THE LOWER YUKON.
The next day we broke camp, and floating down the river, soon entered
the main range of the Rampart Mountains. They were not high, but
picturesque, and the lower parts and the valleys were gay with green
and gold. It was a perfect day, cool and clear. We stopped for the
night below the so-called rapids, which at this time of low water were
hardly noticeable. An Indian came to our camp from his village across
the river, and we traded a can of condensed milk with him for a silver
salmon. I got into his little narrow birch canoe, and managed to paddle
it with the feather-like paddle, thanks to my experience in rowing a
racing-shell; but it required infinite care in balancing. I could not
help admiring the ease with which the Indian managed the delicate boat
when he left us for home again, and wondering how these people catch
salmon out of canoes like these.
[Illustration: A YUKON CANOE.]
[Illustration: INDIAN FISH-TRAPS.]
All this day and the next we passed many Indian villages, made up
of white tents, with red dried salmon hung up on frames in front.
Although these natives are classed as Indians, (belonging to the group
of Athabascans) and although they show certain traits of physiognomy
like them, yet in their general nature they are entirely different.
Unlike the stoical Sioux or Arapahoe of the United States, these
people are childlike and open in their manners. They chatter freely
in their own language, whether it is understood or not; they are
anxious to give and get information; and they seize the slightest
excuse for a joke to giggle convulsively. They are fine boatmen, and
good hunters and fishermen. All along the river could be seen their
traps of stakes, set in some eddy near a bend of the river, and in the
early frosty mornings the squaws would come down to the traps in their
canoes,--which are broader than those of the men, and managed by a
wider paddle--propelling them swiftly and rhythmically along, crooning
a song. They are an intelligent, good-humored people, already a little
spoiled in their manners and ideas by contact with whites who were
hardly fitted to teach the untutored savage. Yet they are on the whole
far from disagreeable people to deal with, and although their habits
did not always seem up to the civilized standard, yet in contrast to
the Eskimos whom we saw further down the river, they were models of
cleanliness. There is no lack of variety in their faces, and in one
camp I saw a woman whose dark beauty would have ornamented the finest
drawing-room. Whether or not she had some share of white blood I do not
know.
These Indians, as a rule, have no chief, but live in the most complete
independence, the only authority over them being that of the _shaman_
or medicine man, who attains his ascendency by his cleverness in duping
others to believe he has supernatural gifts, such as prophecy. It is
the custom for any one who aspires to high position to make prediction
as to the weather, when the next steamboat will arrive, and so on. When
his predictions become true frequently, he gradually obtains influence.
Great travellers are the Alaskan Indians too, and at a trading post
along this part of the Yukon one may see, besides the Yukon Indians,
others from the Koyukuk, the Tanana, and even the Kuskokwim; but
one rarely sees Eskimos, who are not such great wanderers, and when
they make voyages visit only the regions peopled by their own race.
Those Indians who live on the flats of the river frequently go to the
mountains a long distance off to hunt. Dr. Dall, in his "Alaska and its
Resources," gives the following translation of a song which he heard a
Koyukuk woman singing to her infant.
"The wind blows over the Yukon.
My husband hunts the deer on the Koyukun mountains.
Ahmi, Ahmi, sleep, little one.
"There is no wood for the fire.
The stone axe is broken, my husband carries the other.
Where is the sun-warmth? Hid in the dam of the beaver,
waiting the springtime?
Ahmi, Ahmi, sleep, little one, wake not!
"Look not for ukali,[2] old woman.
Long since the cache was emptied, and the crow
does not light on the ridge-pole!
Long since my husband departed. Why does he wait
on the mountains?
Ahmi, Ahmi, sleep, little one, softly.
"Where is my own?
Does he lie starving on the hillside? Why does he linger?
Comes he not soon, I will seek him among the mountains.
Ahmi, Ahmi, sleep, little one, sleep.
"The crow has come, laughing.
His beak is red, his eyes glisten, the false one.
'Thanks for a good meal to Kuskokala the shaman.
On the sharp mountain quietly lies your husband.'
Ahmi, Ahmi, sleep, little one, wake not.
"Twenty deer's tongues tied to the pack on his shoulders;
Not a tongue in his mouth to call to his wife with.
Wolves, foxes, and ravens are tearing for morsels.
Tough and hard are the sinews; not so the child in your bosom.
Ahmi, Ahmi, sleep, little one, wake not!
