ESTELLA THE ESKIMO
Estella was not the name her parents had given her. That was
unpronounceable to the white man's tongue and was replaced by Estella
when she married the trader not many years ago.
She was a bright and amiable young woman, though not actually pretty.
Born and raised on the Seward Peninsula, she had learned to hunt, fish
and trap, as do all the Eskimo women while still in their teens. Numbers
of young men among her people had sought her hand in marriage, but up to
the time of the advent of the white men into the country she had never
yielded to their entreaties.
When approached on the subject she glanced demurely down at the toe of
her mukluks, tossed back her long hair, and, turning her back on the
suitor who did not suit, ran away to play on the beach with the
children.
Her people did not know her heart. She had ambition, though it was
unknown to them. None of the young Eskimos entirely pleased her. Some
one with better looks and more supplies than they must offer himself
before she decided to take a life-mate, she told herself.
At her birth some planet must have bestowed upon her many aspirations
above those of the common Eskimo, and though she was ignorant of the
cause of her ambition she realized the possession of it.
Being a sensible young woman she hid these things in her own bosom, for
why should she trouble her parents? They would not understand her, but
would oppose, say harsh things, perhaps, and, at any rate, feel badly.
So she ran away to play with the little ones. If this did not answer her
purpose she persuaded her young brother to take her in his didarka on
the water to some quiet island, where in the pleasant sunshine they sat
upon the sandy beach or fished in some gurgling stream.
In winter there was less freedom. She must keep more to her father's
igloo and help her mother at sewing of furs for the clothing, going out
at times with the other women to set their traps in the snow for animals
whose skins were in demand by the traders.
At last, one day in winter, there came to the home of the Eskimo girl,
two white men. They were clothed in furs and rode behind dog-teams. They
came to buy skins, principally those of the black fox, mink and white
ermine.
One of the men could speak a good deal of the Eskimo language, and had
no difficulty in making known their errand. They wished to remain all
night in the igloo as it was too late and stormy to proceed farther on
the trail.
The Alaskan Eskimo is kindly and generous. No one is ever turned from
his door. It matters not how low the state of his larder, or how few
sticks there are before the fire; the stranger is always welcome.
The two white traders remained. They bought of the Eskimo what furs they
wanted and paid as little for them as possible. A little thread, calico,
tea, tobacco, and a few glass beads were given in exchange for the soft
and shining skins which in civilized centers would sell for a fabulous
sum.
The storm continued. The traders remained for days. When they left the
igloo the heart of the Eskimo maiden was no longer her own; she had
given it to another who would presently return and take her to his
cabin.
The girl's ambition was now about to be realized. To be looked upon by
her people as the bride of a white man, and that one a rich trader who
owned, not only a cabin and many skins, but dogs, sleds and boats, was
truly a great honor and not to be lightly considered. She would soon be
in a position high above that of any of the Eskimo women of her
acquaintance, and she began to feel the importance and desirability of
her station.
The trader who had succeeded in winning where others had failed was much
older than his sweetheart. He was of middle height, with black hair, and
swarthy, not unlike in this respect to her own family; but totally
different in disposition, a striking contrast to the gentle and yielding
character of the Eskimo, but the girl in crass ignorance was quite
unaware of the difference. To her he was an ardent lover, brave,
fearless, strong, and with worldly goods to provide her with all she
liked and needed.
Poor, simple-hearted, little Eskimo girl! Are your good and kind devas
sleeping that they do not better guard you? Of what can they be
thinking? Call them quickly to advise and help you before it is too
late, and your happiness is forever blasted! Will they not wake in time
to keep you from making this terrible mis-step? Beware of the white man
whose heart is blackness!
But her good devas slept on. The return of the trader was expected, and
as far as lay in their power the Eskimo had made ready for the great and
unusual event soon to be celebrated. The igloo was made tidy, heaps of
firewood were piled beside the door, and from the cache not far distant
were brought quantities of frozen tomcod, seal meat, and salmon berries.
