THE WHITE MAN'S WAY_Love of Life, and Other Stories

"To cook by your fire and to sleep under your roof for the night," I had

announced on entering old Ebbits's cabin; and he had looked at me blear-

eyed and vacuous, while Zilla had favored me with a sour face and a

contemptuous grunt. Zilla was his wife, and no more bitter-tongued,

implacable old squaw dwelt on the Yukon. Nor would I have stopped there

had my dogs been less tired or had the rest of the village been

inhabited. But this cabin alone had I found occupied, and in this cabin,

perforce, I took my shelter.

Old Ebbits now and again pulled his tangled wits together, and hints and

sparkles of intelligence came and went in his eyes. Several times during

the preparation of my supper he even essayed hospitable inquiries about

my health, the condition and number of my dogs, and the distance I had

travelled that day. And each time Zilla had looked sourer than ever and

grunted more contemptuously.

Yet I confess that there was no particular call for cheerfulness on

their part. There they crouched by the fire, the pair of them, at the

end of their days, old and withered and helpless, racked by rheumatism,

bitten by hunger, and tantalized by the frying-odors of my abundance

of meat. They rocked back and forth in a slow and hopeless way, and

regularly, once every five minutes, Ebbits emitted a low groan. It was

not so much a groan of pain, as of pain-weariness. He was oppressed by

the weight and the torment of this thing called life, and still more

was he oppressed by the fear of death. His was that eternal tragedy of

the aged, with whom the joy of life has departed and the instinct for

death has not come.

When my moose-meat spluttered rowdily in the frying-pan, I noticed

old Ebbits's nostrils twitch and distend as he caught the food-scent.

He ceased rocking for a space and forgot to groan, while a look of

intelligence seemed to come into his face.

Zilla, on the other hand, rocked more rapidly, and for the first time,

in sharp little yelps, voiced her pain. It came to me that their

behavior was like that of hungry dogs, and in the fitness of things I

should not have been astonished had Zilla suddenly developed a tail

and thumped it on the floor in right doggish fashion. Ebbits drooled

a little and stopped his rocking very frequently to lean forward and

thrust his tremulous nose nearer to the source of gustatory excitement.

When I passed them each a plate of the fried meat, they ate greedily,

making loud mouth-noises--champings of worn teeth and sucking intakes

of the breath, accompanied by a continuous spluttering and mumbling.

After that, when I gave them each a mug of scalding tea, the noises

ceased. Easement and content came into their faces. Zilla relaxed

her sour mouth long enough to sigh her satisfaction. Neither rocked

any more, and they seemed to have fallen into placid meditation.

Then a dampness came into Ebbits's eyes, and I knew that the sorrow

of self-pity was his. The search required to find their pipes told

plainly that they had been without tobacco a long time, and the old

man's eagerness for the narcotic rendered him helpless, so that I was

compelled to light his pipe for him.

"Why are you all alone in the village?" I asked. "Is everybody dead?

Has there been a great sickness? Are you alone left of the living?"

Old Ebbits shook his head, saying: "Nay, there has been no great

sickness. The village has gone away to hunt meat. We be too old, our

legs are not strong, nor can our backs carry the burdens of camp and

trail. Wherefore we remain here and wonder when the young men will

return with meat."

"What if the young men do return with meat?" Zilla demanded harshly.

"They may return with much meat," he quavered hopefully.

"Even so, with much meat," she continued, more harshly than before.

"But of what worth to you and me? A few bones to gnaw in our toothless

old age. But the back-fat, the kidneys, and the tongues--these shall go

into other mouths than thine and mine, old man."

Ebbits nodded his head and wept silently.

"There be no one to hunt meat for us," she cried, turning fiercely upon

me.

There was accusation in her manner, and I shrugged my shoulders in

token that I was not guilty of the unknown crime imputed to me.

"Know, O White Man, that it is because of thy kind, because of all

white men, that my man and I have no meat in our old age and sit

without tobacco in the cold."

"Nay," Ebbits said gravely, with a stricter sense of justice. "Wrong

has been done us, it be true; but the white men did not mean the wrong."

"Where be Moklan?" she demanded. "Where be thy strong son, Moklan, and

the fish he was ever willing to bring that you might eat?"

The old man shook his head.

"And where be Bidarshik, thy strong son? Ever was he a mighty hunter,

and ever did he bring thee the good back-fat and the sweet dried

tongues of the moose and the caribou. I see no back-fat and no sweet

dried tongues. Your stomach is full with emptiness through the days,

and it is for a man of a very miserable and lying people to give you to

eat."