"Over the mountain slowly staggers the hunter.
Two bucks' thighs on his shoulders, with bladders
of fat between them.
Twenty deer's tongues in his belt. Go gather wood, old woman!
Off flew the crow,--liar, cheat, and deceiver!
Wake, little sleeper, wake, and call to your father!
"He brings you back fat, marrow, and venison fresh
from the mountains.
Tired and worn, he has carved a toy of the deer's horn,
While he was sitting and waiting long for the deer
on the hillside.
Wake, and see the crow, hiding himself from the arrow!
Wake, little one, wake, for here is your father."
Although we saw fish in front of all the tents and apparent contentment
in every face, yet we were told that the catch had not been nearly so
great as usual that summer, and that there must inevitably be much
suffering during the winter. "Yes," said Mynook, at Mynook Creek,
philosophically, "Goin' be hard winter; tink old people all die."
We asked him why just the old people, and he explained that the old
people had not been able to gather so much provisions as the young and
vigorous ones, and would therefore sooner starve. We told him that in
our country we cared for the old first, and he seemed to think such a
custom very unjust, observing that the old who had lived should die if
there was any famine, and make room for the younger ones who could live
yet a long time if they could get food. It is starvation, one may add,
which keeps the Indian population of the whole Alaskan interior within
very meagre limits.
On the 3d of September we came to the mouth of the Tanana, a large
tributary which enters the Yukon on the left side; the country around
its mouth is low, and the river itself splits into many channels,
forming a delta. On the bank of the Yukon opposite the mouth of
the Tanana we found a trading post with two white men and a host of
Indians. When we landed at the store we were met by the Indians, the
white men having not yet observed us. The first was evidently a shaman
or medicine man, a copper-colored old fellow with cross eyes and a
cunning wrinkle around his mouth. He ceremoniously pulled off his
buckskin gloves before offering his hand to shake; then pointing his
finger to the sky he began a long speech in his own language, with many
gestures. We all listened very gravely, and when he got through and
looked at me with an air of self-satisfaction and triumph, I placed
both hands on my stomach, and rolled my eyes, then thumbed my nose at
him, and finally began to quote to him the immortal soliloquy of Hamlet
"To be or not to be," with much emphasis and many variations. Everybody
listened with evident delight, especially the shaman, and when we
were through they conducted us up to the trading post. An old fellow
was smoking a curiously carved wooden pipe, which filled the soul of
one of our party with the desire to obtain it, since it seemed such a
remarkable bit of native work. He offered five dollars for it as a
starter, and the old fellow, astounded but willing to accept the gifts
of the gods without questioning, handed over the pipe with an alacrity
that made Goodrich examine it a little more before parting with his
money. On the bottom of the bowl was stamped in the wood "Smith & Co.,
New York," and on closer inspection it was evident that the apparent
carving was in reality pressed, and that the pipe was worth in the
neighborhood of twenty-five cents in the States.
We were welcomed by the trader, and after a lunch with him floated
down the river about eight miles to the mission below. There our eyes
were delighted by a neat little building with a belfry and bell, and
actually two dormer windows. It was the work of the pioneer Mike Hess,
from whom the stream entering the Yukon above Mynook creek had been
named. The missionary was absent in a parochial call five hundred miles
away, but his wife and child and a nurse were there. The missionary
published the only paper on the Yukon at that time; it appeared once
a year, and consisted of four small pages, printed on a hand-press.
The items were from all over the country, and many of them were very
interesting and amusing.
From here we kept on travelling with the current down the Yukon,
helping our speed by continuous rowing. There being three of us,
"tricks" of one hour were arranged, so each man steered for an hour,
rowed an hour, and then sat in the stern for an hour, regarding the
landscape and making notes. It grew so chilly that often the time for
resting was hardest to endure, for the skin would cool and the teeth
would chatter even with all the clothes we could get on, and we would
be glad to get a little vigorous exercise again. Storms were frequent,
and we often had the pleasure of sitting in the driving rain all day
long. We covered over our outfit as well as we could and even rigged
up a sort of awning of sail-cloth on a frame-work of boughs, which
kept the rain off the steersman, while the man who was resting crawled
under a tarpaulin, and the oarsman rowed and got wet; so that under
these conditions the position of steersman was most coveted. The wind
blew with such violence that sometimes we took water over the bow and
stern of our boat, and the steerman had to exert skill to keep from
swamping. When the weather was clear, however, it was cool, and we
enjoyed life more at such times than we had before done.
