The heavy forestation of the Northwest Coast ceases finally at the Kenai
Peninsula. Kadiak Island is sparsely wooded in sylvan groves, with green
slopes and valleys between; but the islands lying beyond are bare of
trees. Sometimes a low, shrubby willow growth is seen; but for the most
part the thousands of islands are covered in summer with grasses and
mosses, which, drenched by frequent mists and rain, are of a brilliant
and dazzling green.
The Aleutian Islands drift out, one after another, toward the coast of
Asia, like an emerald rosary on the blue breast of Behring Sea. The only
tree in the Aleutian Islands is a stunted evergreen growing at the gate
of a residence in Unalaska, on the island of the same name.
The prevailing atmospheric color of Alaska is a kind of misty, rosy
lavender, enchantingly blended from different shades of violet, rose,
silver, azure, gold, and green. The water coloring changes hourly. One
passes from a narrow channel whose waters are of the most delicate green
into a wider reach of the palest blue; and from this into a gulf of
sun-flecked purple.
The summer voyage out among the Aleutian Islands is lovely beyond all
description. It is a sweet, dreamlike drifting through a water world of
rose and lavender, along the pale green velvety hills of the islands.
There are no adjectives that will clearly describe this greenness to one
who has not seen it. It is at once so soft and so vivid; it flames out
like the dazzling green fire of an emerald, and pales to the lighter
green of the chrysophrase.
Marvellous sunset effects are frequently seen on these waters. There was
one which we saw in broad gulfs, which gathered in a point on the purple
water about nine o'clock. Every color and shade of color burned in this
point, like a superb fire opal; and from it were flung rays of different
coloring--so far, so close, so mistily brilliant, and so tremulously
ethereal, that in shape and fabric it resembled a vast thistle-down
blowing before us on the water. Often we sailed directly into it and its
fragile color needles were shattered and fell about us; but immediately
another formed farther ahead, and trembled and throbbed until it, too,
was overtaken and shattered before our eyes.
At other times the sunset sank over us, about us, and upon us, like a
cloud of gold and scarlet dust that is scented with coming rain; but of
all the different sunset effects that are but memories now, the most
unusual was a great mist of brilliant, vivid green just touched with
fire, that went marching down the wide straits of Shelikoff late one
night in June.
Early on the morning after leaving Cook Inlet, the "early-decker" will
find the _Dora_ steaming lightly past Afognak Island through the narrow
channel separating it from Marmot Island. This was the most silvery,
divinely blue stretch of water I saw in Alaska, with the exception of
Behring Sea. The morning that we sailed into Marmot Bay was an
exceptionally suave one in June; and the color of the water may have
been due to the softness of the day.
We had passed Sea Lion Rocks, where hundreds of these animals lie upon
the rocky shelves, with lifted, narrow heads, moving nervously from side
to side in serpent fashion, and whom a boat's whistle sends plunging
headlong into the sea.
The southern point of Marmot Island is the Cape St. Hermogenes of
Behring, a name that has been perpetuated to this day. The steamer
passes between it and Pillar Point, and at one o'clock of the same day
through the winding, islanded harbor of Kadiak.
This settlement is on the island that won the heart of John Burroughs
when he visited it with the famous Harriman Expedition--the Island of
Kadiak.
I voyaged with a pilot who had accompanied the expedition.
"Those scientists, now," he said, musingly, one day as he paced the
bridge, with his hands behind him. "They were a real study for a fellow
like me. The genuine big-bugs in that party were the finest gentlemen
you ever saw; but the _little_-bugs--say, they put on more dog than a
bogus prince! They were always demanding something they couldn't get and
acting as if they was afraid somebody might think they didn't amount to
anything. An officer on a ship can always tell a gentleman in two
minutes--his wants are so few and his tastes so simple. John Burroughs?
Oh, say, every man on the ship liked Mr. Burroughs. I don't know as
you'd ought to call him a gentleman. You see, gentlemen live on earth,
and he was way up above the earth--in the clouds, you know. He'd look
right through you with the sweetest eyes, and never see you. But
_flowers_--well, Jeff Davis! Mr. Burroughs could see a flower half a
mile away! You could talk to him all day, and he wouldn't hear a word
you said to him, any more than if he was deef as a post. I thought he
was, the longest while. But Jeff Davis! just let a bird sing on shore
when we were sailing along close. His deefness wasn't particularly
noticeable then!... He'd go ashore and dawdle 'way off from everybody
else, and come back with his arms full of flowers."
