DOWN THE RIVER AND HOME.
[Illustration: INDIAN OUT-DOOR GUN COVERING, ON THE LOWER YUKON RIVER.]
The 7th of August we remained over pumping out the bilge-water from the
"barka" and transferring freight from the raft to the schooner, and
making use of our photographic apparatus.
At Nuklakayet the Eskimo dogs begin to appear, forty or fifty being
owned by the station, the majority of which Mr. Harper feared he should
have to kill to save the expense of feeding them through the winter.
As each of them ate a salmon a day, it will be seen that this cost
was no small item. I remembered the trouble I had once experienced in
obtaining even a smaller number of these useful creatures; a difficulty
which many another Arctic traveler has encountered, while here was a
pack about to be slaughtered that would well suffice for any sledging
party. The Eskimo dogs of Alaska are larger, finer-looking, and a
much more distinct variety than those of North Hudson's Bay, King
William Land country, and adjacent districts; a description of any one
Alaska dog answering nearly for all, while among the others I have
named, there was the widest difference in size, shape and general
appearance. From all I could learn, and I was careful to inquire of
their capabilities, I do not think the Alaskan Eskimo dogs can compare
with the others in endurance, whether as regards fatigue, exposure
or fasting. For all the purposes of men who are never in fear of
starvation, I think it more than probable that the Alaskan Eskimo dog
would be found superior on short journeys and trips between points
where food is procurable; but for the use of explorers, or of any one
who may be exposed to the danger of famine, the others are undoubtedly
far superior. When I told some of the Yukon River traders, who had
spent much of their lives in the native country of these dogs, of some
of the feats of endurance of the Hudson Bay species, they seemed to
think, judging from their countenances, that I was giving them a choice
selection from the Arctic edition of Munchausen.
Eskimo boats, or those in which the wooden frames are covered with
sealskin, are also first noticed at this place; although the Eskimo
people themselves are not found as regular inhabitants until Anvik
has been passed, some twenty or thirty miles. I saw both kinds, the
smaller variety, or _kiak_, in native language, and the large kind, or
_oomien_, of the Eskimo. An attempt had evidently been made to fashion
the bow and stern of the latter into nautical "lines," with a result
much more visible than with those of Hudson's Straits and Bay.
On Wednesday the 8th of August, we got away late, and there being
a slight breeze behind us, we set the jib--the only sail with the
boat--and were agreeably surprised at the manner in which our new
acquisition cut through the water, with even this little help; the sail
assisting her probably a couple of miles an hour, and, better than
all, making it very easy work to keep in the strongest currents.
Indian villages or camps were seen occasionally on the upper ends of
islands, with their fish-traps set above them, and from some of these
we obtained fresh salmon. As the trading stations are approached, these
Indian camps increase, the largest being generally clustered around
the station itself, while a diminution both in numbers and size is
perceptible in proportion to the distance from these centers. As many
of these camps are but temporary summer affairs, which are abandoned
late in the fall, this clustering around the white men's stores becomes
more marked at that period. That night's camping, however, plainly
showed us that the "barka" was not as good as the raft for the purpose
of approaching the shore, it drawing about three feet to the raft's
twenty inches, so that "rubber-boot camps" might be quite numerous in
the future. Worst of all, our rubber boots were but little protection
in three feet of water, and filling to the top, became more of an
impediment than otherwise in carrying our effects to the shore. Most of
our camping places were now selected with reference to steep banks that
had at least three feet of water at their foot, yet were not so high
but that a long gang-plank could reach the crest.
On the 9th, we started early with a light wind in our face that within
an hour had become a furious gale, with white capped waves running over
the broad river and dashing over our boat. We ran into shoal water,
dropped anchor, and tried to protect ourselves by crawling in under
the leaking decks. Here we remained cooped up until four o'clock in
the afternoon, when the gale abating somewhat we pulled up anchor
and drifted for six or seven miles, going into camp at eight o'clock,
having made eight and a-half miles for the day. After camping, the gale
died down to a calm, and allowed us the full benefit of the mosquitoes.
Either we were getting used to their attacks, or the season had
affected the insects, for they appeared less numerous than on the upper
river.
The 10th was another day starting well with a favorable breeze and
ending with a heavy head-wind. That day we passed the Newicargut and
still saw many Indian camps where fishing for salmon was going on.
The 11th was an aggravating repetition of the events of the two
preceding days. That day we passed the Melozecargut, and camped
opposite the mouth of the Yukocargut. [4]"Cargut" is the native name
for river, and Sooncargut, Melozecargut, and Tosecargut, have been
changed to Sunday-cargut, Monday-cargut, and Tuesday-cargut by the
English speaking traders of the district.
[4] Spelled _Chargut_ on Mr. Homan's map.
Another object now influenced our selection of camps for the night, and
that was to choose a spot with few or no islands in its front, so that
the descending river steamer "Yukon" could not pass us while in camp by
taking a channel hidden from our view.
Shortly after midnight a steamer's whistling was heard far down the
river, and after a great deal of anxiety for fear it was the "Yukon"
that had passed us unnoticed, we heard the puffing approach nearer
and nearer, and soon saw the light of an ascending river steamer. It
proved to be a very diminutive but powerful little thing which Mr.
