Since I wrote you at Sitka we have come further north and spent
five days in Yakutat Bay and since Saturday in this sound--have seen
innumerable glaciers and lofty mountains and wild strange scenes. At
Yakutat we went into Disenchantment Bay, 30 miles where no large steamer
had ever gone before. This bay is a long slender arm of the sea which
puts out from the head of Yakutat Bay and penetrates the St. Elias range
of mountains. It was a weird grand scene. Birds were singing and flowers
were blooming with snow and ice all about us. I saw a single barn
swallow skimming along as at home. There were many Indians hunting seal
among the icebergs.
In coming on here the ship rolled a good deal and I was not happy,
though not really sick. On Saturday we entered this sound in clear
sunshine and the clear skies continued Sunday and Monday. This morning
it is foggy and misty. We steamed eighty-miles across the sound on
Sunday in the bright warm sunshine over blue sparkling waters. How we
all enjoyed it! Far off rose lofty mountains as white as in midwinter,
next to them a lower range streaked with snow and next to them and
rising from the water a still lower range, dark with spruce forests.
Orca, where we anchored Saturday night, is a small cluster of houses on
an arm of the sound where they can salmon, immense numbers of them. Two
hundred men are employed there at this season. The salmon run up all the
little rivers and streams, some of our party have shot them with rifles.
Camping parties go out from the ship to collect birds and plants and to
hunt bears and to stay two or three nights. No bears have as yet been
seen. I stick to the ship. The mosquitoes are very thick on shore and
besides that my face has troubled me a good deal, till the sunshine came
on Sunday. I must have a taste of camp life on Kadiak Island, where we
expect to be eight or ten days. Yesterday we found many new glaciers and
two new inlets not down on the largest maps. We are now anchored to pick
up a camping party we left on Sunday. Near us are two islands where two
men are breeding blue foxes, their skins bring $20. We have seen one
Eskimo here in his kyack. One can read here on deck at eleven o'clock at
night. We have set our watches back six hours since leaving New York.
I am rather dainty now about my eating, but keep well. I dreamed last
night again about home and that the grapes were a failure. I hope dreams
do go by opposites. I suppose you are shipping the currants. We get no
mail. I hope to send this by a steamer from the north, said to be due.
We have lectures and concerts and games and the people enjoy themselves
much. I keep aloof much of the time. I hope you both keep well. Love to
you both. J. B.
From Kadiak Father wrote of the "epidemic of verse writing" that broke
out among the members of the expedition. It was the custom to hang the
verses up in the smoking room, and on that fact, even, Father later
wrote some doggerel. It was while on this expedition that he wrote,
"Golden Crowned Sparrow in Alaska," one verse especially:
But thou, sweet singer of the wild,
I give more heed to thee;
Thy wistful note of fond regret
Strikes deeper chords in me.
seems so strangely pathetic and like many of his moods.
Kadiak, July 5, '99.