[Illustration: IN A TENT BENEATH SPRUCE TREES.]
To wake up on a gloriously bright morning, in a tent pitched beneath
spruce trees, and to look out lazily and sleepily for a moment from
the open side of the tent, across the dead camp-fire of the night
before, to the river, where the light of morning rests and perhaps
some early-rising native is gliding in his birch canoe; to go to the
river and freshen one's self with the cold water, and yell exultingly
to the gulls and hell-divers, in the very joy of living; or to wake
at night, when you have rolled in your blankets in the frost-stricken
dying grass without a tent, and to look up through the leaves above to
the dark sky and the flashing stars, and hear far off the call of a
night bird or the howl of a wolf: this is the poetry, the joy of a wild
and roving existence, which cannot come too often. No one need look for
such moments during mosquito time in Alaska. But the pests were over
now, and men and animals who had been fighting them all summer rested
and drew deep draughts of peace, and strengthened themselves for the
stinging cold of the winter, likewise hard on the temper and on the
vital powers.
In our downward journey we passed close by mountains whose tops were
beginning to be snow-covered, and were higher than those of the Rampart
Mountains, which we had crossed above the Tanana; yet they were further
from the river, with level country between. Leaving these behind we
came to flats similar to the great Yukon flats above the Ramparts, but
not so extensive. Here the river split into many channels, enclosing
low green islands. The clay banks were fifty or a hundred feet high,
and as we followed the current it took us against the side which it was
engaged in cutting away. We had to avoid getting too close, for one
never knew when a portion, undermined by the stream, would topple over
with a tremendous splash; and if such a mass should strike the boat
it would bear it to the bottom of the river and bury it so deeply and
easily that when the dust of the fall should clear away, the circles on
the water would be as regular as usual.
The banks showed on the upper parts, deposits of black peat, twenty or
thirty feet thick, and it was evident that the accumulations are going
on at the surface yet. Alaska is, like other Arctic regions, densely
covered with moss, which grows alike in the swamps and on the steep
hillsides; and the successive generations of mosses, one rearing itself
on the remains of the others, bring about in time a deposit of peat
which one can find nearly everywhere, if he digs down. It is well known
that such vegetable accumulations, after having been transformed into
peat, may by further change become a lignite or sort of brown coal,
and when much altered by the heat or pressure attending the uneasy
movement of the earth's crust may even become anthracite. In many
regions the crust, apparently still, is in reality constantly moving,
although so slowly that we do not notice it; yet in the course of ages
the most stupendous changes have been brought about. We are accustomed
to picture coal as originating in tropical swamps of the carboniferous
period, with enormous trees bearing leaves many feet long, and
bullfrogs as big as men squatting in the background, while the air is
so heavily laden with carbonic acid that it would put out a candle; but
here, at the Arctic Circle, the formation of coal is evidently going on
rapidly, and future generations may derive benefit from it.
Beds of vegetable matter belonging to a past age are abundant all
along the Yukon, but the coal is as yet only a black shiny lignite,
for it has not been altered much; and leaves found in it show that
the vegetation of the period when the beds accumulated was not far
different from what it is to-day, and had nothing to do with gigantic
tadpoles and malaria.
One of the most interesting of the high clay bluffs which we passed
lies on the left-hand side of the river, not far below the Tanana. It
has been called by some early travellers the Palisades, and this name
appears on the map, but the miners and traders know it by the name of
the Boneyard, from the fact that there are buried in the silts near the
top (which is about two hundred feet high) many bones of large animals,
which come down to the river as portions of the bluff are undermined
and fall. We stopped at this place, and, slumping through the mud to
the foot of the bluff, we came across the tusk of a mammoth, which
probably weighed over a hundred and fifty pounds. It was as thick as
a man's leg at its larger end, but the whole of it was evidently not
there. Further on we found a smaller tusk with the end worn off as if
the animal had been using it severely for some purpose. Afterwards
we saw other bones,--leg bones, fragments of the backbone, etc.,--in
great abundance. Our little boat was too small to carry these gigantic
relics, but we preserved a huge molar tooth from a mammoth, measuring
several inches across, and we sawed off portions of one of the tusks.
