Feb. 24. Friday. 9 p. m.--I went hunting for the first time on
snowshoes. I got along famously until I struck a soft snowdrift, and
the shoes turned on edge and I fell headlong. Otherwise I received
no casualties and got over the ground rapidly, skirting the brushy
margins of lakes back on the tundra and following up the creeks. I
shot three rock ptarmigan, and learned many interesting items about
their notes and habits, which are duly set down in my special bird
notes. The weather is calm and clear and cold, ranging from fifteen
to fifty-one degrees in the twenty-four hours.
Wednesday afternoon the literary was again well attended, as we had a
very interesting programme. Dr. Coffin had arranged the east end of
the room in a patriotic manner, the designs being his own. A large
flag made of a red blanket with parallel stripes of white cheese
cloth folded across it, and in the corner a square of blue mosquito
netting with paper stars pinned on it, formed the background. On
a platform in front of this were stacked three guns, one an old
rusted muzzle-loader which C. C. found out in the woods, one an
old-fashioned breech-loader, and the third a modern nitro-repeater,
to represent the three great wars--the Revolutionary, the Civil,
and the Spanish. On the wall were magazine cuts of Schley, Sampson,
Dewey, Hobson, and other heroes, while in the center of the blanket
flag was a large picture of George and Martha Washington.
Mr. Legg, of the Jesse Lou Camp, gave a talk on Honduras, where
he was a banana grower some years ago. Several George Washington
speeches followed, by Solsbury, Jury, Thees, C. C. and others. Just
at the close of the meeting Uncle S. came blustering in from up the
river. He brought a lot of news that kept the people here until
late in the night. Two or three more men have been frozen to death.
Several have scurvy. Our boys were at Ambler City waiting for the
weather to moderate before going on up. There has been absolutely
no gold heard from. There are thousands of men in the lower Yukon
regions, one hundred and fifty steamers and various kinds of
launches along the Koyukuk alone, and no encouraging prospects.
Hundreds of men haven't a cent to pay their passage back to the
States. One good thing makes affairs better than they might be--there
is plenty to eat in the country. It is said that a good many have
signed a petition to the government to come and get them out of their
trouble.
We feel pretty sure of our return tickets. But the "Penelope" is at
the mercy of Arctic demons, and if she is saved it will be marvelous.
Feb. 26, Sunday.--I will confess that I did not behave well in church
this morning. I took a seat over in the corner behind Rivers, where I
thought my scribbling would not be noticed, and there I am writing. I
guess no one will be harmed by it unless it be myself. 10:30 a. m.,
and the first arrivals for meeting are Charley Lund and Beam of the
first Iowa Camp--that is, representing the white population. Services
are supposed to begin at eleven, but two benches of Eskimo are
already seated. They are quite well behaved, but keep up an incessant
jabbering. Charley Lund, Beam and the doctor are holding an animated
conversation about the sick man B. B. is a good deal better.
Guy Solsbury and Normandin of the Hanson Camp have just arrived, all
muffled up, their masks thickly frosted. It is forty-five degrees
below zero, but they report that their three-mile walk was "quite
comfortable." Normandin brought me a big box nicely finished with
cover and shallow trays, for my skins. It is in trade for a stuffed
ptarmigan. He is quite a genius in the mechanical line. The box
was rather too heavy to carry, so he fastened a pair of runners on
blocks at the bottom and dragged it up by a rope tied to a handle
on one end. Lyman comes in with his clarionet case under his arm.
Dr. Gleaves and D. arrive, and then Young. Dougherty and Montgomery,
from the middle Iowa cabin, and Legg of the Jesse Lou, who is staying
with them. Several more natives come in with friendly "Halloas!" "Big
Jones" from the further Iowa Camp arrives, and Brennan and Malcolm
from the Sunnyside. Brennan is nicknamed "Noisy." because he is
always very quiet and has nothing to say to anyone. Remarks as to the
"cold weather," wooden snow-glasses and snowshoes, are numerous. The
conversation is mainly desultory, carried on piecemeal from opposite
sides of the room. But there is a low hum from two or three couples
who are carrying on a more earnest conversation. Dr. Coffin and
Dr. Gleaves, for instance. I overhear discussing Fish's condition.
