SUNDAY IN KLUKWAN
The Salmon River was crossed on Sunday, the packers wishing to
reach a good feeding-ground in the woods two miles below the Indian
village of Klukwan, and not more than ten miles below their previous
camping-place. This short march was accomplished before noon, and by
dinner-time clothing and blankets had been dried before a huge fire.
The boys thought a visit to Klukwan that afternoon would pass the time
agreeably, so having obtained permission they set off through the woods
toward the gravel flats. They had some doubts as to how they should
cross the Chilkat River, but upon reaching the first channel of that
deep stream they found themselves within hailing distance of the town,
and easily attracted the attention of the red-skinned inhabitants, who
promptly despatched two canoes in their direction. One was manned by a
thin old native whom they had never seen before, while the navigator
of the other proved to be a short, thick-set young Indian known as
Tom Williams, who had been a guide to the Mysterious Thirty-six. Tom
recognized the two lads also and appeared glad to see them. He was a
convert of Haines Mission, and could talk fair English.
"What will you charge to take us across and back?" asked David,
presently.
In the native gutturals Tom consulted the old Indian, and then
answered, "Fifty cents apiece."
This being a reasonable price, as prices run in that country, the
bargain was closed. As the boys were without rubber boots and several
small channels separated them from the canoes on the main stream, the
Indians readily agreed to carry them on their backs to the point of
embarkation.
Once in the village, David and Roly looked about them with interest.
Most of the houses had been erected by the Russians and straggled in
an irregular line along a narrow foot-path, facing the river. Tom
Williams with his wife and family occupied one of the neatest of these
dwellings, and his name appeared prominently painted near the door.
Children and dogs swarmed everywhere.
"There's your African dodger, Roly," said David, as they approached the
curious totem figure which had attracted their attention in March. "We
must have a picture of that." The next instant the click of the shutter
in the camera announced that the prize was secure.
A little farther on, an Indian whose black hair was sprinkled with gray
was sitting on his doorstep. As they approached, he beckoned and made
signs that they might enter the house,--an invitation which they gladly
accepted, since they were curious to see something of the home life of
these natives upon whom civilization had thrust at least its outward
form.
The large living-room into which they were ushered had a bare wooden
floor and contained several chairs, a good stove, a chest of drawers,
and a table at which two women, dressed in gingham, were sewing. One
was evidently the wife of the host, and the other, a plump girl of
about fourteen, his daughter. They looked up as the boys entered, but
said nothing, and indeed no member of the family seemed able to talk
much English.
Ancient chromos of various subjects hung upon the walls, and David
discovered a curious brass plate, about four inches square, bearing a
figure of Saint Peter in relief with a large halo around his head. This
would be an excellent memento of Klukwan, he thought, so turning to the
Indian and pointing to Saint Peter he asked, "How much?"
The Indian understood this simple phrase, consulted his wife and
daughter, and answered, "Four dollars."
This was more than David cared to pay; and as the owners did not seem
very desirous of parting with their patron saint, he pressed the matter
no further.
The incident appeared to remind the Indian that he had another
interesting treasure. Going to the chest of drawers, he took out a
large, time-stained document and spread it before them. It was printed
in Russian, but David easily made out that it was a certificate of
their host's membership in the Greek Church,--the national Church of
Russia. It contained his name, which was utterly unpronounceable, and
at the bottom appeared the signature of the Bishop at Sitka.
Only a brief call was made at the house of this kindly disposed man,
for it was impossible to carry on any conversation. Continuing their
walk, they came upon a group of young fellows seated on the ground
around a checker-board and very much engrossed in that diversion, while
just beyond was a similar group playing some card game which they had
learned from the white men.
Near the end of the village the boys found several old iron cannon
lying on the ground near the path. Evidently they had once been mounted
there by the Russians for defence against the Chilkats. Stirring scenes
no doubt these old pieces had witnessed, but however loudly they had
spoken in times past, they were now mute, telling no tale of pioneer
and savage, of stealthy attack and sturdy defence.
While they examined the cannon, a large sailing canoe had been slowly
coming up the river against the strong current, and now made a landing
near them. The occupants, men, women, and children, came up into the
village, bearing cans full of berries, which seemed to constitute the
cargo.
