May 6, Saturday, 8 p. m.--This is the strangest May weather I have
ever experienced. The wind has blown a gale from the north without a
moment's cessation for four days. It is twenty-five degrees below the
freezing point. I was in the vicinity of the Hanson Camp yesterday,
but got no birds. I saw only one pair of chickadees and one redpoll.
They were never so scarce all winter as now. The natives assure me
that a change is due shortly, and then there will be "emik apazh,"
and the "ting emeruk" will come.
The Hanson boys came near getting me into serious trouble yesterday.
It was one of Joe Jury's jokes. When I left his cabin I started back
into the woods. Nolan, of the Sunnyside, called in. Joe told him that
I had reported seeing two caribou across the river on the way down.
Joe garnished the tale with a few extra details, and Nolan left for
Sunnyside pretty well excited. He got nearly everyone in camp out
before noon. I happened along on their trail about four o'clock, and
the first fellow I met was Nolan, just returning from a long tramp.
He informed me that he had seen the caribou tracks (?) and wanted
to know where I had last seen the animals. I was taken by surprise
and told him that I hadn't seen a caribou in Alaska. It then dawned
on Nolan that he had been the victim of a joke, and he was somewhat
"beside himself." I tried to explain matters by telling him that I
had said to Joe Jury something about having seen "ptarmigan." which
no doubt he had taken for "caribou." The rest of the fellows took the
joke all right, but said they would "get even" with Joe some way. One
man fired his rifle at a target and split the barrel over two-thirds
its length, owing to snow in the end, I suppose. The gun was ruined
and so the joke was a costly one.
There is a string telephone between two cabins at Sunnyside which is
a real novelty. The box resonators in each cabin are fixed up with
features like a human face with a tin mouth. It was exceedingly funny
to see the expression on the faces of the natives when they first
heard that box "talk." Greenberg was talking in at the other end,
and they recognized his voice. One old woman fled in terror. She
thought it was a "doonak" (evil spirit). It is no wonder these things
frighten the Eskimos so. Doubtless our own ancestors would have been
burned at the stake by their townspeople for witchcraft in the early
days of New England had they dared to make a tin box "talk."
I bought eighteen pounds of No. 8 shot for $1.20 at the Hanson Camp.
It took me nearly three hours to bring it three miles against the
wind. I had no snowshoes, as I had let Brownie have mine when he
started for the schooner. The extra weight was just enough to make
me break through the crust every five steps, and down I went to my
knees. That eighteen pounds grew to one hundred pounds before I
reached home.
John Miller, the cripple, has moved over to one of the Iowa cabins,
so we are alone for the first time in many weeks. Only three of us.
We cannot use all the game we shoot now, and I am rather glad to have
the opportunity of giving it to the hungry natives. I do not waste a
bird body. I give some of them to Charley for his mickaninies, and
he loans me his snowshoes whenever I want them for hunting. At first
the boys dubbed me "the bird fiend," but they have quit that now. Too
many scurvy victims have blessed me for the ptarmigan which, in some
cases, have been all the fresh meat obtainable, not to mention our
own possible suffering had it not been for the birds I shot. And now
I do not object at all to the wordless thanks of these poor natives,
who devour every scrap of a bird of any sort, excepting the skin,
which only I claim. I save souls, bird skins being the only visible
or invisible soul of which the creatures are possessed.
We have just learned of a superstition which is the most cruel of any
noted among these strange people. It has roused our civilized horror.
A very pretty little girl about thirteen years old, who has been the
pet of the camps all winter, and whom the boys have looked upon as a
"little sister," has been shut up all by herself in a small snow cave
back in the woods. There she is doomed to stay until the snow melts,
without speaking to anyone or leaving her cramped position, with no
fire and with only such cold food as may be brought to her. And she
must live alone in such an igloo for one year, so their statutes
decree. This is the law concerning all Kowak-mitt women when they are
supposed to have reached marriageable age.
This is but the beginning of the little woman's punishments, which
will be many and varied from this date.
The "cabloonas" around this vicinity are very much incensed over
this new superstitious cruelty. To demonstrate our convictions in
the matter, eight of us armed ourselves with guns, marched over to
the village and demanded that old Omechuck and his wife, Atungena,
Kalhak's parents, take the child back into their igloo. The man
laid all the blame on the mother and grand-mother (as it was in
the beginning), and we had a big wrangle. We informed them that if
they did not end this and other cruelties, and liberate the girl by
to-morrow noon, we would come over in a great body and tear down the
cave and take her away. They were pretty well frightened. It gave
us lots of fun, though we didn't change our austere countenances.
