Dec. 8.--The beautiful snow has come at last and to-day it is six
inches deep on the level. The trees are loaded and the river and
meadows are painfully white. We must get out our snow-glasses, of
which we have an abundance for all. Our condition seems to resemble
that of the Swiss Family Robinson. We find everything we desire
in our cabin, if not in our "wreck." We have no wreck. The north
wind has been blowing a gale for days, which at last amounted to a
blizzard. I went across the river in the teeth of the wind, just
crawling along on the slippery ice, but the fun was in coming back. I
had but to keep my balance and the wind did the rest.
We have been having some strange experiences with the Eskimos the
past week, which has introduced us to more of their interesting
superstitions.
Sunday evening, while we were all engaged in reading, or quiet talk,
we were suddenly startled by a loud groaning outside. As the gruesome
sound grew nearer we scarcely knew what to expect, but were prepared
to give relief to sick or wounded human beings of whatever type. We
rushed to the door, to find Charley, the Indian medicine man from the
native village above. We thought at first that he was but practicing
his arts, but when he was brought in groaning and sobbing we realized
that he was really very sick, and the doctor pronounced it pneumonia.
Soon Charley's family followed, and one of the little children was
nearly frozen. The wind was blowing a gale, and Charley told us that
he had come down from his igloo, four miles.
A few days before one of his wives had died, she who had eaten the
bear gravy, and, according to Indian superstition that a person
who lives in a house after another has died in it will surely die
himself, he had moved out of his warm dugout into a tent. Of course
it was very cold in the tent, and Sunday morning one of his little
girls died as the result of exposure. So Charley could no longer
live in either the tent or the igloo, and he was thrown out into the
pitiless storm with his other wife and three remaining children.
They went to a neighboring igloo, but a native would as soon commit
suicide as shelter any of the family of the deceased in his house or
enter the house where one has died. As a last resort Charley came to
our cabin, and no doubt the whole family would have died but for this.
Of course we warmed and fed all of them, and the doctor attended
upon Charley, who was too sick to object to another medicine man's
treatment. Several of us then went over to the church cabin and, by
stopping the fireplace and putting up a camp stove, we made it a
comfortable hospital. Charley is there now. Not a single Indian has
been inside our cabin since Charley was here.
[Illustration: Indian Charley and Family.]
They say if they come in they will surely "mucky" (die). We are very
glad they have taken this course, as heretofore they have been too
numerous altogether. It would be to our advantage to keep one sick
man with us. We have tried to induce a couple of young men to cut
wood for Charley, but they declare that also is dangerous. Charley's
wife dare not touch an axe for the same reason, so we have to chop
their wood ourselves. Wonder if we will any of us be alive in the
spring after such dangers. None of the Indians give them any food, so
we are attending to that matter. We are doing our best to get them
to overcome these inhuman and exasperating superstitions. They can
plainly see that we do not hesitate to care for the sick or the dead.
[Illustration: A Funeral Cortege.]
Tuesday night the patient was so sick the doctor thought he could
not live without especial care, so we decided to watch with him.
Rivers and I stayed with him from one to five o'clock in the early
morning. And it was an odd experience. We had Charley bolstered up on
two benches placed side by side near the stove. We kept a hot water
bag on his chest and occasionally made him take ptarmigan broth with
soaked hardtack. Poor fellow! had he been fed on such a diet while
well and able to appreciate it, he might well have been surprised.
But he was too near death to appreciate what we were doing. He would
have spasms of coughing and loud groaning, catching his breath and
rolling his eyes. Then he would fall back with his head lying limply
over his shoulder, breathing short and with scarcely perceptible
pulse. We thought he was about to die, but the climax passed and he
revived. While we were taking care of him his wife slept, for she
had probably been without rest for days. She now waits on him and
is very attentive to his wants, and does the best she knows how,
being generally more intelligent than most of the women. They all
have little ingenuity in caring for the sick, and this is one reason
why they die. Could these natives be persuaded to have a few of
their women educated as nurses, how much less would be the winter
mortality! Had we time we could do this, but it would take years,
and women beside. We have no women. But here are, or will be, all
the abandoned cabins on the Kowak by spring. What an opening for the
mission-inclined! Free hospitals and free beds such as they are. And
they are not mean. There are chairs, too, and carpeted floors.
In the meantime Charley's dead child, as we supposed, had been
sole tenant of the igloo which had been vacated. This fact gave a
sudden joy to C. C, the undertaker. As if by instinct he scented
a resurrection of his neglected business, and it was with little
difficulty that he persuaded Charley to let him give it a Christian
burial. C. C. and Joe Jury went up to see about it, and found that
the ceremonies had already been performed and the corpse was resting
on one of the usual scaffolds near the igloo. This did not matter.