Fish is the man whose toes were amputated. One can see that Sunday
services on the Kowak are rather of a social nature. The orchestra
begins to tune up; general silence falls on the congregation, and
individuals seek permanent seats. Dr. Coffin gives out the song
books, of which C. C. brought plenty. The orchestra consists of the
banjo by C. C, violin by Normandin, and clarionet by Lyman. There is
some delay and more tuning of the banjo and clarionet, which do not
seem to jibe (to use a musical term). A low buzz of conversation is
again audible, and the leaves of the hymn books rustle. Several of
the natives have colds and there is considerable coughing. It is very
quiet: sort of an air of suspense. The sunshine streaming across the
room, reflected from yellow Mackinaw suits, gives a brownish tint to
the scene. Normandin and C. C. are discoursing "sharps" and "flats"
in a low voice, yet audible in the room. The violin and banjo are not
quite tuned together. Solsbury is talking aloud about "Moth balls in
furs, back in the States." At last C. C. announces the number of the
hymn in a loud, hurried voice, as though he were just startled out
of a reverie, "No. 17, Jesus Saves." The clarionet sounds the pitch
and C. C. leads in the singing. The time is awfully slow. Nearly
everyone sings, the Eskimos following the air nearly as well as the
whites. Although many sing out of tune, and individually would make
a horrible discord, the aggregation is a somewhat musical droning
of a quality that would soon put one to sleep. After four verses
of this hymn. "No. 64" is announced. "Wait and Murmur Not." Some
further tuning, and four verses of this hymn are gone through with.
They always do sing all the verses of any hymn. Dr. Coffin now rises
and reads the second chapter of Matthew. Mr. D. is in charge of the
meeting to-day, and he calls on Mr. W. to "lead in prayer." Uncle
Jimmy slowly rises, takes a step or two forward, clasps his hands in
front of him, and, closing his eyes, raises his face slightly. He is
a good man and I like to see and hear him pray. I haven't anything
against Uncle Jimmy. When anyone prays the Eskimos always bow their
heads low, resting their elbows on their knees. They say "Amen" in
unison when the prayer is finished. So much is the result of Mr.
and Mrs. Samms' missionary work. Uncle Jimmy terminates with the
Lord's Prayer, in which all join. When the praying is over there is
quite a hubbub of coughing and sneezing. C. C. announces "No. 49."
and the orchestra tunes. "There shall be showers of blessing." four
verses. The clarionet doesn't seem to know this very well and makes
several breaks. Toward the end of the last verse the hymn-books are
closed and there is a general settling down. D. rises and, after a
pause, proceeds to apologize for his inability as a public speaker.
But he tells us he will do the best he can, and we ask for nothing
more. His subject is "The Divinity of Christ." I should like to take
down the various points, but my continued scratching is noisy and
attracts attention. I might get taken out of meeting by the ear and
so suffer for being a "naughty little boy." A couple of men came in
late during the sermon and caused some disturbance until they finally
got seated, mopping the melting ice from their beards. D. winds up
his discourse with a prayer. The most of his sermon was written,
and delivered in his usual halting manner, but the substance was
good for any location and showed that he had given a good deal of
study to his subject. After the prayer and a chorus of "Amens" from
the natives, who haven't understood a word of what was said, there
is a sort of recovery, with coughing and clearing of throats and
shuffling of feet. "No. 139" is announced. "Bringing in the sheaves."
three verses. C. C. starts another song, which he observes "will be
familiar to the natives," "No. 39, At the Cross." The Eskimos catch
a tune quite readily, the women and children carrying the air very
nicely. They try hard to imitate the words. Two verses conclude this
song. "No. 14, Jesus, I Come." is announced. It is a new piece and is
sung very scatteringly. Guy Solsbury calls for "Sunshine." He thinks
it appropriate, because at this moment the sunshine is flooding the
room with more than usual brightness. But C. C. says he hasn't the
music, so the orchestra can't play it. C. C. asks all to rise, and he
prays and gives the benediction. The congregation slowly disperses,
little knots remaining to discuss various topics. Legg declares
he will not go back to the Jesse Lou until the weather moderates.
