June 1.--Yesterday the fog cleared and disclosed to us the snowy
peaks of the Siberian coast far to the northwest, and in front to the
north of us the long coast line of St. Lawrence Island. We headed
for the west end of the island, intending to pass up the channel
between it and the Siberian coast. Saw two vessels in the distance
returning from that direction. After we had beat against a bad wind
all day we found ourselves almost surrounded by icebergs. With the
field glass we could see the whole horizon a solid mass of ice. Our
way was blocked. Turning eastward, we tried the passage between St.
Lawrence Island and the Alaskan coast. The wind was blowing bitterly
cold from the Siberian shore. Beating eastward along the south side
of the island, we have now left the ice behind. This afternoon a
two-masted schooner spoke us on her way to try the passage we had
just abandoned. She turned and sailed with us. She carried a pretty
tough-looking crowd of miners. They, like ourselves, are bound for
Kotzebue. We gave them the "Penelope" yell, which they returned with
three cheers. In sizing up their piratical appearance we forgot to
look in the glass.
June 25.--Seventy-five miles southeast of Bering Strait. The Alaskan
mainland north of Norton Sound in plain view. Have spent five days
trying to get around St. Lawrence. Are still in sight of the east
end. It is calm. We need more wind. Entered Boring Sea two weeks
ago, and the days have been like a yachting cruise. Everyone is
in good spirits. Several of the boys are witty and jokes fly. And
the singing!--we exhaust the words we know and then make up as we
go along, like plantation negroes. Are playing several tournaments
in games. Only one so far has been concluded--the domino game.
Dr. Coffin and Jett were the unlucky ones, and last night they
entertained the crowd. Captain was master of ceremonies and dressed
in a most ludicrous manner. He made a mock speech and read a poem.
The two unlucky victims were treated to burnt cork and wore great
Eskimo muckluks (sealskin boots), murre-skin hats, and red calico
decorations. Doctor beat the big tin washpan and Jett blew the
foghorn. The captain's wand was a boat-hook with a shining red onion
on the tip and bearing a red pasteboard banner with the motto. "On
to Kotzebue." They were to march fifty times around the deck. Casey,
our Irishman, was appointed policeman by the captain "to keep the
small boys and the carriages off the street." And so, to the tune
of the foghorn and the dish-pan, they tramped their penalty. Then
the captain gave an exhibition of clog dancing, with a fife and
harmonica accompaniment. So one can see there is always something
going on to break the monotony and keep the blues away. We suffer
little from dull times. Whales are now as common as seals. One we
saw looked as large as the "Penelope." Clyde took its picture. I got
out our Winchester to-day. Am on the lookout for polar bears, which
are expected to frequent the ice packs. The cook has just yelled
"Supper!" and everyone is singing "Beulah Land."
[Illustration: Sighting a Vessel.]
Arctic Ocean, July 7.--The next morning after my last date we sailed
to within a mile of King's Island. This is a precipitous point of
rock scarcely a mile in diameter, and yet more than two hundred
Indians live upon it. Before we were within three miles of the island
the natives began to come alongside of the "Penelope" in their skin
canoes, or kyaks, wanting to trade. These were the first natives
we had seen, and our interest in them was unbounded. Fully fifteen
canoes, some singly, but mostly lashed together in pairs, reached us,
and their occupants came on board with their sealskin bags full of
articles to trade. They had a large quantity of walrus tusks, some of
large size, weighing probably ten pounds, and very valuable. There
were polar bear skins and fox skins beautifully tanned, also sealskin
coats and muckluks (skin boots).
They wanted in exchange clothes, flour, tobacco, knives, etc, and,
if we had prepared ourselves, we could have obtained many valuable
things. Most of us saved what things we had to trade with later on.
[Illustration: Natives of King's Island Coming to Trade.]
Beyond King's Island our way was again blocked with ice. We then
turned east towards Port Clarence, but in a couple of hours
encountered the ice pack extending out full twenty miles from the
Alaskan shore. We thought our way was blocked, but the captain
thought we could keep along the shore ice, and did so, the passage
opening as we advanced. After skirting the ice all day we entered the
straits at midnight June 26, and found ourselves between the Diomede
Islands and Cape Prince of Wales. Everyone was on deck enjoying the
scene until 2 a. m. The sun loitered along the horizon four hours and
at midnight barely disappeared. The clouds and water were gorgeously
tinted in the manner so often described by Arctic travelers. No words
can do the scene justice. To the right rose the mountains of Alaska,
extending far back from Cape Prince of Wales, the shores broken by
their blue-tinted ice pack. Dark blue shadows stood the mountains out
in beautiful distinctness. On our left were the precipitous Diomede
Islands and Fairway Rock, with the snowy mountains of the Siberian
shore rising further in the distance.
Ahead, our progress would soon be stopped by the long line of
ice extending under the Arctic horizon, where the sun was vainly
endeavoring to set. Just at midnight a spot of blazing light
appeared at Cape Prince of Wales, fully eight miles away. It was the
reflection of the fiery red sun on the window of the mission which
has been established at that point. These shores are not inviting,
and yet we know that here on this bleak coast are living, the whole
year through. American missionaries, whose purpose is as eternal as
the icebergs.
