A Canoe Voyage to Northward
I arrived at Wrangell in a canoe with a party of Cassiar miners in
October while the icy regions to the northward still burned in my mind.
I had met several prospectors who had been as far as Chilcat at the
head of Lynn Canal, who told wonderful stories about the great glaciers
they had seen there. All the high mountains up there, they said, seemed
to be made of ice, and if glaciers “are what you are after, that’s the
place for you,” and to get there “all you have to do is to hire a good
canoe and Indians who know the way.”
But it now seemed too late to set out on so long a voyage. The days
were growing short and winter was drawing nigh when all the land would
be buried in snow. On the other hand, though this wilderness was new to
me, I was familiar with storms and enjoyed them. The main channels
extending along the coast remain open all winter, and, their shores
being well forested, I knew that it would be easy to keep warm in camp,
while abundance of food could be carried. I determined, therefore, to
go ahead as far north as possible, to see and learn what I could,
especially with reference to future work. When I made known my plans to
Mr. Young, he offered to go with me, and, being acquainted with the
Indians, procured a good canoe and crew, and with a large stock of
provisions and blankets, we left Wrangell October 14, eager to welcome
weather of every sort, as long as food lasted.
I was anxious to make an early start, but it was half-past two in the
afternoon before I could get my Indians together—Toyatte, a grand old
Stickeen nobleman, who was made captain, not only because he owned the
canoe, but for his skill in woodcraft and seamanship; Kadachan, the son
of a Chilcat chief; John, a Stickeen, who acted as interpreter; and
Sitka Charley. Mr. Young, my companion, was an adventurous evangelist,
and it was the opportunities the trip might afford to meet the Indians
of the different tribes on our route with reference to future
missionary work, that induced him to join us.
When at last all were aboard and we were about to cast loose from the
wharf, Kadachan’s mother, a woman of great natural dignity and force of
character, came down the steps alongside the canoe oppressed with
anxious fears for the safety of her son. Standing silent for a few
moments, she held the missionary with her dark, bodeful eyes, and with
great solemnity of speech and gesture accused him of using undue
influence in gaining her son’s consent to go on a dangerous voyage
among unfriendly tribes; and like an ancient sibyl foretold a long
train of bad luck from storms and enemies, and finished by saying, “If
my son comes not back, on you will be his blood, and you shall pay. I
say it.”
Mr. Young tried in vain to calm her fears, promising Heaven’s care as
well as his own for her precious son, assuring her that he would
faithfully share every danger that he encountered, and if need be die
in his defense.
“We shall see whether or not you die,” she said, and turned away.
Toyatte also encountered domestic difficulties. When he stepped into
the canoe I noticed a cloud of anxiety on his grand old face, as if his
doom now drawing near was already beginning to overshadow him. When he
took leave of his wife, she refused to shake hands with him, wept
bitterly, and said that his enemies, the Chilcat chiefs, would be sure
to kill him in case he reached their village. But it was not on this
trip that the old hero was to meet his fate, and when we were fairly
free in the wilderness and a gentle breeze pressed us joyfully over the
shining waters these gloomy forebodings vanished.
We first pursued a westerly course, through Sumner Strait, between
Kupreanof and Prince of Wales Islands, then, turning northward, sailed
up the Kiku Strait through the midst of innumerable picturesque islets,
across Prince Frederick’s Sound, up Chatham Strait, thence
northwestward through Icy Strait and around the then uncharted Glacier
Bay. Thence returning through Icy Strait, we sailed up the beautiful
Lynn Canal to the Davidson Glacier and the lower village of the Chilcat
tribe and returned to Wrangell along the coast of the mainland,
visiting the icy Sum Dum Bay and the Wrangell Glacier on our route.
Thus we made a journey more than eight hundred miles long, and though
hardships and perhaps dangers were encountered, the great wonderland
made compensation beyond our most extravagant hopes. Neither rain nor
snow stopped us, but when the wind was too wild, Kadachan and the old
captain stayed on guard in the camp and John and Charley went into the
woods deer-hunting, while I examined the adjacent rocks and woods. Most
of our camp-grounds were in sheltered nooks where good firewood was
abundant, and where the precious canoe could be safely drawn up beyond
reach of the waves. After supper we sat long around the fire, listening
to the Indian’s stories about the wild animals, their
hunting-adventures, wars, traditions, religion, and customs. Every
Indian party we met we interviewed, and visited every village we came
to.