"Nay," old Ebbits interposed in kindliness, "the white man's is not

a lying people. The white man speaks true. Always does the white man

speak true." He paused, casting about him for words wherewith to temper

the severity of what he was about to say. "But the white man speaks

true in different ways. To-day he speaks true one way, to-morrow he

speaks true another way, and there is no understanding him nor his way."

"To-day speak true one way, to-morrow speak true another way, which is

to lie," was Zilla's dictum.

"There is no understanding the white man," Ebbits went on doggedly.

The meat, and the tea, and the tobacco seemed to have brought him back

to life, and he gripped tighter hold of the idea behind his age-bleared

eyes. He straightened up somewhat. His voice lost its querulous and

whimpering note, and became strong and positive. He turned upon me with

dignity, and addressed me as equal addresses equal.

"The white man's eyes are not shut," he began. "The white man sees all

things, and thinks greatly, and is very wise. But the white man of one

day is not the white man of next day, and there is no understanding

him. He does not do things always in the same way. And what way his

next way is to be, one cannot know. Always does the Indian do the one

thing in the one way. Always does the moose come down from the high

mountains when the winter is here. Always does the salmon come in the

spring when the ice has gone out of the river. Always does everything

do all things in the same way, and the Indian knows and understands.

But the white man does not do all things in the same way, and the

Indian does not know nor understand.

"Tobacco be very good. It be food to the hungry man. It makes the

strong man stronger, and the angry man to forget that he is angry. Also

is tobacco of value. It is of very great value. The Indian gives one

large salmon for one leaf of tobacco, and he chews the tobacco for a

long time. It is the juice of the tobacco that is good. When it runs

down his throat it makes him feel good inside. But the white man! When

his mouth is full with the juice, what does he do? That juice, that

juice of great value, he spits it out in the snow and it is lost. Does

the white man like tobacco? I do not know. But if he likes tobacco,

why does he spit out its value and lose it in the snow? It is a great

foolishness and without understanding."

He ceased, puffed at the pipe, found that it was out, and passed it

over to Zilla, who took the sneer at the white man off her lips in

order to pucker them about the pipe-stem. Ebbits seemed sinking back

into his senility with the tale untold, and I demanded:

"What of thy sons, Moklan and Bidarshik? And why is it that you and

your old woman are without meat at the end of your years?"

He roused himself as from sleep, and straightened up with an effort.

"It is not good to steal," he said. "When the dog takes your meat you

beat the dog with a club. Such is the law. It is the law the man gave

to the dog, and the dog must live to the law, else will it suffer the

pain of the club. When man takes your meat, or your canoe, or your

wife, you kill that man. That is the law, and it is a good law. It is

not good to steal, wherefore it is the law that the man who steals must

die. Whoso breaks the law must suffer hurt. It is a great hurt to die."

"But if you kill the man, why do you not kill the dog?" I asked.

Old Ebbits looked at me in childlike wonder, while Zilla sneered openly

at the absurdity of my question.

"It is the way of the white man," Ebbits mumbled with an air of

resignation.

"It is the foolishness of the white man," snapped Zilla.

"Then let old Ebbits teach the white man wisdom," I said softly.

"The dog is not killed, because it must pull the sled of the man. No

man pulls another man's sled, wherefore the man is killed."

"Oh," I murmured.

"That is the law," old Ebbits went on. "Now listen, O White Man, and

I will tell you of a great foolishness. There is an Indian. His name

is Mobits. From white man he steals two pounds of flour. What does the

white man do? Does he beat Mobits? No. Does he kill Mobits? No. What

does he do to Mobits? I will tell you, O White Man. He has a house. He

puts Mobits in that house. The roof is good. The walls are thick. He

makes a fire that Mobits may be warm. He gives Mobits plenty grub to

eat. It is good grub. Never in his all days does Mobits eat so good

grub. There is bacon, and bread, and beans without end. Mobits have

very good time.

"There is a big lock on door so that Mobits does not run away. This

also is a great foolishness. Mobits will not run away. All the time is

there plenty grub in that place, and warm blankets, and a big fire.

Very foolish to run away. Mobits is not foolish. Three months Mobits

stop in that place. He steal two pounds of flour. For that, white man

take plenty good care of him. Mobits eat many pounds of flour, many

pounds of sugar, of bacon, of beans without end. Also, Mobits drink

much tea. After three months white man open door and tell Mobits he

must go. Mobits does not want to go. He is like dog that is fed long

time in one place. He want to stay in that place, and the white man

must drive Mobits away. So Mobits come back to this village, and he is

very fat. That is the white man's way, and there is no understanding

it. It is a foolishness, a great foolishness."