Whale oil for illuminating the interior of the snow-covered igloo was
bought in puffed out seal bladders, tied at each end by stoutly knotted
sinews.
A new fur parkie for the bride made of reindeer skin and decorated with
black and white fur squares for a border, was completed by Eskimo women
sitting crosslegged in a corner of the igloo.
At last the white man arrived. He was accompanied by another who was to
act as the officiating clergyman; the Eskimo girl wished to have
performed the ceremony of his people; but alas! she had not overheard a
conversation which had taken place between the two men.
"Get off some rigmarole of your own, I tell you," laughed the coming
bridegroom, speaking to his companion, "It's no matter what it is, only
don't make me burst out laughing in the middle of it, for Estella might
resent it. She's a bright little one, and that's no josh. Seriously, I
don't want a bona fide marriage ceremony performed, you understand. When
I make my stake and leave Alaska behind forever I don't care to have a
legal wife tagging at my coat-tails. I want to be a free man to go and
come as I please. See?" and the speaker puffed a cloud of tobacco smoke
from between his lips.
"What about the children, Buster? Will there be any?"
"You bet your life! The brats can live as well as those up the country
with that other squaw of mine. But you're a terror for questions, pard.
If you squeal on me I'll send you to thunder," clapping his hand on his
hip pocket where protruded a stout, black handle.
"No fear of me," laughed the other. "I'm too eager for the rest of them
fine furs which we must try to get. Can't you work the girl for them,
Buster?"
"I'll try. In the meantime get the dogs together to-morrow and feed 'em
up. They're lookin' thin. I hope to hear from Dan in a day or two as
regards that creek and what he's found in it. Then I'm off to the nest
of my turtle dove, for the bridegroom is hungry for his bride, eh,
pard?" winked the dark-browed fellow, still smoking heavily.
"You're a dandy, sure!" retorted the man designated as "pard" by the
trader. "I see your finish if your squaw's people up country find out
your doin's here."
"They never will. The Yukon is many 'sleeps' away, and there is no
communication between these Eskimos and the Indians."
"You're makin' good the sayin' that a sailor has a wife in every port
aint you Buster?" continued the man who in the absence of better
employment delighted in teasing his partner.
"Wife be blowed! What's got into you to-night? Go along to bed!"
"Thank you I'm there," mockingly from the other, while tumbling into his
bunk in the cabin corner, and pulling away at his smudgy cob pipe after
retiring.
The two men understood each other. "Buster", as he was nicknamed, was
shameless. He respected neither God nor man. Whatever he willed to do,
he did, regardless of results, and was well known in Alaska by the white
inhabitants. The other was a trifle weaker though not less wicked. He
could stand beside Buster and urge him on, while hesitating to do the
same acts of lawlessness. There is small difference in these degrees of
sinning. If any, it may be in favor of the Busters, who possibly deserve
credit for fearlessness where the others are cowardly.
The scant mock marriage was soon over. The smiling little bride said
good-bye to her people, who wept around her; climbed into the dog-sled
of her new master, and rode proudly away southward.
With the summer her friends might come on a fishing trip to visit her,
and renew their acquaintance in her new home.
She wanted to convince them of the wisdom of her selection. She felt
that she could do so--if not now, then by the time of their coming.
[Illustration: "_Upon his mother's back beneath her parkie_"]
Poor child! She had not yet learned that it is best to feel confident of
nothing.
Two years passed, and a small, black-eyed toddler kept Estella company.
He wore a red calico cap upon his head and his stout and chubby limbs
grew perceptibly. While young he was tied upon his mother's back beneath
her parkie, a stout leather belt confining the same around the woman's
waist to prevent the baby from falling out. There his black eyes winked
and blinked above the little, round mouth which had only lately learned
to smile, and which was beginning to experiment daily among the
difficult mazes of his native dialects. For the child was confronted
with two languages; English, spoken by his father, the Eskimo spoken
by his mother; but he was as yet ignorant of both. Dearly his mother
loved him, and enjoyed his companionship during the long and frequent
absences of his father.