We meant what we said. Uncle Jimmy headed the expedition. He had a
great big knife belted on, and we all presented a dangerous front.
What if the Eskimos had taken it seriously and mobbed us? Mobbing is
not their tendency. They are gentle in spite of other things, and
were actually in fear of our threats. We are not sure of the full
extent of our influence, but we stirred them up and they may conclude
that this "missionary association" of gold-hunters is not here for
nothing. Later the girl was released.
May 14, Sunday.--Spring is breaking the winter's reign at last. The
snow has almost disappeared from the sand-dunes and is softening
everywhere. Little pools of water are appearing in the low places. A
gentle rain is falling, the first since last September--eight months.
The days of slush and water are upon us, but oh, such exciting days
for me! The first geese and gulls have arrived, very shy and very
few, and I saw two swans. They stay about the muddy places across the
river. I got a fairly good shot at a goose, but missed it. Everyone
is after the poor geese and lots of rifle balls are wasted, with
never a goose as yet. I shot a solitary glaucus-winged gull sitting
on the ice, with a thirty-calibre Winchester rifle at 143 yards
range. The bullet went straight through the neck, cutting a very
clean way, and the skin made a beautiful specimen. Yesterday was my
red-letter day. I found, almost by accident, a jay's nest and eggs,
the thing I have been looking for so constantly for three months. I
also found a fine set of hawk owls--six eggs, three newly-hatched
young and both parents. The nest was in a hole in a rotten spruce
stub about twelve feet above the snow. When I tapped on the tree the
male, which was sitting, left the nest and flew away about a hundred
feet, turned and made for my head as straight and swift as an arrow,
planting himself full force, and drawing blood from three claw marks
in my scalp. My hat was knocked about twelve feet and the crown torn
out. All this the owl did without stopping in its swoop. I recovered
myself just in time to receive a second charge and had to dodge clear
to the ground. When the courageous defender of home and country
turned for its third attack a charge of No. 10 met it, and it died
an honorable death, deserving to be ranked among heroes. I have the
entire set preserved.
I have a flock of white-winged crossbills spotted in a spruce forest
ten miles away, which I expect will nest in a couple of weeks, but
I doubt if I can reach the place, now the snow is going. I wore
snowshoes nest-hunting yesterday, but probably for the last time
this year. It is far easier snowshoeing over the snowy tundras than
walking through the peat and water and "nigger heads" after the snow
is gone.
[Illustration: The Prisoner We Rescued.]
May 21, Sunday.--Uncle Jimmy and Dr. Coffin still keep up the Sunday
services. Three of the Iowa men and half a dozen Eskimos have come
in. As I have just finished a bird I thought it a good idea to desist
until after church, on Uncle Jimmy's account. So, until singing
begins, I will have a little time to write. I cannot afford to waste
a second these days. Most of the snow is gone. All the ponds and
sloughs are full of water and the river has risen fully eight feet.
All the slush ice has gone, but the thick winter ice is on top and
extends unbroken down the middle of the river. The Eskimos say that
if the warm weather and high water continue this ice will break
up and float away very soon. And then it would be "finis" to bird
collecting, for the steamers would whistle and we would all have
to pack up and start. I am just living in dread of the "Helen." I
would not cry should she spring a leak or otherwise disable herself,
so that she would be laid up until the last of June. This is a
wicked thought and I repent of it. Solitary sandpipers and Baird's
sandpipers are here, and I know they will nest by the middle of
June. Small birds are beginning to arrive. I heard the beautiful
song of the fox sparrow for the first time this morning, also the
tree sparrows and varied thrush. I saw a single robin yesterday with
its familiar call note. We have goose dinners galore, but the geese
are lean and tough, far from such eating as they were in the fall.
We prefer duck and ptarmigan. The doctor has made some very nice
cranberry jelly from the berries which have been stored on the vines
under the snow all winter. The native women and children picked over
two gallons yesterday, which they brought to us.
[Illustration: The Kowak Breaking Up.]
May 24.--The Kowak is breaking up and it is a tremendous sight. The
water has risen until it is on a level with the bank on this side,
and on the opposite side it is spreading out over the tundras. It is
covered completely from side to side with a crunching, grinding mass
of ice from three to five feet thick. Yesterday there was a jam on a
sand-bar below and the ice course was stopped. Then that from above
came down with force, crushing and piling into great ridges of blue
and green blocks from ten to fifteen feet in height. There must be a
tremendous momentum in a moving field of ice. In one place a field
many yards in diameter was forced up a steep bank until it toppled
over on itself. The banks are plowed by the resistless stream and
trees are broken off like threads.