Our first camp was made at a place called the Island of the Standing
Stone, on the shore of a shallow bay. The weather was fine. The
mountains of the mainland were unclouded, excepting one, which had a
horizontal ruff of dull slate color, but its icy summit covered with
fresh snow towered above the cloud, flushed like its neighbors in the
alpenglow. All the large islands in sight were densely forested, while
many small rock islets in front of our camp were treeless or nearly so.
Some of them were distinctly glaciated even belong the tide-line, the
effects of wave washing and general weathering being scarce appreciable
as yet. Some of the larger islets had a few trees, others only grass.
One looked in the distance like a two-masted ship flying before the
wind under press of sail.
Next morning the mountains were arrayed in fresh snow that had fallen
during the night down to within a hundred feet of the sea-level. We
made a grand fire, and after an early breakfast pushed merrily on all
day along beautiful forested shores embroidered with autumn-colored
bushes. I noticed some pitchy trees that had been deeply hacked for
kindling-wood and torches, precious conveniences to belated voyagers on
stormy nights. Before sundown we camped in a beautiful nook of Deer
Bay, shut in from every wind by gray-bearded trees and fringed with
rose bushes, rubus, potentilla, asters, etc. Some of the lichen tresses
depending from the branches were six feet in length.
A dozen rods or so from our camp we discovered a family of Kake Indians
snugly sheltered in a portable bark hut, a stout middle-aged man with
his wife, son, and daughter, and his son’s wife. After our tent was set
and fire made, the head of the family paid us a visit and presented us
with a fine salmon, a pair of mallard ducks, and a mess of potatoes. We
paid a return visit with gifts of rice and tobacco, etc. Mr. Young
spoke briefly on mission affairs and inquired whether their tribe would
be likely to welcome a teacher or missionary. But they seemed unwilling
to offer an opinion on so important a subject. The following words from
the head of the family was the only reply:—
“We have not much to say to you fellows. We always do to Boston men as
we have done to you, give a little of whatever we have, treat everybody
well and never quarrel. This is all we have to say.”
Our Kake neighbors set out for Fort Wrangell next morning, and we
pushed gladly on toward Chilcat. We passed an island that had lost all
its trees in a storm, but a hopeful crop of young ones was springing up
to take their places. I found no trace of fire in these woods. The
ground was covered with leaves, branches, and fallen trunks perhaps a
dozen generations deep, slowly decaying, forming a grand mossy mass of
ruins, kept fresh and beautiful. All that is repulsive about death was
here hidden beneath abounding life. Some rocks along the shore were
completely covered with crimson-leafed huckleberry bushes; one species
still in fruit might well be called the winter huckleberry. In a short
walk I found vetches eight feet high leaning on raspberry bushes, and
tall ferns and _Smilacina unifolia_ with leaves six inches wide growing
on yellow-green moss, producing a beautiful effect.
Our Indians seemed to be enjoying a quick and merry reaction from the
doleful domestic dumps in which the voyage was begun. Old and young
behaved this afternoon like a lot of truant boys on a lark. When we
came to a pond fenced off from the main channel by a moraine dam, John
went ashore to seek a shot at ducks. Creeping up behind the dam, he
killed a mallard fifty or sixty feet from the shore and attempted to
wave it within reach by throwing stones back of it. Charley and
Kadachan went to his help, enjoying the sport, especially enjoying
their own blunders in throwing in front of it and thus driving the duck
farther out. To expedite the business John then tried to throw a rope
across it, but failed after repeated trials, and so did each in turn,
all laughing merrily at their awkward bungling. Next they tied a stone
to the end of the rope to carry it further and with better aim, but the
result was no better. Then majestic old Toyatte tried his hand at the
game. He tied the rope to one of the canoe-poles, and taking aim threw
it, harpoon fashion, beyond the duck, and the general merriment was
redoubled when the pole got loose and floated out to the middle of the
pond. At length John stripped, swam to the duck, threw it ashore, and
brought in the pole in his teeth, his companions meanwhile making merry
at his expense by splashing the water in front of him and making the
dead duck go through the motions of fighting and biting him in the face
as he landed.