Gold in great quantities had now been discovered on the Seward
Peninsula. Hundreds of people were flocking into the country. Camps were
filling with eager fortune-seekers, and the beach was strewn with tents.
Fur traders had gone into mining. Miners were scattered over the
country, carrying supplies by boat up stream to the sections where they
looked for gold, and where, in many instances, they found it.
The attention of all had been drawn to a stream called Anvil, near the
sea, whose sentinel rock, perched upon a tall hillcrest near, had long
and successfully guarded its wealth of gold and treasure.
It could be hidden and guarded no longer. Men now labored strenuously
with pick and shovel in the bed of the golden stream; nor stopped for
sleeping; while accumulating riches filled their vaults to overflowing.
In a small hut upon the beach lived the Eskimo woman and her boy. Her
husband had sailed with others for the north country, and the two were
unprovided for and alone. With industrious fingers Estella made small
trifles to sell to the white people in camp, many of whom carried heavy
purses and coveted the souvenirs made by the natives.
It was her only way of earning a poor subsistence for herself and boy.
Her father and brothers supplied her with fish in summer and her wants
were not numerous. Like worn out footgear which had served its purpose,
being perhaps well fitting and useful for a time, but after fresh
purchases to be cast aside as worthless, was the native woman now
discarded.
It was summer time in Alaska. Tundra mosses were at their freshest, and
wild flowers bloomed and nodded on every side. It was the time for
fishing, and Estella's relatives came to take her with them on their
annual excursion, when for a time she was happy trying to forget the
white man's neglect. It was better than his abuse and curses which she
had meekly borne; but which still sorely rankled in her bosom. Her
parents did not upbraid her. They appeared to have forgotten the girl's
pride on her wedding day, and had only kind words for their sad-hearted
daughter in her trouble. But sympathy alone could not put food in her
mouth nor that of her boy, and winter was approaching.
Her parents had many children, and others depended upon them, and little
with which to feed them. The fishing season had been a poor one. Nets
and seines had been placed in streams as usual by the Eskimo, but many
of these had been destroyed by white men, and where this was not the
case the waters of creeks and rivers had been so muddied by mining
operations as to ruin all chances of securing fish.
* * * * *
It was a cold and wintry night. The snow was sifting over the tundra in
icy gusts from the westward. Morning would see all snow-hidden,
including the huts of the four remaining natives on the sandspit between
the river and the sea.
Estella's camp fire was dead. There was neither sticks nor coals to feed
it. A long-drawn wail from her boy lying huddled in skins upon the
ground, reminded her of other deficiencies--there was nothing to eat in
the igloo--absolutely nothing. Both were cold and hungry.
Wrapping herself and her little boy as warmly as possible, she took the
child's hand and started down the street of the mining camp in the
blizzard. There were places open to her. There were the saloons. They
were at least filled with warmth and brightness, and she would there be
safe from freezing till morning. There were undoubtedly other dangers,
but these she could not now contemplate. She could not let her baby
freeze while starving.
Making her way along with her boy between the winter blasts, the little
one clinging tightly to her hand, she approached the door.
Lights were shining brightly through the windows, and she heard voices.
Would she meet her husband if she entered? She hoped not, for she must
go in. It was death to remain outside. Timidly she placed her hand upon
the door and partly opened it, glancing quickly about the room to note
its occupants.
The flaring of the lamps indicated her presence.
[Illustration: "_The little one clinging tightly to her hand she
approached the door_"]
"Shut the door, you beggar!" shouted the bartender. "Don't you know the
wind is blowin' and lights will go out? Besides its deuced cold night,
and coal costs money, you know, Stella," added the fellow less savagely,
as, glancing quietly at him, and leading her boy, she slowly moved
toward the big coal stove.
