Indian basketry is poetry, music, art, and life itself woven exquisitely
together out of dreams, and sent out into a thoughtless world in
appealing messages which will one day be farewells, when the poor lonely
dark women who wove them are no more.
At its best, the basketry of the islands of Atka and Attu in the
Aleutian chain is the most beautiful in the world. Most of the basketry
now sold as Attu is woven by the women of Atka, we were told at
Unalaska, which is the nearest market for these baskets. Only one old
woman remains on Attu who understands this delicate and priceless work;
and she is so poorly paid that she was recently reported to be in a
starving condition, although the velvety creations of her old hands and
brain bring fabulous prices to some one. The saying that an Attu basket
increases a dollar for every mile as it travels toward civilization, is
not such an exaggeration as it seems. I saw a trader from the little
steamer _Dora_--the only one regularly plying those far waters--buy a
small basket, no larger than a pint bowl, for five dollars in Unalaska;
and a month later, on another steamer, between Valdez and Seattle, an
enthusiastic young man from New York brought the same basket out of his
stateroom and proudly displayed it.
"I got this one at a great bargain," he bragged, with shining eyes. "I
bought it in Valdez for twenty-five dollars, just what it cost at
Unalaska. The man needed the money worse than the basket. I don't know
how it is, but I'm always stumbling on bargains like that!" he
concluded, beginning to strut.
Then I was heartless enough to laugh, and to keep on laughing. I had
greatly desired that basket myself!
He had the satisfaction of knowing, however, that his little twined
bowl, with the coloring of a Behring Sea sunset woven into it, would be
worth fifty dollars by the time he reached Seattle, and at least a
hundred in New York; and it was so soft and flexible that he could fold
it up meantime and carry it in his pocket, if he chose,--to say nothing
of the fact that Elizabeth Propokoffono, the young and famed dark-eyed
weaver of Atka, may have woven it herself. Like the renowned
"Sally-bags," made by Sally, a Wasco squaw, the baskets woven by
Elizabeth have a special and sentimental value. If she would weave her
initials into them, she might ask, and receive, any price she fancied.
Sally, of the Wascos, on the other hand, is very old; no one weaves her
special bag, and they are becoming rare and valuable. They are of plain,
twined weaving, and are very coarse. A small one in the writer's
possession is adorned with twelve fishes, six eagles, three dogs, and
two and a half men. Sally is apparently a woman-suffragist of the old
school, and did not consider that men counted for much in the scheme of
Indian baskets; yet, being a philosopher, as well as a suffragist,
concluded that half a man was better than none at all.
At Yakutat "Mrs. Pete" is the best-known basket weaver. Young, handsome,
dark-eyed, and clean, with a chubby baby in her arms, she willingly, and
with great gravity, posed against the pilot-house of the old _Santa Ana_
for her picture. Asked for an address to which I might send one of the
pictures, she proudly replied, "Just Mrs. Pete, Yakutat." Her courtesy
was in marked contrast to the exceeding rudeness with which the Sitkan
women treat even the most considerate and deferential photographers;
glaring at them, turning their backs, covering their heads, hissing, and
even spitting at them.
However, the Yakutats do not often see tourists, who, heaven knows, are
not one of the novelties of the Sitkans' lives.
According to Lieutenant G. T. Emmons, who is the highest authority on
Thlinkit Indians, not only so far as their basketry is concerned, but
their history, habits, and customs, as well, nine-tenths of all their
basketwork is of the open, cylindrical type which throws the chief wear
and strain upon the borders. These are, therefore, of greater variety
than those of any other Indians, except possibly the Haidahs.
As I have elsewhere stated, nearly all Thlinkit baskets are of the
twined weave, which is clearly described by Otis Tufton Mason in his
precious and exquisite work, "Aboriginal American Basketry"; a work
which every student of basketry should own. If anything could be as
fascinating as the basketry itself, it would be this charmingly written
and charmingly illustrated book.
Basketry is either hand-woven or sewed. Hand-woven work is divided into
checker work, twilled work, wicker work, wrapped work, and twined work.
Sewed work is called coiled basketry.
Twined work is found on the Pacific Coast from Attu to Chile, and is the
most delicate and difficult of all woven work. It has a set of warp
rods, and the weft elements are worked in by two-strand or three-strand
methods. Passing from warp to warp, these weft elements are twisted in
half-turns on each other, so as to form a two-strand or three-strand
twine or braid, and usually with a deftness that keeps the glossy side
of the weft outward.
"The Thlinkit, weaving," says Lieutenant Emmons, "sits with knees
updrawn to the chin, feet close to the body, bent-shouldered, with the
arms around the knees, the work held in front. Sometimes the knees fall
slightly apart, the work held between them, the weft frequently held in
the mouth, the feet easily crossed. The basket is held bottom down. In
all kinds of weave, the strands are constantly dampened by dipping the
fingers in water." The finest work of Attu and Atka is woven entirely
under water. A rude awl, a bear's claw or tooth, are the only implements
used. The Attu weaver has her basket inverted and suspended by a string,
working from the bottom down toward the top.
