EXCURSION
Thursday, December fifth.
November thirtieth we arose before daylight. It was a mild, still
morning and the melting snow dripped from the trees. Without breakfast
we set about at once to carry our things over to the boat. Olson was
aroused and turned out to help. There's always much to be carried on a
trip to Seward; gasoline, oil, tools, my pack bag--containing clothes,
heavy blankets, and spare boots,--and the grub box Olson had given me
packed with mail, books, grub, and the flute. The engine was in good
order and started promptly. So away we went out over the bay just as
the day brightened.
It was calm and beautiful. The sun from below the horizon shot shafts
of light up into the clouds, gray became pink, and pink grew into gold
until at last after an hour or more the sun's rays lighted up the
mountain peaks, and we knew that he had risen. It continued calm and
mild all the way, but nevertheless I caught myself singing
"Erlkönig," such is my anxiety at carrying Rockwell with me. Rockwell
enjoyed the trip wrapped up in a sheepskin coat of Olson's. We stopped
at a fishing camp for a moment's chat from the water. The man living
there had just caught a good-sized wolverine. We declined breakfast
and hurried on.
In Seward we stored our things in Olson's cabin, a little place about
eight feet square, and started for the hotel. One of our friends met
us with a shout, "Well, you've had good sense to stay away so long."
Influenza, I then learned, had raged in Seward, there having been over
350 cases; and smallpox had made a start. But the deaths had been few
and it was now well in hand. However, I shunned the hotel. A little
cottage was generously put at our disposal and we were soon
comfortably settled there with our mail from home spread before us. I
left everything of mine at the hotel untouched and we continued to
wear our old clothes throughout the stay. At midnight I went with Otto
Boehm to pull the dory up above the tide and overturn her, and then
continued letter writing until three-thirty A.M.
December first and every day of our stay at Seward was calm and fair.
We kept house in our cottage, I continually busy writing and doing up
Christmas presents, for a steamer had entered on the thirtieth and was
due to leave Sunday night, the first. The people of Seward are
friendly without being the slightest bit inquisitive, and they are
extremely broad-minded for all that their country is remote from the
greater world. I don't believe that provincialism is an inevitable
evil of far-off communities. The Alaskan is alert, enterprising,
adventurous. Men stand on their own feet--and why not? The confusing
intricacy of modern society is here lacking. The men's own hands take
the pure gold from the rocks; no one is another's master. It's a great
land--the best by far I have ever known.
What a telltale of reaction from our lonely island life is this
roseate vision of the little city of the far northwest! We came in
time to see Seward quite differently and, with confidence in Alaska,
to believe it to be in no way a typical and true Alaskan town. The
"New York of the Pacific," as it is gloriously acclaimed in the
literature of its Chamber of Commerce, numbers its citizens perhaps at
half a thousand--the tenacious remnant of the many more who years ago
trusted our government to fulfill its promises to really build and
operate a railroad into the interior. One's indignation fires at the
recital of the men of Seward's wrongs,--until you recollect that
Seward was built for speculation, not for industry, and that by the
chance turn of the wheel many have merely reaped loss instead of
profit. There are no resources at that spot to be developed and there
is consequently no industry.
Seward is planned for growth and equipped for commerce. Wide avenues
and numbered blocks adorn the town-site maps where to the naked eye
the land's a wilderness of stumps and briars. The center of the
built-up portion of the town, one street of two blocks' length, is
modern with electric lights and concrete pavements. The stores are
wonderfully good; there are two banks and several small hotels, a
baker from Ward's bakery in New York and a French barber from the
Hotel Buckingham. There's a good grammar school, a hospital, and
churches of all sorts. There is no public library; apparently one
isn't badly missed. Seward's a tradesmen's town and tradesmen's views
prevail,--narrow reactionary thought on modern issues and a trembling
concern at the menace of organized labor. A strike of the three
newsboys of the Seward paper plunged the poor fool its printer into
frantic fear of an I. W. W. plot. But even Seward smiled at the little
man's terror. The worst of Seward is itself; the best is the strong
men that by chance are there or that pass through from the great
Alaska.
[Illustration: THE WHITTLER]
December second was a day for shopping. I bought all manner of
Christmas things, things for the tree, things to eat, little presents
for Olson--but nothing for Rockwell. He and I must do without presents
this Christmas. Then more letters were written. A wood block that I
had cut proved, on my seeing a proof of it, to be absolutely
worthless.
December third I had still so much mail and business to attend to that
I stayed over another day. Set a door frame for Brownell and spent
that evening at his house. The postmaster came too, fine fellow, and
we'd a great evening taking turns singing songs--and the P. M. did
mighty well with "School-master Mishter O'Toole." The day I'd spent
writing and gossiping about town.
I heard then a story about Olson that's worth while. He was once
telling a crowd of men about the reindeer to the northward. Among his
listeners was a Jew who was annoyed with his "hectoring." At last this
joker asked: "Olson, if you bred a reindeer to a Swede what would you
get?" "You'd get a Jew," replied Olson. The Jew, who still lives in
Seward, has not bothered Olson since. The old man has a rare
reputation for his honesty and truth and all round sterling qualities.
It's truly a satisfaction to be in a country where men are alert
enough to take no offense at alertness, where enterprise is so common
a virtue that it arouses no suspicion, and where it is the rule to
mind your own business.
December fourth we set about to leave for Fox Island. It took two
hours to wind up our final business in town and embark. Brownell
helped with the boat. Of course the engine balked for fifteen minutes
and then (not "of course") went beautifully. After traveling a quarter
of a mile I learned that Rockwell had left our clock standing in the
snow by Olson's cabin. So for that we went back. Brownell saw us and
brought it.
The trip was swift and smooth. At Caine's Head it began to snow,
obscuring Fox Island, but I knew the course. In mid-channel the engine
stopped. After ten minutes' tinkering it resumed going and went
beautifully till we rounded the head of our cove. Then it sputtered
and I had continually to crank it. However, it carried us to thirty or
forty feet of the shore when it breathed its last, thanks to the snow
that had by now thoroughly wet the engine and ourselves. We unloaded
and with great labor hauled up the dory and turned her over. That
night I was exhausted and went straight to bed, leaving Rockwell at
his drawing. So now we're on Fox Island again.