The extinct hairy elephant, or mammoth, inhabited Alaska at a time
previous to the memory of man, yet not very ancient, geologically
speaking. Remains of these animals are also abundant in Arctic America
and Siberia. It was at first supposed that the climate was tropical
when they existed, since it is well known that the elephant is a native
of hot countries, and the bones are almost exactly like those of the
elephants of the tropics. The discovery of some of these remains in
the River Lena in Siberia was one of the most interesting of modern
scientific events. From some reason or the other, many mammoth had
been caught in the ice of the river and had been frozen in, the ice
never melting through all the thousands of years that followed. So well
preserved were they at the time of their discovery that it is said they
furnished food for dogs; but what amazed scientists most was to find
that this elephant was covered with very long hair or fur, forming a
protection against the cold such as few creatures possess. The fur and
much of the skin of one of these mammoth may be seen in the museum at
St. Petersburg.
We know from geologic evidence that Alaska, firm and solid land though
it appears to be, is really slowly rising out of the sea, and we also
know that this rising motion has been going on for a very long time.
At a period which must have been many hundred years ago, the country
was covered with a multitude of shallow lakes, many of them large, and
some of immense size--rivalling our Great Lakes of the St. Lawrence
river system. Most of these lakes are now drained and we have, as
records of them, only broad flats composed of fine clays and silts
which accumulated as sediments in the lake bottoms. Through this vast
lake region roamed the mammoth in herds, and so far as we can tell the
climate was much the same as it is now; but with the elevation of the
land and the draining of the lakes the mammoth has disappeared--the
reason no one is able to tell.
The Eskimos carve the mammoth tusks into ornaments, pipes, and other
ivory articles. They are familiar, in fancy, with the animal, and have
a special name for it, as well as for its ivory as distinguished from
walrus ivory. They also have some vague legends about it, which the
traveller may learn through an interpreter. At St. Michael's a Mahlemut
Eskimo told me that a long time ago, when the whole country was full
of lakes and darker than it is now, these animals were alive, and in
the time of their fathers they were said to still exist, far in the
interior, on the shores of a great lake; and that their fathers never
went near this lake, hunting, for fear of this beast. It is more than
likely, however, knowing what we do of the Eskimo habits and character,
that this was simply fancy, which grew out of finding the tusks and the
bones; or an invention, gotten up to satisfy the white man's curiosity,
for the Eskimo is so willing to please that he always tells exactly
what he thinks will be appreciated, whether or not it is the truth.
Moreover, so far as I have been able to judge from other things, the
Eskimo tradition does not run nearly so far back as it needs must to
extend to the time of the mammoth.
Breaking camp one morning, just as the smoke was beginning to curl from
the camp of our Siwash neighbors on the other bank of the river, we
ran rapidly down stream, and by the early afternoon passed the mouth of
the Koyukuk. This is a large stream of clear water contrasting sharply
with the muddy roily waters of the Yukon, from which it is separated
almost by a distinct line. Above the rivers at the point of junction
rises a beautiful sharp cliff, probably a thousand feet high and nearly
perpendicular to the top.
On reaching this place we were met by heavy winds which tossed the
surface of the river into waves, and where it blew against the current
made a chop sea, so that the Skookum took in a good deal of water.
Soon we were unable to make any headway at all against the wind, so
we landed, and tracking our boat along the bank till we came to a
little "slough" or shallow side channel where the water, protected
by trees which grew on both sides, was smooth, we made camp. It was
a flat smooth place, and the ground was covered thickly with fuzzy
bright green plants of the horse-tail family, which made everything
look so downy that one felt like rolling in it. These beautiful plants
are easily crushed under foot, and a little tramping around had the
effect of pressing out the water with which the sand was filled, and
transforming all into a very soft mud. We had to keep our heavy boots
on, therefore, especially around the fire, which is the most frequented
spot in a pioneer's camp; and finally we had to lay poles along the
path between the camp and the boat, to prevent slumping too deeply.
To add to our discomforts, the rain came down in torrents that night,
piercing our somewhat service-worn tent, so that by morning most of our
outfit, including blankets, was more or less wet.