Mayo was taking to Nuklakayet for the winter. Two brothers of the
name of Scheffelin, the elder of whom is well known in frontier mining
history as the discoverer of the celebrated Tombstone district of
Arizona, having amassed a fortune in that territory, decided to try
the mining prospects of the Yukon and its tributaries, and the prior
year had chartered a vessel in San Francisco on which they put this
little river steamer, and sailed for the Yukon. Here a year was spent
in prospecting, and although "ounce diggings[5] were struck" on or
near the Melozecargut, yet all the surroundings made "Ed" Scheffelin
think it would not pay to put capital in such an undertaking, although
it might remunerate the individual effort of the itinerant miner
whose capital is his pick-ax, pan and shovel. Early in the spring the
Scheffelins got a letter from Arizona which determined their return to
the United States, and they had left the river a few weeks previously,
the three traders at Nuklakayet buying their little river steamer,
which the former owners had named the "New Racket." The wages of these
traders had been reduced by the Alaska Company in order to contract
expenses, so that the company might make a small percentage on the
large capital invested, until the traders found themselves without
sufficient means to live upon, and they had bought the boat intending
to organize a small trading company of their own upon the river unless
their former wages were restored. The Scheffelin mining expedition was
an expensive one, and remarkably well "outfitted" in every necessary
department. The large number of Eskimo dogs at Nuklakayet had been
selected by him for the purpose of sledging expeditions in winter time.
He thought seriously of invading the prospective gold fields of Africa
as his next venture, showing plainly the roving spirit which had served
him so well in the arid deserts of Arizona. No one could meet him
anywhere without wishing him good luck in his wild adventures, for he
was the prince of good fellows.
[5] Diggings that will pay an ounce of gold per man a day, or, as gold
usually runs, from $10 to $20 per day.
The "New Racket" left us very early in the morning, having tied up
alongside of camp the night before, while we started about the usual
time, an hour after daylight. About 3:30 P.M. that day--the 12th--we
passed a very considerable Indian village called Sakadelontin, composed
of a number of birch-bark houses and some ten or twelve _caches_, and
containing probably fifty or sixty people. It is one of the few large
villages to be found at any great distance from a trading station.
Before reaching it we observed a number of native coffins perched up in
the trees, the first and only ones we saw so situated on the river. All
day on the 12th and 13th a heavy gale from the south made even drifting
difficult. Upon a couple of northward-trending stretches of the river
that were encountered on the 13th we set the jib, and spun along at the
rate of six or seven miles an hour. At one place where we were held
against the high banks by the force of the gale, we went ashore, and
much to our surprise found a most prolific huckleberry patch, where we
all regaled ourselves as long as the wind lasted. These berries were
quite common along this part of the river, and nearly every canoe that
put off from a camp or village would have one or two trays or bowls of
wood or birch-bark full of them, which the natives wanted to trade for
tea or tobacco. We camped in what is called by the river steamer men
the "cut-off slough," just south of the mouth of the Koyukuk River, a
northern tributary of considerable dimensions, which empties into the
Yukon at a point where it makes a short but bold bend to the north, the
"slough" making the route about one-fifth shorter. The mouth of the
tributary is marked by the Koyukuk Sopka (hill), a high eminence which
is visible for many miles around. This feature is characteristic of
this part of the Yukon Valley, isolated hills and peaks often rising
precipitously from a perfectly level country.
[Illustration: FALLING BANKS OF THE YUKON JUST BELOW NUKLAKAYET.]
The 14th saw us make Nulato, quite an historical place on the river.
It was the furthest inland trading station of the old Russian-American
Fur Company at the time of our purchase of Alaska, and had been used as
such by them, under different names, for nearly a quarter of a century.
It was occupied by the traders of the Alaska Company until a year or
two before my arrival, as well as by traders of the "opposition," when
the killing of one of the latter led to trouble with the Indians, so
that both companies withdrew.
Many years ago, one cold winter night, the Russians of the station
were massacred, along with a number of friendly Indians who had
assembled around the station. In this disaster fell an English naval
officer, Lieutenant Barnard by name, who was looking for traces of
Sir John Franklin, even in this out-of-the-way corner of the earth. A
respectable head-board marks his grave, but the high grass and willows
have buried it almost out of sight.