Everyone was happy and exerting himself to express what he felt. Some
yelled wildly, and, taking off their shoes and stockings, threw them
into the ocean. Others sang with might and main. "Beulah Land" and
"Nearer, My God, to Thee" were followed by "Yankee Doodle" and "My
Country, 'tis of Thee." with every body dancing and running about
like a lot of Indians. "Penelope, Penelope, zip, boom, bah! Going
up to Kotzebue, rah! rah! rah!" was yelled till all were hoarse.
Finally, about 3 p. m., we began to quiet down for a little sleep.
[Illustration: Nearing the Great Ice Pack.]
In the night a small schooner like our own, the "Acret," caught up
with us, having found the passage we had followed. We passed through
scattering ice and sailed about fifteen miles beyond the straits,
but here were confronted by the solid ice pack of the Arctic which
extended on all sides. After sailing about in circles in this limited
area of water all day, the "Acret" was seen to be heading through
a break in the shore side of the ice, and we followed. Both boats
dropped anchor about a mile from the Alaskan shore in shallow water,
where the ice had left a clean anchorage. The "Acret" and "Penelope"
were so far the first boats to pass through the straits.
We were all eager to land. As soon as the dinky was overboard, five
of the boys, with little thought for anyone else, as was quite
natural under the circumstances, jumped in and moved for shore. And
what was exasperating beyond description to us who were obliged to
wait our turn, they did not bring the boat back for two hours. We
have forgiven them, but they'll have to pay for it.
At 6 p. m., Dr. Coffin and I, and others, landed and started on
our first tramp. Our feet were for the first time on Alaskan soil.
But we saw none of the soil. Moss everywhere, and flowers and wild
strawberries. It was a queer sensation to set one's feet down on what
looked like substantial ground and sink a few inches to solid ice,
crushing the flowers beneath.
I was all eyes and ears for what new birds might cross my path.
Almost the first thing a flock of Emperor geese flew past me and
were out of range. These are the rarest geese in North America and
found only in Alaska. I saw but one land bird, a species of sparrow,
but there were large numbers of water birds. I obtained some rare
eggs, such as phalarope, western sandpiper, etc. A snowy owl was
flushed, the first I ever saw alive, and it was at once mobbed by a
dozen Arctic terns which had their nests near by. The land here is
low and rolling, with little knolls and lakes. The ground in places
Mas thawed about a foot--that is, taking the depth from the top
of the spongy moss. On the dryer knolls several kinds of flowers
were blooming and the grass was luxuriant in places. I searched for
insects, but found only two bumblebees, which I could not catch,
having no net with me.
We stayed on shore until midnight, tramping over the tundra and
collecting birds and eggs. At 1 a. m. rowed back to the schooner. A
canoe load of Indians had come alongside, and they had one Emperor
goose. I coveted it. Tried to trade for it, offering several
articles, but failed to offer the right thing. Afterwards one of
the "Acret" men obtained it for an old tin tomato can. The "Acret"
fellows had also been on shore and succeeded in shooting another
goose, so they now had a pair of them, which they allowed me to
have for the skinning, provided I returned the bodies in time for
breakfast. I was happy. I immediately went to work, having the usual
experience in skinning sea birds with the enormous amount of fat
which must be peeled, rubbed, scraped and picked off. It took me
until three o'clock in the morning, and I was then glad to crawl into
my bunk for a little sleep. By night the next day the water seemed
almost clear of ice, so we heaved anchor and started northeast along
the shore towards Kotzebue. Soon came to the ice again, scattered
and in blocks. Keeping right on between the blocks, we came to a
big, fatherly iceberg which had run aground. The water here was very
shallow, and we had to be careful not to run aground ourselves. The
"Penelope" draws eleven feet of water, and a mile from shore it is
often scarcely three fathoms, and of course shallower towards shore.
It was very exciting sometimes when the ice blocks became too Thick.
And they choked and moaned and snored and heaved against each other
in a fit of passion, and challenged one another to "come on." and
ground their teeth in rage, and swished calmly, and chuck-a-lucked
through the water. It was a grand sight to remember.
At times several of the boys had to take poles--driftwood which we
had taken possession of for just such an emergency--and, standing at
the bow, push off the ice. Even then several of the larger blocks
got the better of us and would stop our progress by a sturdy crunch
against the "Penelope," scraping along her side and taunting her
with piratical intention. But she was firm and answered not a word,
giving only a few scales of her weather-beaten paint as a sort of
peace-offering.
[Illustration: Anchored to a Grounded Iceberg.]
The "Acret" was all the while accompanying us, most of the time
ahead, for she drew only eight feet, so she could sail nearer shore
than we could, where the water was clearer of ice. We anchored two
nights and a day, again sheltered behind a grounded iceberg.
