly salutes that
suggest the vicinity of a powder magazine. I suppose the expenditure
on our visit, if judiciously employed in hunting, would have supplied
their village with meat for probably a month; and yet we drifted by
with hardly a response. This method of saluting is very common along
the river from this point on, and is, I believe, an old Russian
custom which has found its way thus far up the stream, which is much
beyond where they had ever traded. It is a custom often mentioned in
descriptions of travel further down the river. The permanent number
of inhabitants, according to Mr. McQuestion, was about seventy-five
or eighty; and therefore there must have been a great number of
visitors among them at the time of our passing. They seemed very much
disappointed that we did not visit their village, and the many who
crowded around the drifting raft in their little fleet of canoes spoke
only of tea and tobacco, for which they seemed ready to barter their
very souls. Their principal diet in summer and early fall is furnished
by the salmon of the Yukon, while during winter and spring, until the
ice disappears, they feed on the flesh of moose and caribou. A trader
on the upper river told me that the ice of the stream is removed from
the upper ramparts and above principally by melting, while all that
covers the Yukon below that part is washed out by the spring rise of
the river, there being fully a month's difference in the matter between
the two districts. Noo-klak-o' was a semi-permanent village, but a most
squalid-looking affair,--somewhat resembling the Ayan town, but with a
much greater preponderance of canvas. Most of the native visitors we
saw were Tanana' Indians, and I was somewhat surprised to find them
put the accent, in a broad way, on the second syllable, _Ta-nah'-nee_,
differing radically from the pronunciation of the same name by the
Indians at the mouth of the river, and by most white travelers of
the Lower Yukon. From this point a trail leads south-westward over
the mountains to a tributary of the Tanana, by means of which these
Indians visit Noo-klak-o. The 19th was a most disagreeable day, with
alternating rain showers and drifting fog, which had followed us since
the day of our failure in securing astronomical observations, and to
vary the discomfort, after making less than thirty miles we stuck so
fast on the upper point of a long gravel bar that we had to carry our
effects ashore on our backs, and there camp with only half a dozen
water-logged sticks for a camp-fire. What in the world any mosquito
wanted to do out on that desert of a sand-bar in a cold drifting fog I
could never imagine, but before our beds were fairly made they put in
an appearance in the usual unlimited numbers and made sleep, after a
hard day's work, almost impossible.
Starting at 8:10 A.M., next morning, from Camp 33, at 11:30 we passed a
good sized river coming in from the west, which I named the Cone-Hill
River, from the fact that there is a prominent conical hill in the
center of its broad valley, near the mouth.
Just beyond the mouth of the Cone-Hill River we suddenly came in sight
of some four or five black and brown bears in an open or untimbered
space of about an acre or two on the steep hillsides of the western
slope. The raft was left to look after itself and we gave them a
running volley of skirmish fire that sent them scampering up the
steep hill into the dense brush and timber, their principal loss
being loss of breath. By not attending to the navigation of our craft
in the excitement of the short bear hunt we ran on a submerged rock
in a current so swift that we swung around so rapidly as almost to
throw a number of us overboard, stuck for a couple of minutes with
the water boiling over the stern, and in general lost our faith in
the ability of our vessel to navigate itself. In a previous chapter
I have mentioned having been told by a person in southern Alaska,
undoubtedly conscientious in his statement, and having considerable
experience as a hunter, that the black and brown bear of his district
never occupied the same localities, and although the sequence of these
localities might be as promiscuous as the white and black squares on
a checker-board, yet each species remained wholly on his own color,
so to speak; and this led him to believe that the weaker of the two,
the black bear, had good reason to be afraid of his more powerful
neighbor. This day's observation of the two species living together,
in one very small area, shows either an error of judgment on the part
of the observer mentioned, or a difference of the ursine nature in
different regions.