Here also lies buried a locally noted Russian character of hard
reputation, Kerchinikoff by name, whose story was told me by more
than one of the traders, who had known him and heard of his doings in
his adventurous career. It was romancingly said by way of illustrating
his prowess among the native tribes, that if the skulls of his Indian
victims had been heaped together in his grave they would not only
fill it but enough would have remained to erect a high monument to
his memory. He died at a great age, having been from his very youth
a terror to all the tribes on the lower river, but wholly in the
interests, as he interpreted them, of the great iron monopoly to which
he belonged. Many years ago the few Russian traders of the Andreavsky
station had been massacred by the Indians. Kerchinikoff asked for
protection and a sufficient force to punish the murderers, and those
at Nulato transmitted his request to the headquarters of the Russian
Fur Company at far-off Sitka, but did not receive even the courtesy
of an answer. With one or two companions he put a couple of old rusty
Russian carronades in the prow of his trading boat,--the identical one
on which we were drifting down the river, and which he himself had
built--and in lieu of proper ammunition, which he was unable to get,
he loaded his guns with spikes, hinges and whatever scraps of iron and
lead he could pick up around Michaeloffski, and appearing suddenly
before the Indian village, demanded the surrender of the murderers. The
natives gathered in a great crowd on the shore of the river, laughing
derisively at his apparently absurd demands, having never even heard
of such a thing as a cannon. Spears were hurled and arrows shot at the
boat, which thereupon slowly approached, having its cannon pointed at
the dense crowd. When an arrow buried itself in the prow, the terrible
report of the two carronades made answer, and about a score of Indians
were stretched upon the beach, while the wounded and panic-stricken
fled in great numbers to the woods for protection. From that day not a
single drop of white man's blood was ever shed by any savages upon the
lower river, until Kerchinikoff himself, while lying on his sledge in a
drunken stupor, was stabbed to death almost within a stone's throw of
the graves of those whom he had avenged.
We landed at Upper Nulato (the "opposition" store), and here
encountered a half-breed who spoke tolerable English, and who pointed
out the places just mentioned.
"Hello, where you come?" was his first question, to which we briefly
replied, one of the members of the party remarking it was quite windy
hereabouts, referring to the three or four days' gale we had had.
"Allee time like that now," was his cheerful answer. This
neatly-dressed young fellow took me down to his _cache_, and seemed
especially delighted in showing me his new "parka," or reindeer coat,
for winter wear. It was one of the highly-prized "spotted" _parkas_.
The spotted reindeer are bred only in Asia, and their hides--for
the tribe owning them will never allow the live animals to be taken
away--find their way into Alaska by way of Bering's Straits by means
of intertribal barter, while numbers are brought by the Alaska Company
from Russian ports on that side, and are used as trading material with
such tribes as wear reindeer clothing. I offered a good price for this
particular "parka," but the owner would not part with it, as they are
especially valuable and tolerably rare at this distance up the river,
and only the wealthiest Indians can afford to buy them. He told me
this was the only one at Nulato at the time, but I did not know how
much faith might be put in the statement. Bad as the weather was, we
got a good series of observations on the sun, while at Nulato, on the
afternoon of the 14th.
On the 15th the old familiar gale from ahead put in its appearance
as we started in the morning, but to every body's great surprise it
hauled to the rear in the middle of the afternoon, and when we camped
at 8:20 P.M., having used our jib in sailing, an Indian from a village
near by told us the place was called Kaltag; so that we had made an
extraordinary run under all the circumstances. Indian villages were
quite numerous during the day. About Kaltag occurs the last point on
the river at which high ground comes down to the water's edge on the
left side, and for the rest of the voyage, a distance of some five
hundred miles, precipitous banks only are found on the right side,
while the country to the left resembles the flat-lands seen further
back, but the horizon is much more limited than that of the flat-lands,
hills appearing in the background, which finally become isolated peaks,
or short broken ranges.
The morning of the 16th ushered in a heavy gale from ahead, accompanied
by a deluge of showers, and as the camp, 57, was fortunately situated
at a point where all the channels were united, so that the river
steamer could not pass unnoticed, I determined to remain over.
It would be as tiresome to my readers as it was aggravating to us, to
repeat in detail the old story of our starting with a fair wind, its
change to a gale that kept us against the banks, and of our passing a
few Indian towns.
This continuous drifting against a head wind taught us one singular
thing, however, viz.: that our boat would drift faster against this
wind when turned broadside to it and exposing the greatest surface to
its action, than when facing it bow or stern on and with a minimum
of exposed surface; this fact being the very reverse of what we had
supposed, indeed, we had endeavored to avoid this very position.
Thereafter we kept the "barka" broadside to the head wind, a very
difficult undertaking, which required hard and constant work at the
steering oar; but the mile or mile and a-half an hour gained over the
vessel's drift was well worth it. I spoke of this afterward to the
river men and found they had long since anticipated me by a much easier
contrivance, viz.: by tying an anchor or a large camp-kettle full of
stones and suspending it from the end of the jib-boom so that it would
trail in the water. This method, a number of them assured me, would
have saved our work at the steering oar which we rigged at the stern.
The 18th and 19th we fought our way down the river, inch by inch,
against the wind. The latter night the storm culminated in a perfect
hurricane, felling trees in the forest, hurling brush through the air,
and raising waves four and five feet high, from whose crests flew great
white masses of foam, the wide river resembling a sheet of boiling milk
in the darkness. Although we were in a well-sheltered cove, which had
remained calm the evening before, even in the high wind, yet this gale
sent in such huge waves that our "barka" was on the point of being
wrecked, and was only saved by the severest labor of the crew. The
little birch-bark canoe was swept from her deck and thrown high up on
the beach, where it resembled a mass of brown wrapping paper which the
storm had beaten down upon the stones. The gale slowly died down on the
20th, but ceased too late to give us a chance to start, and we remained
over night, a heavy fog and rain terminating the day.