Almost every part of plants is used--roots, stems, bark, leaves, fruit,
and seeds. The following are the plants chiefly used by the Thlinkits:
The black shining stems of the maidenhair fern, which are easily
distinguished and which add a rich touch; the split stems of the
brome-grass as an overlaying material for the white patterns of
spruce-root baskets; for the same purpose, the split stem of bluejoint;
the stem of wood reed-grass; the stem of tufted hair-grass; the stem of
beech-rye; the root of horsetail, which works in a rich purple; wolf
moss, boiled for canary-yellow dye; manna-grass; root of the Sitka
spruce tree; juice of the blueberry for a purple dye.
The Attu weaver uses the stems and leaves of grass, having no trees and
few plants. When she wants the grass white, it is cut in November and
hung, points down, out-doors to dry; if yellow be desired, as it usually
is, it is cut in July and the two youngest full-grown blades are cut out
and split into three pieces, the middle one being rejected and the
others hung up to dry out-doors; if green is wanted, the grass is
prepared as for yellow, except that the first two weeks of curing is
carried on in the heavy shade of thick grasses, then it is taken into
the house and dried. Curing requires about a month, during which time
the sun is never permitted to touch the grass.
Ornamentation by means of color is wrought by the use of materials which
are naturally of a different color; by the use of dyed materials; by
overlaying the weft and warp with strips of attractive material before
weaving; by embroidering on the texture during the process of
manufacture, this being termed "false" embroidery; by covering the
texture with plaiting, called imbrication; by the addition of feathers,
beads, shells, and objects of like nature.
Some otherwise fine specimens of Atkan basketry are rendered valueless,
in my judgment, by the present custom of introducing flecks of gaily
dyed wool, the matchless beauty of these baskets lying in their
delicate, even weaving, and in their exquisite natural coloring--the
faintest old rose, lavender, green, yellow and purple being woven
together in one ravishing mist of elusive splendor. So enchanting to the
real lover of basketry are the creations of those far lonely women's
hands and brains, that they seem fairly to breathe out their loveliness
upon the air, as a rose.
This basketry was first introduced to the world in 1874, by William H.
Dall, to whom Alaska and those who love Alaska owe so much. Warp and
weft are both of beach grass or wild rye. One who has never seen a fine
specimen of these baskets has missed one of the joys of this world.
The Aleuts perpetuate no story or myth in their ornamentation. With them
it is art for art's sake; and this is, doubtless, one reason why their
work draws the beholder spellbound.
The symbolism of the Thlinkit is charming. It is found not alone in
their basketry, but in their carvings in stone, horn, and wood, and in
Chilkaht blankets. The favorite designs are: shadow of a tree, water
drops, salmon berry cut in half, the Arctic tern's tail, flaking of the
flesh of a fish, shark's tooth, leaves of the fireweed, an eye, raven's
tail, and the crossing. It must be confessed that only a wild
imagination could find the faintest resemblance of the symbols woven
into the baskets to the objects they represent. The symbol called
"shadow of a tree" really resembles sunlight in moving water.
With the Haidah hats and Chilkaht blankets, it is very different. The
head, feet, wings, and tail of the raven, for instance, are easily
traced. In more recent basketry the swastika is a familiar design. Many
Thlinkit baskets have "rattly" covers. Seeds found in the crops of quail
are woven into these covers. They are "good spirits" which can never
escape; and will insure good fortune to the owner. Woe be to him,
however, should he permit his curiosity to tempt him to investigate;
they will then escape and work him evil instead of good, all the days of
his life.
In Central Alaska, the basketry is usually of the coiled variety,
coarsely and very indifferently executed. Both spruce and willow are
used. From Dawson to St. Michael, in the summer of 1907, stopping at
every trading post and Indian village, I did not see a single piece of
basketry that I would carry home. Coarse, unclean, and of slovenly
workmanship, one could but turn away in pity and disgust for the wasted
effort.
The Innuit in the Behring Sea vicinity make both coiled and twined
basketry from dried grasses; but it is even worse than the Yukon
basketry, being carelessly done,--the Innuit infinitely preferring the
carving and decorating of walrus ivory to basket weaving. It is
delicious to find an Innuit who never saw a glacier decorating a
paper-knife with something that looks like a pond lily, and labelling it
Taku Glacier, which is three thousand miles to the southeastward. I saw
no attempt on the Yukon, nor on Behring Sea, at what Mr. Mason calls
imbrication,--the beautiful ornamentation which the Indians of
Columbia, Frazer, and Thompson rivers and of many Salish tribes of
Northwestern Washington use to distinguish their coiled work. It
resembles knife-plaiting before it is pressed flat. This imbrication is
frequently of an exquisite, dull, reddish brown over an old soft yellow.
Baskets adorned with it often have handles and flat covers; but papoose
baskets and covered long baskets, almost as large as trunks, are common.
There was once a tide in my affairs which, not being taken at the flood,
led on to everlasting regret.
One August evening several years ago I landed on an island in Puget
Sound where some Indians were camped for the fishing season. It was
Sunday; the men were playing the fascinating gambling game of slahal,
the children were shouting at play, the women were gathered in front of
their tents, gossiping.
