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ALASKA

JOHN MUIR

PRESENTED

The University of Toronto

BY

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TRAVELS IN ALASKA. Illustrated.

THE STORY OF MY BOYHOOD AND
YOUTH. Illustrated.

MY FIRST SUMMER IN THE SIERRA, Illus-
trated.

STICKEEN : The Story of a Dog.

OUR NATIONAL PARKS. Illustrated Holiday
Edition.

HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY
Boston and New York

"Travels in Alaska

TRAVELS IN
ALASKA

BY

John Muir

WITH ILLUSTRATIONS

BOSTON AND NEW YORK

HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY

0;jit 0tter;jitie "^xzH Cambnbgt

1915

COPYRIGHT, I915, BY HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Published November igis

Preface

Forty years ago John Muir wrote to a friend; "I
am hopelessly and forever a mountaineer. . . . Civili-
zation and fever, and all the morbidness that has been
hooted at me, have not dimmed my glacial eyes, and
I care to live only to entice people to look at Nature's
loveliness." How gloriously he fulfilled the promise
of his early manhood! Fame, all unbidden, wore a
path to his door, but he always remained a modest,
unspoiled mountaineer. Kindred spirits, the greatest
of his time, sought him out, even in his mountain
cabin, and felt honored by his friendship. Ralph
Waldo Emerson urged him to visit Concord and rest
awhile from the strain of his solitary studies in the
Sierra Nevada. But nothing could dislodge him
from the glacial problems of the high Sierra; with
passionate interest he kept at his task. "The gran-
deur of these forces and their glorious results," he once
wrote, "overpower me and inhabit my whole being.
Waking or sleeping, I have no rest. In dreams I read
blurred sheets of glacial writing, or follow lines of
cleavage, or struggle with the difficulties of some ex-
traordinary rock-form."

There is a note of pathos, the echo of an unfulfilled
hope, in the record of his later visit to Concord. "It
was seventeen years after our parting on Wawona
ridge that I stood beside his [Emerson's] grave under

[ v]

Preface

a pine tree on the hill above Sleepy Hollow. He had
gone to higher Sierras, and, as I fancied, was again
waving his hand in friendly re-cognition." And now
John Muir has followed his friend of other days to the
"higher Sierras." His earthly remains lie among trees
planted by his own hand. To the pine tree of Sleepy
Hollow answers a guardian sequoia in the sunny Al-
hambra Valley.

In 1879 John Muir went to Alaska for the first
time. Its stupendous living glaciers aroused his un-
bounded interest, for they enabled him to verify his
theories of glacial action. Again and again he re-
turned to this continental laboratory of landscapes.
The greatest of the tide-water glaciers appropriately
commemorates his name. Upon this book of Alaska
travels, all but finished before his unforeseen depar-
ture, John Muir expended the last months of his life.
It was begun soon after his return from Africa in
191 2. His eager leadership of the ill-fated campaign
to save his beloved Hetch-Hetchy Valley from com-
mercial destruction seriously interrupted his labors.
Illness, also, interposed some checks as he worked
with characteristic care and thoroughness through
the great mass of Alaska notes that had accumulated
under his hands for more than thirty years.

The events recorded in this volume end in the
middle of the trip of 1890. Muir's notes on the re-
mainder of the journey have not been found, and it is
idle to speculate how he would have concluded the
volume if he had lived to complete it. But no one
will read the fascinating description of the Northern

[ vi]

Preface

Lights without feeling a poetical appropriateness in
the fact that his last work ends with a portrayal of
the auroras — one of those phenomena which else-
where he described as "the most glorious of all the
terrestrial manifestations of God."

Muir's manuscripts bear on every page impressive
evidence of the pains he took in his literary work,
and the lofty standard he set himself in his scientific
studies. The counterfeiting of a fact or of an experi-
ence was a thing unthinkable in connection with
John Muir. He was tireless in pursuing the mean-
ing of a physiographical fact, and his extraordinary
physical endurance usually enabled him to trail it to
its last hiding-place. Often, when telling the tale of
his adventures in Alaska, his eyes would kindle with
youthful enthusiasm, and he would live over again
the red-blooded years that yielded him "shapeless
harvests of revealed glory."

For a number of months just prior to his death he
had the friendly assistance of Mrs. Marion Randall
Parsons. Her familiarity with the manuscript, and
with Mr. Muir's expressed and penciled intentions
of revision and arrangement, made her the logical
person to prepare it in final form for publication. It
was a task to which she brought devotion as well as
ability. The labor involved was the greater in order
that the finished work might exhibit the last touches
of Muir's master-hand, and yet contain nothing that
did not flow from his pen. All readers of this book
will feel grateful for her labor of love.

I add these prefatory lines to the work of my de-
[ vii]

Preface

parted friend with pensive misgiving, knowing that
he would have deprecated any discharge of musketry
over his grave. His daughters, Mrs. Thomas Rea
Hanna and Mrs. Buel Alvin Funk, have honored me
with the request to transmit the manuscript for pub-
lication, and later to consider with them what salvage
may be made from among their father's unpublished
writings. They also wish me to express their grateful
acknowledgments to Houghton Mifflin Company,
with whom John Muir has always maintained close
and friendly relations.

William Frederic Bade.

Berkeley, California,
il/ay, 19x5.

Contents

PART I. THE TRIP OF 1879

I. PuGET Sound and British Columbia ... 3

II. Alexander Archipelago and the Home I found

IN Alaska 13

III. Wrangell Island and Alaska Summers . . 25

IV. The Stickeen River 44

V. A Cruise in the Cassiar 5^

VI. The Cassiar Trail 76

VII. Glenora Peak 87

VIII. Exploration of the Stickeen Glaciers . . 97

IX. A Canoe Voyage to Northward . . . .114

X. The Discovery of Glacier Bay . . . .140

XI. The Country of the Chilcats 161

XII. The Return to Fort Wrangell . . . .178

XIII. Alaska Indians 197

PART II. THE TRIP OF 1880

XIV. Sum Dum Bay 207

XV. From Taku River to Taylor Bay . . . .234

XVI. Glacier Bay 258

[ix]

Contents

PARTJII. THE TRIP OF 1890

XVII. In Camp at Glacier Bay 273

XVIII. My Sled-Trip on the Muir Glacier . . .294
XIX. Auroras .. ^,-

Index j,^

Glossary of Words in the Chinook Jargon . 329

Illustrations

Alpenglow on Summit of Mt. Muir, Harrison Fiord,
Prince William Sound Frontispiece

Hanging Valley and Waterfall, Fraser Reach . . 14

Lowe Inlet, British Columbia 18

Indian Canoes 30

Alaskan Hemlocks and Spruces, Sitka .... 62

Old Chief and Totem Pole, Wrangell .... 72

Admiralty Island 128

The Muir Glacier in the Seventies, showing Ice

Cliffs and Stranded Icebergs 158

From a photograph owned by Mr. Muir

Stranded Icebergs, Taku Glacier 182

Vegetation at High-Tide Line, Sitka Harbor . . 212

Ruins of Buried Forest, East Side of Muir Glacier . 292

From a photograph owned by Mr. Muir

Floating Iceberg, Taku Inlet 312

Except as otherwise indicated the illus-
trations are from photographs by Herbert
W. Gleason.

The colored half-tone which appears on
the cover is from a painting of the Muir
Glacier by Thomas Hill, owned by Mr.
Muir.

'Travels in Alaska

Part I
The Trip of iSjg

Travels in Alaska

CHAPTER I

PUGET SOUND AND BRITISH COLUMBIA

AFTER eleven years of study and exploration in
the Sierra Nevada of California and the moun-
tain-ranges of the Great Basin, studying in particular
their glaciers, forests, and wild life, above all their
ancient glaciers and the influence they exerted in
sculpturing the rocks over which they passed with
tremendous pressure, making new landscapes, scen-
ery, and beauty which so mysteriously influence
every human being, and to some extent all life, I was
anxious to gain some knowledge of the regions to the
northward, about Puget Sound and Alaska. With
this grand object in view I left San Francisco in May,
1879, on the steamer Dakota, without any definite
plan, as with the exception of a few of the Oregon
peaks and their forests all the wild north was new
to me.

To the mountaineer a sea voyage is a grand, inspir-
ing, restful change. For forests and plains with their
flowers and fruits we have new scenery, new life of
every sort; water hills and dales in eternal visible
motion for rock waves, types of permanence.

It was curious to note how suddenly the eager
countenances of the passengers were darkened as soon

[3 ]

"Travels in Alaska

as the good ship passed through the Golden Gate and
began to heave on the waves of the open ocean. The
crowded deck was speedily deserted on account of
seasickness. It seemed strange that nearly every one
afflicted should be more or less ashamed.

Next morning a strong wind was blowing, and the
sea was gray and white, with long breaking waves,
across which the Dakota was racing half-buried in
spray. Very few of the passengers were on deck to
enjoy the wild scenery. Every wave seemed to be
making enthusiastic, eager haste to the shore, with
long, irised tresses streaming from its tops, some of
its outer fringes borne away in scud to refresh the
wind, all the rolling, pitching, flying water exulting
in the beauty of rainbow light. Gulls and albatrosses,
strong, glad life in the midst of the stormy beauty,
skimmed the waves against the wind, seemingly with-
out effort, oftentimes flying nearly a mile without a
single wing-beat, gracefully swaying from side to side
and tracing the curves of the briny water hills with
the finest precision, now and then just grazing the
highest.

And yonder, glistening amid the irised spray, is d
still more striking revelation of warm life in the so-
called howling waste, — a half-dozen whales, their
broad backs like glaciated bosses of granite heaving
aloft in near view, spouting lustily, drawing a long
breath, and plunging down home in colossal health
and comfort. A merry school of porpoises, a square
mile of them, suddenly appear, tossing themselves
into the air in abounding strength and hilarity, add-

[4]

Puget Sound and British Columbia

ing foam to the waves and making all the wilderness
wilder. One cannot but feel sympathy with and be
proud of these brave neighbors, fellow citizens in the
commonwealth of the world, making a living like the
rest of us. Our good ship also seemed like a thing of
life, its great iron heart beating on through calm and
storm, a truly noble spectacle. But think of the hearts
of these whales, beating warm against the sea, day
and night, through dark and light, on and on for cen-
turies; how the red blood must rush and gurgle in and
out, bucketfuls, barrelfuls at a beat!

The cloud colors of one of the four sunsets enjoyed
on the voyage were remarkably pure and rich in tone.
There was a well-defined range of cumuli a few de-
grees above the horizon, and a massive, dark-gray
rain-cloud above it, from which depended long, bent
fringes overlapping the lower cumuli and partially
veiling them; and from time to time sunbeams poured
through narrow openings and painted the exposed
bosses and fringes in ripe yellow tones, which, with
the reflections on the water, made magnificent pic-
tures. The scenery of the ocean, however sublime in
vast expanse, seems far less beautiful to us dry-shod
animals than that of the land seen only in compara-
tively small patches; but when we contemplate the
whole globe as one great dewdrop, striped and dotted
with continents and islands, flying through space
with other stars all singing and shining together as
one, the whole universe appears as an infinite storm
of beauty.

The California coast-hills and cliffs look bare and

isl

"Travels in Alaska

uninviting as seen from the ship, the magnificent
forests keeping well back out of sight beyond the
reach of the sea winds ; those of Oregon and Washing-
ton are in some places clad with conifers nearly down
to the shore; even the little detached islets, so marked
a feature to the northward, are mostly tree-crowned.
Up through the Straits of Juan de Fuca the forests,
sheltered from the ocean gales and favored with
abundant rains, flourish in marvelous luxuriance on
the glacier-sculptured mountains of the Olympic
Range.

We arrived in Esquimault Harbor, three miles from
Victoria, on the evening of the fourth day, and drove
to the town through a magnificent forest of Douglas
spruce, — with an undergrowth in open spots of oak,
madrone, hazel, dogwood, alder, spiraea, willow, and
wild rose, — and around many an upswelling mou-
tonne rock, freshly glaciated and furred with yellow
mosses and lichens.

Victoria, the capital of British Columbia, was in
1879 a small old-fashioned English town on the south
end of Vancouver Island. It was said to contain about
six thousand inhabitants. The government buildings
and some of the business blocks were noticeable, but
the attention of the traveler was more worthily at-
tracted to the neat cottage homes found here, em-
bowered in the freshest and floweriest climbing roses
and honeysuckles conceivable. Californians may
well be proud of their home roses loading sunny veran-
das, climbing to the tops of the roofs and falling over
the gables in white and red cascades. But here, with

[6]

Puget Sound and British Columbia

so much bland fog and dew and gentle laving rain, a
still finer development of some of the commonest
garden plants is reached. English honeysuckle seems
to have found here a most congenial home. Still
more beautiful were the wild roses, blooming in won-
derful luxuriance along the woodland paths, with
corollas two and three inches wide. This rose and
three species of spiraea fairly filled the air with fra-
grance after showers ; and how brightly then did the
red dogwood berries shine amid the green leaves be-
neath trees two hundred and fifty feet high.

Strange to say, all of this exuberant forest and
flower vegetation was growing upon fresh moraine
material scarcely at all moved or in any way modified
by post-glacial agents. In the town gardens and
orchards, peaches and apples fell upon glacier-pol-
ished rocks, and the streets were graded in moraine
gravel; and I observed scratched and grooved rock
bosses as unweathered and telling as those of the
High Sierra of California eight thousand feet or more
above sea-level. The Victoria Harbor is plainly
glacial in origin, eroded from the solid; and the rock
islets that rise here and there in it are unchanged to
any appreciable extent by all the waves that have
broken over them since first they came to light to-
ward the close of the glacial period. The shores also
of the harbor are strikingly grooved and scratched
and in every way as glacial in all their characteristics
as those of new-born glacial lakes. That the domain
of the sea is being slowly extended over the land by
incessant wave-action is well known; but in this

[7l

T'raveh in Alaska

freshly glaciated region the shores have been so short
a time exposed to wave-action that they are scarcely
at all wasted. The extension of the sea affected by its
own action in post-glacial times is probably less than
the millionth part of that affected by glacial action
during the last glacier period. The direction of the
flow of the ice-sheet to which all the main features of
this wonderful region are due was in general south-
ward.

From this quiet little English town I made many
short excursions — up the coast to Nanaimo, to Bur-
rard Inlet, now the terminus of the Canadian Pacific
Railroad, to Puget Sound, up Fraser River to New
Westminster and Yale at the head of navigation,
charmed everywhere with the wild, new-born scen-
ery. The most interesting of these and the most
difficult to leave was the Puget Sound region, famous
the world over for the wonderful forests of gigantic
trees about its shores. It is an arm and many-fingered
hand of the sea, reaching southward from the Straits
of Juan de Fuca about a hundred miles into the
heart of one of the noblest coniferous forests on the
face of the globe. All its scenery is wonderful —
broad river-like reaches sweeping in beautiful curves
around bays and capes and jutting promontories,
opening here and there into smooth, blue, lake-like
expanses dotted with islands and feathered with tall,
spiry evergreens, their beauty doubled on the bright
mirror-water.

Sailing from Victoria, the Olympic Mountains are
seen right ahead, rising in bold relief against the sky,

[8]

Puget Sound and British Columbia

with jagged crests and peaks from six to eight thou-
sand feet high, — small residual glaciers and ragged
snow-fields beneath them in wide amphitheatres
opening down through the forest-filled valleys. These
valleys mark the courses of the Olympic glaciers at
the period of their greatest extension, when they
poured their tribute into that portion of the great
northern ice-sheet that overswept Vancouver Island
and filled the strait between it and the mainland.

On the way up to Olympia, then a hopeful little
town situated at the end of one of the longest fingers
of the Sound, one is often reminded of Lake Tahoe,
the scenery of the widest expanses is so lake-like in
the clearness and stillness of the water and the luxu-
riance of the surrounding forests. Doubling cape
after cape, passing uncounted islands, new combina-
tions break on the view in endless variety, sufficient to
satisfy the lover of wild beauty through a whole life.
When the clouds come down, blotting out everything,
one feels as if at sea; again lifting a little, some islet
may be seen standing alone with the tops of its trees
dipping out of sight in gray misty fringes; then the
ranks of spruce and cedar bounding the water's edge
come to view; and when at length the whole sky is
clear the colossal cone of Mt. Rainier may be seen in
spotless white, looking down over the dark woods
from a distance of fifty or sixty miles, but so high and
massive and so sharply outlined, it seems to be just
back of a strip of woods only a few miles wide.

Mt. Rainier, or Tahoma (the Indian name), is the
noblest of the volcanic cones extending from Lassen

[9]

"Travels in Alaska

Butte and Mt. Shasta along the Cascade Range to
Mt. Baker. One of the most telling views of it here-
abouts is obtained near Tacoma. From a bluff back of
the town it was revealed in all its glory, laden with gla-
ciers and snow down to the forested foothills around
its finely curved base. Up to this time (1879) it had
been ascended but once. From observations made
on the summit with, a single aneroid barometer, it
was estimated to be about 14,500 feet high. Mt.
Baker, to the northward, is about 10,700 feet high, a
noble mountain. So also are Mt. Adams, Mt. St.
Helens, and Mt. Hood. The latter, overlooking the
town of Portland, is perhaps the best known. Rainier,
about the same height as Shasta, surpasses them all
in massive icy grandeur, — the most majestic soli-
tary mountain I had ever yet beheld. How eagerly I
gazed and longed to climb it and study its history
only the mountaineer may know, but I was compelled
to turn away and bide my time.