On the 21st we saw a couple of _oomiens_, (_bidarra_--Russian) or large
skin-boats being hauled up stream by native dogs on the bank, somewhat
after the fashion of canal-horses on a tow-path. We had baffling winds
most of the day, some few of which we could take advantage of, but at 6
P.M. the wind had settled down to its regular "dead-ahead" gale.
We camped at half-past nine o'clock at Hall's Rapids, (named by
Raymond), but found them at the time of our visit to consist only of
some rough water along the rocky beach, while the high land mapped
by him on the south-eastern bank was wanting. As I said before, the
high land on the right bank with low country upon the left is a state
of things which continues until the delta is reached, when the whole
country becomes level.
About six or seven o'clock in the afternoon we were passing the upper
ends or entrances, seven of them altogether, of the Shagelook slough,
which here makes a great bend to the eastward and incloses an area
larger than some of the New England states before it again meets the
Yukon River far beyond. This Shagelook slough receives the Innoka
River in its upper portion and when the Yukon is the higher of the
two it carries part of its waters into the upper entrances of the
slough receiving the waters of the Innoka, and both streams emptying
themselves at the slough's lower end. When the Innoka is the higher
its waters find an outlet into the Yukon by the upper mouths. We now
began to feel anxious about the "Yukon," as she was very much overdue.
From this point she could make St. Michael's in three or four days, and
although we had received official assurances from Washington that the
revenue cutter "Corwin" would not leave St. Michael's before the 15th
of September, yet there was fear that the boat might pass us or the
"Corwin" find some official emergency to call her elsewhere before this
date.
The night of the 21st-22d, was a bitterly cold one, verging on
freezing, and we slept soundly after our loss of sleep the night
before. We started quite early, however, and a little meteorological
surprise in the shape of a favorable wind came to our aid after 10 A.
M., and at 1:30 P.M. we landed at the mouth of the Anvic or Anvik.
The picturesquely-situated trading station is about a mile or a mile
and a-quarter above this point, but the shoals were so numerous, the
channel so winding, that this was the nearest point we could make,
especially with a foul wind. Right alongside of us was a large Indian
village, where we learned to our satisfaction that the "Yukon" had
not yet passed; for one of the party at our last camp had interpreted
some Indian information to mean that the boat had passed down two days
before.
From this place I sent a courier to St. Michael's, who was to ascend
the Anvik River to the head of canoe navigation, and thence to make a
short portage to a stream emptying near the post, the entire distance
being readily covered in three days, or in two if sufficient energy is
displayed. He promised to be there without fail in three days, _i.e._,
by the 25th, and I paid him a little extra for the extra exertion. He
arrived about a week after I did and we were ten days in reaching St.
Michael's from this point. My object was to let the "Corwin" know that
my party was coming. The "Leo," an Alaskan trading schooner, was also
expected to touch at St. Michael's to exchange some signal officers,
and I sent word to her, requesting her to wait for us if the "Corwin"
had gone. Mr. Fredericksen was the trader, and a very intelligent
person for such a lonely and outlandish spot. He had been furnished
with meteorological instruments by the Signal Service, to which he made
regular reports. He informed me that he has seen ice of such depth by
the 4th of September as to cut the thick covering of a _bidarra_ or
_oomien_; but this, of course, is very unusual. The year before our
arrival--1882--the ice did not form until the 12th of October, and
the first of that month may be regarded as the average date of its
formation.
Mr. Fredericksen warmly welcomed my arrival at his station, having
recently had some serious trouble with the Indians, who were not even
yet quieted. A number of Shagelooks, as he termed them, had come down
the river, a short time before, to meet the Greek priest from the
mission at Ikogmute, who had come to Anvik in order to baptize them.
While the Shagelooks were waiting for the priest, they arranged a plot
to rob the trader. Some one or two of them were to provoke him in some
exasperating way, and if he showed any resistance or even annoyance,
the others were to side with their fellows, seize the trader and secure
him until his store was plundered and the booty removed, when he was to
be liberated, or murdered if aggressive. In some way the Anviks got an
inkling of the plot, and prepared to side with Mr. Fredericksen, and
when the preliminaries commenced with the cutting open of one of the
trader's finest skin-boats--_bidarra_--the Shagelooks saw themselves
confronted by such an array of well-armed Anvik Indians, that they
were perfectly satisfied to let the business drop. The christening was
carried out according to programme, but the baffled Shagelooks vowed
vengeance on both the Anviks and the trader whenever an opportunity
might occur, and they were not reticent in so informing him at their
departure, hinting that their turn might come when the Anviks left to
hunt reindeer for their winter supply of clothing. That season would
soon be at hand, and the Anviks had the alternative of losing their
autumn hunting or of leaving the station in a weakened condition at
their departure. The arrival of a body of troops, small in number as
we were, was a cause of congratulation, and Mr. Fredericksen intended
to make the most out of it with discontented natives by way of
strengthening his position.
