July 1-2, 10.30 p. m. A night on the Yukon. (Pl. 3, _a_,) They have
lit a powder against the mosquitoes. Smear the many gnat bites with
Mentholatum--helps but for a while--and having now my fine meshed
netting, my own bedding, and a clean pillow, I feel fine, safe from all
the pests, and ready for a quiet night, all alone.
Commenced dozing off when a he-cat, who hid in the store at closing,
begins to make all kinds of unnamable noises. Stand it for a while, but
he does not stop and one could never sleep--so crawl out from the bed,
catch the beast, and throw him out.
In again and settling down, when another cat--did not know there were
two here--begins to mew and tries to force its way out under the door,
which is about 2½ inches above the floor. Persists until I have to get
up the second time. Throw that cat out and in bed once more.
In a minute, however, the dogs outside espied the cats and began a
pandemonium of howls and yelps and barks. Try hard, but can not stand
it. Moreover, the last cat got on the roof, where I hear him walking,
and he seems in no hurry to get off. So finally have to get out, catch
the cat on the edge of the roof, throw him back into the store, and
to bed for another trial. But soon have to smear the body; the bites
itch too much. The sleepiness is now quite gone. A mild amusement
as to what next. It must be midnight or later now, and it has grown
cold. One blanket is not sufficient. Doze off a little, wake up with
cold, readjust blanket and flaps of bag, doze off a little again--the
dogs commence to howl, just for a song this time, in two, three, then
a unison. The bites itch bitterly, now here, now there. The sun has
risen; it is real cold, probably no more than about 40° to 45° F. And
so on until 5.30, when at last fall into a deep, dreamless sleep,
regardless of light, cats, dogs, and everything and sleep until 8.30.
Wake up, can not believe my watch; but it goes, and so probably is
right. But no one anywhere yet stirring.
Dress, wash a bit in the muddy river; head feels as if it had been
knocked by something heavy. Make my "roll" of bedding and then work
on notes, putting down faithfully what has transpired. About 9.30, at
last, the storekeeper comes to say they overslept and that a cup of
coffee will be ready before long.
Friday, July 2. "Ghost Creek" was named so because of many burials
about the creek. The flat between the hills here is about three-fourths
of a mile long by the water front, with rising slopes, and used to
extend considerably farther out, but was "cut" or washed away by the
river. It has been used for a village site and burial ground by the old
Indians of the vicinity. As the banks tumble away, bone arrow points,
barbed and not, stone scrapers, and other objects wash out. Graves are
found in the ground as well as above it. Russian influence prevalent
in the objects buried with the bodies, but site extends to pre-Russian
time. Same type graves as at Bonasila, with slight local modifications.
At Bonasila the burials above ground were in boxes of hewn wood,
joined somewhat as the logs in a log house, and without any base. The
body inside was covered with birch bark (three or four pieces), then
covered with the top planks, unfastened, and these in turn covered
with about a foot of earth and sod. At Ghost Creek the same, but there
is an undressed-stake base or platform on which the sides of the
"coffin" rest and with somewhat less earth and sod on the top of the
box. But graves differ here from underground and birch bark alone (no
trace of wood, if any was ever there; but probably none used) to such
aboveground as have iron nails and sawed planks. Here, as at Bonasila,
a few simple articles are generally found buried at the head, and
for these many of the graves were already despoiled and the skeletal
remains scattered or reburied.
There appears to be no line of demarcation between the underground and
aboveground graves; possibly the latter were winter burials, but this
must be looked into further.
The bodies here, except the latest, are buried flexed. Exceptionally,
both at Bonasila and here, the planks surrounding the grave were
painted with some mineral pigments which resist decomposition better
than the wood, and decorated in a very good native way with series
of animals and men, caribou, bear, etc. Too faint to photograph, and
too bulky and decayed to take away; but decoration much superior to
ordinary Indian pictographs, and apparently connecting with the type
of art of the northwest coast. It is of interest that practically the
same decorated burials were seen by Dall among the Eskimo of Norton
Sound (Unalaklik).[4] In this case it was probably the Indian habit
that was adopted by the near-by Eskimo, for none of the more northern
Eskimo practiced such burials. The habit was also known in southeastern
Alaska. (Pl. 3, _b_.)
Jim Walker, the helpful local mix-breed trader, has dug out many of
these graves (alone or with Harry Lawrence), and a good many of the
objects are said to have been taken away by Father O'Hara, formerly of
the Holy Cross Mission.
According to all indications the stone culture of Bonasila and of Ghost
Creek (1½ miles upstream from Holy Cross) were related, both passing
apparently into the Russian period, and that at Ghost Creek continuing
down to our times, for there is still living here an old man who
belongs to this place which once had a large village. Much could be
done yet and saved in both places.
Saturday, July 3. At last slept, notwithstanding everything, and
succeeded even in being warm.