Mr. Burroughs was charmed with the sylvan beauty of Kadiak Island; its
pale blue, cloud-dappled skies and deep blue, islanded seas; its narrow,
winding water-ways; its dimpled hills, silvery streams, and wooded
dells; its acres upon acres of flowers of every variety, hue and size;
its vivid green, grassy, and mossy slopes, crests, and meadows; its
delightful air and singing birds.
He was equally charmed with Wood Island, which is only fifteen minutes'
row from Kadiak, and spent much time in its melodious dells, turning his
back upon both islands with reluctance, and afterward writing of them
appreciative words which their people treasure in their hearts and
proudly quote to the stranger who reaches those lovely shores.
* * * * *
The name Kadiak was originally Kaniag, the natives calling themselves
Kaniagists or Kaniagmuts. The island was discovered in 1763, by Stephen
Glottoff.
His reception by the natives was not of a nature to warm the cockles of
his heart. They approached in their skin-boats, but his godson, Ivan
Glottoff, a young Aleut interpreter, could not make them understand him,
and they fled in apparent fear.
Some days later they returned with an Aleutian boy whom they had
captured in a conflict with the natives of the Island of Sannakh, and he
served as interpreter.
The natives of Kadiak differ greatly from those of the Aleutian Islands,
notwithstanding the fact that the islands drift into one another.
The Kadiaks were more intelligent and ambitious, and of much finer
appearance, than the Aleutians.
They were of a fiercer and more warlike nature, and refused to meet the
friendly advances of Glottoff. The latter, therefore, kept at some
distance from the shore, and a watch was set night and day.
Nevertheless, the Kadiaks made an early-morning attack, firing upon the
watches with arrows and attempting to set fire to the ship. They fled in
the wildest disorder upon the discharge of firearms, scattering in their
flight ludicrous ladders, dried moss, and other materials with which
they had expected to destroy the ship.
Within four days they made another attack, provided with wooden shields
to ward off the musket-balls.
They were again driven to the shore. At the end of three weeks they made
a third and last attack, protected by immense breastworks, over which
they cast spears and arrows upon the decks.
As these shields appeared to be bullet-proof and the natives continued
to advance, Glottoff landed a body of men and made a fierce attack,
which had the desired effect. The savages dropped their shields and fled
from the neighborhood.
When Von H. J. Holmberg was on the island, he persuaded an old native to
dictate a narrative to an interpreter, concerning the arrival of the
first ship--which was undoubtedly Glottoff's. This narrative is of
poignant interest, presenting, as it does, so simply and so eloquently,
the "other" point of view--that of the first inhabitant of the country,
which we so seldom hear. For this reason, and for the charm of its
style, I reproduce it in part:--
"I was a boy of nine or ten years, for I was already set to paddle a
bidarka, when the first Russian ship, with two masts, appeared near Cape
Aleulik. Before that time we had never seen a ship. We had intercourse
with the Aglegnutes, of the Aliaska Peninsula, with the Tnaianas of the
Kenai Peninsula, and with the Koloshes, of southeastern Alaska. Some
wise men even knew something of the Californias; but of white men and
their ships we knew nothing.
"The ship looked like a great whale at a distance. We went out to sea
in our bidarkas, but we soon found that it was no whale, but another
unknown monster of which we were afraid, and the smell of which made us
sick."
(In all literature and history and real life, I know of no single touch
of unintentional humor so entirely delicious as this: that any odor
could make an Alaskan native, of any locality or tribe, sick; and of all
things, an odor connected with a white person! It appears that in more
ways than one this old native's story is of value.)
"The people on the ship had buttons on their clothes, and at first we
thought they must be cuttle-fish." (More unintentional, and almost as
delicious, humor!) "But when we saw them put fire into their mouths and
blow out smoke we knew that they must be _devils_."
(Did any early navigator ever make a neater criticism of the natives
than these innocent ones of the first white visitors to their shores?)
"The ship sailed by ... into Kaniat, or Alitak, Bay, where it anchored.
We followed, full of fear, and at the same time curious to see what
would become of the strange apparition, but we did not dare to approach
the ship.
"Among our people was a brave warrior named Ishinik, who was so bold
that he feared nothing in the world; he undertook to visit the ship, and
came back with presents in his hand,--a red shirt, an Aleut hood, and
some glass beads." (Glottoff describes this visit, and the gifts
bestowed.)
"He said there was nothing to fear; that they only wished to buy
sea-otter skins, and to give us glass beads and other riches for them.
We did not fully believe this statement. The old and wise people held a
council. Some thought the strangers might bring us sickness.