Starting out again, we found, soon after leaving our sheltered nook,
that the wind was still blowing, and in stretches of the river where
the wind was ahead we could move only very slowly, while on other
curves we went at a high rate of speed. So we moved along by jerks
till about noon, when we were brought to a standstill by an increase
in the wind, and after an effort to proceed further, which resulted
in our being blown back a little up the river, we landed, waited an
hour and lunched; after this, the wind having gone down somewhat, we
proceeded. We passed several native villages, both winter and summer
camps, the former with their clumsily built log houses and attendant
log caches, the latter with their white tents and lines of fish drying
on frames in front. The inhabitants shouted out vociferous greetings
to us as we passed, which we did not understand; but we responded
quite as cordially in our own tongue. At about five o'clock we reached
the native village of Nulato, one of the largest on the river, with a
population of several hundred, and a small trading post, at that time
kept by a half-breed trader.
Our first question on landing was whether the steamer had passed down
the Yukon for St. Michael's. This steamer would be the last which
would make connections with Seattle or San Francisco, so if we missed
it we would be obliged to remain all winter in the country. We knew
approximately when the boat would leave Circle City, and from time
to time, as we had been floating down the river, we had inquired
at trading posts whether she had yet passed us, for this would be
very easy by day in the many channels of the Flats, and still easier
by night, especially as the river, even when confined in a single
channel, is often several miles wide in this lower part, and a steamer
passing on one side would hardly be observed from our camp on the other
bank.
We had last heard at the station opposite the mouth of the Tanana that
she had not yet passed, though she was daily expected--but that was
several days ago. Of course we would have been able to lie by at any of
these posts and camp until the steamer should arrive; but so great was
our desire to make the best possible use of every minute we had to stay
in Alaska that we preferred to take the risk of being left all winter,
with an opportunity of building a log hut and laying in fire-wood till
spring, rather than lose the last part of our journey in the Skookum.
But we were relieved by the trader at Nulato, who told us that the
steamer had not arrived. We were then given the use of a log cabin,
with glass windows, which was sumptuously furnished with a stove, a
hewn-wood bed, a table and a three-legged stool.
After supper we made the tour of the village, crawling into the little
cabins of the natives, where the women sat cross-legged in groups,
occupied in their sewing. They were making gloves of moose-skin trimmed
with beaver, caps of the ground squirrel or marmot fur, and high boots
of the hair seal with bottoms of walrus hide. Most of them used steel
needles, though many still kept to those of pierced bone, which seemed
in skillful hands to serve the purpose quite as well. Our curiosity
was soon satisfied, for each dwelling was much like every other; so
after we had made bargains for some of the articles, we went back to
our cabin and turned in. The joy of having a roof over our heads as a
protection against the rain which was now pelting down was so great
that I lay awake some little time staring gloatingly up at the logs.
In the morning the one whose turn it was to cook rose early, and
soon large kettles were full of beans, dried apples and rice, and
all were boiling merrily away, while the bacon sizzled and smoked in
the frying-pan. The other two of us lay lazily in our blankets, and
sniffed the delicious odors, turning now and then from side to side
when the hewn logs upon which we were lying grew conspicuously hard.
Suddenly the door was burst open and a deaf-and-dumb Indian who had
made himself useful the night before, bringing us wood and water in
consideration of a square meal afterwards, rushed in, and with many
gestures began to try to make us understand something. We had seen a
surprisingly large number of deaf mutes among the natives, and they
were always more easy to understand than the others, who had the habit
of sputtering and choking away in their own tongue, although they knew
very well that we did not understand a word of it; while the deaf mutes
immediately enlightened us by some of the signs they were so practiced
in making. This one, by energetic revolutions of his hands around one
another, recalled to us immediately the stern-wheel of a steamboat,
while the puffing he made with his mouth took away all doubt as to his
meaning. Then he pointed up the river, and gesticulated violently.
We all turned out on the double quick, and, sure enough, the steamer
was not more than a half a mile away. She was due to stop at Nulato
a half hour to get wood, and so heavy was the traffic on the river
at this time of the year and so important every hour in making
connections with the ocean steamer that we knew she could not be got
to stay longer. So we began hasty and energetic preparations, first
rolling our blankets and strapping them with our personal outfit
into the pack-sacks which we had carried throughout the trip, then
hurriedly bundling together tents, specimens, and whatever else we
deemed necessary and practicable to take out of Alaska with us. Many of
the more cumbersome articles we abandoned, as they were much worn, and
it would cost more than the original price to carry them back to the
United States at the extraordinary prices for freight then prevailing.