The morning after this delightful day was dark and threatening. A high
wind was rushing down the strait dead against us, and just as we were
about ready to start, determined to fight our way by creeping close
inshore, pelting rain began to fly. We concluded therefore to wait for
better weather. The hunters went out for deer and I to see the forests.
The rain brought out the fragrance of the drenched trees, and the wind
made wild melody in their tops, while every brown bole was embroidered
by a network of rain rills. Perhaps the most delightful part of my
ramble was along a stream that flowed through a leafy arch beneath
overleaping trees which met at the top. The water was almost black in
the deep pools and fine clear amber in the shallows. It was the pure,
rich wine of the woods with a pleasant taste, bringing spicy spruce
groves and widespread bog and beaver meadows to mind. On this amber
stream I discovered an interesting fall. It is only a few feet high,
but remarkably fine in the curve of its brow and blending shades of
color, while the mossy, bushy pool into which it plunges is inky black,
but wonderfully brightened by foam bells larger than common that drift
in clusters on the smooth water around the rim, each of them carrying a
picture of the overlooking trees leaning together at the tips like the
teeth of moss capsules before they rise.
I found most of the trees here fairly loaded with mosses. Some broadly
palmated branches had beds of yellow moss so wide and deep that when
wet they must weigh a hundred pounds or even more. Upon these moss-beds
ferns and grasses and even good-sized seedling trees grow, making
beautiful hanging gardens in which the curious spectacle is presented
of old trees holding hundreds of their own children in their arms,
nourished by rain and dew and the decaying leaves showered down to them
by their parents. The branches upon which these beds of mossy soil rest
become flat and irregular like weathered roots or the antlers of deer,
and at length die; and when the whole tree has thus been killed it
seems to be standing on its head with roots in the air. A striking
example of this sort stood near the camp and I called the missionary’s
attention to it.
“Come, Mr. Young,” I shouted. “Here’s something wonderful, the most
wonderful tree you ever saw; it is standing on its head.”
“How in the world,” said he in astonishment, “could that tree have been
plucked up by the roots, carried high in the air, and dropped down head
foremost into the ground. It must have been the work of a tornado.”
Toward evening the hunters brought in a deer. They had seen four
others, and at the camp-fire talk said that deer abounded on all the
islands of considerable size and along the shores of the mainland. But
few were to be found in the interior on account of wolves that ran them
down where they could not readily take refuge in the water. The
Indians, they said, hunted them on the islands with trained dogs which
went into the woods and drove them out, while the hunters lay in wait
in canoes at the points where they were likely to take to the water.
Beaver and black bear also abounded on this large island. I saw but few
birds there, only ravens, jays, and wrens. Ducks, gulls, bald eagles,
and jays are the commonest birds hereabouts. A flock of swans flew
past, sounding their startling human-like cry which seemed yet more
striking in this lonely wilderness. The Indians said that geese, swans,
cranes, etc., making their long journeys in regular order thus called
aloud to encourage each other and enable them to keep stroke and time
like men in rowing or marching (a sort of “Row, brothers, row,” or
“Hip, hip” of marching soldiers).
October 18 was about half sunshine, half rain and wet snow, but we
paddled on through the midst of the innumerable islands in more than
half comfort, enjoying the changing effects of the weather on the
dripping wilderness. Strolling a little way back into the woods when we
went ashore for luncheon, I found fine specimens of cedar, and here and
there a birch, and small thickets of wild apple. A hemlock, felled by
Indians for bread-bark, was only twenty inches thick at the butt, a
hundred and twenty feet long, and about five hundred and forty years
old at the time it was felled. The first hundred of its rings measured
only four inches, showing that for a century it had grown in the shade
of taller trees and at the age of one hundred years was yet only a
sapling in size. On the mossy trunk of an old prostrate spruce about a
hundred feet in length thousands of seedlings were growing. I counted
seven hundred on a length of eight feet, so favorable is this climate
for the development of tree seeds and so fully do these trees obey the
command to multiply and replenish the earth. No wonder these islands
are densely clothed with trees. They grow on solid rocks and logs as
well as on fertile soil. The surface is first covered with a plush of
mosses in which the seeds germinate; then the interlacing roots form a
sod, fallen leaves soon cover their feet, and the young trees, closely
crowded together, support each other, and the soil becomes deeper and
richer from year to year.