"Our people formerly were at war with the Fox Island people. My father
once made a raid on Unalaska and brought back, among other booty, a
little girl left by her fleeing people. As a prisoner taken in war, she
was our slave, but my father treated her like a daughter, and brought
her up with his own children. We called her Plioo, which means ashes,
because she was taken from the ashes of her home. On the Russian ship
which came from Unalaska were many Aleuts, and among them the father of
our slave. He came to my father's house, and when he found that his
daughter was not kept like a slave, but was well cared for, he told him
confidentially, out of gratitude, that the Russians would take the
sea-otter skins without payment, if they could.
"This warning saved my father. The Russians came ashore with the Aleuts,
and the latter persuaded our people to trade, saying, 'Why are you
afraid of the Russians? Look at us. We live with them, and they do us no
harm.'
"Our people, dazzled by the sight of such quantities of goods, left
their weapons in the bidarkas and went to the Russians with the
sea-otter skins. While they were busy trading, the Aleuts, who carried
arms concealed about them, at a signal from the Russians, fell upon our
people, killing about thirty and taking away their sea-otter skins. A
few men had cautiously watched the result of the first intercourse from
a distance--among them my father." (The poor fellow told this proudly,
not understanding that he thus confessed a shameful and cowardly act on
his father's part.)
"These attempted to escape in their bidarkas, but they were overtaken by
the Aleuts and killed. My father alone was saved by the father of his
slave, who gave him his bidarka when my father's own had been pierced by
arrows and was sinking.
"In this he fled to Akhiok. My father's name was Penashigak. The time of
the arrival of this ship was August, as the whales were coming into the
bays, and the berries were ripe.
[Illustration: Photo by J. Doody, Dawson
A HOME IN THE YUKON]
"The Russians remained for the winter, but could not find sufficient
food in Kaniat Bay. They were compelled to leave the ship in charge of a
few watchmen and moved into a bay opposite Aiakhtalik Island. Here was a
lake full of herrings and a kind of smelt. They lived in tents through
the winter. The brave Ishinik, who first dared to visit the ship, was
liked by the Russians, and acted as mediator. When the fish decreased in
the lake during the winter, the Russians moved about from place to
place. Whenever we saw a boat coming, at a distance, we fled to the
hills, and when we returned, no dried fish could be found in the houses.
"In the lake near the Russian camp there was a poisonous kind of
starfish. We knew it very well, but said nothing about it to the
Russians. We never ate them, and even the gulls would not touch them.
Many Russians died from eating them. We injured them, also, in other
ways. They put up fox-traps, and we removed them for the sake of
obtaining the iron material. The Russians left during the following
year."
This native's name was Arsenti Aminak. There are several slight
discrepancies between his narrative and Glottoff's account, especially
as to time. He does not mention the hostile attacks of his people upon
the Russians; and these differences puzzle Bancroft and make him
sceptical concerning the veracity of the native's account.
It is barely possible, however, that Glottoff imagined these attacks, as
an excuse for his own merciless slaughter of the Kadiaks.
As to the discrepancy in time, it must be remembered that Arsenti Aminak
was an old man when he related the events which had occurred when he was
a young lad of nine or ten. White lads of that age are not possessed of
vivid memories; and possibly the little brown lad, just "set to paddle
a bidarka," was not more brilliant than his white brothers.
It is wiser to trust the word of the early native than that of the early
navigator--with a few illustrious exceptions.
* * * * *
Kadiak is the second in size of Alaskan islands,--Prince of Wales Island
in southeastern Alaska being slightly larger,--and no island, unless it
be Baranoff, is of more historic interest and charm. It was from this
island that Gregory Shelikoff and his capable wife directed the vast and
profitable enterprises of the Shelikoff Company, having finally
succeeded, in 1784, in making the first permanent Russian settlement in
America at Three Saints Bay, on the southeastern coast of this island.
Barracks, offices, counting-houses, storehouses, and shops of various
kinds were built, and the settlement was guarded against native attack
by two armed vessels.
It was here that the first missionary establishment and school of the
Northwest Coast of America were located; and here was built the first
great warehouse of logs.
Shelikoff's welcome from the fierce Kadiaks, in 1784, was not more
cordial than Glottoff's had been. His ships were repeatedly attacked,
and it was not until he had fired upon them, causing great loss of life
and general consternation among them, that he obtained possession of the
harbor.
Shelikoff lost no time in preparing for permanent occupancy of the
island. Dwellings and fortifications were erected. His own residence was
furnished with all the comforts and luxuries of civilization, which he
collected from his ships, for the purpose of inspiring the natives with
respect for a superior mode of living. They watched the construction of
buildings with great curiosity, and at last volunteered their own
services in the work.
