June 12.--We are steaming down one of the numerous channels of the
Kowak delta, and I am sitting on the upper deck of the "Helen." The
channel is narrow but deep and very tortuous. Half an hour ago we
were going in an exactly opposite direction. The banks are low and
are lined continuously with willows whose branches have not even
budded out, although up the river we left the trees in full foliage,
thus indicating the season to be much later along the coast than in
the interior. We have met no ice in the stream, but there is plenty
stranded on the bars. Some Indians told us to-day there will be
plenty of ice in the inlet for many sleeps yet, but our boys want
to see for themselves. I think it a great mistake to have left the
timber so early. We left our winter home on the 8th of June and
traveled three days. Yesterday we tied up all day at the last timber
and I put in the time collecting. I obtained eight sets of eggs, a
little brown crane skin put up, greasy as a duck, besides several
small birds. I put in every minute on shore and am getting some good
things,--sets of varied thrush, gray-cheeked thrush, etc.
We got a good deal of game yesterday. Everything that has meat on
it goes into the pot. The fricassee to-day consisted of a crane,
two ducks and a loon, all cut up and boiled together. Jesse Farrar
is cook; Stevenson is fireman; Casey, engineer; Wilson and Foote,
pilots; Shafer, Shaul, Uncle Jimmy and I, deck hands; the doctor and
Colclough comprise the fire department.
And this last is a very important organization. Sparks from the
smoke stacks catch on sacks or anything inflammable and soon start
a smudge. The fire department immediately "smell smoke." and
extinguish the conflagration with a teacup of water. The usual seat
of combustion is Casey's jumper. Then the back of the boiler gets
almost red hot and several planks get to scorching, and even some of
the cargo is in danger. With its other duties the department has put
in ventilators, so we have less trouble. The crowd is in very good
spirits. The quartette is frequently heard, and just before bed-time
Foote gets out his banjo.
This morning we passed a camp of natives. Six of their kyaks came out
and followed us a long way. They could sail circles around the scow.
They are very dextrous with their funny craft, just before leaving us
they sang in chorus "There'll Be a Hot Time." Evidences of the great
Kotzebue rush will be found among the Eskimos, in their language as
well as in other ways, for many years to come.
A cold west wind from off the sea ice blows constantly, and the
weather is not to be compared with what we left at "home." My sorrow
at leaving the cabin does not lessen. The "Helen" is loaded very
heavily, but we managed to get everything on. We have great times
keeping her on an even keel. The order. "Everyone go aft," or,
"Everyone go forward," is frequently heard. She only stuck on a bar
once coming down, and then there wasn't much trouble in getting her
off. That is one thing in which our steamer excels many others. It is
difficult to make her run aground hard enough to stick. She doesn't
move fast enough. The wheel has been enlarged, but it makes little
difference in her speed; the engines are not large enough. Stevenson
keeps from 150 to 175 pounds of steam in her boiler, which is really
more than ought to be carried for safety. It is getting cold up here
on deck, and I am going down to the boiler-room to warm up.
June 18.--This is Sunday and Uncle Jimmy thinks I ought to do
something besides skin birds all day, so probably the most righteous
act would be to write in my mother's diary. It is a very disagreeable
day. It has snowed heavily all day, melting as fast as it falls and
sticking to everything. We have the big 12 × 20 tent up among the
spruces, and the cooking range keeps the interior quite pleasant.
The crowd has been in the tent all day singing and reading, while I
have one end of the long table for "the morgue." The Iowa party is
camped near us, and their launch "Iowa" takes trips every other day
to the inlet ten miles down the river, to see the state of the ice.
Shaul went down with her yesterday, but they report the ice packed
firmly in the inlet and as far as they could see towards Kotzebue
Sound. We are camped in the timber at the mouth of the Kowak. A
couple of warm days last week brought a foretaste of the mosquito
scourge which we expect, but they do not promise to bother me much.
Dr. Coffin is so kind to me. He hunts birds' eggs and gives me more
than my share. Even Uncle Jimmy hunts nests in the woods, having
located five for me in the last two days. Some of the good things
we have taken are the little brown cranes, black-throated loon.
Hudsonian curlew and scaup duck. We were out over the tundra all
day yesterday and did not get back until this morning. I remembered
that it was my little brother's birthday (the one who is so fond of
insects), and I managed to catch two butterflies with my hat for him.
I saw several, but they were pretty active, and it is hard running
over the mossy hummocks and bogs after them. I shot a crane yesterday
and the doctor got one a few days before. They are fine eating,
better than any birds except ptarmigan. We have two seines, and
Casey. Shafer and Foote comprise the fishery department. Dr. Coffin
and I keep the camp in game, so we have plenty of fresh meat. We got
three dozen duck eggs one day, and now Shafer makes fine cookies and
doughnuts. I blow all the fresh eggs, and the contents are therefore
all ready for "scrambles" or baking.
We are a jolly crowd and no one would believe us to be disappointed
gold-hunters. The main occupation of this branch of the L. B. A. M.
& T. Co. at present is bird-nesting. I hope we have to stay here two
weeks Day and night are all the same to us nowadays. I seldom get to
bed before one a. m., and am up for breakfast at eight. The snow is
beginning to stay this evening and the landscape is whitening. This
is such weather as the old Arctic explorers met with all summer when
they suffered so much from exposure, but a warm, dry tent like ours,
with plenty of wood, keeps us comfortable and very far from martyrs
to the "cause." The winds are very chilly, and I really suffered more
from cold last night as we were sailing up the river to camp than I
did all last winter. It is hard to keep one's feet dry. If I wear hip
boots I am sure to step into some hole in a swamp and get them full.