Indian Charley borrowed our kyak, which belongs to Rivers, three days
ago to go up and look after a birch canoe which he wanted to carry
out of reach of the ice. He was only going as far as the Guardian
Camp, and there was plenty of water along the edges there. He was
expected back the same day, but has not returned yet. We fear he
has lost his life. His father, an old, withered man, who smoked
himself last winter when Charley was sick, walks the river bank all
day watching, and yesterday afternoon cried and howled a long time,
mourning "Kayuruk" who, he said, was surely "mucky" (dead). I saw a
birch canoe yesterday crushed and lying on a passing cake of ice.
If this was Charley's he must have met with misfortune. One would
think that a native, who has experienced many such occurrences,
would know enough to keep out of harm's way. Night before last a
couple of the Iowa boys spent two or three hours tramping through
the swamp looking for ducks which they kept hearing. But they were
not able to catch sight of the authors of the numerous "quacks,"
which always lured them to greater distance. To-day, after telling
everyone of the strange birds, the boys are being "joshed" in true
camp fashion. The bullfrogs are appearing in every pond and to-day
one has begun his warble in a pool a few feet from the door. We did
not expect to see frogs so far north. I fail to see how they resemble
the quacking of ducks, but some imagine the sound to be the same.
The first mosquitoes are abroad, just a few, a sort of "foretaste,"
according to Scripture. The birds are arriving in large numbers, like
a stampede, and the woods are full of the songs of robins, thrushes,
sparrows and warblers. I am working hard, too.
May 31.--Oh, but spring is lovely! I am sure I never spent three
such happy weeks, and I have been happy all my life. Yet I have
been working hard, some days until I was tired enough to drop. Last
week I went up to the mountains and was gone forty-three hours,
with only about one hour's sleep. We tramped fifteen miles across
the tundra with heavy rubber boots on, sinking into the moss and
among the "nigger heads" every step. And then through streams, and
snow, and tangles of brush. The second day it rained heavily and we
started home at 7 p. m., tramping until midnight, when we reached a
point where we had left our boat in a slough about two miles below
on the opposite side of the Kowak. While we had been gone the river
had fallen and the heavy boat was high and dry. We had to drag it
through a narrow channel over mud and grass a hundred yards to the
river. And then there was a stiff east wind and a swift current
to cross the river against, and we finally had to tow up to the
Landing. There were four of us, including Dr. Coffin, who has been
my companion in many of these bird hunts, so soon, alas! to be over.
I was so tired when I got in that I fell asleep half undressed and
without supper. But I obtained what I went for, and it was worth the
hardships--white-winged crossbill's nests. Young, an Iowa man who was
with us, fell to his chest in a narrow stream of ice water, and we
were all soaked from the rain and dripping under-brush.
The river is entirely free of ice now and people are starting down.
Many are passing every day, but they will be unable to go farther
than the delta, for the Sound doesn't clear earlier than July 1.
We have heard that the "Helen" is all right and is expected down in
a day or two. She may get stuck on a sand-bar. If so I shall have a
week longer for the birds. We have been packing all day. I have a
good deal of stuff in bulk, though not heavy. I wouldn't blame the
boys if they "kicked." We may have to make two trips from here down.
We learned that our barge, which we left last fall on the bank of the
Squirrel River eighty miles below us, was burned last winter, so our
carrying capacity is limited. The steamer "Riley" has been repaired.
She came up as far as the Hanson Camp yesterday. Indian Charley has
turned up all safe. He has been down to a village below, gambling for
another wife.
According to the Eskimos I am to die before the snow is all melted
off, because I robbed that jay's nest. Grass is springing up, and
last night, while I was strolling through the woods, I found a
patch of crocuses. The woods were beautiful, the long, deep shadows
contrasting with the yellow sunlight. The silence was intense,
and yet there were many sounds--the quavering song of the thrush,
breaking out and then dying back; the chorus of frogs from a distant
pond, and the occasional demoniacal laugh of a loon. Yet it was
silence broken in pieces. The scene from the sand-dunes north across
the river was most beautiful. I wish I were able to depict the scene
as I perceived it and the indescribable sensations it awakened. I
wonder if I were the same age as Uncle Jimmy if I would be impressed
the same way. It is something for me to remember all my life, this
wonderful winter on the mighty Kowak. And I must bid it "Good-by."