Shelikoff personally conducted a school, endeavoring to teach both
children and adults the Russian language and arithmetic, as well as
religion.
In 1796 Father Juvenal, a young Russian priest who had been sent to the
colonies as a missionary, wrote as follows concerning his work:--
"With the help of God, a school was opened to-day at this place, the
first since the attempt of the late Mr. Shelikoff to instruct the
natives of this neighborhood. Eleven boys and several grown men were in
attendance. When I read prayers they seemed very attentive, and were
evidently deeply impressed, although they did not understand the
language.... When school was closed, I went to the river with my boys,
_and with the help of God_" (the italics are mine) "we caught one
hundred and three salmon of large size."
The school prospered and was giving entire satisfaction when Baranoff
transferred Father Juvenal to Iliamna, on Cook Inlet.
We now come to what has long appealed to me as the most tragic and
heart-breaking story of all Alaska--the story of Father Juvenal's
betrayal and death at Iliamna.
Of his last Sabbath's work at Three Saints, Father Juvenal wrote:--
"We had a very solemn and impressive service this morning. Mr. Baranoff
and officers and sailors from the ship attended, and also a large number
of natives. We had fine singing, and a congregation with great outward
appearance of devotion. I could not help but marvel at Alexander
Alexandreievitch (Baranoff), who stood there and listened, crossing
himself and giving the responses at the proper time, and joined in the
singing with the same hoarse voice with which he was shouting obscene
songs the night before, when I saw him in the midst of a drunken
carousal with a woman seated on his lap. I dispensed with services in
the afternoon, because the traders were drunk again, and might have
disturbed us and disgusted the natives."
Father Juvenal's pupils were removed to Pavlovsk and placed under the
care of Father German, who had recently opened a school there.
The priestly missionaries were treated with scant courtesy by Baranoff,
and ceaseless and bitter were the complaints they made against him. On
the voyage to Iliamna, Father Juvenal complains that he was compelled to
sleep in the hold of the brigantine _Catherine_, between bales of goods
and piles of dried fish, because the cabin was occupied by Baranoff and
his party.
In his foul quarters, by the light of a dismal lantern, he wrote a
portion of his famous journal, which has become a most precious human
document, unable to sleep on account of the ribald songs and drunken
revelry of the cabin.
He claims to have been constantly insulted and humiliated by Baranoff
during the brief voyage; and finally, at Pavlovsk, he was told that he
must depend upon bidarkas for the remainder of the voyage to the Gulf of
Kenai; and after that to the robbers and murderers of the Lebedef
Company.
The vicissitudes, insults, and actual suffering of the voyage are
vividly set forth in his journal. It was the 16th of July when he left
Kadiak and the 3d of September when he finally reached Iliamna--having
journeyed by barkentine to Pavlovsk, by bidarka from island to island
and to Cook Inlet, and over the mountains on foot.
He was hospitably received by Shakmut, the chief, who took him into his
own house and promised to build one especially for him. A boy named
Nikita, who had been a hostage with the Russians, acted as interpreter,
and was later presented to Father Juvenal.
This young missionary seems to have been more zealous than diplomatic.
Immediately upon discovering that the boy had never been baptized, he
performed that ceremony, to the astonishment of the natives, who
considered it some dark practice of witchcraft.
Juvenal relates with great naivete that a pretty young woman asked to
have the same ceremony performed upon her, that she, too, might live in
the same house with the young priest.
The most powerful shock that he received, however, before the one that
led to his death, he relates in the following simple language, under
date of September 5, two days after his arrival:--
"It will be a relief to get away from the crowded house of the chief,
where persons of all ages and sexes mingle without any regard to decency
or morals. To my utter astonishment, Shakmut asked me last night to
share the couch of one of his wives. He has three or four. I suppose
such abomination is the custom of the country, and he intended no
insult. God gave me grace to overcome my indignation, and to decline the
offer in a friendly and dignified manner. My first duty, when I have
somewhat mastered the language, shall be to preach against such wicked
practices, but I could not touch upon such subjects through a boy
interpreter."
The severe young priest carried out his intentions so zealously that the
chief and his friends were offended. He commanded them to put away all
their wives but one.
They had marvelled at his celibacy; but they felt, with the rigid
justice of the savage, that, if absolutely sincere, he was entitled to
their respect.
However, they doubted his sincerity, and plotted to satisfy their
curiosity upon this point. A young Iliamna girl was bribed to conceal
herself in his room. Awaking in the middle of the night and finding
himself in her arms, the young priest was unable to overcome temptation.