The species forming the bulk of the woods here is
the Douglas spruce {Pseudotsuga douglasii), one of
the greatest of the western giants. A specimen that
I measured near Olympia was about three hundred
feet in height and twelve feet in diameter four feet
above the ground. It is a widely distributed tree, ex-
tending northward through British Columbia, south-
ward through Oregon and California, and eastward
to the Rocky Mountains. The timber is used for ship-
building, spars, piles, and the framework of houses,
bridges, etc. In the California lumber markets it is
known as "Oregon pine." In Utah, where it is com-

[ 10 ]

Puget Sound and British Columbia

mon on the Wahsatch Mountains, it is called "red
pine." In California, on the western slope of the
Sierra Nevada, it forms, in company with the yellow
pine, sugar pine, and incense cedar, a pretty well-
defined belt at a height of from three to six thousand
feet above the sea; but it is only in Oregon and Wash-
ington, especially in this Puget Sound region, that
it reaches its very grandest development, — tall,
straight, and strong, growing down close to tide-
water.

All the towns of the Sound had a hopeful, thrifty
aspect. Port Townsend, picturesquely located on a
grassy bluff, was the port of clearance for vessels sail-
ing to foreign parts. Seattle was famed for its coal-
mines, and claimed to be the coming town of the
North Pacific Coast. So also did its rival, Tacoma,
which had been selected as the terminus of the much-
talked-of Northern Pacific Railway. Several coal-
veins of astonishing thickness were discovered the
winter before on the Carbon River, to the east of
Tacoma, one of them said to be no less than twenty-
one feet, another twenty feet, another fourteen, with
many smaller ones, the aggregate thickness of all
the veins being upwards of a hundred feet. Large
deposits of magnetic iron ore and brown hematite,
together with limestone, had been discovered in ad-
vantageous proximity to the coal, making a bright
outlook for the Sound region in general in connection
with its railroad hopes, its unrivaled timber resources,
and its far-reaching geographical relations.

After spending a few weeks in the Puget Sound

I "1

l^raveh in Alaska

region with a friend from San Francisco, we engaged
passage on the little mail steamer California, at Port-
land, Oregon, for Alaska. The sail down the broad
lower reaches of the Columbia and across its foamy-
bar, around Cape Flattery, and up the Juan de Fuca
Strait, was delightful; and after calling again at Vic-
toria and Port Townsend we got fairly off for icy
Alaska.

CHAPTER II

ALEXANDER ARCHIPELAGO AND THE HOME I FOUND
IN ALASKA

TO the lover of pure wildness Alaska is one of
the most wonderful countries in the world. No
excursion that I know of may be made into any other
American wilderness where so marvelous an abun-
dance of noble, newborn scenery is so charmingly
brought to view as on the trip through the Alexander
Archipelago to Fort Wrangell and Sitka. Gazing
from the deck of the steamer, one is borne smoothly
over calm blue waters, through the midst of countless
forest-clad islands. The ordinary discomforts of a sea
voyage are not felt, for nearly all the whole long way
is on inland waters that are about as waveless as
rivers and lakes. So numerous are the islands that
they seem to have been sown broadcast; long tapering
vistas between the largest of them open in every
direction.

Day after day in the fine weather we enjoyed, we
seemed to float in true fairyland, each succeeding
view seeming more and more beautiful, the one we
chanced to have before us the most surprisingly
beautiful of all. Never before this had I been em-
bosomed in scenery so hopelessly beyond description.
To sketch picturesque bits, definitely bounded, is
comparatively easy — a lake in the woods, a glacier

[ 13 1

travels in Alaska

meadow, or a cascade in its dell; or even a grand
master view of mountains beheld from some com-
manding outlook after climbing from height to height
above the forests. These may be attempted, and
more or less telling pictures made of them ; but in these
coast landscapes there is such indefinite, on-leading
expansiveness, such a multitude of features without
apparent redundance, their lines graduating delicately
into one another in endless succession, while the
whole is so fine, so tender, so ethereal, that all {)en-
work seems hopelessly unavailing. Tracing shining
ways through fiord and sound, past forests and water-
falls, islands and mountains and far azure headlands,
it seems as if surely we must at length reach the very
paradise of the poets, the abode of the blessed.

Some idea of the wealth of this scenery may be
gained from the fact that the coast-line of Alaska is
about twenty-six thousand miles long, more than
twice as long as all the rest of the United States.
The islands of the Alexander Archipelago, with the
straits, channels, canals, sounds, passages, and fiords,
form an intricate web of land and water embroidery
sixty or seventy miles wide, fringing the lofty icy chain
of coast mountains from Puget Sound to Cook Inlet;
and, with infinite variety, the general pattern is har-
monious throughout its whole extent of nearly a
thousand miles. Here you glide into a narrow chan-
nel hemmed in by mountain walls, forested down to
the water's edge, where there is no distant view, and
your attention is concentrated on the objects close
about you — the crowded spires of the spruces and

[ 14]

"The Home I Found in Alaska

hemlocks rising higher and higher on the steep green
slopes; stripes of paler green where winter avalanches
have cleared away the trees, allowing grasses and
willows to spring up; zigzags of cascades appearing
and disappearing among the bushes and trees; short,
steep glens with brawling streams hidden beneath
alder and dogwood, seen only where they emerge on
the brown algae of the shore; and retreating hollows,
with lingering snow-banks marking the fountains of
ancient glaciers. The steamer is often so near the
shore that you may distinctly see the cones clustered
on the tops of the trees, and the ferns and bushes at
their feet.

But new scenes are brought to view with magical
rapidity. Rounding some bossy cape, the eye is
called away into far-reaching vistas, bounded on
either hand by headlands in charming array, one dip-
ping gracefully beyond another and growing fainter
and more ethereal in the distance. The tranquil
channel stretching river-like between, may be stirred
here and there by the silvery plashing of upspringing
salmon, or by flocks of white gulls floating Hke water-
lilies among the sun spangles; while mellow, tempered
sunshine is streaming over all, blending sky, land, and
water in pale, misty blue. Then, while you are dream-
ily gazing into the depths of this leafy ocean lane, the
little steamer, seeming hardly larger than a duck,
turning into some passage not visible until the mo-
ment of entering it, glides into a wide expanse — a
sound filled with islands, sprinkled and clustered in
forms and compositions such as nature alone can in-

I IS 1

"Travels in Alaska

vent; some of them so small the trees growing on them
seem like single handfuls culled from the neighbor-
ing woods and set in the water to keep them fresh,
while here and there at wide intervals you may notice
bare rocks just above the water, mere dots punctuat-
ing grand, outswelling sentences of islands.

The variety we find, both as to the contours and
the collocation of the islands, is due chiefly to difl"er-
ences in the structure and composition of their rocks,
and the unequal glacial denudation diff'erent portions
of the coast were subjected to. This influence must
have been especially heavy toward the end of the
glacial period, when the main ice-sheet began to
break up into separate glaciers. Moreover, the moun-
tains of the larger islands nourished local glaciers,
some of them of considerable size, which sculptured
their summits and sides, forming in some cases wide
cirques with canons or valleys leading down from
them into the channels and sounds. These causes
have produced much of the bewildering variety of
which nature is so fond, but none the less will the
studious observer see the underlying harmony — the
general trend of the islands in the direction of the flow
of the main ice-mantle from the mountains of the
Coast Range, more or less varied by subordinate
foothill ridges and mountains. Furthermore, all the
islands, great and small, as well as the headlands and
promontories of the mainland, are seen to have a
rounded, over-rubbed appearance produced by the
over-sweeping ice-flood during the period of greatest
glacial abundance.

[ i6]

"The Home I Found in Alaska

The canals, channels, straits, passages, sounds, etc.,
are subordinate to the same glacial conditions in their
forms, trends, and extent as those which determined
the forms, trends, and distribution of the land-masses,
their basins being the parts of the pre-glacial margin
of the continent, eroded to varying depths below sea-
level, and into which, of course, the ocean waters
flowed as the ice was melted out of them. Had the
general glacial denudation been much less, these ocean
ways over which we are sailing would have been val-
leys and caiions and lakes; and the islands rounded
hills and ridges, landscapes with undulating features
like those found above sea-level wherever the rocks
and glacial conditions are similar. In general, the
island-bound channels are like rivers, not only in
separate reaches as seen from the deck of a vessel,
but continuously so for hundreds of miles in the case
of the longest of them. The tide-currents, the fresh
driftwood, the inflowing streams, and the luxuriant
foliage of the out-leaning trees on the shores make
this resemblance all the more complete. The largest
islands look like part of the mainland in any view to be
had of them from the ship, but far the greater number
are small, and appreciable as islands, scores of them
being less than a mile long. These the eye easily
takes in and revels in their beauty with ever fresh de-
light. In their relations to each other the individual
members of a group have evidently been derived from
the same general rock-mass, yet they never seem
broken or abridged in any way as to their contour
lines, however abruptly they may dip their sides.

[ 17]

"Travels in Alaska

Viewed one by one, they seem detached beauties, like
extracts from a poem, while, from the completeness of
their lines and the way that their trees are arranged,
each seems a finished stanza in itself. Contemplating
the arrangement of the trees on these small islands, a
distinct impression is produced of their having been
sorted and harmonized as to size like a well-balanced
bouquet. On some of the smaller tufted islets a group
of tapering spruces is planted in the middle, and
two smaller groups that evidently correspond with
each other are planted on the ends at about equal
distances from the central group; or the whole ap-
pears as one group with marked fringing trees that
match each other spreading around the sides, like
flowers leaning outward against the rim of a vase.
These harmonious tree relations are so constant that
they evidently are the result of design, as much so as
the arrangement of the feathers of birds or the scales
of fishes.

Thus perfectly beautiful are these blessed ever-
green islands, and their beauty is the beauty of youth,
for though the freshness of their verdure must be as-
cribed to the bland moisture with which they are
bathed from warm ocean-currents, the very existence
of the islands, their features, finish, and peculiar dis-
tribution, are all immediately referable to ice-action
during the great glacial winter just now drawing to a
close.

We arrived at Wrangell July 14, and after a short
stop of a few hours went on to Sitka and returned on

[ 18]

"The Home I Found in Alaska

the 20th to Wrangell, the most inhospitable place at
first sight I had ever seen. The little steamer that had
been my home in the wonderful trip through the
archipelago, after taking the mail, departed on her
return to Portland, and as I watched her gliding out
of sight in the dismal blurring rain, I felt strangely
lonesome. The friend that had accompanied me thus
far now left for his home in San Francisco, with two
other interesting travelers who had made the trip for
health and scenery, while my fellow passengers, the
missionaries, went direct to the Presbyterian home in
the old fort. There was nothing like a tavern or lodg-
ing-house in the village, nor could I find any place in
the stumpy, rocky, boggy ground about it that looked
dry enough to camp on until I could find a way into
the wilderness to begin my studies. Every place
within a mile or two of the town seemed strangely
shelterless and inhospitable, for all the trees had long
ago been felled for building-timber and firewood. At
the worst, I thought, I could build a bark hut on a
hill back of the village, where something like a forest
loomed dimly through the draggled clouds.

I had already seen some of the high glacier-bearing
mountains in distant views from the steamer, and
was anxious to reach them. A few whites of the village,
with whom I entered into conversation, warned me
that the Indians were a bad lot, not to be trusted,
that the woods were well-nigh impenetrable, and
that I could go nowhere without a canoe. On the
other hand, these natural difficulties made the grand
wild country all the more attractive, and I deter-

[ 19 ]

"Travels in Alaska

mined to get Into the heart of It somehow or other
with a bag of hardtack, trusting to my usual good
luck. My present difficulty was in finding a first base
camp. My only hope was on the hill. When I was
strolling past the old fort I happened to meet one of
the missionaries, who kindly asked me where I was
going to take up my quarters.

"I don't know," I replied. "I have not been able
to find quarters of any sort. The top of that little hill
over there seems the only possible place."

He then explained that every room in the mission
house was full, but he thought I might obtain leave
to spread my blanket in a carpenter-shop belonging to
the mission. Thanking him, I ran down to the sloppy
wharf for my little bundle of baggage, laid it on the
shop floor, and felt glad and snug among the dry,
sweet-smelling shavings.

The carpenter was at work on a new Presbyterian
mission building, and when he came in I explained
that Dr. Jackson^ had suggested that I might be al-
lowed to sleep on the floor, and after I assured him
that I would not touch his tools or be in his way, he
goodnaturedly gave me the freedom of the shop and
also of his small private side room where I would find
a wash-basin.

I was here only one night, however, for Mr. Van-
derbilt, a merchant, who with his family occupied the
best house in the fort, hearing that one of the late

1 Dr. Sheldon Jackson, 1834-1909, became Superintendent of Pres-
byterian Missions in Alaska in 1877, and United States General Agent
of Education in 1885. [W. F. B.J

[20]

"The Home I Found in Alaska

arrivals, whose business none seemed to know, was
compelled to sleep in the carpenter-shop, paid me a
good-Samaritan visit and after a few explanatory
words on my glacier and forest studies, with fine
hospitality offered me a room and a place at his table.
Here I found a real home, with freedom to go on all
sorts of excursions as opportunity offered. Annie
Vanderbilt, a little doctor of divinity two years old,
ruled the household with love sermons and kept it
warm.

Mr. Vanderbilt introduced me to prospectors and
traders and some of the most influential of the Indians.
I visited the mission school and the home for Indian
girls kept by Mrs. MacFarland, and made short ex-
cursions to the nearby forests and streams, and
studied the rate of growth of the different species of
trees and their age, counting the annual rings on
stumps in the large clearings made by the military
when the fort was occupied, causing wondering specu-
lation among the Wrangell folk, as was reported by
Mr. Vanderbilt.

"What can the fellow be up to?" they inquired.
"He seems to spend most of his time among stumps
and weeds. I saw him the other day on his knees,
looking at a stump as if he expected to find gold in it.
He seems to have no serious object whatever."

One night when a heavy rainstorm was blowing I
unwittingly caused a lot of wondering excitement
among the whites as well as the superstitious Indians.
Being anxious to see how the Alaska trees behave in
storms and hear the songs they sing, I stole quietly

[21 ]

travels in Alaska

away through the gray drenching blast to the hill
back of the town, without being observed. Night was
falling when I set out and it was pitch dark when I
reached the top. The glad, rejoicing storm in glorious
voice was singing through the woods, noble compensa-
tion for mere body discomfort. But I wanted a fire, a
big one, to see as well as hear how the storm and
trees were behaving. After long, patient groping I
found a little dry punk in a hollow trunk and care-
fully stored it beside my matchbox and an inch or
two of candle in an inside pocket that the rain had
not yet reached; then, wiping some dead twigs and
whittling them into thin shavings, stored them with
the punk. I then made a little conical bark hut about
a foot high, and, carefully leaning over it and shelter-
ing it as much as possible from the driving rain, I
wiped and stored a lot of dead twigs, lighted the
candle, and set it in the hut, carefully added pinches
of punk and shavings, and at length got a little blaze,
by the light of which I gradually added larger shav-
ings, then twigs all set on end astride the inner flame,
making the little hut higher and wider. Soon I had
light enough to enable me to select the best dead
branches and large sections of bark, which were set on
end, gradually increasing the height and correspond-
ing light of the hut fire. A considerable area was thus
well lighted, from which I gathered abundance of
wood, and kept adding to the fire until it had a strong,
hot heart and sent up a pillar of flame thirty or forty
feet high, illuminating a wide circle in spite of the
rain, and casting a red glare into the flying clouds. Of

[ 22]

"The Home I Found in Alaska

all the thousands of camp-fires I have elsewhere
built none was just like this one, rejoicing in trium-
phant strength and beauty in the heart of the rain-
laden gale. It was wonderful, — the illumined rain and
clouds mingled together and the trees glowing against
the jet background, the colors of the mossy, lichened
trunks with sparkling streams pouring down the fur-
rows of the bark, and the gray-bearded old patriarchs
bowing low and chanting in passionate worship !

My fire was in all its glory about midnight, and,
having made a bark shed to shelter me from the rain
and partially dry my clothing, I had nothing to do
but look and listen and join the trees in their hymns
and prayers.

Neither the great white heart of the fire nor the
quivering enthusiastic flames shooting aloft like
auroral lances could be seen from the village on ac^
count of the trees in front of it and its being back a
little way over the brow of the hill; but the light in the
clouds made a great show, a portentous sign in the
stormy heavens unlike anything ever before seen or
heard of in Wrangell. Some wakeful Indians, happen-
ing to see it about midnight, in great alarm aroused
the Collector of Customs and begged him to go to the
missionaries and get them to pray away the frightful
omen, and inquired anxiously whether white men had
ever seen anything like that sky-fire, which instead of
being quenched by the rain was burning brighter and
brighter. The Collector said he had heard of such
strange fires, and this one he thought might perhaps
be what the white man called a "volcano, or an ignis

[23l

"Travels in Alaska

fatuus.''^ When Mr. Young was called from his bed
to pray, he, too, confoundedly astonished and at a loss
for any sort of explanation, confessed that he had
never seen anything like it in the sky or anywhere
else in such cold wet weather, but that it was prob-
ably some sort of spontaneous combustion "that the
white man called St. Elmo's fire, or Will-of-the-wisp."
These explanations, though not convincingly clear,
perhaps served to veil their own astonishment and in
some measure to diminish the superstitious fears of
the natives; but from what I heard, the few whites
who happened to see the strange light wondered
about as wildly as the Indians.

I have enjoyed thousands of camp-fires in all sorts
of weather and places, warm-hearted, short-flamed,
friendly little beauties glowing in the dark on open
spots in high Sierra gardens, daisies and lilies circled
about them, gazing like enchanted children; and
large fires in silver fir forests, with spires of flame
towering like the trees about them, and sending up
multitudes of starry sparks to enrich the sky; and
still greater fires on the mountains in winter, chang-
ing camp climate to summer, and making the frosty
snow look like beds of white flowers, and oftentimes
mingling their swarms of swift-flying sparks with
falling snow-crystals when the clouds were in bloom.
But this Wrangell camp-fire, my first in Alaska, I
shall always remember for its triumphant storm-defy-
ing grandeur, and the wondrous beauty of the psalm-
singing, lichen-painted trees which it brought to light.