The natives soon became aware of our hurry and hung around in numbers,
eager to help, but generally getting in the way; each had his eye on
some article which he hoped to fall heir to. To many of these natives,
poor beyond our ordinary conception of poverty, a nicked camp-axe is
a substantial private fortune, and one Siwash to whom this article
was awarded for general good conduct marched off in great happiness.
Another fell heir to our boat--the faithful old Skookum, who had
carried us two thousand miles, and now was somewhat battered and leaky
as the result of her travels.
Meanwhile the steamer had swung in close to the flat high bank, the
gang planks had been dropped down, and scores of natives, partly those
of the village and partly those who had come on the steamer, scampered
back and forth carrying wood on board in the most clumsy and ridiculous
fashion, but still accomplishing much work by reason of their numbers.
Miners, with whom the boat was crowded, came ashore and strolled around
the village; they walked into our cabin and pestered us with idle and
aimless questions, as we were working hard to get our stuff ready to
take on board. At the last moment, when sufficient wood had been gotten
in, the whistle was blown; we grabbed our pack-sacks and gave the
remaining burdens to the natives to carry, and hurried on board. We
had left some things, others than those mentioned. I felt then a keen
regret, which occurs to me whenever I think of it, at being obliged to
abandon all the good "grub" which had been boiling and frying away so
merrily on the stove when our deaf-and-dumb friend had roused us from
our dream. None of us being enthusiastic cooks, it had been our custom
to prepare large amounts of the stock articles of diet at a time, in
order that one cooking, with some few additions, might last most of
each man's allotted time of three days; so the quantity we left behind
was ample to feed quite a number of Siwash, and I have no doubt they
gorged themselves, and had lively times trying to see who could eat the
most and the quickest.
The steamer was packed. Miners who had intended to go to the "Outside"
this year, had waited as late as they dared, so as to work their claim
and bring out as much as possible, and then had taken this last boat.
We found every sleeping accommodation taken, and not until late in
the afternoon did the steward's resources find us a place. The only
available space left under cover was that occupied by the tables in
the steerage division. After supper was eaten, these tables were
taken out, and the floor-room thus gained was allotted us. The rest
of the floor was already occupied, and we had to exercise great care
to keep from rolling over into another man's preserves. We spread our
rubber blankets on the deck to protect us from tobacco juice and
other unpleasant things, and spread our woollen blankets on these.
Lights were put out at about ten o'clock, and after that there was
considerable stumbling around.
On the forward deck in front of the steerage department an active
poker game, conducted by a professional gambler, was continually in
progress, under a sail which had been rigged up as a cover. This game
always wore on until midnight and attracted many interested spectators
as well as players, all crowding around the table on which stacks of
gold pieces were piled, under the light of a lantern tied overhead.
When the men finally started to bed, they lost their bearings in the
almost complete darkness and wandered far and wide, stumbling over the
prostrate sleepers, whose loud and heartfelt oaths disturbed the peace
almost as much as the hobnailed boots on one's stomach. At the first
glimmer of dawn--_i.e._, about three in the morning--we were routed
out and made to roll up our blankets out of the way in order that the
tables might be set up for a seven o'clock breakfast; so on the whole
our sleep was light and short. Yet we had paid first-class fares on
boarding the boat. I have since taken a comfortable two-weeks' voyage
on a transatlantic steamer to Germany for the same price as I paid for
this passage to St. Michael's, occupying four or five days.
The next day we stopped at the native village of Anvik. By this time we
had left the land of the Indians or Ingeliks, which reaches down the
river below Nulato, and had reached that of the Innuits or Eskimos.
Anvik was the first Eskimo village I had seen and the impression I
carried away with me was one of extreme disgust. The whole place was
a human sty, from which arose an overpowering stink. The houses were
mere shacks built of poles laid close together, with holes in the
centre to allow the smoke to escape. All around the houses, in front,
behind, and along the paths, was ordure. Most of the people whom we
saw had the appearance of being diseased: whole rows of the maimed,
the halt, the blind, and the scrofulous, sunned themselves in front of
the huts. Others sat huddled in their long fur shirts or parkas (which
constitute their only garment), and coughed constantly, too sick to
show much interest in the white visitors. A little apart, in front of
the houses, a woman squatted, sobbing, while beside her crouched an
old crone with a mouth like a fish, who crooned incessantly a weird,
monotonous and mournful chant, to which the sobbing woman made brief
responses at intervals. Other women sat around in their doors, all
looking sad, and many sobbing. A young Indian boy from the steamer, who
had picked up some English in a mission school, explained the scene to
us. "That woman's baby die," he said. "Everybody all day cry."