After leaving the Stewart River, which had been identified by a sort
of _reductio ad absurdum_ reasoning, I found it absolutely impossible
to identify any of the other streams from the descriptions and maps
now in existence, even when aided by the imperfect information derived
from the local tribes. Indianne, my Chilkat-Tahk-heesh interpreter, got
along very well among the latter tribe. Among the Ayans were many who
spoke Tahk-heesh, with whom they traded, and here we had but little
trouble. Even lower down we managed to get along after a fashion, for
one or two of the Ayan medicine-men who came as far as Fort Reliance
with us, could occasionally be found, and they understood the lower
languages pretty fairly, and although we struggled through four or
five tongues we could still make out that tea and tobacco were the
leading topics of conversation everywhere. Beyond Fort Reliance,
and after bidding adieu to our four Ayans, we were almost at sea,
but occasionally in the most roundabout way we managed to elicit
information of a limited character.
[Illustration: ROQUETTE ROCK.
(As we approached looking down the stream.)]
About the middle of the afternoon of that day, the 20th, we floated
past a remarkable-looking rock, standing conspicuously in a flat level
bottom of the river on the eastern side, and very prominent in its
isolation. I could not but notice the strong resemblance between it
and Castle Rock on the Columbia River, although I judge it to be only
about one-half or two-thirds the size of the latter, but much more
prominent, not being overshadowed by near and higher mountains. I
called it the Roquette Rock, in honor of M. Alex. de la Roquette, of
the Paris Geographical Society. The Indians have a legend connected
with it, so it is said, that the Yukon River once flowed along the
distant hills back of it, and that the rock formed part of the bluff
seen in the illustration just below, overhanging the western shore of
the river, both being about the same height and singularly alike in
other respects. Here the bluff and rock lived many geological periods
in wedded bliss as man and wife, but finally family dissensions
invaded the rocky household and culminated in the stony-hearted
husband kicking his wrangling wife into the center of the distant
plain, and changing the course of the great river so that it flowed
between them to emphasize the perpetual divorce. The bluff and the
rock, so my informant told me, are still known among the Indians as
"the old man" and "the old wife." Despite a most disagreeable day, on
the 20th we showed a record of forty-five geographical miles, by way
of compensation for the dark lowering clouds that hung over us like a
pall. The scenery passed that day would have been picturesque enough
when viewed through any other medium than that of a wretched drizzle
of rain. Just before camping we saw high perpendicular bluffs of what
appeared to be limestone, frowning over us from the eastern shore,
which were perforated with huge caverns that would have made good dens
for bears, but their situation was such that no bears not possessing
wings could have reached them. On the map this bluff figures as Cave
Rock.
We got a late start on the 21st, the wretched weather being good for
late sleeping if for nothing else, the middle of the forenoon finding
us just pulling out. At noon we passed a good-sized river coming in
from the east, but if it had been mapped we were unable to identify it.
A few minutes afterward we swung around a sharp bend in the river and
saw a confused mass of brush or logs that denoted an Indian village in
the distance, a supposition confirmed by the number of canoes afloat in
its front and by a motley crowd of natives on the bank, well mingled
with the inevitable troop of dogs that to the eye of the experienced
traveler is as sure a sign of an Indian village as both Indians and
houses together. This was the first Indian village we had encountered
on the river deserving the name of permanent, and even here the logs of
which the cabins, six in number, were built, seemed to be mere poles,
and by no means as substantially built as it might have been with the
material at hand. It was perched up on a high flat bank on the western
side of the river, the gable ends of the house fronting the stream, and
all of them very close together, there being only one or two places
wide enough for a path to allow the inmates to pass. The fronts of the
houses are nearly on the same line, and this row is so close to the
scarp of the bank that the "street" in front is a very narrow path,
where two persons can hardly pass unless one of them steps indoors
or down the hill; and when I visited the village the road was so
monopolized by scratching dogs that I could hardly force my way through
them. This street may have been much wider in times of yore--for it
seemed to be quite an old village--and the encroachments of the eroding
river during freshets may have reduced it to its present narrowness. If
so, it will not be long before the present village must be abandoned or
set back some distance. Further up the river we saw a single pole house
projecting over the bank about a fourth or a third of its length, and
deserted by its occupants. The body of the houses is of a very inferior
construction, in which ventilation seems to be the predominating idea
(although even this is not developed to a sufficient degree, as judged
by one's nose upon entering), and the large door in front is roughly
closed by a well-riddled moose or caribou skin, or occasionally by a
piece of canvas so dirty that at the distance of a few feet it might
be taken for an animal's skin. The roofs are of skins battened down by
spruce poles, which, projecting beyond the comb in irregular lengths,
often six and eight feet, gave the whole village a most bristling
appearance. A fire is built on the dirt-floor, in the center of the
habitation, and the smoke left to get out the best way it can. As the
occupants are generally sitting flat on the floor, or stretched out
at full length on their backs or stomachs in the dirt, they are in a
stratum of air comparatively clear; or, at least, endurable to Indian
lungs. The ascending smoke finds ample air-holes among the upper cracks
of the walls, while that dense mass of it which is retained under the
skins of the roof, making it almost impossible to stand upright, is
utilized for smoking the salmon which are hung up in this space. The
Indian name of the village is Klat-ol-klin', but it is generally known
on the Middle River as Johnny's Village, after the chief's Americanized
name. That dignitary was absent on a journey of several days down the
river, at the time of our arrival.