We could do absolutely nothing for him. When the president withdrew
the military forces from Alaska, the executive order had "clinched"
the act by providing that the military should exercise no further
control whatever in that vast territory, and my orders had emphatically
repeated the clause. In fact, it was a debatable point whether my
expedition was not strictly an illegal one, and in direct violation
of the president's order, since it was simply impossible to send
in a military party that might not exercise control over its own
members, which is all that soldiers ever do without an order from the
president, and as to an attack by Indians we had the universal right of
self-preservation. I told Mr. Fredericksen, however, to make the most
out of my visit, which I suppose he did.
A foresail was borrowed from him, with which I could make my way from
the mouth of the river to St. Michael's, should any accident have
happened to the "Yukon." It was too large and would have to be cut to
fit, an expedient to which I did not intend to resort until we reached
the mouth of the river.
[Illustration: ANVIK.
(Looking down both the Yukon and Anvik Rivers.)]
Mr. Fredericksen's station is on the banks of both the Yukon and the
Anvik, as the streams approach within about fifty or seventy-five
yards of each other at this point, although their confluence occurs,
as I have said, about a mile below. The illustration above is from the
station looking toward the point of confluence. When the present trader
first came to the station a few years previously, the two rivers were
far apart at this point, but the Anvik has encroached so largely upon
its left bank that Mr. Fredericksen expected another year to unite the
streams at his place, if the Anvik did not actually sweep him away or
force him to change his residence.
Anvik is the last station in the Indian country, and at Makágamute,
thirty or forty miles below, the Eskimo begin to appear, and continue
from that point to the mouth of the river.
We started again on the 23d, with a fine breeze behind us, passing
Makágamute or _moot_ (pronounced like boot, shoot), at 1:30 P.M. It was
composed of eight or ten houses of a most substantial build, flanked
and backed by fifteen to twenty _caches_, and had altogether a most
prosperous appearance, impressing a stranger with the superiority
of the Eskimo over their neighbors. The doors were singular little
circular or rounded holes, very like exaggerated specimens of the
cottage bird-houses, which some people erect for their feathered
friends. Villages were much more numerous on the 23d, than upon any
previous day of our voyage. Everywhere might be seen their traps and
nets for catching salmon, of which fish they must capture enormous
quantities, for they live upon salmon the year round.
Myriads of geese might be observed in all directions during this fine
weather, preparing and mobilizing for their autumnal emigration to the
south; and the air was vocal with their cries.
On the night of the 23d we had a severe frost, the heavy sedge grass
near camp being literally white with it, and the cook was heard
grumbling about the condition of his dishcloth, which was about as
flexible as a battered milk-pan, until thawed out by means of hot
water. The few mosquitoes we saw next morning were pitiable looking
creatures, although I doubt very much whether any sentiment was wasted
on them. However much the cold spell threatened to hasten the arrival
of winter, and to send the ships at St. Michael's flying south, yet the
discomfiture of the mosquitoes afforded us a good deal of consolation,
and thereafter our annoyances from this source were but trifling.
Starting at 8 A.M. with a head breeze, by ten o'clock the wind had
become a gale and we were scarcely making half a mile an hour, when at
2:20 P.M. we saw the steamer "Yukon," with the St. Michael's in tow,
coming round a high precipitous point about three miles abaft of us,
and there went up a shout of welcome from our boat that drowned even
the voice of the gale, and almost simultaneously the flash of a dozen
guns went up from both the "Yukon's" decks and our own. The point
around which the steamer had been sighted, a conspicuous landmark,
I named Petersen Point, after Captain Petersen of the "Yukon," that
being the only name I gave on the river below old Fort Yukon. In about
half-an-hour the steamer was alongside and we were taken in tow, and
once more began cleaving the water, in defiance of the gale.
The captain knew we had started from Anvik the day before, but our
progress on the first day had been so great that he had become uneasy
for fear he might have passed us. He had kept the whistle going at
frequent intervals, but of course knew that it could not be heard far
in such a gale. If we had not yet reached the Mission when he arrived
there, he intended to return for us.
We made the Mission that evening at the upper or "opposition" store,
which was being torn down, and the best logs of which were to go on
board the river steamer to be taken to Andreavsky, the trading station
kept by Captain Petersen when not in charge of the boat.
By next morning at nine o'clock we had these securely lashed to the
sides and were under way, stopping three miles below at the Mission
proper. Here is an old Greek church, presided over by a half-breed
priest, which looked strangely enough in this far-away corner of the
world. The interior was fitted up with all the ornaments customary in
the Greek church, the solid silver and brass of more stately structures
in Russia being reproduced in tinsel and trappings of a cheaper kind.
The Greek priest is also the Alaska Company's trader, and he came
aboard to go to St. Michael's to get a winter's supply of trading
material for his store. His handsome little sloop was tied behind the
big "barka" to be towed along, while from its stern the line ran to the
sloop's yawl, in which an Indian had been allowed to come, he tying his
little skin canoe behind the yawl, thus making a queue of vessels of
rapidly diminishing sizes, quite ludicrous in appearance. With the St.