"Let 'em warm themselves, can't you?" exclaimed one of the men sitting
at a table and shuffling cards for a game.
"Whose hinderin' 'em? I aint! All I'm objectin' to is the length of time
she held the door open when she came in."
"Wal, she's in now, and the door's shut, aint it?" drawled the card
player.
"Yes."
"Then close your gab!" and lowering his tone to his partner opposite he
said shortly, "Play, wont you?"
In the meantime Estella was warming herself beside the fire. On her
knees she held the boy whose head soon drooped drowsily in spite of his
hunger.
It was a long, bare room, newly boarded as to ceiling, flooring and
walls. A smooth and shining counter stretched along the west side of
the room, behind which stood rows of well filled bottles, ready to be
uncorked. For ornament, upon the opposite wall there hung a great
mirror, trying its best to duplicate the owner's stock in trade, as
though he would be needing such help before the winter was over, when
his whiskies were gone. For further brightening the room there hung
suspended from gilt buttons close below the ceiling, certain
representations of personages in garments too filmy to assure the
observer that they were intended for this Arctic world, because
rivalling the costumes of two solitary gardeners in the long ago.
However that may be, the pictures did not disturb Estella--as to the
miners they were accustomed to these and many other sights. Something
far worse to her troubled the Eskimo. It was hunger.
Suddenly one of the loungers, considerably younger that the others, said
to his neighbors:
"I'll bet she's hungry."
"Very likely, Sam, they mostly always are. There's nothin' here to eat
if she is, by George."
"There's plenty of booze!"
"Yes, at two bits a drink."
"Then straightening himself in his seat the first speaker called out:
"Stella!"
"What?" answered the woman in a low voice.
"Are you hungry?"
Quick as thought she raised her head and looked appealingly into his
face.
"Yes." Her lips trembled, and tears sprang into the dark eyes.
"Have you had anything to eat to-day?"
"No--little fish yesterday," she said quietly, holding up one finger to
indicate the number.
"Good God! She's starving! Here, you toddy slinger, there! I say, can't
you give this woman something to eat?" to the man behind the bar.
"Wal, I'm sorry to say it, but there aint no grub here; leastwise that's
good for Eskimo," he added with a wink.
"I guess most anything would be good for her, and you hand out something
real sudden, too," said the young man, tossing a bright silver dollar
toward the counter.
"Oh, wal', if that's the game, I'm here. Oyster cocktail and crackers,
eh, Stella?"
The woman's eyes brightened at the last words, which she understood; the
first she was a stranger to, but if it was something to fill the awful
void beneath she could eat it. She nodded eagerly.
Beggars could not be choosers. That was never plainer than now. Cocktail
and crackers soon disappeared, a good share of the latter going
underneath the woman's parkie to keep for her boy when he awaked. The
cocktail he must not have.
An hour later a few of the miners played on. Some, whose well filled
"pokes" permitted had gone to warm and comfortable beds, others to cold
and cheerless bunks, as the case happened; but the Eskimo woman, with
her sleeping boy on her lap, slept heavily. Sitting on the floor in a
corner, with her head against a bench, she had for a time forgotten her
sorrows.
Presently the door was partly opened, and an Eskimo slipped softly
inside. The men were still intent on their "black jack", and he was
unnoticed. His anxious face perceptibly brightened when he saw Estella,
and he gave a deep sigh of relief as he seated himself near the fire.
There was a lull between games at the green table.
"Say, boys, what's become of Buster?" asked one of the miners.
"Gone to the devil, I guess. That's where he was goin' the last time I
saw him," remarked one in no uncertain tone of voice.
"Oh, no, he's married a white woman," exclaimed the youngest of the
party.
"Ha, ha! That's a good 'un. My lad, I'm older'n you, and I tell you it
may be as you say and still not alter the case of his goin' to the old
boy. Some women I know of help a man faster that way than t'other," said
the old miner.