[Illustration: KLAT-OL-KLIN' (JOHNNY'S) VILLAGE (LOOKING UP THE YUKON
RIVER)]
A number of long leaning poles, braced on their downhill ends by cross
uprights, were noticed on the gravel beach in front of the village;
these serve as scaffoldings upon which to dry salmon in the sun, and
to keep them from the many dogs while undergoing this process. While
taking a photograph of the town, two or three salmon fell from the
poles; and in a twinkling fully sixty or seventy dogs were huddled
together about them in a writhing mass, each one trying to get his
share,--and that of several others. The camera was sighted toward them,
a hurried guess made as to the proper focus, and an instantaneous view
attempted, but the negative looked more like a representation of an
approaching thunder shower, and I never afterward printed from it.
Occasionally in these rushes a row of scaffolding will be knocked down,
and if it happens to be loaded with salmon the consequent feast will
be of a more extensive nature. These dogs were of a smaller breed, and
noticeably of a darker color, than the Eskimo dogs of the lower river.
They are employed by these Indians for the same purposes, but to a more
limited extent.
It was at this village that what to me was the most wonderful and
striking performance given by any natives we encountered on the whole
trip was displayed. I refer to their method of fishing for salmon. I
have already spoken of the extreme muddiness of the Yukon below the
mouth of the White River; and this spot, of course, is no exception.
I believe I do not exaggerate in the least when I say, that, if an
ordinary pint tin-cup were filled with it, nothing could be seen at
the bottom until the sediment had settled. The water is about nine
or ten feet deep on the fishing banks in front of the houses, where
they fish with their nets; or at least that is about the length of
the poles to which the nets are attached. The salmon I saw them take
were caught about two hundred or two hundred and fifty yards directly
out from the shore in front of the houses. Standing in front of this
row of cabins, some person, generally an old man, squaw or child,
possibly on duty for that purpose, would announce, in a loud voice,
that a salmon was coming up the river, perhaps from a quarter to a
third of a mile away. This news would stir up some young man from the
cabins, who from his elevated position in front of them would identify
the salmon's position, and then run down to the beach, pick up his
canoe, paddle and net, launch the former and start rapidly out into
the river; the net lying on the canoe's birch deck in front of him,
his movements being guided by his own sight and that of a half dozen
others on the high bank, all shouting advice to him at the same time.
