Sailing Northward.—Chinese Labor.—Unexplored Islands.—The Alexander
Archipelago.—Rich Virgin Soil.—Fish Canning.—Myriads of Salmon.—Native
Villages.—Reckless Habits.—Awkward Fashions and their Origin.—
Tattooing Young Girls.—Peculiar Effect of Inland Passages.—Mountain
Echoes.—Moonlight and Midnight on the Sea.
Let us observe more order in these notes, and resume the course of our
experiences in consecutive form.
As we speed on our sinuous course northward, inhaling with delight the
pure and balmy atmosphere, bearing always a little westerly, winding
through narrow channels which divide the richly wooded wilderness of
islands, avoiding here and there the ambuscaded reefs, the pleasurable
sensation is intense. The scenery, while in some respects similar to
that of the St. Lawrence River and the Hudson of New York, is yet
infinitely superior to either. After having reached latitude 54° 40′ we
come upon Dixon Entrance, a reach of the sea which separates Alaska from
British Columbia, and from this point we are sailing exclusively in the
purple shadow of our own shore, and in the waters of the United States.
At times we pass islands as large as the State of Massachusetts, whose
picturesque and irregular mountainous surfaces are covered with
immemorial trees, and whose unknown interiors are believed to be rich in
coal, iron, silver, and other metals. The axe has never echoed in the
deep shade of these dense plantations of nature; they form a pathless
wilderness, solemn and silent, save for the stealthy tread of wild
beasts, the mournful music of waving pines, and the occasional notes of
wandering seabirds. The migratory flocks of the tropics as a rule go
farther north to raise their broods, but a few, weary of wing, shorten
their aerial journey and build nests on these islands. For many
centuries past the great columnar trees have grown to mammoth size, and
have then fallen only by the weight of years, enriching the ground with
their decayed substance and giving place to another similar growth,
which, in its turn, has also flourished and passed away. How like the
course of human races! This process has been going on perhaps for twice
ten thousand years. “Nature alone is antique,” says Carlyle. The past
history of Alaska, except for a comparatively short period, is a blank
to the people of the nineteenth century.
Day after day there is a continuous and unbroken chain of mountain
scenery. On the right of our course is a broad strip of the mainland, an
Alpine region, thirty miles in width, which forms a part of southern
Alaska, bounded on the east by British Columbia, and on the west by the
many spacious islands, which create so perfect a breakwater that the
constant swell of the contiguous ocean is not felt. Some of these
islands lie within a quarter of a mile of each other, on either side of
our way, and yet the water is far too deep to admit of anchoring, the
peaks rising abruptly from unknown depths to thousands of feet above the
sea. The channels seem still more narrow from the great height of the
mountains which line the course. The eye catches with delight the bright
ribbons of waterfalls tumbling down their sides, in gleeful uproar,
foaming and sparkling towards the depths below. These are fed by melting
snow and hidden lakes far up in the cloud-screened summits. Some of
these waterfalls, narrow and swift, leap from point to point, now
forming small cascades, and now continuing in a perpendicular form like
a column of crystal. Others, so abrupt and precipitous are the heights
from which they are launched, fall in an unbroken stream, clinging to
the cliffs at first, but quickly expanding into a thin sheet rivaling
the Bridal Veil of the Yosemite, and reaching the base in a constant
gauzelike spray.
The wide, open tracks seen now and then on the steep, thickly-wooded
mountain sides, reaching from high up to the snow-line down to the very
surface of the water, are the pathways swept by giant avalanches. What
immense power and lightning-like speed are suggested by the broad, clean
swath that is left! The wind caused by the rushing avalanches is almost
equally resistless, the trees on either side of the track being torn
into splinters by it.
Now and again, above the tops of the giant pines, one can see moving
objects on the exposed peaks and cliffs, almost too far away and too
small for identification, but we know them to be wild mountain goats,—
the Alaskan chamois,—quite safe from the hunters in these perilous
heights, never trod by the foot of man. The tender glow of twilight
enshrouding mountain peaks, emerald isles, and the gently throbbing
bosom of the sea, added daily a witching charm to a scene which already
seemed perfect in beauty.
The principal island group lying off the shore of southwestern Alaska is
named the Alexander Archipelago, in honor of the Tzar of Russia. It
extends about three hundred miles north and south, and is seventy-five
miles from east to west, embracing over eleven hundred islands, scarcely
one of which has been explored. The group reaches from Dixon Entrance to
Cross Sound, in latitude 58° 25′ north. Upon landing at one of these
islands it was found to be covered by an impervious forest; the mass of
timber and undergrowth was so compact as to defy our progress. The
tangle of bushes, roots, vines, and branches formed almost as
impenetrable a wall as though built of masonry. The wildest jungles of
India are not more dense. Where not covered and hidden by trees, the
earth was flecked here and there by the sun, being carpeted with moss
and ferns so thickly spread as to form a spongy surface, upon which only
the velvety feet of small wild animals could be sustained. A human
pedestrian, were he to attempt to pass over it, would sink in this
vegetable compound knee-deep at every step. There are no paths in these
jungles; the natives have no occasion to penetrate them, their living
comes from the sea, and the river courses are their hunting grounds.