I greatly enjoyed the Indian’s camp-fire talk this evening on their
ancient customs, how they were taught by their parents ere the whites
came among them, their religion, ideas connected with the next world,
the stars, plants, the behavior and language of animals under different
circumstances, manner of getting a living, etc. When our talk was
interrupted by the howling of a wolf on the opposite side of the
strait, Kadachan puzzled the minister with the question, “Have wolves
souls?” The Indians believe that they have, giving as foundation for
their belief that they are wise creatures who know how to catch seals
and salmon by swimming slyly upon them with their heads hidden in a
mouthful of grass, hunt deer in company, and always bring forth their
young at the same and most favorable time of the year. I inquired how
it was that with enemies so wise and powerful the deer were not all
killed. Kadachan replied that wolves knew better than to kill them all
and thus cut off their most important food-supply. He said they were
numerous on all the large islands, more so than on the mainland, that
Indian hunters were afraid of them and never ventured far into the
woods alone, for these large gray and black wolves attacked man whether
they were hungry or not. When attacked, the Indian hunter, he said,
climbed a tree or stood with his back against a tree or rock as a wolf
never attacks face to face. Wolves, and not bears, Indians regard as
masters of the woods, for they sometimes attack and kill bears, but the
wolverine they never attack, “for,” said John, “wolves and wolverines
are companions in sin and equally wicked and cunning.”
On one of the small islands we found a stockade, sixty by thirty-five
feet, built, our Indians said, by the Kake tribe during one of their
many warlike quarrels. Toyatte and Kadachan said these forts were
common throughout the canoe waters, showing that in this foodful,
kindly wilderness, as in all the world beside, man may be man’s worst
enemy.
We discovered small bits of cultivation here and there, patches of
potatoes and turnips, planted mostly on the cleared sites of deserted
villages. In spring the most industrious families sailed to their
little farms of perhaps a quarter of an acre or less, and ten or
fifteen miles from their villages. After preparing the ground, and
planting it, they visited it again in summer to pull the weeds and
speculate on the size of the crop they were likely to have to eat with
their fat salmon. The Kakes were then busy digging their potatoes,
which they complained were this year injured by early frosts.
We arrived at Klugh-Quan, one of the Kupreanof Kake villages, just as a
funeral party was breaking up. The body had been burned and gifts were
being distributed—bits of calico, handkerchiefs, blankets, etc.,
according to the rank and wealth of the deceased. The death ceremonies
of chiefs and head men, Mr. Young told me, are very weird and imposing,
with wild feasting, dancing, and singing. At this little place there
are some eight totem poles of bold and intricate design, well executed,
but smaller than those of the Stickeens. As elsewhere throughout the
archipelago, the bear, raven, eagle, salmon, and porpoise are the chief
figures. Some of the poles have square cavities, mortised into the
back, which are said to contain the ashes of members of the family.
These recesses are closed by a plug. I noticed one that was caulked
with a rag where the joint was imperfect.
Strolling about the village, looking at the tangled vegetation,
sketching the totems, etc., I found a lot of human bones scattered on
the surface of the ground or partly covered. In answer to my inquiries,
one of our crew said they probably belonged to Sitka Indians, slain in
war. These Kakes are shrewd, industrious, and rather good-looking
people. It was at their largest village that an American schooner was
seized and all the crew except one man murdered. A gunboat sent to
punish them burned the village. I saw the anchor of the ill-fated
vessel lying near the shore.
Though all the Thlinkit tribes believe in witchcraft, they are less
superstitious in some respects than many of the lower classes of
whites. Chief Yana Taowk seemed to take pleasure in kicking the Sitka
bones that lay in his way, and neither old nor young showed the
slightest trace of superstitious fear of the dead at any time.