"Buster's a chump! Just look at all the money he's made off the natives
and see the way he treats 'em!" jerking his thumb over his shoulder
toward the two asleep in the corner.
"And that kid of his'n. He ought to take care of him instead of lettin'
him starve to death like this. I swear its a shame!"
"Yes, he ought to," from another of the group, "but he wont."
"When I was a kid I was told that a bird what can sing and wont sing
should be made to sing, and that fits Buster now."
"Oh, well, Alaska's a big place, and there's plenty of natives. It don't
matter if a few does die off, There'll be enough left, I reckon,"
carelessly remarked a man who had not spoken.
"You go 'way back and set down, Tenderfoot; you've allers got a pimple
on yer nose! Don't you s'pose that Eskimos feel or sense things? I do. I
think that such people as this, 'Stella now, orter be looked
after,--'specially with that boy of her'n, for he's a likely kid, and
might make somethin'. Wonder why the big guns at Washington don't try a
hand at helpin'? Seems to me they could if they'd a mind." The man ended
his speech in a lower tone of soliloquy.
"Easy to tell others what ter do, aint it, boss?" queried one.
"I s'pose that's so; but I was thinkin' of my own woman and kids at
home, and how I'd feel to see 'em starving!" Then as though regretting
the turn the conversation had taken, he reached for his furs, and while
pulling his parkie over his head preparatory to leaving, said more
briskly: "I'm goin' to bed, boys; you better do the same; it's near
mornin'," and with that he left the saloon.
Presently the little boy stirred and whimpered. Instantly the mother
roused herself, though with some effort, and the crackers were brought
to light. The child was ravenous, and ate greedily. When he had finished
the Eskimo by the fire came toward them, saying a few words softly in
his own tongue. With that the boy put out his arms and the man took him,
going back to his place by the fire.
The woman had changed her position, and was soon again asleep.
When daylight came, the bartender began moving about. He thought the
natives had better get into the fresh air, as he wanted to clean the
place, he said.
With that the two Eskimos plodded out through the snowdrifts; the man
carrying the child in his arms.
The blizzard had died away, and the air was still and cold. When they
reached the woman's door they entered, the man first pushing away the
snow with his feet, the child still cuddling in his arms.
Beside the camp stove lay piled a heap of small driftwood sticks and a
sack of coal. Upon the table a few eatables had been deposited,
evidently some hours before. A fire was soon crackling, and a meal was
cooking. To the woman's questions the man had not replied. He might have
been a deaf man, for all the notice he had taken. She still questioned,
speaking their native dialect. When all was done he came close, took her
hand in his own, and, speaking in Eskimo, said feelingly:
"My little sweetheart, wont you let me love you now? Many long and weary
moons have I waited until my heart is very sore. Tell me if you cannot
love me? I will be very good and you shall never starve. I will work. I
will bring much driftwood. I have salmon and tomcod, and a dog-team of
the best. In summer we will sail for Tubuktulik and make a pleasant
hunting camp. There we will shoot squirrels and the big bear, and you
shall again be happy with freedom."
At this effort of long speaking the Eskimo seemed abashed, for he was a
man of few words usually; but he still clung to the little hand of the
woman by his side.
"And my boy?" she whispered eagerly, with tears shining in her eyes,
which were now looking unreservedly into his own.
"He shall be mine, and I will ever love him," was the reply, as she
glanced proudly toward the baby amusing himself with the sticks.
"You are gentle to Stella, and she will do all things as you say,"
murmured the woman softly, with drooping head, and trembling.
"And will you love me always, little one?" putting his arms about her
and pressing her dose to his heart.
"Yes, always and forever. Then I will not be alone," she smiled brightly
through her tears at the prospect, while nestling closer in his strong
arms.
"Never alone again, dear one. I promise, if your heart will only love
me," said he, kissing her; and the child at play among the driftwood
sticks gravely gave a handful to his mother.
"He shall call you his papa," said she almost gaily, "for will it not be
true?"