"But thy sons?" I insisted. "Thy very strong sons and thine old-age

hunger?"

"There was Moklan," Ebbits began.

"A strong man," interrupted the mother. "He could dip paddle all of a

day and night and never stop for the need of rest. He was wise in the

way of the salmon and in the way of the water. He was very wise."

"There was Moklan," Ebbits repeated, ignoring the interruption. "In the

spring, he went down the Yukon with the young men to trade at Cambell

Fort. There is a post there, filled with the goods of the white man,

and a trader whose name is Jones. Likewise is there a white man's

medicine man, what you call missionary. Also is there bad water at

Cambell Fort, where the Yukon goes slim like a maiden, and the water is

fast, and the currents rush this way and that and come together, and

there are whirls and sucks, and always are the currents changing and

the face of the water changing, so at any two times it is never the

same. Moklan is my son, wherefore he is brave man--"

"Was not my father brave man?" Zilla demanded.

"Thy father was brave man," Ebbits acknowledged, with the air of one

who will keep peace in the house at any cost. "Moklan is thy son and

mine, wherefore he is brave. Mayhap, because of thy very brave father,

Moklan is too brave. It is like when too much water is put in the pot

it spills over. So too much bravery is put into Moklan, and the bravery

spills over.

"The young men are much afraid of the bad water at Cambell Fort. But

Moklan is not afraid. He laughs strong, Ho! ho! and he goes forth into

the bad water. But where the currents come together the canoe is turned

over. A whirl takes Moklan by the legs, and he goes around and around,

and down and down, and is seen no more."

"Ai! ai!" wailed Zilla. "Crafty and wise was he, and my first-born!"

"I am the father of Moklan," Ebbits said, having patiently given the

woman space for her noise. "I get into canoe and journey down to

Cambell Fort to collect the debt!"

"Debt!" interrupted. "What debt?"

"The debt of Jones, who is chief trader," came the answer. "Such is the

law of travel in a strange country."

I shook my head in token of my ignorance, and Ebbits looked compassion

at me, while Zilla snorted her customary contempt.

"Look you, O White Man," he said. "In thy camp is a dog that bites.

When the dog bites a man, you give that man a present because you are

sorry and because it is thy dog. You make payment. Is it not so? Also,

if you have in thy country bad hunting, or bad water, you must make

payment. It is just. It is the law. Did not my father's brother go

over into the Tanana Country and get killed by a bear? And did not the

Tanana tribe pay my father many blankets and fine furs? It was just. It

was bad hunting, and the Tanana people made payment for the bad hunting.

"So I, Ebbits, journeyed down to Cambell Fort to collect the debt.

Jones, who is chief trader, looked at me, and he laughed. He made great

laughter, and would not give payment. I went to the medicine-man, what

you call missionary, and had large talk about the bad water and the

payment that should be mine. And the missionary made talk about other

things. He talk about where Moklan has gone, now he is dead. There be

large fires in that place, and if missionary make true talk, I know

that Moklan will be cold no more. Also the missionary talk about where

I shall go when I am dead. And he say bad things. He say that I am

blind. Which is a lie. He say that I am in great darkness. Which is a

lie. And I say that the day come and the night come for everybody just

the same, and that in my village it is no more dark than at Cambell

Fort. Also, I say that darkness and light and where we go when we die

be different things from the matter of payment of just debt for bad

water. Then the missionary make large anger, and call me bad names of

darkness, and tell me to go away. And so I come back from Cambell Fort,

and no payment has been made, and Moklan is dead, and in my old age I

am without fish and meat."

"Because of the white man," said Zilla.

"Because of the white man," Ebbits concurred. "And other things because

of the white man. There was Bidarshik. One way did the white man deal

with him; and yet another way for the same thing did the white man deal

with Yamikan. And first must I tell you of Yamikan, who was a young man

of this village and who chanced to kill a white man. It is not good to

kill a man of another people. Always is there great trouble. It was not

the fault of Yamikan that he killed the white man. Yamikan spoke always

soft words and ran away from wrath as a dog from a stick. But this

white man drank much whiskey, and in the night-time came to Yamikan's

house and made much fight. Yamikan cannot run away, and the white man

tries to kill him. Yamikan does not like to die, so he kills the white

man.

"Then is all the village in great trouble. We are much afraid that we

must make large payment to the white man's people, and we hide our

blankets, and our furs, and all our wealth, so that it will seem that

we are poor people and can make only small payment. After long time

white men come. They are soldier white men, and they take Yamikan away

with them. His mother make great noise and throw ashes in her hair, for

she knows Yamikan is dead. And all the village knows that Yamikan is

dead, and is glad that no payment is asked.

