Jan. 23, 2 p. m.--I went out to look at the thermometer, when I
heard the cackling of ptarmigan the other side of the river. Harry
Reynolds and I armed ourselves and started out for game. We spotted
the flock in a willow thicket where the sun, which nowadays is just
at the horizon, had probably attracted them. Several of the birds
were perched on top of the bushes, and were very conspicuous against
the dark sky. We sneaked up to them and got a shot. Harry's gun got
choked with snow and missed fire. We followed up the birds and,
after two hours of hard tramping, I had four shots, securing three
ptarmigan. The walking was extremely difficult. The snow from the
tundras northward was deeply drifted along the willow thickets. It
was packed just hard enough on top so that at about every other step
it would sustain one's weight, but the alternate steps would break
through nearly to one's waist. In some places we fell and floundered,
and we considered our sport rather too well earned One of my cheeks
was frosted, but Harry brought it out all right by a vigorous rubbing
with snow.
[Illustration: Grave Decorations.]
It is too cold for hunting. I cannot shoot with gloves on, and
my bare fingers get burned by the cold steel of the hammers and
triggers. Harry had the doctor's Winchester repeating shot-gun
Although a fine gun in warm weather, it seems to get out of gear now.
My plain double-barreled Remington is the stand-by. I look at it and
it seems to say. "Wait till spring comes, Joe, and we'll get in our
work."
The literary society is as interesting as at first. Last Wednesday
Joe Jury talked on the "Art of Printing." He is a printer by trade
and has quite a business in San Jose. The week before Jack Messing
told us about the Hawaiian Islands. He was there for two mouths
a year ago. Nearly all of us are in favor of sailing around and
visiting our new islands on the way home. It is only about two
thousand miles out of our way. Personally I would like to make a long
cruise and visit the Philippines and Ladrones. Several of the boys
are growing desperately homesick. Time drags for them, and they are
counting the days to next July when they can get out of the Kowak
Valley and start for home. I have overheard a couple of them planning
how they might even now go across country to St. Michaels, so as to
be ready for the first steamer in the spring. Enthusiasm is a myth.
It was less than a year ago that, "No matter what happens, we will
push on into the interior and explore the unknown mountains until we
strike gold." Now it is. "How soon can we get home?" Such is human
nature.
Everyone is making snowshoes or getting the natives to make them.
I must get a pair as curiosities to send home. The natives do nice
work, and are improving their opportunities to get a good price.
They get three to five dollars worth of food or clothes for a pair
of muckluks. Snowshoes bring ten dollars. Indian Charley has made
the doctor a nice miniature sled and pair of snowshoes for treating
him when he was sick. Charley shows more gratitude and good-will
than any other of the natives. But he has some great ideas. Last
week he worked hard from daylight till dark in a cold wind clearing
away the trees and brush from his little child's grave. He cut
down everything clean between the grave and the river, saying this
was so "the Kowak-mitts traveling up and down the river" could
see his "mickaninie's" burial-place. He took the tree trunks and
poles and leaned them together over the grave, tepee fashion, so
the dogs and wolves cannot dig in. He left several of the taller
trees immediately surrounding the grave, and climbed to their tops,
trimming off the brandies as he came down. He then fastened flags to
these poles until he had fourteen up, with every prospect of more.
He used everything, such as sail-cloth, handkerchiefs and sacks. We
thought if he kept on he might have all the clothes he possessed
fluttering in the wind like a Monday morning wash, only the clothes
lines were perpendicular instead of horizontal. We remonstrated with
him, telling him the "cabloonas" never put flags over their graves;
but he Insisted that he wanted to make this spot conspicuous so that
everyone would notice it. The doctor thought of a scheme and Clyde
put it into operation. He made a windmill about four feet in diameter
and with a big fan. It was well made, and took Clyde two whole
days to finish. Charley was very much pleased with it, and it was
promptly lashed to the top of the tallest tree, whence resound its
mournful creaks whenever the wind blows. Charley wanted to know if
all cabloonas put wind-mills over the graves of their dead. Charley
is very ambitious to do exactly like a white man and yet, like many
another, he seems to think a disregard of native superstitions would
be disastrous. He asked us yesterday if he would die if he should
take some little pills the doctor gave him for some trifling ailment.