It was at the northmost of the Kupreanof Kake villages that Mr. Young
held his first missionary meeting, singing hymns, praying, and
preaching, and trying to learn the number of the inhabitants and their
readiness to receive instruction. Neither here nor in any of the other
villages of the different tribes that we visited was there anything
like a distinct refusal to receive school-teachers or ministers. On the
contrary, with but one or two exceptions, all with apparent good faith
declared their willingness to receive them, and many seemed heartily
delighted at the prospect of gaining light on subjects so important and
so dark to them. All had heard ere this of the wonderful work of the
Reverend Mr. Duncan at Metlakatla, and even those chiefs who were not
at all inclined to anything like piety were yet anxious to procure
schools and churches that their people should not miss the temporal
advantages of knowledge, which with their natural shrewdness they were
not slow to recognize. “We are all children,” they said, “groping in
the dark. Give us this light and we will do as you bid us.”
The chief of the first Kupreanof Kake village we came to was a
venerable-looking man, perhaps seventy years old, with massive head and
strongly marked features, a bold Roman nose, deep, tranquil eyes,
shaggy eyebrows, a strong face set in a halo of long gray hair. He
seemed delighted at the prospect of receiving a teacher for his people.
“This is just what I want,” he said. “I am ready to bid him welcome.”
“This,” said Yana Taowk, chief of the larger north village, “is a good
word you bring us. We will be glad to come out of our darkness into
your light. You Boston men must be favorites of the Great Father. You
know all about God, and ships and guns and the growing of things to
eat. We will sit quiet and listen to the words of any teacher you send
us.”
While Mr. Young was preaching, some of the congregation smoked, talked
to each other, and answered the shouts of their companions outside,
greatly to the disgust of Toyatte and Kadachan, who regarded the Kakes
as mannerless barbarians. A little girl, frightened at the strange
exercises, began to cry and was turned out of doors. She cried in a
strange, low, wild tone, quite unlike the screech crying of the
children of civilization.
[Illustration: Admiralty Island.]
The following morning we crossed Prince Frederick Sound to the west
coast of Admiralty Island. Our frail shell of a canoe was tossed like a
bubble on the swells coming in from the ocean. Still, I suppose, the
danger was not so great as it seemed. In a good canoe, skillfully
handled, you may safely sail from Victoria to Chilcat, a thousand-mile
voyage frequently made by Indians in their trading operations before
the coming of the whites. Our Indians, however, dreaded this crossing
so late in the season. They spoke of it repeatedly before we reached it
as the one great danger of our voyage.
John said to me just as we left the shore, “You and Mr. Young will be
scared to death on this broad water.”
“Never mind us, John,” we merrily replied, “perhaps some of you brave
Indian sailors may be the first to show fear.”
Toyatte said he had not slept well a single night thinking of it, and
after we rounded Cape Gardner and entered the comparatively smooth
Chatham Strait, they all rejoiced, laughing and chatting like
frolicsome children.
We arrived at the first of the Hootsenoo villages on Admiralty Island
shortly after noon and were welcomed by everybody. Men, women, and
children made haste to the beach to meet us, the children staring as if
they had never before seen a Boston man. The chief, a remarkably
good-looking and intelligent fellow, stepped forward, shook hands with
us Boston fashion, and invited us to his house. Some of the curious
children crowded in after us and stood around the fire staring like
half-frightened wild animals. Two old women drove them out of the
house, making hideous gestures, but taking good care not to hurt them.