Thus with gossip and swapping of news the Kowak Sunday services are
finally ended and the room is cleared in time for the 2 o'clock
dinner.
[Illustration: Church Service at Cape Blossom in July.]
March 3.--I have been pretty busy to-day. Got up just in time for
breakfast, which I don't have to get any more, for a while at least,
and took my snowshoes up to the village to be mended. Then Rivers and
I went ptarmigan hunting. We tramped across the tundras from eight
till two, bagging two ptarmigan and a redpoll. It was tiresome. In
the ravines where the wind did not strike, the snow was soft and deep
and hard to get over even with snowshoes. Rivers wore snowshoes for
the first time, and he got several tumbles, but always struck in a
soft place.
We got into a large flock of ptarmigan which kept flying around us,
but, after two or three shots, our hands became too cold and we had
to give them up. My mitts were sweaty, and froze while I had them
off shooting, and when I put them on again my hands nearly became
frosted. It is too cold for comfortable hunting. When we got back we
were late for dinner, but Coxie got us a fine lunch, hot pea soup,
biscuits, and apple cobbler. After dinner I put up two ptarmigan
skins that I shot last Tuesday. Rivers is learning how to skin birds
now. He expects to go down to Escholtz Bay pretty soon to be with the
vessel when the ice breaks up, and will collect eggs and skins for me
there. I would like to turn the whole company into an egg collecting
concern for a month in May and June. But I guess the doctor and
Rivers are the only ones who will take much active interest. Last
night I had a very nice dream. The first swallows had come. There
were barn swallows and bank swallows flying along the river and I was
after them. Before many weeks this is just what will happen. It will
be an exciting time for me. More exciting than gold hunting.
Monday was my birthday, and there was quite a celebration in the
cabin. The first thing in the morning, before I was fairly awake.
I was attacked by the doctor, and we had a five-minute squabble,
pitched high. At the close of the seance he claimed to have given
me twenty-two spanks. They were more in the nature of bunts and
kicks than square spanks. I made the doctor lots of hard work. We
rolled around the floor and under the bed and on the beds, and tore
things up generally, including Brownie, who got in the road with
his sore leg. At breakfast Coxie served me a big bowl of oatmeal
mush. We had been out of mush material for a long time, much to my
personal sorrow, as all the boys and most of the neighbors well know.
Mr. Lyman, hearing of my birthday, kindly sent me in a package of
oatmeal. Good birthday present that!
I also received a birthday box from home, smuggled like the Christmas
box, not to be opened until the day appointed. There was everything
in it--games, books, candies, duly bottled and boxed, etc. We all had
a treat. At dinner a big platter of ptarmigan was set at my place
(some I had shot), and all in all it was a very pleasant occasion.
A birthday in the Arctics, on the banks of the mighty Kowak, is not
often the thing that happens to a fellow.
Wednesday, at the literary, C. C. talked on "Reminiscences of an
Undertaker." It was very interesting, being his favorite and familiar
theme. It was held at the Hanson Camp, and I remained as guest of Guy
Solsbury, Jack Messing and Joe Jury came here and visited our boys
at the same time. We have to visit about these cold nights and sleep
under one cover when possible. Blankets are none too plentiful.
Normandin mended my shot-gun, which had lost a rivet, for which I
paid him the sum of a stuffed ptarmigan. Everybody wants ptarmigan
skins now, but I have to be rather "stingy," as I am frequently
told, or else I won't have a ghost of a "series" to take home for
comparison. Home! When?
[Illustration: Coming to Trade.]
[Illustration]