"That is in the spring when the ice has gone out of the river. One year

go by, two years go by. It is spring-time again, and the ice has gone

out of the river. And then Yamikan, who is dead, comes back to us, and

he is not dead, but very fat, and we know that he has slept warm and

had plenty grub to eat. He has much fine clothes and is all the same

white man, and he has gathered large wisdom so that he is very quick

head man in the village.

"And he has strange things to tell of the way of the white man, for he

has seen much of the white man and done a great travel into the white

man's country. First place, soldier white men take him down the river

long way. All the way do they take him down the river to the end, where

it runs into a lake which is larger than all the land and large as the

sky. I do not know the Yukon is so big river, but Yamikan has seen with

his own eyes. I do not think there is a lake larger than all the land

and large as the sky, but Yamikan has seen. Also, he has told me that

the waters of this lake be salt, which is a strange thing and beyond

understanding.

"But the White Man knows all these marvels for himself, so I shall not

weary him with the telling of them. Only will I tell him what happened

to Yamikan. The white man give Yamikan much fine grub. All the time

does Yamikan eat, and all the time is there plenty more grub. The white

man lives under the sun, so said Yamikan, where there be much warmth,

and animals have only hair and no fur, and the green things grow large

and strong and become flour, and beans, and potatoes. And under the

sun there is never famine. Always is there plenty grub. I do not know.

Yamikan has said.

"And here is a strange thing that befell Yamikan. Never did the white

man hurt him. Only did they give him warm bed at night and plenty fine

grub. They take him across the salt lake which is big as the sky. He is

on white man's fire-boat, what you call steamboat, only he is on boat

maybe twenty times bigger than steamboat on Yukon. Also, it is made of

iron, this boat, and yet does it not sink. This I do not understand,

but Yamikan has said, 'I have journeyed far on the iron boat; behold! I

am still alive.' It is a white man's soldier-boat with many soldier men

upon it.

"After many sleeps of travel, a long, long time, Yamikan comes to a

land where there is no snow. I cannot believe this. It is not in the

nature of things that when winter comes there shall be no snow. But

Yamikan has seen. Also have I asked the white men, and they have said

yes, there is no snow in that country. But I cannot believe, and now

I ask you if snow never come in that country. Also, I would hear the

name of that country. I have heard the name before, but I would hear it

again, if it be the same--thus will I know if I have heard lies or true

talk."

Old Ebbits regarded me with a wistful face. He would have the truth at

any cost, though it was his desire to retain his faith in the marvel he

had never seen.

"Yes," I answered, "it is true talk that you have heard. There is no

snow in that country, and its name is California."

"Cal-ee-forn-ee-yeh," he mumbled twice and thrice, listening intently

to the sound of the syllables as they fell from his lips. He nodded his

head in confirmation. "Yes, it is the same country of which Yamikan

made talk."

I recognized the adventure of Yamikan as one likely to occur in

the early days when Alaska first passed into the possession of the

United States. Such a murder case, occurring before the instalment of

territorial law and officials, might well have been taken down to the

United States for trial before a Federal court.

"When Yamikan is in this country where there is no snow," old Ebbits

continued, "he is taken to large house where many men make much talk.

Long time men talk. Also many questions do they ask Yamikan. By and by

they tell Yamikan he have no more trouble. Yamikan does not understand,

for never has he had any trouble. All the time have they given him warm

place to sleep and plenty grub.

"But after that they give him much better grub, and they give him

money, and they take him many places in white man's country, and he see

many strange things which are beyond the understanding of Ebbits, who

is an old man and has not journeyed far. After two years, Yamikan comes

back to this village, and he is head man, and very wise until he dies.

"But before he dies, many times does he sit by my fire and make talk of

the strange things he has seen. And Bidarshik, who is my son, sits by

the fire and listens; and his eyes are very wide and large because of

the things he hears. One night, after Yamikan has gone home, Bidarshik

stands up, so, very tall, and he strikes his chest with his fist, and

says, 'When I am a man, I shall journey in far places, even to the land

where there is no snow, and see things for myself.'"

"Always did Bidarshik journey in far places," Zilla interrupted proudly.

"It be true," Ebbits assented gravely. "And always did he return to sit

by the fire and hunger for yet other and unknown far places."

"And always did he remember the salt lake as big as the sky and the

country under the sun where there is no snow," quoth Zilla.

"And always did he say, 'When I have the full strength of a man, I

will go and see for myself if the talk of Yamikan be true talk,'" said

Ebbits.