We were glad to turn away from the most dismal and degraded set of
human beings it had ever been my lot to see; on our way back to the
steamer we passed a building of sawed boards used as a mission, and met
the missionary, who was properly attired in a suit of clerical black,
with white linen and tie. He had a book in his hand. I had rather seen
him dressed in a parka, with an axe over his shoulder.
Below Anvik a short distance, we came to the Holy Cross Mission, a
Catholic station located at another Eskimo village. The village was
only a little better than that of Anvik to look at, but somewhat
better to smell of. The mission itself, however, was a model. The
buildings were well-built and clean, and there was a flourishing
garden, containing potatoes, rutabagas, cabbages and lettuce, the whole
surrounded by a rail fence; and in another little enclosure there was
a real live cow, almost as much a novelty to us as to the natives from
further up the river, who left the steamboat and pressed around the
strange animal with wondering eyes, as children view the elephant at
their first circus. We saw many little girls, pupils of the school,
spotlessly arrayed in new calico dresses, with gay silk or cotton
handkerchiefs on their heads. They made quite a pretty picture, and
the contrast of the little maidens with their relatives at Anvik was
something almost startling. These children had been taken away from
their parents by the sisters who teach at the Mission and were being
brought up by them, to be sent away again only when grown.
Between the Holy Cross Mission and the Yukon delta the river grows
continually wider till it is in places fully five miles from bank to
bank, without islands. The banks themselves become low and very flat,
and the timber disappears almost entirely, leaving the swampy plains
known as tundra. Along here the only fuel is driftwood; and this the
natives had stacked up in places ready for the steamer. Landing to take
on wood was always the opportunity for a run on shore, dickering with
the natives for curiosities, and general hilarity. The people here
were wonderfully different from those on the Yukon from Nulato to the
headwaters, being round and rosy, rather small in stature, and with a
certain Mongolian appearance. They are childlike in look and action,
with round wondering eyes, and mouths always ready to smile broadly and
unreservedly at any hint of a joke. They were dressed in the Eskimo
parka, made of furs of various sorts, especially squirrel, mink,
reindeer, or muskrat. The whole sustenance of the people in this barren
tundra district appeared to be fish, and many of them had been obliged
to make their parkas and leggings out of the fish skins, which were
sewn together with much neatness and taste, and were ornamented with
red ochre. In wet weather they wore long shirts made of the entrails of
animals, split open and sewn together; these had tight-fitting hoods
and sleeves, and were practically watertight. The Eskimo kayak or
covered boat, made by stretching seal or walrus skins over a wooden
frame, makes its appearance along here, although the birch canoe is
still to be seen. In the houses of these people we saw sealskins full
of oil laid up as a provision against the winter.
[Illustration: THREE-HATCH SKIN BOAT, OR BIDARKA.]
At a mission further up the river a Russian priest of the Greek
Catholic church had gotten on board. He wore the plain black gown, full
beard and long hair of men of his class, and spoke broken English. He
seemed well acquainted with the country, however, and assured us that
these people were distinct both from the Kolchane or Indians, who were
found all along the Yukon above Nulato, and from the Mahlemut Eskimos.
These middle people he called Kwikpaks; but I am sure they are really
Eskimos, with perhaps some peculiarities, due to their position on the
border-line of two races differing so greatly as do the Eskimos and the
Indians.
The same day we left the Yukon for good, emerging from the northern
or Ap-hoon mouth, (for the Yukon forms a delta which spreads out
many miles and includes many channels) out on the open sea. We were
struck with the color of the clear green water, after so long viewing
the muddy brown Yukon or the clear black of some of its tributaries.
Before us the country was barren, untimbered, and black, with volcanic
cones rising here and there. As we advanced, low islands rose out of
the sea around these cones,--fields of lava, covered with swamps and
ponds,--while we left behind us the dead level untimbered tundra of the
Yukon delta. We anchored under the lee of an island that night, and as
usual we were roused from our sleeping places before daylight the next
morning by the cook. The sun rose gloriously from behind the low black
volcanic hills and just as we were getting around to breakfast at the
fourth table we steamed into St. Michael's.
FOOTNOTE:
[2] Dried salmon.