In one of the tents I found a coiled, imbricated Thompson River basket
in old red-browns and yellows. It was three and a half feet long, two
and a half feet high, and two and a half wide, with a thick,
close-fitting cover. It was offered to me for ten dollars, and--that I
should live to chronicle it!--not knowing the worth of such a basket, I
closed my eyes to its appealing and unforgettable beauty, and passed it
by.
But it had, it has, and it always will have its silent revenge. It is as
bright in my memory to-day as it was in my vision that August Sunday ten
years ago, and more enchanting. My longing to see it again, to possess
it, increases as the years go by. Never have I seen its equal, never
shall I. Yet am I ever looking for that basket, in every Indian tent or
hovel I may stumble upon--in villages, in camps, in out-of-the-way
places. Sure am I that I should know it from all other baskets, at but a
glance.
I knew nothing of the value of baskets, and I fancied the woman was
taking advantage of my ignorance. While I hesitated, the steamer
whistled. It was all over in a moment; my chance was gone. I did not
even dream how greatly I desired that basket until I stood in the bow of
the steamer and saw the little white camp fade from view across the
sunset sea.
The original chaste designs and symbols of Thlinkit, Haidah, and
Aleutian basketry are gradually yielding, before the coarse taste of
traders and tourists, to the more modern and conventional designs. I
have lived to see a cannery etched upon an exquisitely carved
paper-knife; while the things produced at infinite labor and care and
called cribbage-boards are in such bad taste that tourists buying them
become curios themselves.
The serpent has no place in Alaskan basketry for the very good reason
that there is not a snake in all Alaska, and the Indians and Innuit
probably never saw one. A woman may wade through the swampiest place or
the tallest grass without one shivery glance at her pathway for that
little sinuous ripple which sends terror to most women's hearts in
warmer climes. Indeed, it is claimed that no poisonous thing exists in
Alaska.
The tourist must not expect to buy baskets farther north than Skaguay,
where fine ones may be obtained at very reasonable prices. Having
visited several times every place where basketry is sold, I would name
first Dundas, then Yakutat, and then Sitka as the most desirable places
for "shopping," so far as southeastern Alaska is concerned; out "to
Westward," first Unalaska and Dutch Harbor, then Kodiak and Seldovia.
[Illustration: Copyright by F. H. Nowell, Seattle
ESKIMO IN WALRUS-SKIN KAMELAYKA]
But the tourists who make the far, beautiful voyage out among the
Aleutians to Unalaska might almost be counted annually upon one's
fingers--so unexploited are the attractions of that region; therefore, I
will add that fine specimens of the Attu and Atka work may be found at
Wrangell, Juneau, Skaguay, and Sitka, without much choice, either in
workmanship or price. But fortunate may the tourist consider himself who
travels this route on a steamer that gathers the salmon catch in August
or September, and is taken through Icy Strait to the Dundas cannery.
There, while a cargo of canned salmon is being taken aboard, the
passengers have time to barter with the good-looking and intelligent
Indians for the superb baskets laid out in the immense warehouse.
Nowhere in Alaska have I seen baskets of such beautiful workmanship,
design, shape, and coloring as at Dundas--excepting always, of course,
the Attu and Atka; nowhere have I seen them in such numbers, variety,
and at such low prices.
My own visit to Dundas was almost pathetic. It was on my return from a
summer's voyage along the coast of Alaska, as far westward as Unalaska.
I had touched at every port between Dixon's Entrance and Unalaska, and
at many places that were not ports; had been lightered ashore,
rope-laddered and doried ashore, had waded ashore, and been carried
ashore on sailors' backs; and then, with my top berth filled to the
ceiling with baskets and things, with all my money spent and all my
clothes worn out, I stood in the warehouse at Dundas and saw those
dozens of beautiful baskets, and had them offered to me at but half the
prices I had paid for inferior baskets. It was here that the summer hats
and the red kimonos and the pretty collars were brought out, and were
eagerly seized by the dark and really handsome Indian girls. A
ten-dollar hat--at the end of the season!--went for a fifteen-dollar
basket; a long, red woollen kimono,--whose warmth had not been required
on this ideal trip, anyhow,--secured another of the same price; and may
heaven forgive me, but I swapped one twenty-two-inch gold-embroidered
belt for a three-dollar basket, even while I knew in my sinful heart
that there was not a waist in that warehouse that measured less than
thirty-five inches; and from that to fifty!
However, in sheer human kindness, I taught the girl to whom I swapped it
how it might be worn as a garter, and her delight was so great and so
unexpected that it caused me some apprehension as to the results. My
very proper Scotch friend and travelling companion was so aghast at my
suggestion that she took the girl aside and advised her to wear the belt
for collars, cut in half, or as a gay decoration up the front plait of
her shirt-waist, or as armlets; so that, with it all, I was at last able
to retire to my stateroom and enjoy my bargains with a clear conscience,
feeling that after some fashion the girl would get her basket's worth
out of the belt.