Michael's alongside in tow, and our guards piled with hewn logs as far
as the upper deck, we were a motley crowd indeed when under way. The
captain explained his unusual delay on the trip by the fact that the
"Yukon" had blown out a cylinder-head just after leaving St. Michael's
Bar and while trying to make Belle Isle, for which reason their
return voyage had to be made under reduced steam in order to avoid a
repetition of the accident.
A serio-comic incident connected with this mishap deserves to be
recounted. Among their Eskimo deckhands was a powerful young fellow,
deaf as a post, who always slept in the engine-room when off duty, with
his head resting on a huge cross deck-beam as a pillow, at a point
in front of the engine that had broken down. Whenever he was wanted,
as there was no use in calling him, they would walk up and tap him
with the foot, or, as they soon learned, a stout kick on any part of
the beam would suffice; whereupon he would sit up, give a great yawn,
stretch his arms and be ready for work. When the cylinder-head of the
engine blew out, it struck the beam directly opposite his own head, and
buried itself until the spot looked afterward as though a chain-shot
had struck it; but with no more effect on the deaf Eskimo than to make
him rise up and yawn, and begin to stretch himself, when the rush of
steam from the next stroke of the engine completely enveloped him,
before the engineer could interfere, and he comprehended that he was
not being awakened to go to work. He got off with a trifling scald on
the back of his neck; but his escape from death seemed miraculous.
All that day we stopped about every couple of hours to take on wood,
which fortunately had been cut for us beforehand in most places,
so that the delays were not very long. In ascending or descending
the river, the steamer finds a considerable quantity of the wood it
requires already cut at convenient points, the natives of course being
paid for their labor. This is the case between the river's mouth and
Nuklakayet, or thereabouts, but above this point, and even at many
places below it the captain is obliged to go ashore near a great pile
of driftwood, and send a dozen axmen to do this duty. The greater
part of the huge stockade of old Fort Yukon and some of its minor
buildings have for several years supplied them with wood when in the
neighborhood. We stopped the night of the 25th near a native village,
and as we were to start very early in the morning, the doctor and
myself, at the captain's invitation, made our beds under the table, on
the dining-room floor of the steamer, that being the first time we had
slept under a roof since leaving Chilkat; although the doctor made some
irrelevant remarks about a table not being a roof, evidently wanting to
extend back the period of our claim.
On the 26th, running about twelve hours, less our time at "wooding"
places, we made Andreavsky, and nearly the whole of the next day was
spent in unloading the logs, mooring the St. Michael's in winter
quarters, and washing down decks, for it was to this point that the
"Yukon" would return for the winter after making St. Michael's. The
hills of the right bank rapidly diminish in height as one approaches
Andreavsky, and in the vicinity of that place are only entitled to the
name of high rolling ground. Near the river the trees disappear and are
replaced by willow-brake, although the up-stream ends of the numerous
islands are still covered with great masses of drift timber, containing
logs of the largest dimensions. Before Andreavsky is reached we come
to the delta of the Yukon, an interminable concourse of islands and
channels never yet fully explored. From the most northerly of these
mouths to the most southerly is a distance of about ninety miles,
according to local computation.
Late as it was when we started on the 27th, we reached a point half
way to Coatlik, where wood was cut by our crew for the morning's
start. All semblance of rolling country had now disappeared, except in
the distance, and the country was as flat as the lower delta of the
Mississippi.
Coatlik, seven miles from the Aphoon or northernmost mouth, was reached
next day at 1 P.M., and we spent the afternoon in preparing the boilers
for the change to salt water, and in taking on another log house, which
was to be transported to St. Michael's, there to be used in completing
a Greek church in course of erection.
Starting at early daylight on the morning of the 29th, a steam-valve
blew out, and it looked as if we should be delayed two or three days
for repairs, but the captain fixed up an ingenious contrivance with a
jack-screw as a substitute, and at half-past nine in the morning we
again proceeded. Soon afterward we reached the Aphoon mouth of the
river, where we commenced the slow and tedious threading of its shallow
channels between their mud banks. For untold ages this swift, muddy
river has deposited its sediment upon the shallow eastern shores of
Bering's Sea, until mud and sand banks have been thrown up for seventy
or eighty miles beyond the delta, making it unsafe for vessels of any
draft to cross them even in moderate weather. St. Michael's is the
nearest port to the mouth at which vessels of any size can enter and
anchor. The heavy wind still raging made it difficult to steer the
boat through the winding channels, and this, coupled with the heavy
load of logs that weighed us to the guards, sent us a dozen times on
the low mud flats, to escape from which gave us much trouble. Our
delay at Coatlik had also lost us some of the tide, there being about
two feet of water on the bar at ebb and nearly as much more at flood
tide. So shallow is the stream that the channel is indicated by willow
canes stuck in the mud, at convenient intervals, serving the purpose
of buoys. Near the Aphoon mouth comes in the Pastolik River, and once
across the bar of mud near the confluence, the channel of the latter
stream is followed to deep water. This muddy sediment is very light
and easily stirred up, and when a storm is raging the whole sea as
far as the eye can reach resembles an angry lake of mud. From the
Pastolik River on, the westerly wind gradually increased to a gale, the
sea running very high and making many of us quite sea-sick. Fearing
to round Point Romantzoff, the captain put back and anchored in a
somewhat sheltered cove, returning about half way to the Pastolik. A
flat-bottomed river boat anchored in Bering's Sea during a gale, loaded
with a log-house and towing a number of craft, certainly did not seem a
very safe abiding place.