Evidently, in the canoe he could not judge well of the fish's position,
especially at a distance; for he seemed to rely on the advice from the
shore to direct his movements until the fish was near him, when with
two or three dexterous and powerful strokes with both hands, he shot
the little canoe to a point near the position he wished to take up,
regulating its finer movements by the paddle used as a sculling oar
in his left hand, while with his right he grasped the net at the end
of its handle and plunged it into the water the whole length of its
pole to the bottom of the river (some nine or ten feet); often leaning
far over and thrusting the arm deep into the water, so as to adjust
the mouth of the net, covering about two square feet, directly over
the course of the salmon so as to entrap him. Of seven attempts, at
intervals covering three hours, two were successful (and in two others
salmon were caught but escaped while the nets were being raised),
salmon being taken that weighed from fifteen to twenty pounds. How
these Indians can see at this distance the coming of a single salmon
along the bottom of a river eight or ten feet deep, and determine
their course or position near enough to catch them in the narrow mouth
of a small net, when immediately under the eye a vessel holding that
number of inches of water from the muddy river completely obscures an
object at its bottom, is a problem that I will not attempt to solve.
Their success depends of course in some way on the motion of the fish.
In vain they attempted to show members of my party the coming fish.
I feel perfectly satisfied that none of the white men could see the
slightest trace of the movements to which their attention was called.
Under the skin roofs of their log-cabins and on the scaffoldings upon
the gravel beach were many hundred salmon that had been caught in this
curious way. The only plausible theory which I could evolve within the
limits of the non-marvelous, was, that the salmon came along near the
top of the water, so as to show or indicate the dorsal fin, and that as
it approached the canoe, the sight of it, or more likely some slight
noise, made with that intention, drove the fish to the bottom without
any considerable lateral deviation, whereupon they were inclosed by
the net. But my interpreters told me (and I think their interpretation
was correct in this case, roundabout as it was), that this superficial
swimming did not take place, but that the motion of the fish was
communicated from the deep water to the surface, often when the fish
was quite at the bottom.
[Illustration: KLAT-OL-KLIN FISHING NETS.
Scale, 1-30.]
The nets used have already been partially described. The mouth is
held open by a light wooden frame of a reniform shape, as shown in
the figure on this page, and as one may readily see, this is of great
advantage in securing the handle firmly by side braces to the rim of
the net's mouth as shown, that being undoubtedly the object sought.
Further down the river (that is, in the "lower ramparts"), the reniform
rim becomes circular; thus of course increasing the chances of catching
the fish; all the other dimensions, too, are greatly increased. When
the salmon is netted, a turn is immediately given to the handle, thus
effectually trapping the fish below the mouth of the net, and upon the
dexterity thus displayed no little of the fisherman's success depends.
Two salmon were lost upon this occasion after they had actually passed
into the net, owing to lack of agility in this operation. When fully
entrapped and brought alongside, a fish-club, as shown, is used to kill
the salmon immediately by a hard blow over the head, for the struggles
of so large a fish might easily upset a frail canoe.
[Illustration: SALMON-KILLING CLUB.]
Up to this time the birch-bark canoes on the river had been so fragile
and "cranky" that my Chilkat Indians, who were used to the heavy
wooden canoes of their country, felt unsafe in employing them for all
purposes, but these were so much larger and stronger in build, and our
old Tahk-heesh "dug-out" so thoroughly worthless, that we felt safe
in buying one at this village, but for a number of days "Billy" and
"Indianne" paddled very gingerly when making excursions in it.
A few Hudson Bay toboggan sledges were seen on scaffolds at and near
the village; they seem to be the principal sledges of this part of
the country. The snow shoes of this tribe differed from those of the
Chilkats by trifling modifications only, being a sort of compromise
between the hunting and packing snow shoes of the latter.
About a mile or a mile and a quarter below Klat-ol-klin', and on the
same side of the river, is a fairly constructed white man's log cabin,
which had once been used as a trading store, but was now deserted. We
afterward learned that this trading station was called Belle Isle,
and had only been built two years before, having been abandoned the
preceding year as not paying. The Indians evidently must have surmised
that the trader would return, as they respected the condition in which
he left the building, in a manner most creditable to their honesty, no
one having entered or disturbed it since he left. They evidently care
very little for beads as ornaments, for I saw none of them wearing that
much coveted Indian adornment, while great quantities were scattered
around by the trader's store, having been trampled into the ground.
At no place on the river did I find such an eagerness for beads as
characterizes the American Indians of milder climes, but nowhere did I
see such total disregard for them as was shown here.