He said that some Kowak-mitts told him so. There is an old woman
in the middle igloo of the village who keeps these natives in such
ideas. The sooner she goes "mucky" (dead) the better it will be for
her people. About New Year's an old man at her igloo was very sick
and was expected to die. For fear of having him die in her igloo, and
thus, as she believed, render the house uninhabitable, she turned
him out into the extreme cold. His son stayed with him and made a
big fire. As soon as we found it out the nearest cabin took the sick
man in, and did all they could for him, although he died in a short
time. Women here have a harder life than can be imagined. A child is
never born in an igloo, but, no matter how cold the weather is, the
mother is driven out, not to return with her child until it is five
days old. There have been three such cases so far near us. The last
was during a ten-days' windstorm. The woman went alone back into as
sheltered a place as she could find in the woods, and made a screen
of spruce boughs to protect her from the storm. In front of this she
kept a small fire burning and there she remained with but little
clothing all the bitter days of her allotted time. An old woman
occasionally visited her and brought her food and wood. The baby
froze to death.
[Illustration: Native Sweethearts.]
[Illustration: Superstitious Old Woman.]
Jan. 28.--Who should drop in on us night before last but three of our
boys from the upper camp. Miller Casey and Alec. They report everyone
in good health, but the gold outlook is altogether "nil." All the
reports have been run down and there is no encouragement offered
anywhere. The boys staked out fifteen claims in the districts which
showed "indications." Holes have been dug, but in a few feet they
strike water and can go no further. This report is for the late fall.
C. C. and Mr. Samms had just arrived when the boys left. Uncle S.
and Samms had seven out of their nine dogs killed by poison in some
unexplained way at one of the camps. They bought five more at the
Riley Camp for fifty dollars. Our dog Tingle was among the killed. C.
C. and Samms intended to go twenty-five miles further to a village
at the Par River. This party will remain with us until the return
of C. C. They came down "just to kill time." They say it is pretty
monotonous at the other camp. They carried a pack of about thirty
pounds each and were very tired. Foote started with them, but gave
up half way down. Casey and Miller, as well as Alec, are jolly good
fellows and we hope they will stay with us a good while. Our grub
is getting rather low. The boys up the river had the larger share.
It will probably carry them through to July. But I think, unless we
can borrow from neighbors, a delegation of us from this camp will
have to go down to the "Penelope" at Escholtz Bay and bring supplies.
I'm sure it will not be I. I shall be here when spring opens for the
bird migrations. The boys report that two of the river steamers are
lost. They were put into a side stream to freeze up for the winter.
This stream is fed by warm springs which kept running after the
stream froze over, depositing successive layers of ice around the
boats until one of them is buried entirely out of sight, smoke-stack
and all. The other, the "Agnes E. Boyd." belonging to the Hanson
Company, is about half buried. If these boats had been watched at
the start and dams put around them and then raised, they could have
been saved. But now they are entombed in solid ice, and, unless they
are chopped out before spring, the torrents when the thaw comes will
smash them to pieces. The little "Helen" is so far all safe. That
slow, ugly-looking little scow, which everybody made fun of last
fall, may be ahead of all the big steamers next spring. Already the
Hanson boys are talking about making arrangements with us for taking
them down to the Mission. Thus shall the first be last and the last
first. The general opinion of our boys now seems to be, if nothing
is found in this country by next July, to sail down along the coast
to Bristol Bay and way stations, inquiring as to the news from those
sections, and finally taking in the Aleutian Islands. This suits my
inclinations. Reports are coming directly from the Yukon region that
there is nothing to encourage one to go there. It is safe to conclude
that newspaper reports are as nine to ten exaggerated. There are
thousands of disappointed people in all sections of central Alaska.