The "Acret" and "Penelope" were tied up side by side, and we
exchanged calling courtesies. This crew was intending to prospect in
couples, each two men having a boat. Each person was independent of
any other man, unless they should choose to form partnership among
themselves. That is, they were not formed into a regular company as
we were. We are no doubt better off individually as we are, though
this remains to be proved.
After spending several days slowly making our way along the Alaskan
coast towards Kotzebue, through the still breaking ice, on July 2 we
found ourselves really in a dangerous position. The wind began to
blow from out to sea, thus crowding the ice towards shore, making our
sailing quarters more and more limited. We were already running too
close in, from two to three fathoms, when suddenly the schooner ran
aground, and we found ourselves stuck on a sandy bottom, with the
ice rapidly moving down on us. An anchor was quickly towed out and
dropped, so that by heaving in on the anchor chain the boat could
be dragged out into deep water. This was slowly being accomplished,
when a mass of ice too large to pole off caught against the schooner,
causing a tremendous strain on the anchor chain.
Another ice cake floated against the first, and the "Penelope" would
have been crowded deeper and deeper aground had not, after much
chopping and prying, a crack opened up across the ice on our port
bow. The two pieces swung apart, leaving the "Penelope" free. Again
we tried to heave into deeper water, and finally with all sails set
and all hands pulling on the chain, the boat slid off in time to
escape another big sheet of ice. Of course this was one of the few
times we did not feel like shouting and singing. We held our breath.
It was an unpleasant experience, but one upon which we can look
back with a sort of quiet satisfaction. We shall-at least have one
hair-breadth escape to narrate to our friends at home. After dodging
and threading our way, the captain finally sailed us into an open
tract of water outside the ice.
[Illustration: Natives with Walrus-hide Canoe.]
We have made little progress these last days. We have been sailing
about in circles, at times coming within forty miles of Cape Blossom,
but still blocked by the line of ice that closes the mouth of
Kotzebue Sound. It is now rapidly breaking up and melting, and as
soon as an off-shore wind sets in, the ice will be surely driven
out to sea and our path will be clear. We are fifty days from San
Francisco, and the majority of us are longing for land. Vessels are
constantly coming In sight.
Last night twelve vessels besides our own were seen waiting for the
ice to open. What a mad rush this is to a land nobody knows anything
about, and whose treasure-trove, if she holds any, is far in the
interior! There is plenty of country, if not of gold, for us all, and
we can take our chances.
We have spoken the bark "Guardian" from Seattle with 130 on board.
The barkentine "Northern Light" from San Francisco with 120 on
board; the bark "Leslie D." with 58 on board, besides the "Catherine
Sudden," and others whom we have not been near enough to speak.
While we were near shore natives. Eskimos, came on board in their
skin canoes nearly every day, and often stayed several hours with us.
Indeed they would remain with us all the time if allowed to. They
are very greasy and not at all desirable in their present condition,
dressed entirely in skins, and owning few civilized implements. Some
were on summer hunting trips from as far as the Diomede Islands and
the opposite Siberian shore. We have made some fine trades with them.
Rivers, one of the boys, got a good skin kyak for a pair of overalls,
a match safe and a few other trinkets. I got some nice seal (not the
fur seal) skins for an outing shirt, and about one hundred yards of
strong raw-hide rope, for soiled socks, undershirts, etc.
It is a good opportunity for obtaining spears, toys, implements, and
clothing of Indian manufacture, etc., if only I could spare the stuff
to trade. With all the hundreds of people coming to the coast this
year, the trade will be spoiled by next year, or I would send home
for a box of articles for trade.
[Illustration: Educated Natives.]
These natives really require very little outside of their own
resources, so it is hard to tell what articles would be likely to
strike their fancy. Load, powder, tobacco, calico and clothes would
be the best things.
The prince or chief of this tribe of Indians was an intelligent young
man about twenty-five years old. He could not speak our language,
but, strange to say, his wife, who accompanied him, was educated and
refined. She had received some schooling at Port Clarence. It was she
who interpreted for all of us during our trading hours.
The natives came in families, and the children were not
uninteresting. Not a baby was heard to cry, although in the canoe for
hours at a time, nor would they try to move. These canoes or kyaks
are very strange boats, and prove quite treacherous to the novice. It
looks easy rowing in one of them. I had learned the trick during my
hunting about Sitka two years ago, and could not be induced to try
my hand in a hurry. Not so Casey, who went out by himself in Rivers'
new kyak. He started out all right, shouting that it was like riding
a bicycle, "very hard to keep balanced in." He was getting along
finely, keeping near the vessel, when he grew over-confident, and a
misstroke with the paddle set him out of balance, and boat and poor
Casey went rolling over together in the water. He struggled and kept
to the surface long enough for a rope to be thrown out to him, but
he could not get his legs out of the hole in the kyak for several
seconds. Seconds are hours in this blistering ice-water, and had he
been further from home he could not have survived the chill.
No one has tried kyaking since, but as soon as we reach shallow water
I mean to practice until I have revived the lost art.
We are now inside the Arctic Circle, about 67 degrees north latitude.
That is pretty well north for Southern Californians who, at home, rub
their ears when the frost nips the tomato plants in January.
[Illustration]