The merry throng poured through the round door, laughing and enjoying
the harsh gestures and threats of the women as all a joke, indicating
mild parental government in general. Indeed, in all my travels I never
saw a child, old or young, receive a blow or even a harsh word. When
our cook began to prepare luncheon our host said through his
interpreter that he was sorry we could not eat Indian food, as he was
anxious to entertain us. We thanked him, of course, and expressed our
sense of his kindness. His brother, in the mean time, brought a dozen
turnips, which he peeled and sliced and served in a clean dish. These
we ate raw as dessert, reminding me of turnip-field feasts when I was a
boy in Scotland. Then a box was brought from some corner and opened. It
seemed to be full of tallow or butter. A sharp stick was thrust into
it, and a lump of something five or six inches long, three or four
wide, and an inch thick was dug up, which proved to be a section of the
back fat of a deer, preserved in fish oil and seasoned with boiled
spruce and other spicy roots. After stripping off the lard-like oil, it
was cut into small pieces and passed round. It seemed white and
wholesome, but I was unable to taste it even for manner’s sake. This
disgust, however, was not noticed, as the rest of the company did full
justice to the precious tallow and smacked their lips over it as a
great delicacy. A lot of potatoes about the size of walnuts, boiled and
peeled and added to a potful of salmon, made a savory stew that all
seemed to relish. An old, cross-looking, wrinkled crone presided at the
steaming chowder-pot, and as she peeled the potatoes with her fingers
she, at short intervals, quickly thrust one of the best into the mouth
of a little wild-eyed girl that crouched beside her, a spark of natural
love which charmed her withered face and made all the big gloomy house
shine. In honor of our visit, our host put on a genuine white shirt.
His wife also dressed in her best and put a pair of dainty trousers on
her two-year-old boy, who seemed to be the pet and favorite of the
large family and indeed of the whole village. Toward evening messengers
were sent through the village to call everybody to a meeting. Mr. Young
delivered the usual missionary sermon and I also was called on to say
something. Then the chief arose and made an eloquent reply, thanking us
for our good words and for the hopes we had inspired of obtaining a
teacher for their children. In particular, he said, he wanted to hear
all we could tell him about God.
This village was an offshoot of a larger one, ten miles to the north,
called Killisnoo. Under the prevailing patriarchal form of government
each tribe is divided into comparatively few families; and because of
quarrels, the chief of this branch moved his people to this little bay,
where the beach offered a good landing for canoes. A stream which
enters it yields abundance of salmon, while in the adjacent woods and
mountains berries, deer, and wild goats abound.
“Here,” he said, “we enjoy peace and plenty; all we lack is a church
and a school, particularly a school for the children.” His dwelling so
much with benevolent aspect on the children of the tribe showed, I
think, that he truly loved them and had a right intelligent insight
concerning their welfare. We spent the night under his roof, the first
we had ever spent with Indians, and I never felt more at home. The
loving kindness bestowed on the little ones made the house glow.
Next morning, with the hearty good wishes of our Hootsenoo friends, and
encouraged by the gentle weather, we sailed gladly up the coast, hoping
soon to see the Chilcat glaciers in their glory. The rock hereabouts is
mostly a beautiful blue marble, waveworn into a multitude of small
coves and ledges. Fine sections were thus revealed along the shore,
which with their colors, brightened with showers and late-blooming
leaves and flowers, beguiled the weariness of the way. The shingle in
front of these marble cliffs is also mostly marble, well polished and
rounded and mixed with a small percentage of glacier-borne slate and
granite erratics.
We arrived at the upper village about half-past one o’clock. Here we
saw Hootsenoo Indians in a very different light from that which
illumined the lower village. While we were yet half a mile or more
away, we heard sounds I had never before heard—a storm of strange
howls, yells, and screams rising from a base of gasping, bellowing
grunts and groans. Had I been alone, I should have fled as from a pack
of fiends, but our Indians quietly recognized this awful sound, if such
stuff could be called sound, simply as the “whiskey howl” and pushed
quietly on. As we approached the landing, the demoniac howling so
greatly increased I tried to dissuade Mr. Young from attempting to say
a single word in the village, and as for preaching one might as well
try to preach in Tophet. The whole village was afire with bad whiskey.