Early on the morning of the 30th we got under way, the weather having
moderated considerably during the night, and constantly improving as we
proceeded. We rounded Cape Romantzoff about the middle of the forenoon,
and as we passed between Stuart and St. Michael's Islands, shortly
before noon, nothing was left of yesterday's angry sea but a few long
ground-swells, which disturbed us but little. At noon we rounded
the point that hid the little village of St. Michael's, and were
received by a salute of three discharges from as many ancient Russian
carronades, to which we responded vigorously with the whistle. All eyes
swept the bay for signs of the "Corwin," but a boat putting off from
shore told us that she had left on the 10th of August, nearly three
weeks before.
The "Leo," which was due about the 15th of the month, had not yet
arrived, and although it was known that she had a signal observer on
board to take the place of the one now at St. Michael's, it was not
positive that she would arrive there at all, if hampered with heavy
gales. She had been chartered by the government to proceed to Point
Barrow, on the Arctic coast of Alaska, and take on board Lieutenant
Ray's party of the International Meteorological Station at that point,
and it was not altogether certain that she might not have been wrecked
in the ice while engaged in this somewhat hazardous undertaking; the
chances varying considerably each season according to the state of the
ice and the weather. The state of the latter might be inferred from the
fact that the day of our arrival was the first fine one they had had at
the redoubt (as St. Michael's is called here and in the Yukon valley),
for over six weeks, during which there had been an almost continuous
storm.
There was also a vessel, the "Alaska," at Golovnin Bay, about sixty
miles north of St. Michael's, across Norton Sound, which was loading
with silver ore for San Francisco, and was expected to depart about the
1st of October. It was possible that she might call here, _en route_,
as the mining company to which she belonged had a considerable quantity
of material stored at this point.
The evening of the 30th we spent at a dance in the Eskimo village near
by, after which we went on board the "Yukon" to sleep, which however
was almost impossible on account of the boat's heavy rolling while at
anchor.
I was a little surprised to find that I could carry on even a very
limited conversation with the Eskimo of this locality, the last of that
tribe I had lived among being the natives of the north Hudson's Bay
regions, of whose existence these Eskimo knew nothing.
On the 31st I sent a couple of Eskimo couriers to the "Alaska" at
Golovnin Bay, asking her to call at this port in order to take my party
on board, after which I sat down to await results. Meantime we had
moved on shore into Mr. Leavitt's house, which was kindly put at our
disposal. Mr. Leavitt was the signal observer, and had been stationed
here over three years, and he was as anxiously awaiting the arrival of
the "Leo" as ourselves.
St. Michael's, Michaelovski, or "the redoubt," as it is variously
called--St. Michael's Redoubt being the official Russian title,
translated into English--is a little village on an island of the same
name, comprising about a dozen houses, all directly or indirectly
devoted to the affairs of the Alaska Commercial Company. Mr. Neumann
was the superintendent, and a very agreeable and affable gentleman we
found him, doing much to make our short stay at the redoubt pleasant.
There are no fresh water springs on the island near the post, and every
few days a large row-boat is loaded with water-barrels and taken to the
mainland, where four or five days' supply is secured. The "opposition"
store, three miles across the bay, seems much better situated in this
and other respects, but when St. Michael's was selected by the Russians
over a third of a century previously, the idea of defensibility was the
controlling motive. The passage between the island and the mainland
is a river-like channel, and was formerly used by the river steamer
until Captain Petersen became master, when he boldly put out to sea, as
a preferable route to "the slough," as it is sometimes called, there
being a number of dangerous rocks in the latter.
On the evening of the 31st we again visited the Eskimo village, in
company with most of the white men of the redoubt, in order to see the
performance of a noted "medicine-man" or _shaman_ from the Golovnin Bay
district. He was to show us some savage sleight-of-hand performances,
and to foretell the probability and time of the "Leo's" arrival. In the
latter operation he took a large blue bead and crushing it to fragments
threw it out of doors into the sea, "sending it to the schooner," as
he said. After a long and tiresome rigmarole, another blue bead was
produced which he affirmed to be the same one, telling us that it had
been to the vessel, and by returning whole testified her safety. A
somewhat similar performance with a quarter of a silver dollar told him
that the "Leo" would arrive at St. Michael's about the next new moon.
There was nothing remarkable about these tricks; and another of tying
his hands behind him to a heavy plank, and then bringing them to the
front of his body, and lifting the board from the floor of the medicine
house, was such a palpable deception as to puzzle no one.
This polar priest, however, had a great reputation among the natives
all about Norton Sound. He had predicted the loss of the _Jeannette_
and the consequent death of the two Eskimo from this point. For his
favorable news Mr. Neumann rewarded him with a sack of flour; and I
suppose he would have been perfectly willing to furnish more good news
for more flour.