CHAPTER III

WRANGELL ISLAND AND ALASKA SUMMERS

WRANGELL ISLAND is about fourteen miles
long, separated from the mainland by a nar-
row channel or fiord, and trending in the direction of
the flow of the ancient ice-sheet. Like all its neigh-
bors, it is densely forested down to the water's edge
with trees that never seem to have suffered from
thirst or fire or the axe of the lumberman in all their
long century lives. Beneath soft, shady clouds, with
abundance of rain, they flourish in wonderful strength
and beauty to a good old age, while the many warm
days, half cloudy, half clear, and the little groups of
pure sun-days enable them to ripen their cones and
send myriads of seeds flying every autumn to insure
the permanence of the forests and feed the multitude
of animals.

The Wrangell village was a rough place. No mining
hamlet in the placer gulches of California, nor any
backwoods village I ever saw, approached it in pic-
turesque, devil-may-care abandon. It was a lawless
draggle of wooden huts and houses, built in crooked
lines, wrangling around the boggy shore of the island
for a mile or so in the general form of the letter S,
without the slightest subordination to the points of
the compass or to building laws of any kind. Stumps
and logs, like precious monuments, adorned its two
streets, each stump and log, on account of the moist

[25]

"Travels in Alaska

climate, moss-grown and tufted with grass and bushes,
but muddy on the sides below the limit of the bog-
line. The ground in general was an oozy, mossy bog
on a foundation of jagged rocks, full of concealed pit-
holes. These picturesque rock, bog, and stump ob-
structions, however, were not so very much in the
way, for there were no wagons or carriages there.
There was not a horse on the island. The domestic
animals were represented by chickens, a lonely cow, a
few sheep, and hogs of a breed well calculated to
deepen and complicate the mud of the streets.

Most of the permanent residents of Wrangell were
engaged in trade. Some little trade was carried on in
fish and furs, but most of the quickening business of
the place was derived from the Cassiar gold-mines,
some two hundred and fifty or three hundred miles
inland, by way of the Stickeen River and Dease Lake.
Two stern-wheel steamers plied on the river between
Wrangell and Telegraph Creek at the head of nav-
igation, a hundred and fifty miles from Wrangell,
carrying freight and passengers and connecting with
pack-trains for the mines. These placer mines, on trib-
utaries of the Mackenzie River, were discovered in the
year 1874. About eighteen hundred miners and pros-
pectors were said to have passed through Wrangell
that season of 1879, about half of them being China-
men. Nearly a third of this whole number set out
from here in the month of February, traveling on the
Stickeen River, which usually remains safely frozen
until toward the end of April. The main bod)^ of the
miners, however, went up on the steamers in May and

[26]

TVrangell Island

June. On account of the severe winters they were all
compelled to leave the mines the end of September.
Perhaps about two thirds of them passed the winter
in Portland and Victoria and the towns of Puget
Sound. The rest remained here in Wrangell, dozing
away the long winter as best they could.

Indians, mostly of the Stickeen tribe, occupied the
two ends of the town, the whites, of whom there were
about forty or fifty, the middle portion; but there was
no determinate line of demarcation, the dwellings of
the Indians being mostly as large and solidly built of
logs and planks as those of the whites. Some of them
were adorned with tall totem poles.

The fort was a quadrangular stockade with a dozen
block and frame buildings located upon rising ground
just back of the business part of the town. It was
built by our Government shortly after the purchase
of Alaska, and was abandoned in 1872, reoccupied by
the military in 1875, ^^^^ finally abandoned and sold
to private parties in 1877. In the fort and about it
there were a few good, clean homes, which shone all
the more brightly in their sombre surroundings. The
ground occupied by the fort, by being carefully
leveled and drained was dry, though formerly a por-
tion of the general swamp, showing how easily the
whole town could have been improved. But in spite
of disorder and squalor, shaded with clouds, washed
and wiped by rain and sea winds, it was triumphantly
salubrious through all the seasons. And though the
houses seemed to rest uneasily among the miry rocks
and stumps, squirming at all angles as if they had

[27]

"Travels in Alaska

been tossed and twisted by earthquake shocks, and
showing but little more relation to one another than
may be observed among moraine boulders, Wrangell
was a tranquil place. I never heard a noisy brawl in
the streets, or a clap of thunder, and the waves seldom
spoke much above a whisper along the beach. In
summer the rain comes straight down, steamy and
tepid. The clouds are usually united, filling the sky,
not racing along in threatening ranks suggesting
energy of an overbearing destructive kind, but form-
ing a bland, mild, laving bath. The cloudless days are
calm, pearl-gray, and brooding in tone, inclining to
rest and peace; the islands seem to drowse and float
on the glassy water, and in the woods scarce a leaf
stirs.

The very brightest of Wrangell days are not what
Californians would call bright. The tempered sun-
shine sifting through the moist atmosphere makes no
dazzling glare, and the town, like the landscape,
rests beneath a hazy, hushing, Indian-summerish
spell. On the longest days the sun rises about three
o'clock, but it is daybreak at midnight. The cocks
crowed when they woke, without reference to the
dawn, for it is never quite dark; there were only a few
full-grown roosters in Wrangell, half a dozen or so, to
awaken the town and give it a civilized character.
After sunrise a few languid smoke-columns might be
seen, telling the first stir of the people. Soon an
Indian or two might be noticed here and there at the
doors of their barnlike cabins, and a merchant getting
ready for trade; but scarcely a sound was heard, only

[ 28 ]

TVrangell Island

a dull, muffled stir gradually deepening. There were
only two white babies in the town, so far as I saw,
and as for Indian babies, they woke and ate and made
no crying sound. Later you might hear the croaking
of ravens, and the strokes of an axe on firewood.
About eight or nine o'clock the town was awake,
Indians, mostly women and children, began to gather
on the front platforms of the half-dozen stores, sitting
carelessly on their blankets, every other face hideously
blackened, a naked circle around the eyes, and per-
haps a spot on the cheek-bone and the nose where the
smut has been rubbed off. Some of the little children
were also blackened, and none were over-clad, their
light and airy costume consisting of a calico shirt
reaching only to the waist. Boys eight or ten years
old sometimes had an additional garment, — a pair
of castaway miner's overalls wide enough and ragged
enough for extravagant ventilation. The larger girls
and young women were arrayed in showy calico, and
wore jaunty straw hats, gorgeously ribboned, and
glowed among the blackened and blanketed old crones
like scarlet tanagers in a flock of blackbirds. The
women, seated on the steps and platform of the trad-
ers' shops, could hardly be called loafers, for they had
berries to sell, basketfuls of huckleberries, large yel-
low salmon-berries, and bog raspberries that looked
wondrous fresh and clean amid the surrounding
squalor. After patiently waiting for purchasers until
hungry, they ate what they could not sell, and went
away to gather more.

Yonder you see a canoe gliding out from the shore,

[29]

"Travels in Alaska

containing perhaps a man, a woman, and a child or
two, all paddling together in natural, easy rhythm.
They are going to catch a fish, no difficult matter, and
when this is done their day's work is done. Another
party puts out to capture bits of driftwood, for it is
easier to procure fuel in this way than to drag it down
from the outskirts of the woods through rocks and
bushes. As the day advances, a fleet of canoes may
be seen along the shore, all fashioned alike, high and
long beak-like prows and sterns, with lines as fine as
those of the breast of a duck. What the mustang is
to the Mexican vaquero, the canoe is to these coast
Indians. They skim along the shores to fish and hunt
and trade, or merely to visit their neighbors, for they
are sociable, and have family pride remarkably well
developed, meeting often to inquire after each other's
health, attend potlatches and dances, and gossip con-
cerning coming marriages, births, deaths, etc. Others
seem to sail for the pure pleasure of the thing, their
canoes decorated with handfuls of the tall purple
epilobium.

Yonder goes a whole family, grandparents and all,
making a direct course for some favorite stream and
camp-ground. They are going to gather berries, as
the baskets tell. Never before in all my travels, north
or south, had I found so lavish an abundance of berries
as here. The woods and meadows are full of them,
both on the lowlands and mountains — huckleberries
of many species, salmon-berries, blackberries, rasp-
berries, with service-berries on dry open places, and
cranberries in the _bogs, sufficient for every bird,

[30]

JVrangell Island

beast, and human being in the territory and thou-
sands of tons to spare. The huckleberries are espe-
cially abundant. A species that grows well up on the
mountains is the best and largest, a half-inch and
more in diameter and delicious in flavor. These grow
on bushes three or four inches to a foot high. The
berries of the commonest species are smaller and
grow almost everywhere on the low grounds on bushes
from three to six or seven feet high. This is the species
on which the Indians depend most for food, gather-
ing them in large quantities, beating them into a
paste, pressing the paste into cakes about an inch
thick, and drying them over a slow fire to enrich their
winter stores. Salmon-berries and service-berries are
preserved in the same way.

A little excursion to one of the best huckleberry-
fields adjacent to Wrangell, under the direction of the
Collector of Customs, to which I was invited, I greatly
enjoyed. There were nine Indians in the party,
mostly women and children going to gather huckle-
berries. As soon as we had arrived at the chosen camp-
ground on the bank of a trout stream, all ran into the
bushes and began eating berries before anything in
the way of camp-making was done, laughing and
chattering in natural animal enjoyment. The Col-
lector went up the stream to examine a meadow at its
head with reference to the quantity of hay it might
yield for his cow, fishing by the way. All the Indians
except the two eldest boys who joined the Collector,
remained among the berries.

The fishermen had rather poor luck, owing, they

[31 1

"Travels in Alaska

said, to the sunny brightness of the day, a complaint
seldom heard in this climate. They got good exercise,
however, jumping from boulder to boulder in the
brawling stream, running along slippery logs and
through the bushes that fringe the bank, casting here
and there into swirling pools at the foot of cascades,
imitating the tempting little skips and whirls of flies
so well known to fishing parsons, but perhaps still
better known to Indian boys. At the lake-basin the
Collector, after he had surveyed his hay-meadow,
went around it to the inlet of the lake with his brown
pair of attendants to try their luck, while I botanized
in the delightful flora which called to mind the cool
sphagnum and carex bogs of Wisconsin and Canada.
Here I found many of my old favorites the heath-
worts — kalmia, pyrola, chiogenes, huckleberry, cran-
berry, etc. On the margin of the meadow darling
linnaea was in its glory; purple panicled grasses in
full flower reached over my head, and some of the
carices and ferns were almost as tall. Here, too, on
the edge of the woods I found the wild apple tree, the
first I had seen in Alaska. The Indians gather the
fruit, small and sour as it is, to flavor their fat salmon.
I never saw a richer bog and meadow growth any-
where. The principal forest-trees are hemlock, spruce,
and Nootka cypress, with a few pines (P. contorta)
on the margin of the meadow, some of them nearly a
hundred feet high, draped with gray usnea, the bark
also gray with scale lichens.

We met all the berry-pickers at the lake, excepting
only a small girl and the camp-keeper. In their

[32]

TVrangell Island

bright colors they made a lively picture among the
quivering bushes, keeping up a low pleasant chant-
ing as if the day and the place and the berries were
according to their own hearts. The children carried
small baskets, holding two or three quarts; the women
two large ones swung over their shoulders. In the
afternoon, when the baskets were full, all started
back to the camp-ground, where the canoe was left.
We parted at the lake, I choosing to follow quietly
the stream through the woods. I was the first to
arrive at camp. The rest of the party came in shortly
afterwards, singing and humming like heavy-laden
bees. It was interesting to note how kindly they held
out handfuls of the best berries to the little girl, who
welcomed them all in succession with smiles and
merry words that I did not understand. But there
was no mistaking the kindliness and serene good
nature.

While I was at Wrangell the chiefs and head men
of the Stickeen tribe got up a grand dinner and enter-
tainment in honor of their distinguished visitors,
three doctors of divinity and their wives, fellow pas-
sengers on the steamer with me, whose object was to
organize the Presbyterian church. To both the dinner
and dances I was invited, was adopted by the Stickeen
tribe, and given an Indian name (Ancoutahan) said
to mean adopted chief. I was inclined to regard this
honor as being unlikely to have any practical value,
but I was assured by Mr. Vanderbilt, Mr. Young, and
others that it would be a great safeguard while I was
on my travels among the different tribes of the arch-

I 33)

"Travels in Alaska

ipelago. For travelers without an Indian name
might be killed and robbed without the offender be-
ing called to account as long as the crime was kept
secret from the whites; but, being adopted by the
Stickeens, no one belonging to the other tribes would
dare attack me, knowing that the Stickeens would
hold them responsible.

The dinner-tables were tastefully decorated with
flowers, and the food and general arrangements were
in good taste, but there was no trace of Indian dishes.
It was mostly imported canned stuff served Boston
fashion. After the dinner we assembled in Chief
Shakes's large block-house and were entertained with
lively examples of their dances and amusements,
carried on with great spirit, making a very novel
barbarous durbar. The dances seemed to me wonder-
fully like those of the American Indians in general, a
monotonous stamping accompanied by hand-clap-
ping, head-jerking, and explosive grunts kept in time
to grim drum-beats. The chief dancer and leader scat-
tered great quantities of downy feathers like a snow-
storm as blessings on everybody, while all chanted,
"Hee-ee-ah-ah, hee-ee-ah-ah," jumping up and down
until all were bathed in perspiration.

After the dancing excellent imitations were given
of the gait, gestures, and behavior of several animals
under different circumstances — walking, hunting,
capturing, and devouring their prey, etc. While all
were quietly seated, waiting to see what next was
going to happen, the door of the big house was sud-
denly thrown open and in bounced a bear, so true to

[ 34 ]•

TVrangell Island

life In form and gestures we were all startled, though
it was only a bear-skin nicely fitted on a man who
was intimately acquainted with the animals and
knew how to imitate them. The bear shuffled down
into the middle of the floor and made the motion of
jumping into a stream and catching a wooden salmon
that was ready for him, carrying it out on to the bank,
throwing his head around to listen and see if any one
was coming, then tearing it to pieces, jerking his head
from side to side, looking and listening in fear of
hunters' rifles. Besides the bear dance, there were
porpoise and deer dances with one of the party imitat-
ing the animals by stuffed specimens with an Indian
inside, and the movements were so accurately imi-
tated that they seemed the real thing.

These animal plays were followed by serious
speeches, interpreted by an Indian woman: "Dear
Brothers and Sisters, this is the way we used to
dance. We liked it long ago when we were blind, we
always danced this way, but now we are not blind.
The Good Lord has taken pity upon us and sent his
son, Jesus Christ, to tell us what to do. We have
danced to-day only to show you how blind we were to
like to dance in this foolish way. We will not dance
any more."

Another speech was interpreted as follows: "*Dear
Brothers and Sisters,' the chief says, *this is the way
we used to dance and play. We do not wish to do so
any more. We will give away all the dance dresses
you have seen us wearing, though we value them very
highly.' He says he feels much honored to have so

[35]

T^raveh in Alaska

many white brothers and sisters at our dinner and
plays."

Several short explanatory remarks were made all
through the exercises by Chief Shakes, presiding with
grave dignity. The last of his speeches concluded
thus: "Dear Brothers and Sisters, we have been long,
long in the dark. You have led us into strong guiding
light and taught us the right way to live and the right
way to die. I thank you for myself and all my people,
and I give you my heart."

At the close of the amusements there was a potlatch
when robes made of the skins of deer, wild sheep,
marmots, and sables were distributed, and many of
the fantastic head-dresses that had been worn by
Shamans. One of these fell to my share.

The floor of the house was strewn with fresh hem-
lock boughs, bunches of showy wild flowers adorned
the walls, and the hearth was filled with huckleberry
branches and epilobium. Altogether it was a wonder-
ful show.

I have found southeastern Alaska a good, healthy
country to live in. The climate of the islands and
shores of the mainland is remarkably bland and
temperate and free from extremes of either heat or
cold throughout the year. It is rainy, however, — so
much so that hay-making will hardly ever be ex-
tensively engaged in here, whatever the future may
show in the way of the development of mines, forests,
and fisheries. This rainy weather, however, is of good
quality, the best of the kind I ever experienced, mild

[36]

Wrangell Island

in temperature, mostly gentle in its fall, filling the
fountains of the rivers and keeping the whole land
fresh and fruitful, while anything more delightful
than the shining weather in the midst of the rain, the
great round sun-days of July and August, may hardly
be found anywhere, north or south. An Alaska sum-
mer day is a day without night. In the Far North, at
Point Barrow, the sun does not set for weeks, and
even here in southeastern Alaska it is only a few de-
grees below the horizon at its lowest point, and the
topmost colors of the sunset blend with those of the
sunrise, leaving no gap of darkness between. Mid-
night is only a low noon, the middle point of the
gloaming. The thin clouds that are almost always
present are then colored yellow and red, making a
striking advertisement of the sun's progress beneath
the horizon. The day opens slowly. The low arc of
light steals around to the northeastward with gradual
increase of height and span and intensity of tone ; and
when at length the sun appears, it is without much of
that stirring, impressive pomp, of flashing, awak-
ening, triumphant energy, suggestive of the Bible
imagery, a bridegroom coming out of his chamber and
rejoicing like a strong man to run a race. The red
clouds with yellow edges dissolve in hazy dimness; the
islands, with grayish-white ruff's of mist about them,
cast ill-defined shadows on the glistening waters,
and the whole down-bending firmament becomes
pearl-gray. For three or four hours after sunrise
there is nothing especially impressive in the land-
scape. The sun, though seemingly unclouded, may

I 37 I

"Travels in Alaska

almost be looked in the face, and the islands and
mountains, with their wealth of woods and snow and
varied beauty of architecture, seem comparatively-
sleepy and uncommunicative.