In the morning he was overwhelmed with remorse and a sense of his
disgrace. He remembered how haughtily he had spurned Shakmut's offer of
peculiar hospitality, and how mercilessly he had criticised Baranoff for
his immoral carousals. Remembering these things, as well as the ease
with which his own downfall had been accomplished, he was overcome with
shame.
"What a terrible blow this is to all my recent hopes!" he wrote, in his
pathetic account of the affair in his journal. "As soon as I regained my
senses, I drove the woman out, but I felt too guilty to be very harsh
with her. How can I hold up my head among the people, who, of course,
will hear of this affair?... God is my witness that I have set down the
truth here in the face of anything that may be said about it hereafter.
I have kept myself secluded to-day from everybody. I have not yet the
strength to face the world."
When Juvenal did face the small world of Iliamna, it was to be openly
ridiculed and insulted by all. Young girls tittered when he went by; his
own boys, whom he had taught and baptized, mocked him; a girl put her
head into his room when he was engaged in fastening a heavy bar upon his
door, and laughed in his face. Shakmut came and insisted that Juvenal
should baptize his several wives the following Sunday. This he had been
steadily refusing to do, so long as they lived in daily sin; but now,
disgraced, broken in spirit, and no longer able to say, "I am holier
than thou," he wearily consented.
"I shall not shrink from my duty to make him relinquish all but one
wife, however," he wrote, with a last flash of his old spirit, "when the
proper time arrives. If I wink at polygamy now, I shall be forever
unable to combat it. Perhaps it is only my imagination, but I think I
can discover a lack of respect in Nikita's behavior toward me since
yesterday.... My disgrace has become public already, and I am laughed at
wherever I go, especially by the women. Of course, they do not
understand the sin, but rather look upon it as a good joke. It will
require great firmness on my part to regain the respect I have lost for
myself, as well as on behalf of the Church. I have vowed to burn no fuel
in my bedroom during the entire winter, in order to chastise my body--a
mild punishment, indeed, compared to the blackness of my sin."
The following day was the Sabbath. It was with a heavy heart that he
baptized Katlewah, the brother of the chief, and his family, the three
wives of the chief, seven children, and one aged couple.
The same evening he called on the chief and surprised him in a wild
carousal with his wives, in which he was jeeringly invited to join.
Forgetting his disgrace and his loss of the right to condemn for sins
not so black as his own, the enraged young priest vigorously denounced
them, and told the chief that he must marry one of the women according
to the rites of the Church and put away the others, or be forever
damned. The chief, equally enraged, ordered him out of the house. On his
way home he met Katlewah, who reproached him because his religious
teachings had not benefited Shakmut, who was as immoral as ever.
The end was now rapidly approaching. On September 29, less than a month
after his arrival, he wrote: "The chief and his brother have both been
here this morning and abused me shamefully. Their language I could not
understand, but they spat in my face and, what was worse, upon the
sacred images on the walls. Katlewah seized my vestments and carried
them off, and I was left bleeding from a blow struck by an ivory club.
Nikita has washed and bandaged my wounds; but from his anxious manner I
can see that I am still in danger. The other boys have run away. My
wound pains me so that I can scarcely--"
The rest is silence. Nikita, who escaped with Juvenal's journal and
papers and delivered them to the revered and beloved Veniaminoff,
relates that the young priest was here fallen upon and stabbed to death
by his enemies.
Many different versions of this pathetic tragedy are given. I have
chosen Bancroft's because he seems to have gone more deeply and
painstakingly into the small details that add the touch of human
interest than any other historian.
The vital interest of the story, however, lies in what no one has told,
and what, therefore, no one but the romancer can ever tell.
It lies between the written lines; it lies in the imagination of this
austere young priest's remorseful suffering for his sin. There is no
sign that he realized--too late, as usual--his first sin of intolerant
criticism and condemnation of the sins of others. But neither did he
spare himself, nor shrink from the terrible results of his downfall, so
unexpected in his lofty and almost flaunting virtue. He was ready, and
eager, to chastise his flesh to atone for his sin; and probably only one
who has spent a winter in Alaska could comprehend fully the hourly
suffering that would result from a total renouncement of fuel for the
long, dark period of winter.
Veniaminoff was of the opinion that the assassination was caused not so
much by his preaching against polygamy as by the fact that the chiefs,
having given him their children to educate at Kadiak, repented of their
action, and being unable to recover them, turned against him and slew
him as a deceiver, in their ignorance. During the fatal attack upon him,
it is said, Juvenal never thought of flight or self-defence, but
surrendered himself into their hands without resistance, asking only for
mercy for his companions.