They made a coffin of boards, sawed at our mill, and brought the
corpse down to Penelope Camp, Jury as coroner and C. C. as funeral
director. The hearse was a sled and the black horses a couple of
dogs. Of course Charley was too sick to attend the funeral services,
but his woman came and watched proceedings. She objected to nothing
in any way when told that was the way white men buried their dead.
But she insisted on putting some dishes and half a sack of flour in
the grave before it was filled. The flour C. C. had brought down from
the igloo, intending it for the family to eat. But they couldn't
think of consigning a dead child to the unknown future without
supplying it with sufficient means of support until it should reach
its uncertain destination. So twenty-five pounds of good flour was
interred with the coffin. C. C. intended this burial to teach the
natives better methods than their own superstitious ways, but I for
one doubt the propriety of burial in the ground in this country,
as in summer the earth is saturated and covered with water, and in
winter it is frozen to granite. As it turned out, the funeral was
not a very extraordinary object lesson, for not a single Eskimo
attended, save the woman mentioned, though they were especially asked
to come. I am not sure that the funeral director was not guilty of
making a "grave" mistake in the closing ceremonies. He had just
been assuring the woman mourner that the dead would need no further
food or clothing in the "beyond" where she had now gone, when it
occurred to him that a single demonstration of sorrowful affection
might be appropriate. Just before filling the grave he had all the
by-standers (gold-hunters on the Kowak) throw in each a spruce bough,
and the woman did likewise. I suppose he chose the spruce in place of
impossible flowers, but the solitary mourner must have considered the
act an inconsistent one after the remarks which had been made.
The doctor and I felt some uneasiness as to a special feature of the
funeral and accordingly acted. Now I have no doubt my friend was no
stranger to the scheme, but I was; nevertheless I went about my duty
with the approval of my immature conscience. We went out as if to
take a stroll, as was our frequent custom, and dug into the grave,
removing the buried sack of flour. We very carefully filled in the
grave and left all as it had been before. The snow which was falling
at the time soon covered our footprints (whereupon might be written
a poem), and no Eskimo will ever suspect our subtle deed. We put the
flour into a new clean sack and presented it to Charley as a mutual
gift. This was Kowak philanthropy, though, if the natives had found
us out, we might have had to suffer. The doctor and I congratulate
ourselves on doing a real good deed in a naughty world.
Yesterday Charley's father came down from the village to pay his
son a visit, but he evidently did not intend to enter the cabin,
carrying on his conversation from without, very much as white folks
do in cases of scarlet fever or other infectious disease. Some of us
happened to be near by chopping wood, and we tried to induce him to
go in. Finally the woman came out and built a fire, putting on green
spruce twigs to make a dense smoke. The old man then stooped over the
smudge, spreading a blanket over and around himself, thus confining
the smoke about his body for several minutes. He then apparently
considered himself immune from any evil and went into the cabin
without further hesitation. This process of disinfection is certainly
reasonable, only it was applied at the wrong end of affairs. He is a
very old man and of no help about the patient, so we have an added
charge.
Dec, 12, Monday.--I shot three redpolls this morning over in the
willows. I then tried to utilize our brief stint of daylight to skin
them by, but was obliged to resort to the dim light of a candle after
all. We get no more sunshine here in the valley. At noon only the
snowy mountain peaks are illuminated by straggling rays from the
truant sun. The landscape is often magnificent. I stood on the bank
several minutes at noon admiring the views. The northern horizon was
deep blue, and, contrasted with it, were the snow-covered ranges,
which were tinged a rich pink. The sky above was slightly overcast,
as if covered by a delicate pink veil. Dark purple shadows crossed
the zenith, but toward the sun all was bright bellow and gold. The
snow-covered river and meadows beyond were so white that they seemed
to have a blue tint. Then the spruce forests with their ragged
outlines looked dark and gloomy as they were sketched against the
mountains or horizon. I never imagined such color effects as are
displayed every day here. I do not think that the brightest colors on
an artist's palette could exaggerate the brilliant hues of the sky
during our short period of twilight. We are looking for a tenant for
our cabin. Let some club of artists engage it for a season and they
will be in ecstasy.
A change in the weather! This morning a southeast wind sprang up and
sent the thermometer to twenty-three degrees above zero. At this hour
yesterday it was thirty-four degrees below. Although nine degrees
below freezing, the air feels balmy as it strikes our faces. This is
the first day in two months that I have taken a walk across the river
in an ordinary hat. I could not go far, as the snow is badly drifted
now. I saw a few redpolls and one raven. Rivers and Uncle Jimmy dug a
new water-hole to-day. The ice is three and one-half feet thick.