This was the first time in my life that I learned the meaning of the
phrase “a howling drunk.” Even our Indians hesitated to venture ashore,
notwithstanding whiskey storms were far from novel to them. Mr. Young,
however, hoped that in this Indian Sodom at least one man might be
found so righteous as to be in his right mind and able to give
trustworthy information. Therefore I was at length prevailed on to
yield consent to land. Our canoe was drawn up on the beach and one of
the crew left to guard it. Cautiously we strolled up the hill to the
main row of houses, now a chain of alcoholic volcanoes. The largest
house, just opposite the landing, was about forty feet square, built of
immense planks, each hewn from a whole log, and, as usual, the only
opening was a mere hole about two and a half feet in diameter, closed
by a massive hinged plug like the breach of a cannon. At the dark
door-hole a few black faces appeared and were suddenly withdrawn. Not a
single person was to be seen on the street. At length a couple of old,
crouching men, hideously blackened, ventured out and stared at us,
then, calling to their companions, other black and burning heads
appeared, and we began to fear that like the Alloway Kirk witches the
whole legion was about to sally forth. But, instead, those outside
suddenly crawled and tumbled in again. We were thus allowed to take a
general view of the place and return to our canoe unmolested. But ere
we could get away, three old women came swaggering and grinning down to
the beach, and Toyatte was discovered by a man with whom he had once
had a business misunderstanding, who, burning for revenge, was now
jumping and howling and threatening as only a drunken Indian may, while
our heroic old captain, in severe icy majesty, stood erect and
motionless, uttering never a word. Kadachan, on the contrary, was well
nigh smothered with the drunken caresses of one of his father’s
_tillicums_ (friends), who insisted on his going back with him into the
house. But reversing the words of St. Paul in his account of his
shipwreck, it came to pass that we all at length got safe to sea and by
hard rowing managed to reach a fine harbor before dark, fifteen sweet,
serene miles from the howlers.
Our camp this evening was made at the head of a narrow bay bordered by
spruce and hemlock woods. We made our beds beneath a grand old Sitka
spruce five feet in diameter, whose broad, winglike branches were
outspread immediately above our heads. The night picture as I stood
back to see it in the firelight was this one great tree, relieved
against the gloom of the woods back of it, the light on the low
branches revealing the shining needles, the brown, sturdy trunk
grasping an outswelling mossy bank, and a fringe of illuminated bushes
within a few feet of the tree with the firelight on the tips of the
sprays.
Next morning, soon after we left our harbor, we were caught in a
violent gust of wind and dragged over the seething water in a
passionate hurry, though our sail was close-reefed, flying past the
gray headlands in most exhilarating style, until fear of being capsized
made us drop our sail and run into the first little nook we came to for
shelter. Captain Toyatte remarked that in this kind of wind no Indian
would dream of traveling, but since Mr. Young and I were with him he
was willing to go on, because he was sure that the Lord loved us and
would not allow us to perish.
We were now within a day or two of Chilcat. We had only to hold a
direct course up the beautiful Lynn Canal to reach the large Davidson
and other glaciers at its head in the cañons of the Chilcat and
Chilcoot Rivers. But rumors of trouble among the Indians there now
reached us. We found a party taking shelter from the stormy wind in a
little cove, who confirmed the bad news that the Chilcats were drinking
and fighting, that Kadachan’s father had been shot, and that it would
be far from safe to venture among them until blood-money had been paid
and the quarrels settled. I decided, therefore, in the mean time, to
turn westward and go in search of the wonderful “ice-mountains” that
Sitka Charley had been telling us about. Charley, the youngest of my
crew, noticing my interest in glaciers, said that when he was a boy he
had gone with his father to hunt seals in a large bay full of ice, and
that though it was long since he had been there, he thought he could
find his way to it. Accordingly, we pushed eagerly on across Chatham
Strait to the north end of Icy Strait, toward the new and promising
ice-field.
On the south side of Icy Strait we ran into a picturesque bay to visit
the main village of the Hoona tribe. Rounding a point on the north
shore of the bay, the charmingly located village came in sight, with a
group of the inhabitants gazing at us as we approached. They evidently
recognized us as strangers or visitors from the shape and style of our
canoe, and perhaps even determining that white men were aboard, for
these Indians have wonderful eyes. While we were yet half a mile off,
we saw a flag unfurled on a tall mast in front of the chief’s house.