As the day advances toward high noon, the sun-
flood streaming through the damp atmosphere lights
the water levels and the sky to glowing silver.
Brightly play the ripples about the bushy edges of the
islands and on the plume-shaped streaks between
them, ruffled by gentle passing wind-currents. The
warm air throbs and makes itself felt as a life-giving,
energizing ocean, embracing all the landscape, quick-
ening the imagination, and bringing to mind the life
and motion about us — the tides, the rivers, the
flood of light streaming through the satiny sky; the
marvelous abundance of fishes feeding in the lower
ocean; the misty flocks of insects in the air; wild
sheep and goats on a thousand grassy ridges ; beaver
and mink far back on many a rushing stream; Indians
floating and basking along the shores; leaves and
crystals drinking the sunbeams; and glaciers on the
mountains, making valleys and basins for new rivers
and lakes and fertile beds of soil.

Through the afternoon, all the way down to the
sunset, the day grows in beauty. The light seems to
thicken and become yet more generously fruitful
without losing its soft mellow brightness. Every-
thing seems to settle into conscious repose. The winds
breathe gently or are wholly at rest. The few clouds
visible are downy and luminous and combed out fine
on the edges. Gulls here and there, winnowing the

[38]

Wrangell Island

air on easy wing, are brought into striking relief; and
every stroke of the paddles of Indian hunters in their
canoes is told by a quick, glancing flash. Bird choirs
in the grove are scarce heard as they sweeten the
brooding stillness; and the sky, land, and water meet
and blend in one inseparable scene of enchantment.
Then comes the sunset with its purple and gold, not a
narrow arch on the horizon, but oftentimes filling all
the sky. The level cloud-bars usually present are
fired on the edges, and the spaces of clear sky between
them are greenish-yellow or pale amber, while the
orderly flocks of small overlapping clouds, often seen
higher up, are mostly touched with crimson like the
out-leaning sprays of maple-groves in the beginning
of an Eastern Indian Summer. Soft, mellow purple
flushes the sky to the zenith and fills the air, fairly
steeping and transfiguring the islands and making all
the water look like wine. After the sun goes down, the
glowing gold vanishes, but because it descends on a
curve nearly in the same plane with the horizon, the
glowing portion of the display lasts much longer than
in more southern latitudes, while the upper colors with
gradually lessening intensity of tone sweep around to
the north, gradually increase to the eastward, and
unite with those of the morning.

The most extravagantly colored of all the sunsets I
have yet seen in Alaska was one I enjoyed on the voy-
age from Portland to Wrangell, when we were in the
midst of one of the most thickly islanded parts of the
Alexander Archipelago. The day had been showery,
but late in the afternoon the clouds melted away from

1 39]

"Travels in Alaska

the west, all save a few that settled down in narrow
level bars near the horizon. The evening was calm and
the sunset colors came on gradually, increasing in ex-
tent and richness of tone by slow degrees as if requir-
ing more time than usual to ripen. At a height of
about thirty degrees there was a heavy cloud-bank,
deeply reddened on its lower edge and the project-
ing parts of its face. Below this were three horizontal
belts of purple edged with gold, while a vividly de-
fined, spreading fan of flame streamed upward across
the purple bars and faded in a feather edge of dull red.
But beautiful and impressive as was this painting on
the sky, the most novel and exciting effect was in the
body of the atmosphere itself, which, laden with
moisture, became one mass of color — a fine trans-
lucent purple haze in which the islands with softened
outlines seemed to float, while a dense red ring lay
around the base of each of them as a fitting border.
The peaks, too, in the distance, and the snow-fields
and glaciers and fleecy rolls of mist that lay in the
hollows, were flushed with a deep, rosy alpenglow of
ineffable loveliness. Everything near and far, even
the ship, was comprehended in the glorious picture
and the general color effect. The mission divines we
had aboard seemed then to be truly divine as they
gazed transfigured in the celestial glory. So also
seemed our bluff, storm-fighting old captain, and his
tarry sailors and all.

About one third of the summer days I spent in
the Wrangell region were cloudy with very little or
no rain, one third decidedly rainy, and one third

[ 40 ]

TVrangell Island

clear. According to a record kept here of a hundred
and forty-seven days beginning May 17 of that year,
there were sixty-five on which rain fell, forty-three
cloudy with no rain, and thirty-nine clear. In June
rain fell on eighteen days, in July eight days, in Au-
gust fifteen days, in September twenty days. But on
some of these days there was only a few minutes' rain,
light showers scarce enough to count, while as a gen-
eral thing the rain fell so gently and the temperature
was so mild, very few of them could be called stormy
or dismal; even the bleakest, most bedraggled of
them all usually had a flush of late or early color to
cheer them, or some white illumination about the
noon hours. I never before saw so much rain fall with
so little noise. None of the summer winds make roar-
ing storms, and thunder is seldom heard. I heard none
at all. This wet, misty weather seems perfectly health-
ful. There is no mildew in the houses, as far as I have
seen, or any tendency toward mouldiness in nooks
hidden from the sun; and neither among the people
nor the plants do we find anything flabby or dropsical.

In September clear days were rare, more than three
fourths of them were either decidedly cloudy or rainy,
and the rains of this month were, with one wild
exception, only moderately heavy, and the clouds
between showers drooped and crawled in a ragged,
unsettled way without betraying hints of violence
such as one often sees in the gestures of mountain
storm-clouds.

July was the brightest month of the summer, with
fourteen days of sunshine, six of them in uninter-

t4il

Travels in Alaska

rupted succession, with a temperature at 7 a.m. of
about 60°, at 12 m., 70°. The average 7 a.m. tem-
perature for June was 54.3°; the average 7 a.m.
temperature for July was 55.3°; at 12 m. the average
temperature was 61.45°; the average 7 a.m. temper-
ature for August was 54.12°; 12 m., 61.48°; the aver-
age 7 a.m. temperature for September was 52.14°; and
12 m., 56.12°.

The highest temperature observed here during the
summer was seventy-six degrees. The most remark-
able characteristic of this summer weather, even the
brightest of it, is the velvet softness of the atmosphere.
On the mountains of California, throughout the
greater part of the year, the presence of an atmosphere
is hardly recognized, and the thin, white, bodiless
light of the morning comes to the peaks and glaciers
as a pure spiritual essence, the most impressive of all
the terrestrial manifestations of God. The clearest of
Alaskan air is always appreciably substantial, so
much so that it would seem as if one might test its
quality by rubbing it between the thumb and finger.
I never before saw summer days so white and so full
of subdued lustre.

The winter storms, up to the end of December
when I left Wrangell, were mostly rain at a temper-
ature of thirty-five or forty degrees, with strong winds
which sometimes roughly lash the shores and carry
scud far into the woods. The long nights are then
gloomy enough and the value of snug homes with
crackling yellow cedar fires may be finely appreciated.
Snow falls frequently, but never to any great depth or

[42]

Wrangell Island

to lie long. It is said that only once since the settle-
ment of Fort Wrangell has the ground been covered to
a depth of four feet. The mercury seldom falls more
than five or six degrees below the freezing-point, un-
less the wind blows steadily from the mainland. Back
from the coast, however, beyond the mountains, the
winter months are very cold. On the Stickeen River
at Glenora, less than a thousand feet above the level
of the sea, a temperature of from thirty to forty de-
grees below zero is not uncommon.

CHAPTER IV

THE STICKEEN RIVER

THE most interesting of the short excursions we
made from Fort Wrangell was the one up the
Stickeen River to the head of steam navigation.
From Mt. St. Elias the coast range extends in a
broad, lofty chain beyond the southern boundary of
the territory, gashed by stupendous canons, each of
which carries a lively river, though most of them are
comparatively short, as their highest sources lie in the
icy solitudes of the range within forty or fifty miles
of the coast. A few, however, of these foaming, roar-
ing streams — the Alsek, Chilcat, Chilcoot, Taku,
Stickeen, and perhaps others — head beyond the
range with some of the southwest branches of the
Mackenzie and Yukon.

The largest side branches of the main-trunk canons
of all these mountain streams are still occupied by
glaciers which descend in showy ranks, their massy,
bulging snouts lying back a little distance in the
shadows of the walls, or pushing forward among the
cotton-woods that line the banks of the rivers, or even
stretching all the way across the main canons, com-
pelling the rivers to find a channel beneath them.

The Stickeen was, perhaps, the best known of the
rivers that cross the Coast Range, because it was the
best way to the Mackenzie River Cassiar gold-mines.
It is about three hundred and fifty miles long, and

[441

ne Stickeen River

is navigable for small steamers a hundred and fifty
miles to Glenora, and sometimes to Telegraph Creek,
fifteen miles farther. It first pursues a westerly course
through grassy plains darkened here and there with
groves of spruce and pine; then, curving southward
and receiving numerous tributaries from the north, it
enters the Coast Range, and sweeps across it through
a magnificent canon three thousand to five thousand
feet deep, and more than a hundred miles long. The
majestic cliffs and mountains forming the canon-
walls display endless variety of form and sculpture,
and are wonderfully adorned and enlivened with
glaciers and waterfalls, while throughout almost its
whole extent the floor is a flowery landscape garden,
like Yosemite. The most striking features are the
glaciers, hanging over the cliffs, descending the side
canons and pushing forward to the river, greatly en-
hancing the wild beauty of all the others.

Gliding along the swift-flowing river, the views
change with bewildering rapidity. Wonderful, too,
are the changes dependent on the seasons and the
weather. In spring, when the snow is melting fast,
you enjoy the countless rejoicing waterfalls; the
gentle breathing of warm winds; the colors of the
young leaves and flowers when the bees are busy and
wafts of fragrance are drifting hither and thither
from miles of wild roses, clover, and honeysuckle; the
swaths of birch and willow on the lower slopes follow-
ing the melting of the winter avalanche snow-banks;
the bossy cumuli swelling in white and purple piles
above the highest peaks; gray rain-clouds wreathing

I 45]

"Travels in Alaska

the outstanding brows and battlements of the walls;
and the brea king-forth of the sun after the rain; the
shining of the leaves and streams and crystal archi-
tecture of the glaciers; the rising of fresh fragrance;
the song of the happy birds; and the serene color-
grandeur of the morning and evening sky. In summer
you find the groves and gardens in full dress ; glaciers
melting rapidly under sunshine and rain; waterfalls
in all their glory; the river rejoicing in its strength;
young birds trying their wings; bears enjoying sal-
mon and berries; all the life of the canon brimming
full like the streams. In autumn comes rest, as if the
year's work were done. The rich hazy sunshine
streaming over the cliifs calls forth the last of the
gentians and goldenrods ; the groves and thickets and
meadows bloom again as their leaves change to red
and yellow petals; the rocks also, and the glaciers,
seem to bloom like the plants in the mellow golden
light. And so goes the song, change succeeding change
in sublime harmony through all the wonderful seasons
and weather.

My first trip up the river was made in the spring
with the missionary party soon after our arrival at
Wrangell. We left Wrangell in the afternoon and
anchored for the night above the river delta, and
started up the river early next morning when the
heights above the "Big Stickeen" Glacier and the
smooth domes and copings and arches of solid snow
along the tops of the cafion walls were glowing in the
early beams. We arrived before noon at the old trad-

[ 46 ]

^he Stickeen River

ing-post called "Buck's" in front of the Stickeen
Glacier, and remained long enough to allow the few
passengers who wished a nearer view to cross the
river to the terminal moraine. The sunbeams stream-
ing through the ice pinnacles along its terminal wall
produced a wonderful glory of color, and the broad,
sparkling crystal prairie and the distant snowy foun-
tains were wonderfully attractive and made me pray
for opportunity to explore them.

Of the many glaciers, a hundred or more, that adorn
the walls of the great Stickeen River Canon, this is
the largest. It draws its sources from snowy moun-
tains within fifteen or twenty miles of the coast, pours
through a comparatively narrow canon about two
miles in width in a magnificent cascade, and expands
in a broad fan five or six miles in width, separated
from the Stickeen River by its broad terminal mo-
raine, fringed with spruces and willows. Around the
beautifully drawn curve of the moraine the Stickeen
River flows, having evidently been shoved by the
glacier out of its direct course. On the opposite side
of the canon another somewhat smaller glacier, which
now terminates four or five miles from the river, was
once united front to front with the greater glacier,
though at first both were tributaries of the main
Stickeen Glacier which once filled the whole grand
canon. After the main trunk canon was melted out,
its side branches, drawing their sources from a height
of three or four to five or six thousand feet, were cut
off", and of course became separate glaciers, occupying
cirques and branch canons along the tops and sides of

[47]

Travels in Alaska

the walls. The Indians have a tradition that the river
used to run through a tunnel under the united fronts
of the two large tributary glaciers mentioned above,
which entered the main canon from either side; and
that on one occasion an Indian, anxious to get rid of
his wife, had her sent adrift in a canoe down through
the ice tunnel, expecting that she would trouble him
no more. But to his surprise she floated through
under the ice in safety. All the evidence connected
with the present appearance of these two glaciers
indicates that they were united and formed a dam
across the river after the smaller tributaries had been
melted off and had receded to a greater or lesser
height above the valley floor.

The big Stickeen Glacier is hardly out of sight ere
you come upon another that pours a majestic crystal
flood through the evergreens, while almost every
hollow and tributary canon contains a smaller one,
the size, of course, varying with the extent of the
area drained. Some are like mere snow-banks; others,
with the blue ice apparent, depend in massive bulg-
ing curves and swells, and graduate into the river-like
forms that maze through the lower forested regions
and are so striking and beautiful that they are ad-
mired even by the passing miners with gold-dust in
their eyes.

Thirty-five miles above the Big Stickeen Glacier is
the "Dirt Glacier," the second in size. Its outlet is a
fine stream, abounding in trout. On the opposite side
of the river there is a group of five glaciers, one of
them descending to within a hundred feet of the river.

[48 I

The Stickeen River

Near Glenora, on the northeastern flank of the
main Coast Range, just below a narrow gorge called
**The Canon/' terraces first make their appearance,
where great quantities of moraine material have been
swept through the flood-choked gorge and of course
outspread and deposited on the first open levels be-
low. Here, too, occurs a marked change in climate
and consequently in forests and general appearance
of the face of the country. On account of destructive
fires the woods are younger and are composed of
smaller trees about a foot to eighteen inches in diam-
eter and seventy-five feet high, mostly two-leaved
pines which hold their seeds for several years after
they are ripe. The woods here are without a trace of
those deep accumulations of mosses, leaves, and de-
caying trunks which make so damp and unclearable a
mass in the coast forests. Whole mountain-sides are
covered with gray moss and lichens where the forest
has been utterly destroyed. The river-bank cotton-
woods are also smaller, and the birch and contorta
pines mingle freely with the coast hemlock and spruce.
The birch is common on the lower slopes and is very
effective, its round, leafy, pale-green head contrast-
ing with the dark, narrow spires of the conifers and
giving a striking character to the forest. The "tam-
arac pine" or black pine, as the variety of P. contorta
is called here, is yellowish-green, in marked contrast
with the dark lichen-draped spruce which grows above
the pine at a height of about two thousand feet, in
groves and belts where it has escaped fire and snow
avalanches. There is another handsome spruce here-

[49]

"Travels in Alaska

abouts, Picea alha, very slender and graceful in
habit, drooping at the top like a mountain hemlock. I
saw fine specimens a hundred and twenty-five feet
high on deep bottom land a few miles below Glenora.
The tops of some of them were almost covered with
dense clusters of yellow and brown cones.

We reached the old Hudson's Bay trading-post at
Glenora about one o'clock, and the captain informed
me that he would stop here until the next morning,
when he would make an early start for Wrangell.

At a distance of about seven or eight miles to the
northeastward of the landing, there is an outstanding
group of mountains crowning a spur from the main
chain of the Coast Range, whose highest point rises
about eight thousand feet above the level of the sea;
and as Glenora is only a thousand feet above the sea,
the height to be overcome in climbing this peak is
about seven thousand feet. Though the time was
short I determined to climb it, because of the ad-
vantageous position it occupied for general views of
the peaks and glaciers of the east side of the great
range.

Although it was now twenty minutes past three
and the days were getting short, I thought that by
rapid climbing I could reach the summit before sun-
set, in time to get a general view and a few pencil
sketches, and make my way back to the steamer in
the night. Mr. Young, one of the missionaries, asked
permission to accompany me, saying that he was a
good walker and climber and would not delay me or
cause any trouble. I strongly advised him not to go,

[50I

T^he Stickeen River

explaining that it involved a walk, coming and going,
of fourteen or sixteen miles, and a climb through
brush and boulders of seven thousand feet, a fair day's
work for a seasoned mountaineer to be done in less
than half a day and part of a night. But he insisted
that he was a strong walker, could do a mountaineer's
day's work in half a day, and would not hinder me in
any way.

"Well, I have warned you," I said, "and will
not assume responsibility for any trouble that may
arise."

He proved to be a stout walker, and we made rapid
progress across a brushy timbered flat and up the
mountain slopes, open in some places, and in others
thatched with dwarf firs, resting a minute here and
there to refresh ourselves with huckleberries, which
grew in abundance in open spots. About half an hour
before sunset, when we were near a cluster of crum-
bling pinnacles that formed the summit, I had ceased
to feel anxiety about the mountaineering strength
and skill of my companion, and pushed rapidly on.
In passing around the shoulder of the highest pin-
nacle, where the rock was rapidly disintegrating and
the danger of slipping was great, I shouted in a warn-
ing voice, "Be very careful here, this is dangerous."

Mr. Young was perhaps a dozen or two yards be-
hind me, but out of sight. I afterwards reproached
myself for not stopping and lending him a steadying
hand, and showing him the slight footsteps I had
made by kicking out little blocks of the crumbling
surface, instead of simply warning him to be careful.

[ SI J

Travels in Alaska

Only a few seconds after giving this warning, I was
startled by a scream for help, and hurrying back,
found the missionary face downward, his arms out-
stretched, clutching little crumbling knobs on the
brink of a gully that plunges down a thousand feet or
more to a small residual glacier. I managed to get
below him, touched one of his feet, and tried to en-
courage him by saying, "I am below you. You are
in no danger. You can't slip past me and I will soon
get you out of this."