This virgin soil, were it to be drained and cleared of trees, would be
rich beyond calculation, while the climate is such as to warrant the
growth and ripening of any vegetation which will thrive on the Atlantic
coast north of Chesapeake Bay. One who has not seen it in Alaska knows
not what rank and luxuriant forest undergrowth is. No tropical islands
can surpass the Alexander Archipelago in this respect. Thus far no one
has come to this region with the idea of testing its availability for
agricultural purposes; it is other business which has attracted them.
Nothing of any account has ever been done in the way of stock-raising,
though the winters of southern Alaska, of Kodiak, and the Aleutian
Islands are much milder than are those of Wyoming or northern Dakota,
and there is plenty of food for innumerable herds all the year round. If
government will but give the Territory of Alaska proper land laws, this
region will promptly invite emigration, and be rapidly peopled by
thrifty stock-growers.
As we increase our northern latitude forests of tall cedars, spruce, and
hemlock still line the shore of the mainland, and cover the countless
islands with a mantle of softest green. It is not surprising that
artists become enthusiastic over the infinite variety of shades found in
these verdant woods, an effect which we have never seen excelled even in
equatorial regions. Gliding over the still, deep, pellucid surface of
the ocean, we behold these cliffs, forests, and mountains, with coronets
of snow reflected therein, as though there was another world below, like
that above the rose-tinted sea. One finds almost exactly repeated here
the bold, towering peaks, and low-lying rocky isles of the Lofoden group
in the far North Sea of the opposite hemisphere, whose sharp, jagged
pinnacles have been aptly compared to shark’s teeth.
Near Cape Fox, on the mainland, there are two large fish-canning
establishments, where salmon are packed in one pound tin cases for
shipment to distant markets, and in which a few Chinamen are employed.
Some Indian women also find occupation in the establishment, while their
husbands capture and bring in the fish in large quantities. This is a
rapidly growing and profitable business in this region, there being
already forty or fifty such factories along the coast and among the
islands north of Cape Fox.
Kasa-an Bay makes into Prince of Wales Island twenty miles, more or
less, from Clarence Strait. Here there are several villages of Kasa-an
Indians. No spot on the coast is more famous for the abundance and
excellence of its salmon; at certain seasons the waters of the bay swarm
with them. Here is a large cannery, or fish-packing station, where
native women do most of the indoor work. Two thousand barrels of salted
salmon were shipped from this bay last year. This was independent of
those used in canning. There would seem to be no limit to the expansion
of an industry that can furnish such desirable, every way wholesome, and
nutritious food to be sold in all parts of the world.
The North Pacific Trading and Packing Company of San Francisco has been
doing a profitable business on the coast for many years. In spite of
government neglect, commerce is steadily increasing and developing
Alaska; it invades all zones, proving the greatest of civilizing
agencies. Not only is it the equalizer of the wealth, but also of the
intelligence, of nations, and this one branch alone is gradually
populating whole districts. When the active packing season is over there
is still profitable employment for all. Some are occupied in making the
tin cans to hold one pound each; others are taught to become coopers,
furnishing the casks for shipping such fish as are split, salted, and
exported in that form; while others are occupied in making pine-wood
boxes to contain two dozen each of the filled cans. Thus a
well-conducted fish-packing establishment employs many people, and
presents a busy scene all the year round.
The salmon are so plenty in the regular season that an Indian will
sometimes deliver at the canning factory three or four canoe-loads in a
single day. They are mostly caught by net or seine, but often during the
height of the season the natives absolutely shovel the salmon out of the
water and on to the shore with their paddle blades. We were told that as
many as three thousand salmon, and even more, are sometimes taken at a
single haul of the seine; also that fish of this species weighing from
twenty to thirty pounds were common here. Great numbers are discarded at
the factories because they do not prove to be of the high pink color
which is required by the purchasers and consumers. It seems that the
bears know very well when the run of salmon commences, and that there
are certain quiet inlets where the fish are sure to get crowded and
jammed, so that Bruin has only to reach out his paws and draw one after
another on to the shore and eat until he has his fill. The bear-paths
leading to these spots are strongly marked, and the animals are thus
easily tracked and shot by the hunters. It is the white men who capture
them most generally, as the natives have some mysterious reverence and
fear combined regarding this animal. They do hunt them, however, but
shrive themselves of all sense of wrong by going through some mystic
rites. Mr. Charles Hallock says: “There are bears enough in Alaska,
grizzly, cinnamon, and black, to furnish every man on the Pacific with a
cap and overcoat, and leave breeding stock enough for next year’s
supply.” The grizzly bear is a dangerous animal to encounter
single-handed. A bullet seems to have no more effect upon him, unless it
strikes a vital spot, than it does upon an elephant. It is necessary to
use guns of large calibre when hunting the animal, and the whites rarely
seek them unless several tried men band together for the purpose.