In the cabin all is quiet as I write. The only light is my little
candle on the dining-table. Uncle Jimmy is asleep, with his head
on his crossed hands, on the opposite side of the table. C. C. is
sitting in an arm-chair at the further end of the room probably
thinking of home. Brownie and Clyde went over to one of the Iowa
camps a few hours ago. Some of the boys are restless and delight in
visiting.
Dr. Coffin got word from Dr Gleaves to go down to the Hanson Camp. A
man on his way up the river from one of the lower camps has frozen
his toes, and they are in such a condition that amputation is
necessary. Dr. Coffin wanted me to go with him to assist, thinking:
me cool and nervy, but I declined. If they were nice, fresh, sound
members, nothing would delight me better than to render assistance,
but I have a repugnance to dead, decaying flesh. For this and other
reasons I never would skin a bird that had died of itself, though I
saw it fly against a telegraph wire.
I am studying hard. I am at work on my physiology, and also
committing to memory a "Glossary of Scientific Terms." The boys
ridicule me for reading the dictionary so much, saying that the
subject is changed too often to make it profitable reading. I am
also teaching German to Rivers and Brownie. They are a very willing
class. Other times I am studying bacteriology with the doctor. We
are a literary and scientific crowd. Our latest argument last night
was "How to Dispose of the City Slums." The doctor reads portions of
Josiah Strong's "New Era" to us and then we discuss it. The Literary
Society of the Kowak met Wednesday evening with a good attendance.
"The Practical Value of Art" was thoroughly expounded by Solsbury of
the Hanson Camp, though he required two hours to do it and some of
the art-less ones grew sleepy.
[Illustration: Native Family at Home.]
Indian Charley is nearly well now, and, like a white man in such
circumstances, is appreciative of all we have done for him. He
assures us that his woman shall sew for us, and that he himself will
bring us fish when the spring opens. We hope he will continue in a
thankful frame of mind. Another native died at the Hanson Camp of
pneumonia. Dr. Gleaves kept him in his own cabin for days but failed
to restore him, as the man was too far gone when he saw him. The
relatives of the dead man had heard how C. C. buried Charley's little
girl in a box, and insisted that they, too, have a "cabloona" (white
man's burial). Again was our undertaker alert and in his "native
element," so to speak, and superintended the making of a coffin, and
the various other incidentals of the funeral. The friends of the
deceased brought a large number of articles, including a new gun,
spy-glasses, parkas, skins, etc., to be interred with the body, but
were finally dissuaded from thus destroying everything, save the
dead man's pipe and tobacco pouch. These they believed he could by
no means get along without in the next world. Before the Indian died
he begged several times of Dr. Gleaves to kill him with a knife, and
thus aid him in parting from his own misery. We are assured that the
native medicine men sometimes do this, and at first glance there
seems a humane side to the argument. On second thought, however, it
is clear that the duty of a physician is to allay suffering, while
life is naturally prolonged, leaving it to some other One to name the
date of release. We hear of a woman sick at the village. Surely the
Eskimos will soon be a race of the past unless civilization comes to
their aid.
Dec. 19.--It has blown a gale for six days and we have scarcely been
out of the house in that time. The bright, warm cabin is preferable.
We only hear the roar of the wind outside, and occasionally from the
corners comes a cold draught of air dumbly whistling through the
moss-crowded chinks. The two Harrys got back Wednesday night after
a very hard trip. They only got twenty miles beyond Ambler City
before they were caught by the snow, which shortly was more than a
foot in depth and they could not travel. Harry R. induced a severe
attack of rheumatism and could walk only with difficulty. He came
near freezing to death. He wanted to lie down and sleep, and Cox had
all he could do to force him on until they reached a cabin. Harry
R. must have suffered terribly, for he is as thin and pale as any
ghost I ever met. Although they went only about fifty miles up the
river, they heard rumors from beyond which knock all the props from
under our recent hopes. Our boys of the upper camp who started for
the Allashook have returned, not being able to get over the pass on
account of the deep snow. Moreover it is rumored that the golden
reports from the Allashook were invented by a couple of men, one of
whom has eight hundred pounds of provisions over there to sell, and
the other wants to be recorder of claims.
There are other reports of strikes up the river, but I for one shall
pay no heed, nor will I write about them. Several people have been
up from camps below, trying to get loads of provisions. They are
having a hard time. Several have returned and two are waiting for
better weather. It is really dangerous traveling now. More than one
man has nearly lost his life. One came to our cabin with his face
frozen, and did not know it until we told him. It is useless to think
of traveling in this biting cold. And here comes a pounding on our
woodshed door. Half a dozen of us run to open it, glad that we have
shelter for any wanderer.
[Illustration]