He then told me that both of his arms were dis-
located. It was almost impossible to find available
footholds on the treacherous rock, and I was at my
wits' end to know how to get him rolled or dragged to
a place where I could get about him, find out how
much he was hurt, and a way back down the moun-
tain. After narrowly scanning the cliff and making
footholds, I managed to roll and lift him a few yards
to a place where the slope was less steep, and there I
attempted to set his arms. I found, however, that
this was impossible in such a place. I therefore tied
his arms to his sides with my suspenders and necktie,
to prevent as much as possible inflammation from
movement. I then left him, telling him to lie still,
that I would be back in a few minutes, and that he
was now safe from slipping. I hastily examined the
ground and saw no way of getting him down except
by the steep glacier gully. After scrambling to an
outstanding point that commands a view of it from
top to bottom, to make sure that it was not inter-
rupted by sheer precipices, I concluded that with

[52]

"The Stickeen River

great care and the digging of slight footholds he
could be slid down to the glacier, where I could lay
him on his back and perhaps be able to set his arms.
Accordingly, I cheered him up, telling him I had
found a way, but that it would require lots of time
and patience. Digging a footstep in the sand or
crumbling rock five or six feet beneath him, I reached
up, took hold of him by one of his feet, and gently
slid him down on his back, placed his heels in the step,
then descended another five or six feet, dug heel
notches, and slid him down to them. Thus the whole
distance was made by a succession of narrow steps
at very short intervals, and the glacier was reached
perhaps about midnight. Here I took off one of my
boots, tied a handkerchief around his wrist for a good
hold, placed my heel in his arm pit, and succeeded in
getting one of his arms into place, but my utmost
strength was insufficient to reduce the dislocation of
the other. I therefore bound it closely to his side, and
asked him if in his exhausted and trembling condi-
tion he was still able to walk.

"Yes," he bravely replied.

So, with a steadying arm around him and many
stops for rest, I marched him slowly down in the star-
light on the comparatively smooth, unfissured surface
of the little glacier to the terminal moraine, a distance
of perhaps a mile, crossed the moraine, bathed his
head at one of the outlet streams, and after many
rests reached a dry place and made a brush fire. I
then went ahead looking for an open way through the
bushes to where larger wood could be had, made a

[S3 I

travels in Alaska

good lasting fire of resiny silver-fir roots, and a leafy-
bed beside it. I now told him I would run down the
mountain, hasten back with help from the boat, and
carry him down in comfort. But he would not hear of
my leaving him.

"No, no," he said, "I can walk down. Don't leave
me."

I reminded him of the roughness of the way, his
nerve-shaken condition, and assured him I would
not be gone long. But he insisted on trying, saying on
no account whatever must I leave him. I therefore
concluded to try to get him to the ship by short
walks from one fire and resting-place to another.
While he was resting I went ahead, looking for the
best way through the brush and rocks, then return-
ing, got him on his feet and made him lean on my
shoulder while I steadied him to prevent his falling.
This slow, staggering struggle from fire to fire lasted
until long after sunrise. When at last we reached the
ship and stood at the foot of the narrow single plank
without side rails that reached from the bank to the
deck at a considerable angle, I briefly explained to
Mr. Young's companions, who stood looking down at
us, that he had been hurt in an accident, and re-
quested one of them to assist me in getting him
aboard. But strange to say, instead of coming down
to help, they made haste to reproach him for having
gone on a "wild-goose chase" with Muir.

"These foolish adventures are well enough for Mr.
Muir," they said, "but you, Mr. Young, have a work
to do; you have a family; you have a church, and

[54I

"The Stickeen River

you have no right to risk your life on treacherous
peaks and precipices."

The captain, Nat Lane, son of Senator Joseph
Lane, had been swearing in angry impatience for be-
ing compelled to make so late a start and thus en-
counter a dangerous wind in a narrow gorge, and was
threatening to put the missionaries ashore to seek
their lost companion, while he went on down the river
about his business. But when he heard my call for
help, he hastened forward, and elbowed the divines
away from the end of the gangplank, shouting in
angry irreverence, "Oh, blank! This is no time for
preaching! Don't you see the man is hurt.^"

He ran down to our help, and while I steadied my
trembling companion from behind, the captain kindly
led him up the plank into the saloon, and made him
drink a large glass of brandy. Then, with a man hold-
ing down his shoulders, we succeeded in getting the
bone into its socket, notwithstanding the inflamma-
tion and contraction of the muscles and ligaments.
Mr. Young was then put to bed, and he slept all the
way back to Wrangell.

In his mission lectures in the East, Mr. Young
oftentimes told this story. I made no record of it in
my notebook and never intended to write a word
about it; but after a miserable, sensational caricature
of the story had appeared in a respectable magazine,
I thought it but fair to my brave companion that it
should be told just as it happened.

CHAPTER V

A CRUISE IN THE CASSIAR

SHORTLY after our return to Wrangell the
missionaries planned a grand mission excursion
up the coast of the mainland to the Chilcat country,
which I gladly joined, together with Mr. Vanderbilt,
his wife, and a friend from Oregon. The river steamer
Cassiar was chartered, and we had her all to ourselves,
ship and officers at our command to sail and stop
where and when we would, and of course everybody
felt important and hopeful. The main object of the
missionaries was to ascertain the spiritual wants of
the warlike Chilcat tribe, with a view to the estab-
lishment of a church and school in their principal
village; the merchant and his party were bent on
business and scenery; while my mind was on the
mountains, glaciers, and forests.

This was toward the end of July, in the very bright-
est and best of Alaska summer weather, when the icy
mountains towering in the pearly sky were displayed
in all their glory, and the islands at their feet seemed
to float and drowse on the shining mirror waters.

After we had passed through the Wrangell Nar-
rows, the mountains of the mainland came in full
view, gloriously arrayed in snow and ice, some of the
largest and most river-like of the glaciers flowing
through wide, high-walled valleys like Yosemite,
their sources far back and concealed, others in plain

IS6]

A Cruise in the Cassiar

sight, from their highest fountains to the level of the
sea.

Cares of every kind were quickly forgotten, and
though the Cassiar engines soon began to wheeze
and sigh with doleful solemnity, suggesting coming
trouble, we were too happy to mind them. Every face
glowed with natural love of wild beauty. The islands
were seen in long perspective, their forests dark green
in the foreground, with varying tones of blue growing
more and more tender in the distance; bays full of
hazy shadows, graduating into open, silvery fields of
light, and lofty headlands with fine arching insteps
dipping their feet in the shining water. But every eye
was turned to the mountains. Forgotten now were
the Chilcats and missions while the word of God was
being read in these majestic hieroglyphics blazoned
along the sky. The earnest, childish wonderment
with which this glorious page of Nature's Bible was
contemplated was delightful to see. All evinced
eager desire to learn.

"Is that a glacier," they asked, "down in that
canon? And is it all solid ice?"

"Yes."

"How deep is it?"

"Perhaps five hundred or a thousand feet."

"You say it flows. How can hard ice flow?"

"It flows like water, though invisibly slow."

"And where does it come from?"

" From snow that is heaped up every winter on the

mountains."

And how, then, is the snow changed into ice?"
[57 1

I^raveh in Alaska

"It is welded by the pressure of its own weight."

"Are these white masses we see in the hollows
glaciers also?"

"Yes."

"Are those bluish draggled masses hanging down
from beneath the snow-fields what you call the snouts
of the glaciers ? "

"Yes."

"What made the hollows they are in?"

"The glaciers themselves, just as traveling animals
make their own tracks."

"How long have they been there?"

"Numberless centuries," etc. I answered as best I
could, keeping up a running commentary on the sub-
ject in general, while busily engaged in sketching and
noting my own observations, preaching glacial gos-
pel in a rambling way, while the Cassiar, slowly
wheezing and creeping along the shore, shifted our
position so that the icy canons were opened to view
and closed again in regular succession, like the leaves
of a book.

About the middle of the afternoon we were di-
rectly opposite a noble group of glaciers some ten in
number, flowing from a chain of crater-like snow
fountains, guarded around their summits and well
down their sides by jagged peaks and cols and curving
mural ridges. From each of the larger clusters of
fountains, a wide, sheer-walled canon opens down to
the sea. Three of the trunk glaciers descend to within
a few feet of the sea-level. The largest of the three,
probably about fifteen miles long, terminates in a

[58]

A Cruise in the Cassiar

magnificent valley like Yosemite, in an imposing wall
of ice about two miles long, and from three to five
hundred feet high, forming a barrier across the valley
from wall to wall. It was to this glacier that the ships
of the Alaska Ice Company resorted for the ice they
carried to San Francisco and the Sandwich Islands,
and, I believe, also to China and Japan. To load,
they had only to sail up the fiord within a short dis-
tance of the front and drop anchor in the terminal
moraine.

Another glacier, a few miles to the south of this one,
receives two large tributaries about equal in size, and
then flows down a forested valley to within a hundred
feet or so of sea-level. The third of this low-descend-
ing group is four or five miles farther south, and,
though less imposing than either of the two sketched
above, is still a truly noble object, even as imperfectly
seen from the channel, and would of itself be well
worth a visit to Alaska to any lowlander so unfortu-
nate as never to have seen a glacier.

The boilers of our little steamer were not made for
sea water, but it was hoped that fresh water would be
found at available points along our course where
streams leap down the cliifs. In this particular we
failed, however, and were compelled to use salt water
an hour or two before reaching Cape Fanshawe, the
supply of fifty tons of fresh water brought from Wran-
gell having then given out. To make matters worse,
the captain and engineer were not in accord concern-
ing the working of the engines. The captain repeat-
edly called for more steam, which the engineer refused

[59]

travels in Alaska

to furnish, cautiously keeping the pressure low be-
cause the salt water foamed in the boilers and some
of it passed over into the cylinders, causing heavy
thumping at the end of each piston stroke, and
threatening to knock out the cylinder-heads. At
seven o'clock in the evening we had made only about
seventy miles, which caused dissatisfaction, especially
among the divines, who thereupon called a meeting in
the cabin to consider what had better be done. In
the discussions that followed much indignation and
economy were brought to light. We had chartered
the boat for sixty dollars per day, and the round trip
was to have been made in four or five days. But at
the present rate of speed it was found that the cost
of the trip for each passenger would be five or ten
dollars above the first estimate. Therefore, the ma-
jority ruled that we must return next day to Wran-
gell, the extra dollars outweighing the mountains and
missions as if they had suddenly become dust in the
balance.

Soon after the close of this economical meeting,
we came to anchor in a beautiful bay, and as the long
northern day had still hours of good light to offer, I
gladly embraced the opportunity to go ashore to see
the rocks and plants. One of the Indians, employed
as a deck hand on the steamer, landed me at the
mouth of a stream. The tide was low, exposing a
luxuriant growth of algae, which sent up a fine, fresh
sea smell. The shingle was composed of slate, quartz,
and granite, named in the order of abundance. The
first land plant met was a tall grass, nine feet high,

[60]

A Cruise in the Cassiar

forming a meadow-like margin in front of the forest.
Pushing my way well back into the forest, I found it
composed almost entirely of spruce and two hem-
locks (Picea sitchensis, Tsuga heterophylla and T.
mertensiana) with a few specimens of yellow cypress.
The ferns were developed in remarkable beauty and
size — aspidiums, one of which is about six feet high,
a woodsia, lomaria, and several species of polypodium.
The underbrush is chiefly alder, rubus, ledum, three
species of vaccinium, and Echinopanax horrida, the
whole about from six to eight feet high, and in some
places closely intertangled and hard to penetrate. On
the opener spots beneath the trees the ground is cov-
ered to a depth of two or three feet with mosses of in-
describable freshness and beauty, a few dwarf cornels
often planted on their rich furred bosses, together
with pyrola, coptis, and Solomon's-seal. The tallest
of the trees are about a hundred and fifty feet high,
with a diameter of about four or five feet, their
branches mingling together and making a perfect
shade. As the twilight began to fall, I sat down on the
mossy instep of a spruce. Not a bush or tree was
moving; every leaf seemed hushed in brooding repose.
One bird, a thrush, embroidered the silence with
cheery notes, making the solitude familiar and sweet,
while the solemn monotone of the stream sifting
through the woods seemed like the very voice of God,
humanized, terrestrialized, and entering one's heart
as to a home prepared for it. Go where we will, all the
world over, we seem to have been there before.
The stream was bridged at short intervals with
f 6i 1

travels in Alaska

picturesque, moss-embossed logs, and the trees on Its
banks, leaning over from side to side, made high em-
bowering arches. The log bridge I crossed was, I
think, the most beautiful of the kind I ever saw. The
massive log is plushed to a depth of six inches or more
with mosses of three or four species, their different
tones of yellow shading finely into each other, while
their delicate fronded branches and foliage lie in ex-
quisite order, inclining outward and down the sides
in rich, furred, clasping sheets overlapping and felted
together until the required thickness is attained. The
pedicels and spore-cases give a purplish tinge, and the
whole bridge is enriched with ferns and a row of small
seedling trees and currant bushes with colored leaves,
every one of which seems to have been culled from the
woods for this special use, so perfectly do they har-
monize in size, shape, and color with the mossy cover,
the width of the span, and the luxuriant, brushy
abutments.

Sauntering back to the beach, I found four or five
Indian deck hands getting water, with whom I re-
turned aboard the steamer, thanking the Lord for so
noble an addition to my life as was this one big moun-
tain, forest, and glacial day.

Next morning most of the company seemed un-
comfortably conscience-stricken, and ready to do any-
thing in the way of compensation for our broken ex-
cursion that would not cost too much. It was not
found difficult, therefore, to convince the captain and
disappointed passengers that instead of creeping
back to Wrangell direct we should make an expiatory

[62]

AT-ASKAN HEMLOCKS AND SPRUCES, SITKA

A Cruise in the Cassiar

branch-excursion to the largest of the three low-de-
scending glaciers we had passed. The Indian pilot,
well acquainted with this part of the coast, declared
himself willing to guide us. The water in these fiord
channels is generally deep and safe, and though at
wide intervals rocks rise abruptly here and there,
lacking only a few feet in height to enable them to
take rank as islands, the flat-bottomed Cassiar drew
but little more water than a duck, so that even the
most timid raised no objection on this score. .The
cylinder-heads of our engines were the main source of
anxiety; provided they could be kept on all might
yet be well. But in this matter there was evidently
some distrust, the engineer having imprudently in-
formed some of the passengers that in consequence of
using salt water in his frothing boilers the cylinder-
heads might fly off at any moment. To the glacier,
however, it was at length decided we should venture.
Arriving opposite the mouth of its fiord, we steered
straight inland between beautiful wooded shores, and
the grand glacier came in sight in its granite valley,
glowing in the early sunshine and extending a noble
invitation to come and see. After we passed between
the two mountain rocks that guard the gate of the
fiord, the view that was unfolded fixed every eye in
wondering admiration. No words can convey any-
thing like an adequate conception of its sublime
grandeur — the noble simplicity and fineness of the
sculpture of the walls; their magnificent proportions;
their cascades, gardens, and forest adornments; the
placid fiord between them; the great white and blue

[63 ]

"Travels in Alaska

ice wall, and the snow-laden mountains beyond. Still
more impotent are words in telling the peculiar awe
one experiences in entering these mansions of the icy-
North, notwithstanding it is only the natural effect
of appreciable manifestations of the presence of God.

Standing in the gateway of this glorious temple,
and regarding it only as a picture, its outlines may be
easily traced, the water foreground of a pale-green
color, a smooth mirror sheet sweeping back five or
six miles like one of the lower reaches of a great river,
bounded at the head by a beveled barrier wall of blue-
ish-white ice four or five hundred feet high. A few
snowy mountain-tops appear beyond it, and on either
hand rise a series of majestic, pale-gray granite rocks
from three to four thousand feet high, some of them
thinly forested and striped with bushes and flowery
grass on narrow shelves, especially about half way
up, others severely sheer and bare and built together
into walls like those of Yosemite, extending far be-
yond the ice barrier, one immense brow appearing
beyond another with their bases buried in the glacier.
This is a Yosemite Valley in process of formation, the
modeling and sculpture of the walls nearly completed
and well planted, but no groves as yet or gardens or
meadows on the raw and unfinished bottom. It is as
if the explorer, in entering the Merced Yosemite,
should find the walls nearly in their present condition,
trees and flowers in the warm nooks and along the
sunny portions of the moraine-covered brows, but
the bottom of the valley still covered with water and
beds of gravel and mud, and the grand glacier that

[64]

A Cruise in the Cassiar

formed it slowly receding but still filling the upper
half of the valley.

Sailing directly up to the edge of the low, out-
spread, water- washed terminal moraine, scarce notice-
able in a general view, we seemed to be separated
from the glacier only by a bed of gravel a hundred
yards or so in width; but on so grand a scale are all
the main features of the valley, we afterwards found
the distance to be a mile or more.