Toyatte hoisted his United States flag in reply, and thus arrayed we
made for the landing. Here we were met and received by the chief,
Kashoto, who stood close to the water’s edge, barefooted and
bareheaded, but wearing so fine a robe and standing so grave, erect,
and serene, his dignity was complete. No white man could have
maintained sound dignity under circumstances so disadvantageous. After
the usual formal salutations, the chief, still standing as erect and
motionless as a tree, said that he was not much acquainted with our
people and feared that his house was too mean for visitors so
distinguished as we were. We hastened of course to assure him that we
were not proud of heart, and would be glad to have the honor of his
hospitality and friendship. With a smile of relief he then led us into
his large fort house to the seat of honor prepared for us. After we had
been allowed to rest unnoticed and unquestioned for fifteen minutes or
so, in accordance with good Indian manners in case we should be weary
or embarrassed, our cook began to prepare luncheon; and the chief
expressed great concern at his not being able to entertain us in Boston
fashion.
Luncheon over, Mr. Young as usual requested him to call his people to a
meeting. Most of them were away at outlying camps gathering winter
stores. Some ten or twelve men, however, about the same number of
women, and a crowd of wondering boys and girls were gathered in, to
whom Mr. Young preached the usual gospel sermon. Toyatte prayed in
Thlinkit, and the other members of the crew joined in the hymn-singing.
At the close of the mission exercises the chief arose and said that he
would now like to hear what the other white chief had to say. I
directed John to reply that I was not a missionary, that I came only to
pay a friendly visit and see the forests and mountains of their
beautiful country. To this he replied, as others had done in the same
circumstances, that he would like to hear me on the subject of their
country and themselves; so I had to get on my feet and make some sort
of a speech, dwelling principally on the brotherhood of all races of
people, assuring them that God loved them and that some of their white
brethren were beginning to know them and become interested in their
welfare; that I seemed this evening to be among old friends with whom I
had long been acquainted, though I had never been here before; that I
would always remember them and the kind reception they had given us;
advised them to heed the instructions of sincere self-denying mission
men who wished only to do them good and desired nothing but their
friendship and welfare in return. I told them that in some far-off
countries, instead of receiving the missionaries with glad and thankful
hearts, the Indians killed and ate them; but I hoped, and indeed felt
sure, that his people would find a better use for missionaries than
putting them, like salmon, in pots for food. They seemed greatly
interested, looking into each other’s faces with emphatic nods and
a-ahs and smiles.
The chief then slowly arose and, after standing silent a minute or two,
told us how glad he was to see us; that he felt as if his heart had
enjoyed a good meal; that we were the first to come humbly to his
little out-of-the-way village to tell his people about God; that they
were all like children groping in darkness, but eager for light; that
they would gladly welcome a missionary and teacher and use them well;
that he could easily believe that whites and Indians were the children
of one Father just as I had told them in my speech; that they differed
little and resembled each other a great deal, calling attention to the
similarity of hands, eyes, legs, etc., making telling gestures in the
most natural style of eloquence and dignified composure. “Oftentimes,”
he said, “when I was on the high mountains in the fall, hunting wild
sheep for meat, and for wool to make blankets, I have been caught in
snowstorms and held in camp until there was nothing to eat, but when I
reached my home and got warm, and had a good meal, then my body felt
good. For a long time my heart has been hungry and cold, but to-night
your words have warmed my heart, and given it a good meal, and now my
heart feels good.”
The most striking characteristic of these people is their serene
dignity in circumstances that to us would be novel and embarrassing.
Even the little children behave with natural dignity, come to the white
men when called, and restrain their wonder at the strange prayers,
hymn-singing, etc. This evening an old woman fell asleep in the meeting
and began to snore; and though both old and young were shaken with
suppressed mirth, they evidently took great pains to conceal it. It
seems wonderful to me that these so-called savages can make one feel at
home in their families. In good breeding, intelligence, and skill in
accomplishing whatever they try to do with tools they seem to me to
rank above most of our uneducated white laborers. I have never yet seen
a child ill-used, even to the extent of an angry word. Scolding, so
common a curse in civilization, is not known here at all. On the
contrary the young are fondly indulged without being spoiled. Crying is
very rarely heard.
In the house of this Hoona chief a pet marmot (Parry’s) was a great
favorite with old and young. It was therefore delightfully confiding
and playful and human. Cats were petted, and the confidence with which
these cautious, thoughtful animals met strangers showed that they were
kindly treated.
There were some ten or a dozen houses, all told, in the village. The
count made by the chief for Mr. Young showed some seven hundred and
twenty-five persons in the tribe.