The next day I took a genuine Russian bath in a house erected many
years ago for that purpose by the Russians. It may be more cleansing,
but it is less comfortable than the counterfeit Russian bath as
administered in American cities.
The 2d of September was the warmest day they had had that summer, the
thermometer marking 65° Fahrenheit. Late in the afternoon the "Yukon"
set out on her return to Andreavsky amidst a salute from the carronades
and the screaming of the steam-whistle.
On the 3d my Golovnin Bay couriers, who I supposed had started on
the preceding day, and were then forty or fifty miles away on their
journey, came nonchalantly to me and reported their departure. I bade
them good-by, and told them not to delay on the idea that I wanted the
"Alaska" next year and not this, and promising me seriously to remember
this, they departed. The next day--the 4th--they returned, having
forgotten their sugar, an article of luxury they had not enjoyed for
months previously, and again departed. I expected to see them return
in two or three days for a string to tie it up with, but their outfit
must have been complete this time, for I never saw or heard of them
again; but I could not help thinking what valuable messenger service
the telegraph companies were losing in this far-away country.
Sure enough, on the 8th of the month the "Leo" bore down in a gale
and was soon anchored in the bay, where we boarded her. Although
already overcrowded for a little schooner of about two hundred tons,
Lieutenant Ray kindly made room for my additional party, there being by
this addition about thirty-five on board and seventeen in the little
cabin. While trying to make Point Barrow, the "Leo" had been nipped in
the ice and had her stem split and started, sustaining other injuries
the extent of which could not be ascertained. She was leaking badly,
requiring about five or ten minutes at the pumps every hour, but it was
intended to try and make San Francisco, unless the leaking increased in
a gale, when she was to be repaired at Oonalaska, and if matters came
to the worst she would be condemned.
A few days were spent in chatting of our experiences, getting fresh
water on board and exchanging signal observers, and on the morning of
the 11th, at 6 A.M., under a salute of six guns, we weighed anchor and
started, with a strong head wind that kept constantly increasing. This
gale was from the north-west, and as we had to beat a long distance in
that direction in order to clear the great mud banks off the delta of
the Yukon, so little progress was made that after an all day's fight
we ran back to St. Michael's in an hour's time and dropped anchor once
more, to await a change in the weather. Next day we got away early and
managed to beat a little on our course. The 13th gave us an almost
dead calm until late in the afternoon, when we caught a fine breeze
abaft and rounded the Yukon banks about midnight. This favorable breeze
increased to a light gale next day and we pounded along at the rate of
ten or eleven knots an hour.
On the 15th the gale continued and so increased the next day that
evening saw us "hove to" for fear of running into Oonalaska Island
during the night. This run across Bering's Sea in less than three days
was stated by our master, Captain Jacobsen, to be the best sailing
record across that sheet of water.
The morning of the 17th opened still and calm, with a number of the
Aleutian islands looming up directly ahead of us in bold relief. A
very light breeze sprang up about noon, and with its help at 6 P.M. we
entered the heads of Oonalaska harbor, and at nine o'clock we dropped
anchor in the dark about half a mile from the town. Most of us visited
the place that night and had a very pleasant reception by Mr. Neumann,
the agent of the Alaska Company. Here we found that company's steamer
the "Dora," and the revenue-cutter "Corwin," which had been lying here
since leaving St. Michael's. These two vessels and everybody generally
were waiting for the Alaska Company's large steamer "St. Paul" from
San Francisco, upon whose arrival the "Dora," was to distribute the
material received for the various trading stations on the Aleutian
Islands and the mainland adjacent; the "Corwin" would sail for some
point or other, no one could find out where, and the residents would
settle down for another year of monotonous life.
The last day's gale on Bering Sea had left no doubt on the minds of
those in charge that the "Leo" would have to be repaired, accordingly
she was lightened by discharging her load, and on the morning of the
20th she was beached near by, the fall of the tide being sufficient to
reveal her injuries, and to allow of temporary repair.
We passed our time in strolling around examining the islands, while
some of the party got out their fishing tackle and succeeded in
securing a few fine though small trout from the clear mountain streams.
[Illustration: OONALASKA.]
This grand chain of islands jutting out boldly into the broad Pacific
receives the warm waters of the Japanese current--Kuro Siwo--a
deflected continuation of a part of the Pacific equatorial current
corresponding to our gulf stream. From this source it derives a
warmer climate than is possessed by any body of land so near the
pole, although it lies in about the same parallels as the British
Islands. The cold of zero and the oppressive heat of summer are equally
unknown to this region. Grasses grow luxuriantly everywhere, upon
which the reindeer used to graze in numerous herds, their keen sight
and the absence of timber protecting them from the rude weapons of
the native hunters until the introduction of firearms, after which
they were rapidly exterminated. In a few days we heard with pleasure
that the "Leo" was ready and we soon quitted Alaska for good. The
north-west winds sang a merry song through our sails as the meridians
and parallels took on smaller numbers, and in a very few days, the
twinkling twin lights of the Farallones greeted our eyes, and anchored
safely within the Golden Gate, our journey ended.