We had a regular thunder storm to-day, with a heavy shower which
set the roof to leaking, in spite of the tents stretched over it.
Dr. Coffin has inaugurated a new decoration. It denotes rank of
vice-president of the L. B. A. M. & T. Co. A double row of safety
pins up his shirt front. There are only three of this illustrious
company at present in the "Penelope" cabin, but all the more need of
distinctive decorations.
B., the partially demented individual who might have died of scurvy
last winter if we hadn't drawn up his "will" for him, is the source
of amusement to us, with his various tricks. He spends most of his
time on the river bank watching for passing boats. He hails everyone
with a mixed set of questions; first, "Have you any white lead for
sale?" second. "Did you have the scurvy?" third, "Where'd you come
from?" etc., until the boat is out of hearing. B. has a skiff he is
very proud of, and he threatens anyone who touches it. I am on very
good terms with him and he tells me whenever he sees a goose on the
river (usually it is a loon). He makes a noise in his throat like a
chicken disturbed after it has gone to roost. I do not know what will
become of him. He is perfectly harmless.
This evening I traded three pounds of raisins for a sailor bag. I
have more clothes now than when I left San Francisco, enough to last
me five years. Dr. Coffin is a real convert. He is himself a "bird
fiend" now, after starting that nickname for me in the beginning,
he thinks of stopping this summer at Dutch Harbor. If it keeps on I
shall have the whole crew. I think we shall pull out from the company
entirely and so escape the turmoil of the ultimate disbandment. There
is little hope of realizing from the trip, even on the "Penelope."
She cost us enough in the first place, but who knows where she is now?
I just now thought I heard the whistle of the "Helen." There is
nothing in sight. That "Helen" haunts me. She it is who will bear
me away from this fascinating region. By the way, she has a fine
whistle. A better one than any other boat on the river. Perhaps we
can trade that whistle for something, even if nobody will accept
the gift of the boat and engines. Oh. I forgot; there's Cape Nome.
The boys there may have staked out rich claims for us by this time.
However. I would be willing to trade all my stock in the L. B. A. M.
& T. Co. for some plaster-of-paris, cotton batting and some arsenic.
June 6.--My Last date on the Kowak. The "Helen" arrived on the
evening of the 2d. She is O. K. and the eight boys well. They brought
down with them a man who is afflicted with black-leg, too helpless to
leave. We shall take him to the Mission, so we are now quite a large
family. Nearly everyone above has already passed down the river in
all sorts of boats and rafts. We have persuaded the rest to remain
here a few days, as it will be impossible to get into the Sound
so early. We are having a little more time for game. I have taken
several sets of rare eggs, and have a number of nests "spotted." But
the boys are getting restless and I fear we will have to pull out
to-morrow or next day. We are living "high." A varied assortment
was served up in the fricassee yesterday--ten old-squaws (ducks),
a curlew, two ptarmigan, one loon and a blackbird. Indian Charley
brought us twenty fish, so we have plenty of fresh meat, a welcome
change of diet for the boys of the upper winter camp, as they have
not been afflicted with a bird fiend in their crowd.
[Illustration: Some Friends We Left Behind.]
The steamer "Agnes Boyd" was saved from the ice, but is now high and
dry on a sand-bar and the river is still falling. The Hanson boys are
having a peck of trouble and the prospects are now that they will
not get out until the August rains come. I was out collecting until
one a. m. night before last, and the pink sunlight never left the
mountain peaks. The trees are nearly full foliaged to a beautiful
fresh green, and several varieties of flowers are in bloom. It is too
bad to be compelled to leave here just at this season. I certainly
can never regret leaving a place or home so much. But such is life.
We hesitate moving always. And yet who knows but there may be better
prospects further on? It is with something of a lump in my throat
and heart that I turn my back on what has been the scene of such
wonderful experiences to me. Still I must say it, "Good-by, old
Kowak, good-by!" Good-by, mice, little redbacks; good-by, sand-dunes
and tundras, winter, spruces, birches, cabin, all. Good-by, Eskimos,
funny people, who have a kind heart in a little, brown, superstitious
body. Here's the deserted village for missionary souls, houses,
woodpiles, pictures yet pinned on the walls, echoes of Sunday
services and literary societies--and voices of gold hunters.
[Illustration]