Perhaps it was the sight of the berries, which looked like New England
huckleberries, or possibly it was the display of loaves of bread in
a window, which aroused a sudden appetite in the boys, and they made
inquiries by signs where they could obtain something to eat. Being
directed to a neighboring house, they knocked on the door, made known
their wants, and were ushered by a tall, bony native into the kitchen,
where they were given seats at a table.
A fat Indian woman whom they took to be the tall man's wife set a
tea-pot on the stove and brought out some old blue crockery,--the first
they had seen in many months. All the while these preparations were
making, a young man was sitting on the floor near the stove with his
back against the wall and his hat down over his eyes, a picture of
unambitious indifference. Whether he was a visitor or a member of the
family, an invalid or only lazy, the boys could not determine.
The tall man and his round spouse now set forth the supper. There was
real yeast bread which had a wonderfully pleasant home-like taste,
there was prune pie, and cake, and tea with sugar and condensed milk,
and canned butter for the bread. For this meal, which they thoroughly
enjoyed and for which they would willingly have paid a larger sum, they
were charged but twenty-five cents apiece.
It was now time to think of returning to camp, and, having hunted
up Tom Williams and his companion, they were soon across the river,
accompanied by a third native, who paddled over apparently out of
curiosity and continued with them across the small channels. David and
the old Indian were now considerably in advance of Roly and Tom, but
when Roly had been carried over what he thought was the last channel,
he paid Tom fifty cents, as he had agreed. No sooner had he done so
than he beheld David being carried over another some distance in
advance.
Tom was a Christian Indian, but he was no more averse to getting the
best of a bargain than some Christian Yankees. He saw his advantage
instantly and made a motion as if to return to his canoe. Roly scented
trouble, but not having a mind to take a wetting when he had come so
far dry-shod and paid for that comfort, he called Tom's attention to
the channel ahead.
"Two bits," said Tom.
Now if there was anything the good-natured Roly hated, it was to
wrangle over a paltry matter like that. He knew quite well that Tom was
consciously taking advantage of the situation, but he preferred to act
as if the Indian might really have misunderstood the original terms. He
rather liked Tom on the whole, and even felt something like admiration
of his shrewdness and unblushing nerve. Besides, he would never see him
again, nor have any more dealings with him. The result was that Roly
paid the twenty-five cents without so much as raising a question. No
sooner, however, had the coin changed hands than the other Indian, who
had been watching the course of events with simulated indifference,
broke into a loud, triumphant laugh,--a laugh which grated harshly on
Roly's ears, for it showed him that neither Indian had really expected
success in so flagrant an extortion, and that instead of regarding him
as a generous friend they doubtless thought him an easy victim. He
heartily wished then that he had stood firmly for the agreement, or,
failing to secure his rights, had taken the wetting.
The question of his proper course in the emergency was discussed pro
and con around the camp-fire that evening, for Roly frankly told
the story. There was very little pro and a great deal of con in the
comments. The packers, who, on general principles, wasted no love on
the Indians, were unanimously of the opinion that Roly should have gone
through fire as well as water, rather than pay one extra penny. David
was guarded in his opinion, since he had narrowly escaped falling into
a similar trap. On the whole, however, he agreed with the packers.
Mr. Bradford, whose sense of parental responsibility was aroused,
emphatically declared that his son should have held strictly by the
agreement. It would make the Indians tricky and overbearing, he said,
if they thought they could outwit the whites so easily. Roly should
have maintained his rights. As for Uncle Will, he seemed highly amused
by the affair, but offered no views on the subject.
Poor Roly, seeing the weight of argument so heavily against him, cast
about desperately for some ground of justification, and fell back at
last upon the Scriptures.
"Doesn't the Bible say," he asked, "'If any man will take away thy
coat, let him have thy cloke also'?"
This defence hugely delighted Uncle Will. "There, Charles," said he,
"you're answered now."
Mr. Bradford laughed. "Well," he responded, "I'll not only consider
myself well answered, but I'll give Roly a gold watch and chain if he
thought of that verse when he paid that quarter."
Honest Roly sighed. "No," he said, "I didn't think of it until this
minute."