The captain ordered the Indian deck hands to get
out the canoe, take as many of us ashore as wished to
go, and accompany us to the glacier in case we should
need their help. Only three of the company, in the
first place, availed themselves of this rare opportunity
of meeting a glacier in the flesh, — Mr. Young, one of
the doctors, and myself. Paddling to the nearest and
driest-looking part of the moraine flat, we stepped
ashore, but gladly wallowed back into the canoe; for
the gray mineral mud, a paste made of fine-ground
mountain meal kept unstable by the tides, at once
began to take us in, swallowing us feet foremost with
becoming glacial deliberation. Our next attempt,
made nearer the middle of the valley, was successful,
and we soon found ourselves on firm gravelly ground,
and made haste to the huge ice wall, which seemed to
recede as we advanced. The only difliculty we met
was a network of icy streams, at the largest of which
we halted, not willing to get wet in fording. The
Indian attendant promptly carried us over on his
back. When my turn came I told him I would ford,
but he bowed his shoulders in so ludicrously persua-

[6s]

"Travels in Alaska

sive a manner I thought I would try the queer mount,
the only one of the kind I had enjoyed since boyhood
days in playing leapfrog. Away staggered my per-
pendicular mule over the boulders into the brawling
torrent, and in spite of top-heavy predictions to the
contrary, crossed without a fall. After being ferried
in this way over several more of these glacial streams,
we at length reached the foot of the glacier wall. The
doctor simply played tag on it, touched it gently as if
it were a dangerous wild beast, and hurried back to
the boat, taking the portage Indian with him for
safety, little knowing what he was missing. Mr.
Young and I traced the glorious crystal wall, admir-
ing its wonderful architecture, the play of light in the
rifts and caverns, and the structure of the ice as dis-
played in the less fractured sections, finding fresh
beauty everywhere and facts for study. We then
tried to climb it, and by dint of patient zigzagging
and doubling among the crevasses, and cutting steps
here and there, we made our way up over the brow
and back a mile or two to a height of about seven
hundred feet. The whole front of the glacier is gashed
and sculptured into a maze of shallow caves and
crevasses, and a bewildering variety of novel archi-
tectural forms, clusters of glittering lance-tipped
spires, gables, and obelisks, bold outstanding bastions
and plain mural cliffs, adorned along the top with
fretted cornice and battlement, while every gorge and
crevasse, groove and hollow, was filled with light,
shimmering and throbbing in pale-blue tones of in-
effable tenderness and beauty. The day was warm,

[66]

A Cruise in the Cassiar

and back on the broad melting bosom of the glacier
beyond the crevassed front, many streams were re-
joicing, gurgling, ringing, singing, in frictionless
channels worn down through the white disinte-
grated ice of the surface into the quick and living
blue, in which they flowed with a grace of motion and
flashing of light to be found only on the crystal hil-
locks and ravines of a glacier.

Along the sides of the glacier we saw the mighty
flood grinding against the granite walls with tremen-
dous pressure, rounding outswelling bosses, and deep-
ening the retreating hollows into the forms they are
destined to have when, in the fullness of appointed
time, the huge ice tool shall be withdrawn by the sun.
Every feature glowed with intention, reflecting the
plans of God. Back a few miles from the front, the
glacier is now probably but little more than a thou-
sand feet deep ; but when we examine the records on
the walls, the rounded, grooved, striated, and polished
features so surely glacial, we learn that in the earlier
days of the ice age they were all over-swept, and that
this glacier has flowed at a height of from three to
four thousand feet above its present level, when it
was at least a mile deep.

Standing here, with facts so fresh and telling and
held up so vividly before us, every seeing observer,
not to say geologist, must readily apprehend the earth-
sculpturing, landscape-making action of flowing ice.
And here, too, one learns that the world, though made,
is yet being made; that this is still the morning of
creation ; that mountains long conceived are now being

[6/1

"Travels in Alaska

born, channels traced for coming rivers, basins hol-
lowed for lakes ; that moraine soil is being ground and
outspread for coming plants, — coarse boulders and
gravel for forests, finer soil for grasses and flowers,
— while the finest part of the grist, seen hastening
out to sea in the draining streams, is being stored
away in darkness and builded particle on particle,
cementing and crystallizing, to make the mountains
and valleys and plains of other predestined land-
scapes, to be followed by still others in endless rhythm
and beauty.

Gladly would we have camped out on this grand old
landscape mill to study its ways and works; but we
had no bread and the captain was keeping the Cas-
siar whistle screaming for our return. Therefore, in
mean haste, we threaded our way back through the
crevasses and down the blue cliffs, snatched a few
flowers from a warm spot on the edge of the ice,
plashed across the moraine streams, and were paddled
aboard, rejoicing in the possession of so blessed a day,
and feeling that in very foundational truth we had
been in one of God's own temples and had seen Him
and heard Him working and preaching like a man.

Steaming solemnly out of the fiord and down the
coast, the islands and mountains were again passed
in review; the clouds that so often hide the mountain-
tops even in good weather were now floating high
above them, and the transparent shadows they cast
were scarce perceptible on the white glacier fountains.
So abundant and novel are the objects of interest in a
pure wilderness that unless you are pursuing special

[ 68 1

A Cruise in the Cassiar

studies it matters little where you go, or how often to
the same place. Wherever you chance to be always
seems at the moment of all places the best; and you
feel that there can be no happiness in this world or in
any other for those who may not be happy here. The
bright hours were spent in making notes and sketches
and getting more of the wonderful region into memory.
In particular a second view of the mountains made me
raise my first estimate of their height. Some of them
must be seven or eight thousand feet at the least.
Also the glaciers seemed larger and more numerous. I
counted nearly a hundred, large and small, between a
point ten or fifteen miles to the north of Cape Fan-
shawe and the mouth of the Stickeen River. We
made no more landings, however, until we had passed
through the Wrangell Narrows and dropped anchor
for the night in a small sequestered bay. This was
about sunset, and I eagerly seized the opportunity to
go ashore in the canoe and see what I could learn. It
is here only a step from the marine algae to terrestrial
vegetation of almost tropical luxuriance. Parting the
alders and huckleberry bushes and the crooked stems
of the prickly panax, I made my way into the woods,
and lingered in the twilight doing nothing in particular,
only measuring a few of the trees, listening to learn
what birds and animals might be about, and gazing
along the dusky aisles.

In the mean time another excursion was being in-
vented, one of small size and price. We might have
reached Fort Wrangell this evening instead of anchor-
ing here; but the owners of the Cassiar would then

[69I

"Travels in Alaska

receive only ten dollars fare from each person, while
they had incurred considerable expense in fitting up
the boat for this special trip, and had treated us well.
No, under the circumstances, it would never do to re-
turn to Wrangell so meanly soon.

It was decided, therefore, that the Cassiar Com-
pany should have the benefit of another day's hire, in
visiting the old deserted Stickeen village fourteen
miles to the south of Wrangell.

"We shall have a good time," one of the most in-
fluential of the party said to me in a semi-apologetic
tone, as if dimly recognizing my disappointment in
not going on to Chilcat. "We shall probably find
stone axes and other curiosities. Chief Kadachan is
going to guide us, and the other Indians aboard will
dig for us, and there are interesting old buildings and
totem poles to be seen."

It seemed strange, however, that so important a
mission to the most influential of the Alaskan tribes
should end in a deserted village. But divinity abounded
nevertheless ; the day was divine and there was plenty
of natural religion in the newborn landscapes that
were being baptized in sunshine, and sermons in the
glacial boulders on the beach where we landed.

The site of the old village is on an outswelling strip
of ground about two hundred yards long and fifty
wide, sloping gently to the water with a strip of gravel
and tall grass in front, dark woods back of it, and
charming views over the water among the islands —
a delightful place. The tide was low when we arrived,
and I noticed that the exposed boulders on the beach

[70]

A Cruise in the Cassiar

— granite erratics that had been dropped by the melt-
ing ice toward the close of the glacial period — were
piled in parallel rows at right angles to the shore-line,
out of the way of the canoes that had belonged to the
village.

Most of the party sauntered along the shore; for
the ruins were overgrown with tall nettles, elder
bushes, and prickly rubus vines through which it was
difficult to force a way. In company with the most
eager of the relic-seekers and two Indians, I pushed
back among the dilapidated dwellings. They were
deserted some sixty or seventy years before, and some
of them were at least a hundred years old. So said our
guide, Kadachan, and his word was corroborated by
the venerable aspect of the ruins. Though the damp
climate is destructive, many of the house timbers were
still in a good state of preservation, particularly those
hewn from the yellow cypress, or cedar as it is called
here. The magnitude of the ruins and the excellence
of the workmanship manifest in them was astonish-
ing as belonging to Indians. For example, the first
dwelling we visited was about forty feet square, with
walls built of planks two feet wide and six inches
thick. The ridgepole of yellow cypress was two feet
in diameter, forty feet long, and as round and true as
if it had been turned in a lathe; and, though lying in
the damp weeds, it was still perfectly sound. The
nibble marks of the stone adze were still visible,
though crusted over with scale lichens in most places.
The pillars that had supported the ridgepole were still
standing in some of the ruins. They were all, as far as

1711

"Travels in Alaska

I observed, carved Into life-size figures of men, women,
and children, fishes, birds, and various other animals,
such as the beaver, wolf, or bear. Each of the wall
planks had evidently been hewn out of a whole log,
and must have required sturdy deliberation as well as
skill. Their geometrical truthfulness was admirable.
With the same tools not one in a thousand of our
skilled mechanics could do as good work. Compared
with it the bravest work of civilized backwoodsmen is
feeble and bungling. The completeness of form, finish,
and proportion of these timbers suggested skill of a
wild and positive kind, like that which guides the
woodpecker in drilling round holes, and the bee in
making its cells.

The carved totem-pole monuments are the most
striking of the objects displayed here. The simplest
of them consisted of a smooth, round post fifteen or
twenty feet high and about eighteen inches in diameter,
with the figure of some animal on top — a bear, por-
poise, eagle, or raven, about life-size or larger. These
were the totems of the families that occupied the
houses in front of which they stood. Others supported
the figure of a man or woman, life-size or larger, usu-
ally in a sitting posture, said to resemble the dead
whose ashes were contained in a closed cavity in the
pole. The largest were thirty or forty feet high,
carved from top to bottom into human and animal
totem figures, one above another, with their limbs
grotesquely doubled and folded. Some of the most im-
posing were said to commemorate some event of an
historical character. But a telling display of family

[72]

OLD CHIEF AND TOTEM POLE, WRANGELL

A Cruise in the Cassiar

pride seemed to have been the prevailing motive. All
the figures were more or less rude, and some were
broadly grotesque, but there was never any feebleness
or obscurity in the expression. On the contrary, every
feature showed grave force and decision; while the
childish audacity displayed in the designs, combined
with manly strength in their execution, was truly
wonderful.

The colored lichens and mosses gave them a vener-
able air, while the larger vegetation often found on
such as were most decayed produced a picturesque
effect. Here, for example, is a bear five or six feet
long, reposing on top of his lichen-clad pillar, with
paws comfortably folded, a tuft of grass growing in
each ear and rubus bushes along his back. And yon-
der is an old chief poised on a taller pillar, apparently
gazing out over the landscape in contemplative mood,
a tuft of bushes leaning back with a jaunty air from
the top of his weatherbeaten hat, and downy mosses
about his massive lips. But no rudeness or grotesque-
ness that may appear, however combined with the
decorations that nature has added, may possibly pro-
voke mirth. The whole work is serious in aspect and
brave and true in execution.

Similar monuments are made by other Thlinkit
tribes. The erection of a totem pole is made a grand
affair, and is often talked of for a year or two before-
hand. A feast, to which many are invited, is held,
and the joyous occasion is spent in eating, dancing,
and the distribution of gifts. Some of the larger
specimens cost a thousand dollars or more. From one

[73 ]

Travels in Alaska

to two hundred blankets, worth three dollars apiece,
are paid to the genius who carves them, while the
presents and feast usually cost twice as much, so that
only the wealthy families can afford them. I talked
with an old Indian who pointed out one of the carvings
he had made in the Wrangell village, for which he told
me he had received forty blankets, a gun, a canoe,
and other articles, all together worth about ^170.
Mr. Swan, who has contributed much informa-
tion concerning the British Columbian and Alaskan
tribes, describes a totem pole that cost $2500. They
are always planted firmly in the ground and stand
fast, showing the sturdy erectness of their builders.

While I was busy with my pencil, I heard chopping
going on at the north end of the village, followed by a
heavy thud, as if a tree had fallen. It appeared that
after digging about the old hearth in the first dwelling
visited without finding anything of consequence, the
archaeological doctor called the steamer deck hands
to one of the most interesting of the totems and di-
rected them to cut it down, saw off the principal
figure, — a woman measuring three feet three inches
across the shoulders, — and convey it aboard the
steamer, with a view to taking it on East to enrich
some museum or other. This sacrilege came near
causing trouble and would have cost us dear had the
totem not chanced to belong to the Kadachan family,
the representative of which is a member of the newly
organized Wrangell Presbyterian Church. Kadachan
looked very seriously into the face of the reverend
doctor and pushed home the pertinent question:

1 74]

A Cruise in the Cassiar

"How would you like to have an Indian go to a
graveyard and break down and carry away a monu-
ment belonging to your family?"

However, the religious relations of the parties and a
few trifling presents embedded in apologies served to
hush and mend the matter.

Some time in the afternoon the steam whistle called
us together to finish our memorable trip. There was
no trace of decay in the sky; a glorious sunset gilded
the water and cleared away the shadows of our medi-
tations among the ruins. We landed at the Wrangell
wharf at dusk, pushed our way through a group of
inquisitive Indians, across the two crooked streets,
and up to our homes in the fort. We had been away
only three days, but they were so full of novel scenes
and impressions the time seemed indefinitely long,
and our broken Chilcat excursion, far from being a
failure as it seemed to some, was one of the most
memorable of my life.

CHAPTER VI

THE CASSIAR TRAIL

1MADE a second trip up the Stickeen in August
and from the head of navigation pushed inland
for general views over dry grassy hills and plains on
the Cassiar trail.

Soon after leaving Telegraph Creek I met a merry
trader who encouragingly assured me that I was going
into the most wonderful region in the world, that
" the scenery up the river was full of the very wildest
freaks of nature, surpassing all other sceneries either
natural or artificial, on paper or in nature. And give
yourself no bothering care about provisions, for wild
food grows in prodigious abundance everywhere. A
man was lost four days up there, but he feasted on
vegetables and berries and got back to camp in good
condition. A mess of wild parsnips and pepper, for
example, will actually do you good. And here's my
advice — go slow and take the pleasures and sceneries
as you go."

At the confluence of the first North Fork of the
Stickeen I found a band of Toltan or Stick Indians
catching their winter supply of salmon in willow traps,
set where the fish are struggling in swift rapids on
their way to the spawning-grounds. A large supply
had already been secured, and of course the Indians
were well fed and merry. They were camping in large
booths made of poles set on end in the ground, with

[76]

The Cassiar "Trail

many binding cross-pieces on which tons of salmon
were being dried. The heads were strung on separate
poles and the roes packed in willow baskets, all being
well smoked from fires in the middle of the floor. The
largest of the booths near the bank of the river was
about forty feet square. Beds made of spruce and
pine boughs were spread all around the walls, on
which some of the Indians lay asleep; some were
braiding ropes, others sitting and lounging, gossiping
and courting, while a little baby was swinging in a
hammock. All seemed to be light-hearted and jolly,
with work enough and wit enough to maintain health
and comfort. In the winter they are said to dwell in
substantial huts in the woods, where game, especially
caribou, is abundant. They are pale copper-colored,
have small feet and hands, are not at all negroish in
lips or cheeks like some of the coast tribes, nor so
thickset, short-necked, or heavy-featured in general.

One of the most striking of the geological features
of this region are immense gravel deposits displayed
in sections on the walls of the river gorges. About two
miles above the North Fork confluence there is a
bluff of basalt three hundred and fifty feet high, and
above this a bed of gravel four hundred feet thick,
while beneath the basalt there is another bed at least
fifty feet thick.

From "Ward's," seventeen miles beyond Tele-
graph, and about fourteen hundred feet above sea-
level, the trail ascends a gravel ridge to a pine-and-
fir-covered plateau twenty-one hundred feet above
the sea. Thence for three miles the trail leads through

"Travels in Alaska

a forest of short, closely planted trees to the second
North Fork of the Stickeen, where a still greater de-
posit of stratified gravel is displayed, a section at least
six hundred feet thick resting on a red jaspery forma-
tion.

Nine hundred feet above the river there is a slightly
dimpled plateau diversified with aspen and willow
groves and mossy meadows. At "Wilson's," one and
a half miles from the river, the ground is carpeted
with dwarf manzanita and the blessed Linncea borealisy
and forested with small pines, spruces, and aspens,
the tallest fifty to sixty feet high.

From Wilson's to "Caribou," fourteen miles, no
water was visible, though the nearly level, mossy
ground is swampy-looking. At "Caribou Camp,"
two miles from the river, I saw two fine dogs, a New-
foundland and a spaniel. Their owner told me that
he paid only twenty dollars for the team and was
offered one hundred dollars for one of them a short
time afterwards. The Newfoundland, he said, caught
salmon on the ripples, and could be sent back for
miles to fetch horses. The fine jet-black curly spaniel
helped to carry the dishes from the table to the
kitchen, went for water when ordered, took the pail
and set it down at the stream-side, but could not be
taught to dip it full. But their principal work was
hauling camp-supplies on sleds up the river in winter.
These two were said to be able to haul a load of a
thousand pounds when the ice was in fairly good con-
dition. They were fed on dried fish and oatmeal
boiled together.

[78]

"The Cassiar "Trail

The timber hereabouts is mostly willow or poplar on
the low ground, with here and there pine, birch, and
spruce about fifty feet high. None seen much exceeded
a foot in diameter. Thousand-acre patches have been
destroyed by fire. Some of the green trees had been
burned off at the root, the raised roots, packed in dry
moss, being readily attacked from beneath. A range
of mountains about five thousand to six thousand
feet high trending nearly north and south for sixty
miles is forested to the summit. Only a few cliff-faces
and one of the highest points patched with snow are
treeless. No part of this range as far as I could see is
deeply sculptured, though the general denudation of
the country must have been enormous as the gravel-
beds show.

At the top of a smooth, flowery pass about four
thousand feet above the sea, beautiful Dease Lake
comes suddenly in sight, shining like a broad tranquil
river between densely forested hills and mountains.
It is about twenty-seven miles long, one to two miles
wide, and its waters, tributary to the Mackenzie,
flow into the Arctic Ocean by a very long, round-
about, romantic way, the exploration of which in
1789 from Great Slave Lake to the Arctic Ocean
must have been a glorious task for the heroic Scotch-
man, Alexander Mackenzie, whose name it bears.