Breakfast 8.30, for a wonder. Two soft-boiled Seattle eggs, two bits
of toast with canned butter (not bad at all), some over-preserved
raspberries, and a faded-looking nearly cold "flapjack" with sirup,
also mediocre tea. But all goes here, and the stomach calls for no
other attention than to fill it.
Finishing work, getting further information from the old Indian,
writing, and waiting to go away with a trader to Paimute, the
first all-Eskimo village, 25 miles farther down the river. Rains
occasionally, but not very cold. Many gnats when wind moderates.
Lunch--canned sardines (in this land of fresh salmon!), a bit of toast,
some canned fruit, and that unsavory tea.
Have utilized this day in a profitable manner. Have learned that there
was another burial ground about half a mile farther upstream, behind
an elevation. So got a rowboat and with Jim Walker's young boy rowed
over. Had to wade through high grass over a wet flat, and then up the
rank grass and bush-covered slope, and there found a number of old
burials. All rifled, but most of the bones still there. So send boy
back, on the quiet--there is above the store the camp of the old man
with an old Indian woman and sick girl--for some boxes, and meanwhile
collect. It is an unceasing struggle with the mosquitoes and gnats in
the tall grass and weeds; but one after another I find what remains of
the usual old box burials. The bones are mostly in good condition.
The boy arrives with several empty gasoline boxes, we gather drier
grass and moss, and pack right on the spot, eventually get to the boat,
strike off as far as possible from the shore so none could see what is
carried, and proceed to Walker's storehouse. Old Indian and his old
crony nevertheless stand on bank and look long at us. In storehouse
boxes closed, later delivered by the boy to the mail boat, and so that
much is saved; for were it not collected, in a few years the weather,
vegetation, and animals, human and other, would destroy everything.
[Illustration: BUREAU OF AMERICAN ETHNOLOGY FORTY-SIXTH ANNUAL REPORT
PLATE 3
_a_, Midnight on the Yukon
_b_, Lower middle Yukon: Painted burial box of a Yukon Indian (before
1884) said to have been a hunter of Bielugas (white whales), which used
to ascend far up the Yukon]
[Illustration: BUREAU OF AMERICAN ETHNOLOGY FORTY-SIXTH ANNUAL REPORT
PLATE 4
_a_, Eskimo camp below Paimute, Yukon River
_b_, Old "protolithic" site 12 miles down from Paimute, right bank,
just beyond "12-mile hill." (skull, bones, stones)
_c_, "Old" site in bank seen in middle of picture, 12 miles down from
Paimute, opposite that shown in preceding figure. (A. H., 1926)]
Moreover, the utmost care is taken always to leave everything in as
good shape as found; and the remains taken will be treated so well and
may give us so much that we need that there is no more hesitation in
securing them than there would be on the part of a paleontologist in
securing old bones for his purposes.
For supper, though it is still early, am invited by Simel, an elderly
Jew mail carrier. Have fine meat-and-potato soup, lettuce-and-cucumber
salad (even if the cucumbers from the Holy Cross hothouse are overripe
and bitter), fresh (storage) meat, cooked dried apples, and poor
but hot coffee--all seasoned with the best will and genuine, simple
friendliness.
Max Simel, whose home is at Ophir, has been in this country 29 years,
and "never needed to buy a quarter's worth of medicine." Has a wife in
Seattle, also a daughter and a son; has not seen them for four years.
Wants me to call on them and tell them I met him. With his companion,
Paul Keating, of Holikachakat, gives me some interesting information.
They tell me independently and then together of an occurrence that
shows what may happen along this great river. A well-known white man
and woman, prospectors on their mail route, have last year thawed and
dug out a shaft, nearly 40 feet deep, through muck and silt, to the
gravel, in which they hoped to get gold; and just before they reached
the gravel they found a piece of calico, old and in bad condition, but
still showing some of its design and color.
7 p. m. It rains, but wind has moderated, and so near 7 p. m. we start
on our way farther down the river, stopping just long enough at Holy
Cross to attend to my reservation for St. Michael. The agent has no
idea when the boat will go--maybe the 11th, maybe not until the 14th or
later.
Going on an old leaky scow with an elderly, faded, chewing, not very
talkative but for all that very kindly and accommodating man, who with
one hand holds the steering wheel and with the other most of the time
keeps on bailing. He carries supplies for his store and I my outfit,
camera, and umbrella. Sky has here and there cleared, even patches of
sun appear on far-away clean-cut hills. Water not very rough; make fair
time downstream. Banks flat now, river broad, some hills in distance.
8.00 p. m. Hills nearer ahead of us. Some of the flats look from
distance like fine tree nurseries. Getting cool. Cloudy ahead. The
banks flat and low, no good site for habitation. Not even fishing camps
here--just long "cut-banks" (banks being cut by the river) and low
beaches. Here and there new bars and islands that are being built by
the river. No birds, no boats, just an occasional floating snag or a
rare solitary gull.