Near Belle Isle is a prominent hill called by the Indians
_Ta-tot'-lee_, its conspicuousness heightened by the comparative
flatness of the country which lies between two entering rivers and a
great bend of the Yukon. As our survey showed it to be just within
Alaska, bordering on the boundary between it and the British North-west
Territory, I gave it the additional name of Boundary Butte.
The country was now noticeably more open, and it was evident that we
had already passed the most mountainous portion of the chain, the
intersection of which by the river forms the upper ramparts.
The next day we made thirty-six miles, and as the whole day had been a
most disagreeable one when at six o'clock we got drawn into an eddy,
near which was a fair place to camp, I ordered the raft made fast and
the tents pitched.
That day--the 22d--while under way, we saw a large dead king-salmon,
floating belly upwards with the current, and we kept near it for
some time. This spectacle became more familiar as we descended, while
everywhere we met with the rough coarse dog-salmon strewn upon the
beach, frequently in such numbers, and tainting the air so strongly
with the odor of their decay, that an otherwise good camp would be
spoiled by their presence.
[Illustration: MOUNT TA-TOT'-LEE, OR BOUNDARY BUTTE.
(Also showing Middle Yukon River Indians' methods of killing swimming
moose.)]
The river rose ten inches that night--a fact easily accounted for by
the protracted and often heavy rains. The forenoon of the 23d was very
gloomy, but shortly after noon the weather surprised us by clearing up.
At 3:30 that day we came upon another Indian town called Charley's
Village; but the current was so swift that we could not get the raft up
to the bank so as to camp alongside, but we were successful in making
a sand-bar about half a mile below. Charley's Village was an exact
counterpart of Johnny's, even as to the number of houses--six--and the
side of the river--the western; and considering this and the trouble
to reach it, I did not attempt to photograph it. When attempting to
reach it with the raft, so anxious were the Indians for our success,
that as many as could do so put the bows of their canoes on the outer
log of the raft, and paddled forward with as much vehemence as if
their very lives depended upon the result. In three or four minutes
they had worked themselves into a streaming perspiration, and had
probably shoved the huge raft as many inches toward the bank. We found
a Canadian voyageur among them of the name of Jo. Ladue, who, as a
partner of one of the traders on the lower river, had drifted here in
prospecting the stream for precious mineral. "Jo," as he is familiarly
known, speaks of the natives of both these villages as Tadoosh, and
says they are the best-natured Indians from here till the Eskimo are
met with. Ladue had a fairly-made scow over twenty feet long, about
half a dozen wide, and three deep, which he wanted to hire us, but
as it would not hold all the party and effects we had to decline the
tender, despite his emphatic assurances that we could not safely go
much further with our raft. It was with Ladue that I first noticed
particularly the pronunciation of the name of the great river, on whose
waters we were drifting, a pronunciation which is universal among the
few whites along its borders, and that sounded strangely at first;
that is with the accent on the first syllable, and not on the second,
as I had so usually heard it pronounced in the United States. That
night, the 23d, the mosquitoes were perfectly unbearable in their
assaults, and if the weather had not turned bitterly cold toward
morning I doubt if we could have obtained any sleep at all, for the
mosquito-bars seemed to be no protection whatever.
I think I established one mosquito theory of a practical bearing, on a
pretty firm basis, while upon this trip "in the land of the mosquito's
paradise;" and that was, if the insects are so thick that they
constantly touch each other on the mosquito-bar when crawling over it,
it will be no protection whatever, if the meshes are of the usual size,
and they will come in so fast that comfort is out of the question,
but otherwise there is some chance which increases as their numbers
diminish. Even if there are two or three to the square inch of your bar
of many square yards, it surprises you how few get through, but the
minute they begin crawling over each other they seem to become furious,
and make efforts to squeeze through the meshes which are often rewarded
with success, until a sharp slap on the face sounds their death knell.
The doctor, in a fit of exasperation, said he believed that two of them
would hold the legs and wings of another flat against its body, while
a third shoved it through; but I doubt the existence of co-operation
among them. I think they are too mean to help one another.