One time I went in to my waist by surprise when I was wading in the
edge of a pond after a grebe's nest. For an instant I was deprived
of speech, which was a great hardship. The ice is getting "rotten"
rapidly, with the heavy winds breaking it up.
[Illustration: Steamer on the River.]
Kowak Delta, Sunday. June 25.--I am sitting on a heap of spruce
boughs before an open fire in the woods. There is a heavy wind
blowing and the tents and steamer at the river bank are altogether
too airy. This is a much more sheltered and comfortable spot. We have
been at this camp two weeks, but will probably pull out to-morrow and
go down to the mouth of the river, and, as soon as the weather is
favorable, go across the dreaded Holtham Inlet and on to the Mission.
The launch "Iowa" reports the ice breaking up at the river mouth and
moving out. For a while there was quite a large community of tents
along the river each side of ours, but they have all started down
now. The "Agnes Boyd" passed us, having been laid up on a bar several
days. She brought the sad news of the death of Jack Messing, one of
the San Jose crew of the Hanson Camp. He was found dead in his bed
on the steamer. Five other men were sleeping with him, but noticed
nothing unnatural until they attempted to arouse him for breakfast.
Jack was a sociable, good-hearted fellow, and many were the pleasant
visits exchanged between him and members of our camp last winter. It
is reported that an Indian shot two white men over on the Selawik
this spring. As the natives tell the story, the Indian was entirely
justified. They forced him to mend a sled at the muzzle of a
revolver, and scared him so that he finally tried to run away. They
picked up rifles and started after him. But he got behind a tree with
his own rifle and anticipated them to the number of one man. Many men
are still crippled with the scurvy. On the Pick River fifty-two men
out of sixty were down with black-leg. The schooner "Life" wintered
near Selawik Lake with nine men aboard. Missionary Samms received
word by the Eskimos that these men were sick with the scurvy and were
helpless. So he set out to their aid. He returned a few days ago,
reporting that five out of the nine had died and the other four were
recovering. It is an awful disease, and many more have perished from
that cause than from disaster or accident. It is strange that our
company has escaped so far all such mishaps, but we are not out of
danger yet. As we see them, the general run of people are impatient
to get home, are cross and quarrelsome. Many are the "scraps" and
differences among companies. It is a common thing to hear men cursing
each other bitterly over such trivialities as loading a boat or
setting up a tent. Sometimes partners will divide their supplies,
even breaking a spoon or knife in two to "make it even." I am glad
to say that our crowd is remarkably free from such things. The usual
sounds are of singing and joviality. The doctor and I have frequent
friendly word fights over such topics as, "Which way the wind blows
to bring rain." whether a "light object floats down stream as fast
as a heavy one;" or, "how close to the wind we can sail the boat."
But if there Is one of us assailed on any point by anyone else we
both agree at once, and bring consternation to the ranks of the
enemy. Someone made the statement the other day that a razor becomes
sharper if left for a while unused, and every man except the doctor
and myself was of the same mind. Think of such a tradition in this
enlightened age! Several maintained that for that reason they kept
two razors, using them alternate weeks. When we especially feel the
need of mental exercise, the doctor and I argue on physical and
mental evolution, and on this subject the other boys let us alone for
good reasons.
Last night the doctor. Casey and I went hunting, and did not return
before 2 a. m. this morning. We started about four and went up a
slough until we came to open tundra. It began storming about eight
and blew and rained heavily all night. We had agreed to be back to
the skiff by nine, and Casey and I were on hand before that time, but
the doctor did not appear. In spite of our oil coats we were soon wet
and shivering. After waiting a while and hearing no shooting which
might announce the doctor's approach, we set out and walked to where
he was last seen by us at the edge of a lake, but could discover no
sign. We began to be alarmed and, returning to the slough, spent a
couple of the most miserable hours. We managed to start a fire at the
foot of a solitary scrub spruce and were speculating gloomily as to
what might have happened, when we heard a distant shot. The doctor
came wearily tramping across the tundra, and was more happy than we
to get back to the boat. He had become mixed up among some sloughs
and lakes. He had followed around a large lake several miles, only to
find progress stopped by a slough joining that lake with another. He
then retraced his steps to his first starting point and began over
again. His boots were full of water and he was of course drenched,
for he had left his oil coat at the boat. When we got home we were
glad to find Shafer up and a warm tent. He got us a hot supper and
to-day we are none the worse. The doctor got an old goose with her
four downy young. I found a set of pin-tail's eggs and shot some
ducks and a ptarmigan.
The tundra is curiously marked off in many places by ridges and
ditches running at right angles to one another. The ditches are full
of water, and the tundra resembles a California alfalfa field laid
off in squares by irrigating ditches. I cannot think of a cause for
this formation. The numerous lakes and ponds are many of them higher
than the surrounding land, and are hemmed in by dykes three or four
feet high. These are thrown up by the floes of ice in the lakes
which, decreasing in size as the summer advances, are driven back and
forth across the lakes by changing winds, and thus crowd up the mud
and sod around the edges. The dryer parts of the tundra are covered
with the white reindeer moss, really a lichen, and under and among
this a thick mat of sphagnum and other mosses. This is soaked full
of water, and it is like walking over a bed of sponges, where one
"sloshes" in five or six inches at every step, to travel over such
ground. Then on lower ground a sort of bunch grass grows in big,
stout tussocks, "nigger heads," with water and loose moss between.
This last is the worst walking.
[Illustration]