"But there was no way to go to the white man's country," said Zilla.

"Did he not go down to the salt lake that is big as the sky?" Ebbits

demanded.

"And there was no way for him across the salt lake," said Zilla.

"Save in the white man's fire-boat which is of iron and is bigger than

twenty steamboats on the Yukon," said Ebbits. He scowled at Zilla,

whose withered lips were again writhing into speech, and compelled her

to silence. "But the white man would not let him cross the salt lake in

the fire-boat, and he returned to sit by the fire and hunger for the

country under the sun where there is no snow.'"

"Yet on the salt lake had he seen the fire-boat of iron that did not

sink," cried out Zilla the irrepressible.

"Ay," said Ebbits, "and he saw that Yamikan had made true talk of the

things he had seen. But there was no way for Bidarshik to journey to

the white man's land under the sun, and he grew sick and weary like an

old man and moved not away from the fire. No longer did he go forth to

kill meat--"

"And no longer did he eat the meat placed before him," Zilla broke in.

"He would shake his head and say, 'Only do I care to eat the grub of

the white man and grow fat after the manner of Yamikan.'"

"And he did not eat the meat," Ebbits went on. "And the sickness of

Bidarshik grew into a great sickness until I thought he would die. It

was not a sickness of the body, but of the head. It was a sickness of

desire. I, Ebbits, who am his father, make a great think. I have no

more sons and I do not want Bidarshik to die. It is a head-sickness,

and there is but one way to make it well. Bidarshik must journey across

the lake as large as the sky to the land where there is no snow, else

will he die. I make a very great think, and then I see the way for

Bidarshik to go.

"So, one night when he sits by the fire, very sick, his head hanging

down, I say, 'My son, I have learned the way for you to go to the white

man's land.' He looks at me, and his face is glad. 'Go,' I say, 'even

as Yamikan went.' But Bidarshik is sick and does not understand. 'Go

forth,' I say, 'and find a white man, and, even as Yamikan, do you kill

that white man. Then will the soldier white men come and get you, and

even as they took Yamikan will they take you across the salt lake to

the white man's land. And then, even as Yamikan, will you return very

fat, your eyes full of the things you have seen, your head filled with

wisdom.'

"And Bidarshik stands up very quick, and his hand is reaching out for

his gun. 'Where do you go?' I ask. 'To kill the white man,' he says.

And I see that my words have been good in the ears of Bidarshik and

that he will grow well again. Also do I know that my words have been

wise.

"There is a white man come to this village. He does not seek after gold

in the ground, nor after furs in the forest. All the time does he seek

after bugs and flies. He does not eat the bugs and flies, then why does

he seek after them? I do not know. Only do I know that he is a funny

white man. Also does he seek after the eggs of birds. He does not eat

the eggs. All that is inside he takes out, and only does he keep the

shell. Eggshell is not good to eat. Nor does he eat the eggshells, but

puts them away in soft boxes where they will not break. He catch many

small birds. But he does not eat the birds. He takes only the skins and

puts them away in boxes. Also does he like bones. Bones are not good to

eat. And this strange white man likes best the bones of long time ago

which he digs out of the ground.

"But he is not a fierce white man, and I know he will die very easy; so

I say to Bidarshik, 'My son, there is the white man for you to kill.'

And Bidarshik says that my words be wise. So he goes to a place he

knows where are many bones in the ground. He digs up very many of these

bones and brings them to the strange white man's camp. The white man is

made very glad. His face shines like the sun, and he smiles with much

gladness as he looks at the bones. He bends his head over, so, to look

well at the bones, and then Bidarshik strikes him hard on the head,

with axe, once, so, and the strange white man kicks and is dead.

"'Now,' I say to Bidarshik, 'will the white soldier men come and take

you away to the land under the sun, where you will eat much and grow

fat.' Bidarshik is happy. Already has his sickness gone from him, and

he sits by the fire and waits for the coming of the white soldier men.

"How was I to know the way of the white man is never twice the same?"

the old man demanded, whirling upon me fiercely. "How was I to know

that what the white man does yesterday he will not do to-day, and that

what he does to-day he will not do to-morrow?" Ebbits shook his head

sadly. "There is no understanding the white man. Yesterday he takes

Yamikan to the land under the sun and makes him fat with much grub.

To-day he takes Bidarshik and--what does he do with Bidarshik? Let me

tell you what he does with Bidarshik.

"I, Ebbits, his father, will tell you. He takes Bidarshik to Cambell

Fort, and he ties a rope around his neck, so, and, when his feet are no