From time to time small native villages are seen on the islands and the
mainland, all typical of the people, and quite picturesque in their
dirtiness and peculiar construction. Some of their cabins are built of
boards, but mostly they are rude, bark-covered logs. In front of these
dwellings stand totem-poles, presenting hideous faces carved upon them
in bold relief, together with uncouth figures of birds, beasts, and
fishes. A portion of these tall posts are weather-beaten and neglected,
significantly tottering on their foundations, green with mould,
unconsciously foreshadowing the fate of the aboriginal race. Groups of
natives in bright-colored blankets, with scarlet and yellow
handkerchiefs on their heads, come into view, watching us curiously as
we glide over the smooth water, while bevies of half-naked children are
seen shifting hither and thither in clamorous excitement. What
wonderfully bright, black eyes these children have! Some of the women
are gathering kelp, for the shores are lined with edible algæ,
possessing not only fine nutritious qualities, but being also a
recognized tonic, with excellent medicinal properties. This sea-product
is collected in the most favorable season of the year, and after being
pressed into convenient sized and esculent cakes is stored for future
use. The native hamlets are always built near to the shore,
accessibility to the water being the first consideration, because from
that source comes nine tenths of their subsistence. To clear the forest
and secure open fields presupposes more thrift and application than
these natives possess; but it would unveil some of the richest soil in
the world. These Alaskans have no idea of sewerage, or the proper
disposal of domestic refuse. All accumulations of this sort are thrown
just outside the doors of their dwellings, to the right and left,
anywhere in fact which is handiest. The stench which surrounds their
cabins, under these circumstances, is almost unbearable by civilized
people, and must be very unwholesome. These natives have broad faces,
small, pig-like eyes, and high cheek bones, not very nice to look upon,
yet not without a certain expression of real intelligence gleaming
through the accumulated dirt.
“What is needed here,” said a humorous observer to us, “is the mission
teacher with his Bible, spelling-book, and—soap!”
The women cut their hair short on the forehead, nearly even with the
eyebrows, causing one to surmise that these Thlinkits—a generic name
given to the tribes in this vicinity—must have set the fashion of
“banging” the hair, which is so popular among civilized belles. Just so
the Japanese women originated the hideous fashion of the “bustle.” The
author saw this awkward and unbecoming appendage worn upon the backs of
the women of Yokohama, Tokio, and Nagasaki three years before it
appeared upon the streets of Boston and New York. And now we hear of the
“clinging” style of drapery, in which underskirts even are discarded,
called the Grecian or classic style. Alas! will nothing but extremes
satisfy the importunate demands of fashion? Heaven send that we do not
import another fashion from Alaska or the South Seas, namely tattooing.
It is quite common here, among young girls of about twelve years of age,
whose cheeks and chins are often thus disfigured by irregular lines. The
more the natives associate with the whites, however, the more rarely
this tattooing is resorted to, and it may be said, as a fashion, to be
going out in Alaska, though it is undoubtedly one of the most widely
diffused practices of savage life, from the Arctic to the Antarctic
circle.
The Alaskans have an original way of producing this indelible marking,
the color being fixed by drawing a thread under the skin, whereas the
usual mode among various savages is by pricking it in with a needle. The
favorite colors are red and blue. We were told that common women were
permitted to adorn their chins with but one vertical line in the centre,
and one parallel to it on either side, while a woman of the better or
wealthier class is allowed two vertical lines from each corner of the
mouth. The New Zealand Maori women tattoo their chins in a very similar
manner, keeping the rest of the face in a natural condition.
We had threaded the intricate labyrinth of islands, bays, and channels,
guarded by miles upon miles of sentinel peaks, nearly all day, on one
occasion, under a depressing fog and rain, when suddenly a bold headland
was rounded, which had seemed for hours to completely bar our way, and
we passed out from under the shadow of the frowning cliffs and the gloom
of the dark fathomless waters just as the sun burst forth, warm, bright,
and resistless, while the view expanded before us nearly to the horizon.
The mist, like shrouded ghosts, stole silently away, vanishing behind
the rocks and cliffs. Every dewy drop of moisture, on ship and shore,
glittered like diamonds in the dazzling rays of the new-born light,
changing the verdant islands into a glory of color, and the whole view
to one of majestic loveliness, through which we glided as smoothly as
though in a gondola upon the Grand Canal at Venice.
When approaching a landing or anchorage, a signal gun is fired from the
forecastle of the ship, creating a series of echoes deep, sonorous, and
startling, but especially remarkable for the number of times the sound
is repeated. One single gun becomes multiplied to a whole broadside. The
report is taken up again and again by other localities, and thus is
conveyed for miles away, finally sinking to a whisper, as it were, among
the foot-hills of the giant elevations.
The most impressive scenes realized by the traveler are those of
moonlight and midnight. How a love of the stars and the sea grows upon
one, and life has so few moments of perfect contentment! What melody and
magic permeate the pure, placid atmosphere, bounded by the sapphire sea
and the azure sky! How tender and beautiful is the utter stillness of
the hour! Such scenes of gladness make the heart almost afraid,—afraid
lest there should be some keen sorrow lurking in ambush to awaken us
from pleasant dreams to the stern, disenchanting experiences of real
life.
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