Travel is almost impossible.
Jan. 31, Tuesday.--We are having cloudy weather with a little
snow. The thermometer stands at ten degrees below zero, and it is
uncomfortably warm in our winter clothes. I shot four ptarmigan
yesterday, two of which I have just finished skinning. I got three
at one shot, standing, and the other on the wing. The doctor is out
now hunting the birds. Whenever I get any game it excites him so
that he immediately goes hunting. He seldom starts until I have set
the example. I do not have success oftener than each third hunt.
Walking through the snow is very tiresome, but one must be persistent
in this as in other things. It seems to be only chance that I ever
do find the ptarmigan. I usually search for fresh tracks along the
bushy margins of lakes or sloughs and then follow them up. Mornings
I find them mostly near their roosting-places, and they seldom fly
far. They sleep on the ground, burrowing into the snow and clearing
a bare wallow on the warm, soft moss. It is difficult to see them on
the snow, and this accounts in part for my ill success. Yesterday I
walked right into a flock without seeing them until they flew. I also
got two pine grosbeaks and two redpolls. The days are growing rapidly
longer. Only three months until the spring birds come.
Sunday there were fifty-seven persons at church, including thirty-two
white men. A stranger conducted the services in C. C.'s place.
Nothing occurred of an unexpected nature excepting the fact that one
of our boys went to sleep and snored so loud that it made us all
think we were back in the States at church somewhere. Last night we
had what Kowak boys call a "great blow-out." Brownie made a big wad
of taffy and we all pulled at it. By the way, three or four of us
were surprised at Christmas by receiving a box each, "straight from
home." They had been packed and given into the care of different
persons, so that the recipient of each box did not suspect that he
was to have one. By some oversight of the party to whom my own was
committed, I did not get my Christmas box, but am assured that it is
"safe somewhere," and will come to light when somebody stumbles over
it. Dr. Coffin received his on time, and the contents have yielded
us no end of comfort. Brownie drew upon its nuts and crystallized
fruits for his taffy. After the candy was washed off from the table
and chairs and candle-sticks and faces and hands, we played a game
of crokonole, which lasted far into the night. The result was that I
did not have breakfast on time. Miller and I played the doctor and
Rivers, the latter combine winning two out of three games after a
very close struggle. They had the "ha-ha" on me. The game finally
depended on the last shot, which was mine. We both had 195-200 to
make. There were three blacks on the board and two whites. The
whites are Miller's and mine. I had a fairly good split shot to take
off two blacks, which would have given us the odd game by a good
margin. Everyone was talking and the opposition was doing its best
to "rattle" me. Anyhow, by some extraordinary roundabout, my shot
cleared the board of every white one and put all three blacks in the
center ring. Oh, but the howl from the enemy!
Several cases of scurvy are reported along the line. One man is
nearly dead. It is supposed to be due to a sameness of diet and two
little exercise. Men settle down in their cabins and, not being
obliged to go out, just sleep the time away. Dr. Coffin suspects
another cause. A poor grade of food-stuffs has been brought up,
probably with adulterations. Brownie is just now pounding up lumps
of sugar on the table where I am writing. He is using the end of my
rolling-pin with great effect and much scattering of sweetness, much
to the delight of several Eskimo "mickaninies," who are having an
active picnic in consequence.
[Illustration: Home from the Mission.]
Feb. 2.--C. C. and party have returned, whole but tired. Besides
C. C., Cox and Mr. Samms, there are four fellows from the Upper
Agnes Boyd Camp, so that we are pretty well crowded as to sleeping.
I had eighteen men to feed for three meals, serving them at two
tables. I had to "rustle" for breakfast this morning. Made two big
pans of biscuit, a kettle of mush, a mass of salt-horse hash, bacon
and gravy. The repast was successful, excepting that the gravy was
somewhat salty. It is a great idea this, my cooking for eighteen men,
after I have declared "quits" so many times. The fellows laugh now
when I "resign."