Dease Creek, a fine rushing stream about forty
miles long and forty or fifty feet wide, enters the
lake from the west, drawing its sources from grassy
mountain-ridges. Thibert Creek, about the same size,
and McDames and Defot Creeks, with their many

[79]

"Travels in Alaska

branches, head together in the same general range of
mountains or on moor-like tablelands on the divide
between the Mackenzie and Yukon and Stickeen. All
these Mackenzie streams had proved rich in gold.
The wing-dams, flumes, and sluice-boxes on the lower
five or ten miles of their courses showed wonderful in-
dustry, and the quantity of glacial and perhaps pre-
glacial gravel displayed was enormous. Some of the
beds were not unlike those of the so-called Dead
Rivers of California. Several ancient drift-filled
channels on Thibert Creek, blue at bed rock, were ex-
posed and had been worked. A considerable portion
of the gold, though mostly coarse, had no doubt
come from considerable distances, as boulders in-
cluded in some of the deposits show. The deepest
beds, though known to be rich, had not yet been
worked to any great depth on account of expense.
Diggings that yield less than five dollars a day to the
man were considered worthless. Only three of the
claims on Defot Creek, eighteen miles from the mouth
of Thibert Creek, were then said to pay. One of the
nuggets from this creek weighed forty pounds.

While wandering about the banks of these gold-
besprinkled streams, looking at the plants and mines
and miners, I was so fortunate as to meet an inter-
esting French Canadian, an old coureur de hois, who
after a few minutes' conversation invited me to ac-
company him to his gold-mine on the head of Defot
Creek, near the summit of a smooth, grassy moun-
tain-ridge which he assured me commanded extensive
views of the region at the heads of Stickeen, Taku,

\ 80 1

"The Cassiar T^rail

Yukon, and Mackenzie tributaries. Though heavy-
laden with flour and bacon, he strode lightly along
the rough trails as if his load was only a natural bal-
anced part of his body. Our way at first lay along
Thibert Creek, now on gravel benches, now on bed
rock, now close down on the bouldery edge of the
stream. Above the mines the stream is clear and
flows with a rapid current. Its banks are embossed
with moss and grass and sedge well mixed with
flowers — daisies, larkspurs, solidagos, parnassia, po-
tentilla, strawberry, etc. Small strips of meadow oc-
cur here and there, and belts of slender arrowy fir and
spruce with moss-clad roots grow close to the water's
edge. The creek is about forty-five miles long, and the
richest of its gold-bearing beds so far discovered
were on the lower four miles of the creek; the higher
four-or-five-dollars-a-day diggings were considered
very poor on account of the high price of provisions
and shortness of the season. After crossing many
smaller streams with their strips of trees and meadows,
bogs and bright wild gardens, we arrived at the Le
Claire cabin about the middle of the afternoon. Be-
fore entering it he threw down his burden and made
haste to show me his favorite flower, a blue forget-
me-not, a specimen of which he found within a few
rods of the cabin, and proudly handed it to me
with the finest respect, and telling its many charms
and lifelong associations, showed in every endearing
look and touch and gesture that the tender little plant
of the mountain wilderness was truly his best-loved
darling.

[ 8i 1

"Travels in Alaska

After luncheon we set out for the highest point on
the dividing ridge about a mile above the cabin, and
sauntered and gazed until sundown, admiring the
vast expanse of open rolling prairie-like highlands
dotted with groves and lakes, the fountain-heads of
countless cool, glad streams.

Le Claire's simple, childlike love of nature, pre-
served undimmed through a hard wilderness life, was
delightful to see. The grand landscapes with their
lakes and streams, plants and animals, all were dear
to him. In particular he was fond of the birds that
nested near his cabin, watched the young, and in
stormy weather helped their parents to feed and
shelter them. Some species were so confiding they
learned to perch on his shoulders and take crumbs
from his hand.

A little before sunset snow began to fly, driven by a
cold wind, and by the time we reached the cabin,
though we had not far to go, everything looked wintry.
At half-past nine we ate supper, while a good fire crack-
led cheerily in the ingle and a wintry wind blew hard.
The little log cabin was only ten feet long, eight wide,
and just high enough under the roof peak to allow one
to stand upright. The bedstead was not wide enough
for two, so Le Claire spread the blankets on the floor,
and we gladly lay down after our long, happy walk,
our heads under the bedstead, our feet against the
opposite wall, and though comfortably tired, it was
long ere we fell asleep, for Le Claire, finding me a
good listener, told many stories of his adventurous
life with Indians, bears and wolves, snow and hunger,

[ 82 1

"The Cassiar "Trail

and of his many camps in the Canadian woods, hidden
like the nests and dens of wild animals; stories that
have a singular interest to everybody, for they awaken
inherited memories of the lang, lang syne when we
were all wild. He had nine children, he told me, the
youngest eight years of age, and several of his daugh-
ters were married. His home was in Victoria.

Next morning was cloudy and windy, snowy and
cold, dreary December weather in August, and I
gladly ran out to see what I might learn. A gray
ragged-edged cloud capped the top of the divide, its
snowy fringes drawn out by the wind. The flowers,
though most of them were buried or partly so, were
to some extent recognizable, the bluebells bent over,
shining like eyes through the snow, and the gentians,
too, with their corollas twisted shut; cassiope I could
recognize under any disguise; and two species of
dwarf willow with their seeds already ripe, one with
comparatively small leaves, were growing in mere
cracks and crevices of rock-ledges where the dry
snow could not lie. Snowbirds and ptarmigan were
flying briskly in the cold wind, and on the edge of a
grove I saw a spruce from which a bear had stripped
large sections of bark for food.

About nine o'clock the clouds lifted and I enjoyed
another wide view from the summit of the ridge of
the vast grassy fountain region with smooth rolling
features. A few patches of forest broke the monotony
of color, and the many lakes, one of them about five
miles long, were glowing like windows. Only the
highest ridges were whitened with snow, while rifts in

1 83]

"Travels in Alaska

the clouds showed beautiful bits of yellow-green sky.
The limit of tree growth is about five thousand feet.

Throughout all this region from Glenora to Cassiar
the grasses grow luxuriantly in openings in the woods
and on dry hillsides where the trees seem to have been
destroyed by fire, and over all the broad prairies
above the timber-line. A kind of bunch-grass in partic-
ular is often four or five feet high, and close enough to
be mowed for hay. I never anywhere saw finer or
more bountiful wild pasture. Here the caribou feed
and grow fat, braving the intense winter cold, often
forty to sixty degrees below zero. Winter and summer
seem to be the only seasons here. What may fairly
be called summer lasts only two or three months,
winter nine or ten, for of pure well-defined spring or
autumn there is scarcely a trace. Were it not for the
long severe winters, this would be a capital stock
country, equaling Texas and the prairies of the old
West. From my outlook on the Defot ridge I saw
thousands of square miles of this prairie-like region
drained by tributaries of the Stickeen, Taku, Yukon,
and Mackenzie Rivers.

Le Claire told me that the caribou, or reindeer,
were very abundant on this high ground. A flock of
fifty or more was seen a short time before at the head
of Defot Creek, — fine, hardy, able animals like their
near relatives the reindeer of the Arctic tundras. The
Indians hereabouts, he said, hunted them with dogs,
mostly in the fall and winter. On my return trip I
met several bands of these Indians on the march, go-
ing north to hunt. Some of the men and women were

[84]

The Cassiar Trail

carrying puppies on top of their heavy loads of dried
salmon, while the grown dogs had saddle-bags filled
with odds and ends strapped on their backs. Small
puppies, unable to carry more than five or six pounds,
were thus made useful. I overtook another band go-
ing south, heavy laden with furs and skins to trade.
An old woman, with short dress and leggings, was
carrying a big load of furs and skins, on top of which
was perched a little girl about three years old.

A brown, speckled marmot, one of Le Claire's
friends, was getting ready for winter. The entrance
to his burrow was a little to one side of the cabin door.
A well-worn trail led to it through the grass and
another to that of his companion, fifty feet away. He
was a most amusing pet, always on hand at meal
times for bread-crumbs and bits of bacon-rind, came
when called, answering in a shrill whistle, moving like
a squirrel with quick, nervous impulses, jerking his
short flat tail. His fur clothing was neat and clean,
fairly shining in the wintry light. The snowy weather
that morning must have called winter to mind ; for as
soon as he got his breakfast, he ran to a tuft of dry
grass, chewed it into fuzzy mouthfuls, and carried it
to his nest, coming and going with admirable in-
dustry, forecast, and confidence. None watching him
as we did could fail to sympathize with him; and I
fancy that in practical weather wisdom no govern-
ment forecaster with all his advantages surpasses this
little Alaska rodent, every hair and nerve a weather
instrument.

I greatly enjoyed this little inland side trip — the

[8s]

T'ravels in Alaska

wide views ; the miners along the branches of the great
river, busy as moles and beavers ; young men dream-
ing and hoping to strike it rich and rush home to
marry their girls faithfully waiting; others hoping to
clear off weary farm mortgages, and brighten the
lives of the anxious home folk; but most, I suppose,
just struggling blindly for gold enough to make them
indefinitely rich to spend their lives in aimless afflu-
ence, honor, and ease. I enjoyed getting acquainted
with the trees, especially the beautiful spruce and
silver fir; the flower gardens and great grassy cari-
bou pastures; the cheery, able marmot mountaineer;
and above all the friendship and kindness of Mr. Le
Claire, whom I shall never forget. Bidding good-
bye, I sauntered back to the head of navigation on
the Stickeen, happy and rich without a particle of
obscuring gold-dust care.

CHAPTER VII

GLENORA PEAK

ON the trail to the steamboat-landing at the foot
of Dease Lake, I met a Douglas squirrel, nearly
as red and rusty in color as his Eastern relative the
chickaree. Except in color he differs but little from
the California Douglas squirrel. In voice, language,
gestures, temperament, he is the same fiery, indomi-
table little king of the woods. Another darker and
probably younger specimen met near the Caribou
House, barked, chirruped, and showed oif in fine style
on a tree within a few feet of us.

"What does the little rascal mean.*^" said my com-
panion, a man I had fallen in with on the trail. "What
is he making such a fuss about? I cannot frighten
him."

"Never mind," I replied; "just wait until I whistle
*01d Hundred' and you will see him fly in disgust."
And so he did, just as his California brethren do.
Strange that no squirrel or spermophile I yet have
found ever seemed to have anything like enough of
Scotch religion to enjoy this grand old tune.

The taverns along the Cassiar gold trail were the
worst I had ever seen, rough shacks with dirt floors,
dirt roofs, and rough meals. The meals are all alike
— a potato, a slice of something like bacon, some
gray stuff called bread, and a cup of muddy, semi-
liquid coffee like that which the California miners call

[87 1

Travels in Alaska

"slickens" or " slumgullion." The bread was terrible
and sinful. How the Lord's good wheat could be made
into stuff so mysteriously bad is past finding out. The
very de'il, it would seem, in wicked anger and in-
genuity, had been the baker.

On our walk from Dease Lake to Telegraph Creek
we had one of these rough luncheons at three o'clock
in the afternoon of the first day, then walked on five
miles to Ward's, where we were solemnly assured that
we could not have a single bite of either supper or
breakfast, but as a great favor we might sleep on his
best gray bunk. We replied that, as we had lunched
at the lake, supper would not be greatly missed, and
as for breakfast we would start early and walk eight
miles to the next road-house. We set out at half-past
four, glad to escape into the' fresh air, and reached
the breakfast place at eight o'clock. The landlord
was still abed, and when at length he came to the door,
he scowled savagely at us as if our request for break-
fast was preposterous and criminal beyond anything
ever heard of in all goldful Alaska. A good many in
those days were returning from the mines dead broke,
and he probably regarded us as belonging to that
disreputable class. Anyhow, we got nothing and had
to tramp on.

As we approached the next house, three miles ahead,
we saw the tavern-keeper keenly surveying us, and,
as we afterwards learned, taking me for a certain
judge whom for some cause he wished to avoid, he
hurriedly locked his door and fled. Half a mile farther
on we discovered him in a thicket a little way off the

[88 1

Glenora Peak

trail, explained our wants, marched him back to his
house, and at length obtained a little sour bread, sour
milk, and old salmon, our only lonely meal between
the Lake and Telegraph Creek.

We arrived at Telegraph Creek, the end of my two-
hundred-mile walk, about noon. After luncheon I
went on down the river to Glenora in a fine canoe
owned and manned by Kitty, a stout, intelligent-
looking Indian woman, who charged her passengers a
dollar for the fifteen-mile trip. Her crew was four
Indian paddlers. In the rapids she also plied the
paddle, with stout, telling strokes, and a keen-eyed
old man, probably her husband, sat high in the stern
and steered. All seemed exhilarated as we shot down
through the narrow gorge on the rushing, roaring,
throttled river, paddling all the more vigorously the
faster the speed of the stream, to hold good steering
way. The canoe danced lightly amid gray surges
and spray as if alive and enthusiastically enjoying
the adventure. Some of the passengers were pretty
thoroughly drenched. In unskillful hands the frail
dugout would surely have been wrecked or upset.
Most of the season goods for the Cassiar gold camps
were carried from Glenora to Telegraph Creek in
canoes, the steamers not being able to overcome the
rapids except during high water. Even then they had
usually to line two of the rapids — that is, take a line
ashore, make it fast to a tree on the bank, and pull
up on the capstan. The freight canoes carried about
three or four tons, for which fifteen dollars per ton
was charged. Slow progress was made by poling along

189)

T^raveh in Alaska

the bank out of the swiftest part of the current. In
the rapids a tow line was taken ashore, only one of the
crew remaining aboard to steer. The trip took a day
unless a favoring wind was blowing, which often hap-
pened.

Next morning I set out from Glenora to climb
Glenora Peak for the general view of the great Coast
Range that I failed to obtain on my first ascent on
account of the accident that befell Mr. Young when
we were within a minute or two of the top. It is hard
to fail in reaching a mountain-top that one starts for,
let the cause be what it may. This time I had no
companion to care for, but the sky was threatening.
I was assured by the local weather-prophets that the
day would be rainy or snowy because the peaks in
sight were muffled in clouds that seemed to be getting
ready for work. I determined to go ahead, however,
for storms of any kind are well worth while, and if
driven back I could wait and try again.

With crackers in my pocket and a light rubber coat
that a kind Hebrew passenger on the steamer Ger-
trude loaned me, I was ready for anything that might
offer, my hopes for the grand view rising and falling as
the clouds rose and fell. Anxiously I watched them
as they trailed their draggled skirts across the glaciers
and fountain peaks as if thoughtfully looking for the
places where they could do the most good. From Glen-
ora there is first a terrace two hundred feet above the
river covered mostly with bushes, yellow apocynum
on the open spaces, together with carpets of dwarf
manzanita, bunch-grass, and a few of the compositae,

[90]

Glenora Peak

galiums, etc. Then comes a flat stretch a mile wide,
extending to the foothills, covered with birch, spruce,
fir, and poplar, now mostly killed by fire and the
ground strewn with charred trunks. From this black
forest the mountain rises in rather steep slopes cov-
ered with a luxuriant growth of bushes, grass, flowers,
and a few trees, chiefly spruce and fir, the firs gradu-
ally dwarfing into a beautiful chaparral, the most
beautiful, I think, I have ever seen, the flat fan-
shaped plumes thickly foliaged and imbricated by
snow pressure, forming a smooth, handsome thatch
which bears cones and thrives as if this repressed con-
dition were its very best. It extends up to an eleva-
tion of about fifty-five hundred feet. Only a few trees
more than a foot in diameter and more than fifty feet
high are found higher than four thousand feet above
the sea. A few poplars and willows occur on moist
places, gradually dwarfing like the conifers. Alder is
the most generally distributed of the chaparral bushes,
growing nearly everywhere; its crinkled stems an inch
or two thick form a troublesome tangle to the moun-
taineer. The blue geranium, with leaves red and
showy at this time of the year, is perhaps the most
telling of the flowering plants. It grows up to five
thousand feet or more. Larkspurs are common, with
epilobium, senecio, erigeron, and a few solidagos. The
harebell appears at about four thousand feet and ex-
tends to the summit, dwarfing in stature but main-
taining the size of its handsome bells until they seem
to be lying loose and detached on the ground as if like
snow flowers they had fallen from the sky; and, though

[91]

travels in Alaska

frail and delicate-looking, none of its companions is
more enduring or rings out the praises of beauty-
loving Nature in tones more appreciable to mortals,
not forgetting even Cassiope, who also is here and
her companion, Bryanthus, the loveliest and most
widely distributed of the alpine shrubs. Then come
crowberry, and two species of huckleberry, one of
them from about six inches to a foot high with deli-
cious berries, the other a most lavishly prolific and
contented-looking dwarf, few of the bushes being
more than two inches high, counting to the topmost
leaf, yet each bearing from ten to twenty or more
large berries. Perhaps more than half the bulk of the
whole plant is fruit, the largest and finest-flavored of
all the huckleberries or blueberries I ever tasted,
spreading fine feasts for the grouse and ptarmigan
and many others of Nature's mountain people. I
noticed three species of dwarf willows, one with nar-
row leaves, growing at the very summit of the moun-
tain in cracks of the rocks, as well as on patches of
soil, another with large, smooth leaves now turning
yellow. The third species grows between the others
as to elevation; its leaves, then orange-colored, are
strikingly pitted and reticulated. Another alpine
shrub, a species of sericocarpus, covered with hand-
some heads of feathery achenia, beautiful dwarf echi-
verias with flocks of purple flowers pricked into their
bright grass-green, cushion-like bosses of moss-like
foliage, and a fine forget-me-not reach to the sum-
mit. I may also mention a large mertensia, a fine
anemone, a veratrum, six feet high, a large blue daisy,

[921

Glenora Peak

growing up to three to four thousand feet, and at the
summit a dwarf species, with dusky, hairy involu-
cres, and a few ferns, aspidium, gymnogramma, and
small rock cheilanthes, leaving scarce a foot of ground
bare, though the mountain looks bald and brown in
the distance like those of the desert ranges of the
Great Basin in Utah and Nevada.