Scurvy and "black-leg" are getting common up the river. One man at
the Jesse Lou Camp has died of the latter. The "black-leg" is what
the doctors call phlebitis. Black patches appear on the lower limbs,
which swell and become very painful. Many are affected and at some
of the camps above us they have instituted regular "scurvy trails,"
five to ten miles long, which they tramp every day. Exercise and a
change of food seem to help and also to prevent the disease. Those
who are suffering have been confined to their cabins so long, eating
pork and beans and baking-powder bread, to the exclusion of fruit
and fresh meats, that their cases are almost hopeless. C. C. reports
nothing new above. He and Samms visited the big Indian village at
the Par River. C. C. got a black bear skin in trade. Samms took a
census of the native population and finds about four hundred and
fifty on the Kowak. C. C. had rather a hard trip I guess, but he
was anxious to get it. Nothing like having plenty of hardships to
relate on one's return home. I expect to do some of the relating
myself. He is a pretty heavy man and it would seem could not endure
as much as a slender person. But he manages to make it. Last night
and to-day we have our heaviest snowfall. Until a thaw comes to
form a crust traveling will be difficult. Yesterday the literary
was well attended. Mr. Young of the Iowa Camp, talked on "Butter
Making and Creamery Methods." and I on the "Bacteria which Assist
in the Making of Cheese and Butter." Casey sang two comic songs,
"The Irish Jubilee." and "Put Me Off at Buffalo." Miller sang "Just
Behind the Times" and "The Queen's Hussars." Miller has a fine voice.
The literary is growing more popular as the season advances, and it
may well be considered an important factor in helping many of us to
pass the winter profitably. We try to bring in subjects which will
interest everyone, those who are not literally inclined as well as
the rest, and I think we have been quite successful. It seems to
me that the mind must be employed in these long winter evenings at
different points of Alaska, as a means of moral and physical health.
The doctor and I agree as to this.
Feb. 4.--The other day one of the boys was rummaging about among the
stores to see what he could come across of interest piled above the
rafters, when he accidentally knocked down a box. It fell to the door
and one corner burst open, disclosing the contents, which were not
"Sugar Corn," as the label on the end indicated. A very insignificant
legend near one end read "C. C. Reynolds." and it was set aside
as belonging to him. Yesterday it was given to C. C, who at once
recognized it as the very Christmas box which had been entrusted to
him for me before we left home, by my mother and sister. He turned it
over to me with many regrets, etc. It contained everything that could
give pleasure to a boy from two years old to twenty-one--from tooters
and jumping-jacks to warm woolen hoods and handkerchiefs and books.
Stockings were stuffed full of candies corked tightly in bottles and
tin boxes, and nuts were profuse. A touch of home-thought mingled
with the Arctic storms. I wish we had had it for Christmas on account
of the toys and candies, which would have added greatly to the
presents on the natives' Christmas tree. The hoods were especially
acceptable. They are knit with a piece across the nose, openings only
for the eyes and mouth, and are tied under the chin. They fit like
the skin itself. The books are all new to our library, which has been
pretty thoroughly digested by this time. I brought the three novels
out and they were immediately pounced upon. The doctor is reading "A
Tennessee Judge." Miller "A Kentucky Colonel." and Mrs. Samms "Oliver
Twist." I shall get at them in course of time.
I have read very little of late aside from my physiology. There is
a growing faction in our company now favoring an expedition to the
Philippines. We have the "Penelope" and sufficient supplies to go
around the world, for that matter. For my part I think we ought not
to hurry about leaving Alaska. Resolutions in regard to prospecting
are dimly waning. Last summer it was, "We will stay in Alaska and
push on until we find gold, if it takes three years." In the fall
they thought "two years enough." Last month it was, "We will prospect
all summer and start for home as late as the boat can leave the
Sound." And now it is, "How can we the soonest reach home?" Several
men from up the river are going to start overland for St. Michaels.
Time, and plenty of it, seems to be an antidote for enthusiasm.
[Illustration]