Charmed with these plant people, I had almost
forgotten to watch the sky until I reached the top of
the highest peak, when one of the greatest and most
impressively sublime of all the mountain views I have
ever enjoyed came full in sight — more than three
hundred miles of closely packed peaks of the great
Coast Range, sculptured in the boldest manner im-
aginable, their naked tops and dividing ridges dark in
color, their sides and the canons, gorges, and valleys
between them loaded with glaciers and snow. From
this standpoint I counted upwards of two hundred
glaciers, while dark-centred luminous clouds with
fringed edges hovered and crawled over them, now
slowly descending, casting transparent shadows on
the ice and show, now rising high above them, linger-
ing like loving angels guarding the crystal gifts they
had bestowed. Although the range as seen from this
Glenora mountain-top seems regular in its trend, as
if the main axis were simple and continuous, it is, on
the contrary, far from simple. In front of the highest
ranks of peaks are others of the same form with their
own glaciers, and lower peaks before these, and yet
lower ones with their ridges and canons, valleys and
foothills. Alps rise beyond alps as far as the eye can

[93]

"Travels in Alaska

reach, and clusters of higher peaks here and there
closely crowded together; clusters, too, of needles and
pinnacles innumerable like trees in groves. Every-
where the peaks seem comparatively slender and
closely packed, as if Nature had here been trying to
see how many noble well-dressed mountains could be
crowded into one grand range.

The black rocks, too steep for snow to lie upon,
were brought into sharp relief by white clouds and
snow and glaciers, and these again were outlined and
made tellingly plain by the rocks. The glaciers so
grandly displayed are of every form, some crawling
through gorge and valley like monster glittering ser-
pents; others like broad cataracts pouring over cliffs
into shadowy gulfs; others, with their main trunks
winding through narrow caiions, display long, white
finger-like tributaries descending from the summits
of pinnacled ridges. Others lie back in fountain
cirques walled in all around save at the lower edge,
over which they pour in blue cascades. Snow, too, lay
in folds and patches of every form on blunt, rounded
ridges in curves, arrowy lines, dashes, and narrow
ornamental flutings among the summit peaks and in
broad radiating wings on smooth slopes. And on
many a bulging headland and lower ridge there lay
heavy, over-curling copings and smooth, white domes
where wind-driven snow was pressed and wreathed and
packed into every form and in every possible place
and condition. I never before had seen so richly-
sculptured a range or so many awe-inspiring inacces-
sible mountains crowded together. If a line were

[94l

Gknora Peak

drawn east and west from the peak on which I stood,
and extended both ways to the horizon, cutting the
whole round landscape in two equal parts, then all of
the south half would be bounded by these icy peaks,
which would seem to curve around half the horizon
and about twenty degrees more, though extending in
a general straight, or but moderately curved, line.
The deepest and thickest and highest of all this wild-
erness of peaks lie to the southwest. They are proba-
bly from about nine to twelve thousand feet high,
springing to this elevation from near the sea-level.
The peak on which these observations were made is
somewhere about seven thousand feet high, and from
here I estimated the height of the range. The highest
peak of all, or that seemed so to me, lies to the west-
ward at an estimated distance of about one hundred
and fifty or two hundred miles. Only its solid white
summit was visible. Possibly it may be the topmost
peak of St. Elias. Now look northward around the
other half of the horizon, and instead of countless
peaks crowding into the sky, you see a low brown
region, heaving and swelling in gentle curves, appar-
ently scarcely more waved than a rolling prairie. The
so-called canons of several forks of the upper Stickeen
are visible, but even where best seen in the foreground
and middle ground of the picture, they are like mere
sunken gorges, making scarce perceptible marks on
the landscape, while the tops of the highest moun-
tain-swells show only small patches of snow and no
glaciers.

Glenora Peak, on which I stood, is the highest

[95]

"Travels in Alaska

point of a spur that puts out from the main range in a
northerly direction. It seems to have been a rounded,
broad-backed ridge which has been sculptured into
its present irregular form by short residual glaciers,
some of which, a mile or two long, are still at work.

As I lingered, gazing on the vast show, luminous
shadowy clouds seemed to increase in glory of color
and motion, now fondling the highest peaks with in-
finite tenderness of touch, now hovering above them
like eagles over their nests.

When night was drawing near, I ran down the
flowery slopes exhilarated, thanking God for the gift
of this great day. The setting sun fired the clouds.
All the world seemed new-born. Every thing, even
the commonest, was seen in new light and was looked
at with new interest as if never seen before. The
plant people seemed glad, as if rejoicing with me, the
little ones as well as the trees, while every feature of
the peak and its traveled boulders seemed to know
what I had been about and the depth of my joy, as if
they could read faces.

CHAPTER VIII

EXPLORATION OF THE STICKEEN GLACIERS

NEXT day I planned an excursion to the so-called
Dirt Glacier, the most interesting to Indians
and steamer men of all the Stickeen glaciers from its
mysterious floods. I left the steamer Gertrude for the
glacier delta an hour or two before sunset. The cap-
tain kindly loaned me his canoe and two of his Indian
deck hands, who seemed much puzzled to know what
the rare service required of them might mean, and on
leaving bade a merry adieu to their companions. We
camped on the west side of the river opposite the
front of the glacier, in a spacious valley surrounded
by snowy mountains. Thirteen small glaciers were in
sight and four waterfalls. It was a fine, serene even-
ing, and the highest peaks were wearing turbans of
flossy, gossamer cloud-stuiF. I had my supper before
leaving the steamer, so I had only to make a camp-
fire, spread my blanket, and lie down. The Indians
had their own bedding and lay beside their own fire.
The Dirt Glacier is noted among the river men as
being subject to violent flood outbursts once or twice
a year, usually in the late summer. The delta of this
glacier stream is three or four miles wide where it
fronts the river, and the many rough channels with
which it is guttered and the uprooted trees and huge
boulders that roughen its surface manifest the power
of the floods that swept them to their places; but

[97]

"Travels in Alaska

under ordinary conditions the glacier discharges its
drainage water into the river through only four or
five of the delta-channels.

Our camp was made on the south or lower side of
the delta, below all the draining streams, so that I
would not have to ford any of them on my way to the
glacier. The Indians chose a sand-pit to sleep in; I
chose a level spot back of a drift log. I had but little
to say to my companions as they could speak no
English, nor I much Thlinkit or Chinook. In a few
minutes after landing they retired to their pit and
were soon asleep and asnore. I lingered by the fire
until after ten o'clock, for the night sky was clear,
and the great white mountains in the starlight seemed
nearer than by day and to be looking down like
guardians of the valley, while the waterfalls, and the
torrents escaping from beneath the big glacier, roared
in a broad, low monotone, sounding as if close at hand,
though, as it proved next day, the nearest was three
miles away. After wrapping myself in my blankets, I
still gazed into the marvelous sky and made out to
sleep only about two hours. Then, without waking
the noisy sleepers, I arose, ate a piece of bread, and
set out in my shirt-sleeves, determined to make the
most of the time at my disposal. The captain was to
pick us up about noon at a woodpile about a mile
from here; but if in the mean time the steamer should
run aground and he should need his canoe, a three-
whistle signal would be given.

Following a dry channel for about a mile, I came
suddenly upon the main outlet of the glacier, which

[98]

T'he Stickeen Glaciers

in the imperfect light seemed as large as the river,
about one hundred and fifty feet wide, and perhaps
three or four feet deep. A little farther up it was only
about fifty feet wide and rushing on with impetuous
roaring force in its rocky channel, sweeping forward
sand, gravel, cobblestones, and boulders, the bump
and rumble sounds of the largest of these rolling stones
being readily heard in the midst of the roaring. It was
too swift and rough to ford, and no bridge tree could
be found, for the great floods had cleared everything
out of their way. I was therefore compelled to keep on
up the right bank, however diflftcult the way. Where a
strip of bare boulders lined the margin, the walking
was easy, but where the current swept close along the
ragged edge of the forest, progress was difficult and
slow on account of snow-crinkled and interlaced
thickets of alder and willow, reinforced with fallen
trees and thorny devil's-club {Echinopanax horridutnjy
making a jungle all but impenetrable. The mile of
this extravagantly difficult growth through which I
struggled, inch by inch, will not soon be forgotten. At
length arriving within a few hundred yards of the
glacier, full of panax barbs, I found that both the
glacier and its unfordable stream were pressing hard
against a shelving clifi", dangerously steep, leaving no
margin, and compelling me to scramble along its face
before I could get on to the glacier. But by sunrise all
these cliff, jungle, and torrent troubles were over-
come and I gladly found myself free on the magnifi-
cent ice-river.

The curving, out-bulging front of the glacier is

[99]

travels in Alaska

about two miles wide, two hundred feet high, and its
surface for a mile or so above the front is strewn with
moraine detritus, giving it a strangely dirty, dusky
look, hence its name, the " Dirt Glacier," this detritus-
laden portion being all that is seen in passing up the
river. A mile or two beyond the moraine-covered
part I was surprised to find alpine plants growing on
the ice, fresh and green, some of them in full flower.
These curious glacier gardens, the first I had seen,
were evidently planted by snow avalanches from the
high walls. They were well watered, of course, by the
melting surface of the ice and fairly well nourished by
humus still attached to the roots, and in some places
formed beds of considerable thickness. Seedling
trees and bushes also were growing among the flowers.
Admiring these novel floating gardens, I struck out
for the middle of the pure white glacier, where the
ice seemed smoother, and then held straight on for
about eight miles, where I reluctantly turned back
to meet the steamer, greatly regretting that I had
not brought a week's supply of hardtack to allow me
to explore the glacier to its head, and then trust to
some passing canoe to take me down to Buck Station,
from which I could explore the Big Stickeen Glacier.
Altogether, I saw about fifteen or sixteen miles of
the main trunk. The grade is almost regular, and the
walls on either hand are about from two to three
thousand feet high, sculptured like those of Yosemite
Valley. I found no difficulty of an extraordinary kind.
Many a crevasse had to be crossed, but most of them
were narrow and easily jumped, while the few wide

[ loo ]

"The Stickeen Glaciers

ones that lay in my way were crossed on sliver bridges
or avoided by passing around them. The structure of
the glacier was strikingly revealed on its melting sur-
face. It is made up of thin vertical or inclined sheets
or slabs set on edge and welded together. They repre-
sent, I think, the successive snowfalls from heavy
storms on the tributaries. One of the tributaries on
the right side, about three miles above the front, has
been entirely melted off from the trunk and has re-
ceded two or three miles, forming an independent
glacier. Across the mouth of this abandoned part of
its channel the main glacier flows, forming a dam
which gives rise to a lake. On the head of the de-
tached tributary there are some five or six small
residual glaciers, the drainage of which, with that of
the snowy mountain slopes above them, discharges
into the lake, whose outlet is through a channel or
channels beneath the damming glacier. Now these
sub-channels are occasionally blocked and the water
rises until it flows alongside of the glacier, but as the
dam is a moving one, a grand outburst is sometimes
made, which, draining the large lake, produces a
flood of amazing power, sweeping down immense
quantities of moraine material and raising the river
all the way down to its mouth, so that several trips
may occasionally be made by the steamers after the
season of low water has laid them up for the year.
The occurrence of these floods are, of course, well
known to the Indians and steamboat men, though
they know nothing of their cause. They simply re-r
mark, "The Dirt Glacier has broken out again."

[ loi 1

travels in Alaska

I greatly enjoyed my walk up this majestic ice-
river, charmed by the pale-blue, ineffably fine light in
the crevasses, moulins, and wells, and the innumer-
able azure pools in basins of azure ice, and the net-
work of surface streams, large and small, gliding,
swirling with wonderful grace of motion in their
frictionless channels, calling forth devout admiration
at almost every step and filling the mind with a sense
of Nature's endless beauty and power. Looking ahead
from the middle of the glacier, you see the broad
white flood, though apparently rigid as iron, sweep-
ing in graceful curves between its high mountain-like
walls, small glaciers hanging in the hollows on either
side, and snow in every form above them, and the
great down-plunging granite buttresses and head-
lands of the walls marvelous in bold massive sculpture ;
forests in side canons to within fifty feet of the glacier;
avalanche pathways overgrown with alder and wil-
low; innumerable cascades keeping up a solemn har-
mony of water sounds blending with those of the
glacier moulins and rills; and as far as the eye can
reach, tributary glaciers at short intervals silently
descending from their high, white fountains to swell
the grand central ice-river.

In the angle formed by the main glacier and the
lake that gives rise to the river floods, there is a mas-
sive granite dome sparsely feathered with trees, and
just beyond this yosemitic rock is a mountain, per-
haps ten thousand feet high, laden with ice and snow
which seemed pure pearly white in the morning light.
Last evening as seen from camp it was adorned with a

f I02 1

"The Stickeen Glaciers

cloud streamer, and both the streamer and the peak
were flushed in the alpenglow. A mile or two above
this mountain, on the opposite side of the glacier,
there is a rock like the Yosemite Sentinel; and in
general all the wall rocks as far as I saw them are more
or less yosemitic in form and color and streaked with
cascades.

But wonderful as this noble ice-river is in size and
depth and in power displayed, far more wonderful
was the vastly greater glacier three or four thousand
feet, or perhaps a mile, in depth, whose size and gen-
eral history is inscribed on the sides of the walls and
over the tops of the rocks in characters which have
not yet been greatly dimmed by the weather. Com-
paring its present size with that when it was in its
prime, is like comparing a small rivulet to the same
stream when it is a roaring torrent.

The return trip to the camp past the shelving cliff
and through the weary devil's-club jungle was made
in a few hours. The Indians had gone ofl" picking
berries, but were on the watch for me and hailed me
as I approached. The captain had called for me, and,
after waiting three hours, departed for Wrangell with-
out leaving any food, to make sure, I suppose, of a
quick return of his Indians and canoe. This was no
serious matter, however, for the swift current swept
us down to Buck Station, some thirty-five miles dis-
tant, by eight o'clock. Here I remained to study the
"Big Stickeen Glacier," but the Indians set out for
Wrangell soon after supper, though I invited them
to stay till morning.

[ 103 ]

"Travels in Alaska

The weather that morning, August 27, was dark
and rainy, and I tried to persuade myself that I ought
to rest a day before setting out on new ice work. But
just across the river the "Big Glacier" was staring
me in the face, pouring its majestic flood through a
broad mountain gateway and expanding in the spa-
cious river valley to a width of four or five miles, while
dim in the gray distance loomed its high mountain
fountains. So grand an invitation displayed in char-
acters so telling was of course irresistible, and body-
care and weather-care vanished.

Mr. Choquette, the keeper of the station, ferried
me across the river, and I spent the day in getting
general views and planning the work that had been
long in mind. I first traced the broad, complicated
terminal moraine to its southern extremity, climbed
up the west side along the lateral moraine three or
four miles, making my way now on the glacier, now
on the moraine-covered bank, and now compelled to
climb up through the timber and brush in order to
pass some rocky headland, until I reached a point
commanding a good general view of the lower end of
the glacier. Heavy, blotting rain then began to fall,
and I retraced my steps, oftentimes stopping to ad-
mire the blue ice-caves into which glad, rejoicing
streams from the mountain-side were hurrying as if
going home, while the glacier seemed to open wide its
crystal gateways to welcome them.

The following morning blotting rain was still falling,
but time and work was too precious to mind it. Kind
Mr. Choquette put me across the river in a canoe,

[ 104 ]

"The Stickeen Glaciers

with a lot of biscuits his Indian wife had baked
for me and some dried salmon, a little sugar and
tea, a blanket, and a piece of light sheeting for shel-
ter from rain during the night, all rolled into one
bundle.

"When shall I expect you back?" inquired Cho-
quette, when I bade him good-bye.

"Oh, any time," I replied. "I shall see as much as
possible of the glacier, and I know not how long it
will hold me."

"Well, but when will I come to look for you, if any-
thing happens.'* Where are you going to try to go.^
Years ago Russian officers from Sitka went up the
glacier from here and none ever returned. It's a
mighty dangerous glacier, all full of damn deep holes
and cracks. You've no idea what ticklish deceiving
traps are scattered over it."

"Yes, I have," I said. "I have seen glaciers before,
though none so big as this one. Do not look for
me until I make my appearance on the river-bank.
Never mind me. I am used to caring for myself."
And so, shouldering my bundle, I trudged off through
the moraine boulders and thickets.

My general plan was to trace the terminal moraine
to its extreme north end, pitch my little tent, leave
the blanket and most of the hardtack, and from this
main camp go and come as hunger required or al-
lowed.

After examining a cross-section of the broad mo-
raine, roughened by concentric masses, marking inter-
ruptions in the recession of the glacier of perhaps

I los ]

"Travels in Alaska

several centuries, in which the successive moraines
were formed and shoved together in closer or wider
order, I traced the moraine to its northeastern ex-
tremity and ascended the glacier for several miles
along the left margin, then crossed it at the grand
cataract and down the right side to the river, and
along the moraine to the point of beginning.

On the older portions of this moraine I discovered
several kettles in process of formation and was pleased
to find that they conformed in the most striking way
with the theory I had already been led to make from
observations on the old kettles which form so curious
a feature of the drift covering Wisconsin and Minne-
sota and some of the larger moraines of the residual
glaciers in the California Sierra. I found a pit eight or
ten feet deep with raw shifting sides countersunk
abruptly in the rough moraine material, and at the
bottom, on sliding down by the aid of a lithe spruce
tree that was being undermined, I discovered, after
digging down a foot or two, that the bottom was rest-
ing on a block of solid blue ice which had been buried
in the moraine perhaps a century or more, judging by
the age of the tree that had grown above it. Probably
more than another century will be required to com-
plete the formation of this kettle by the slow melt-
ing of the buried ice-block. The moraine material of
course was falling in as the ice melted, and the sides
maintained an angle as steep as the material would
lie. All sorts of theories have been advanced for the
formation of these kettles, so abundant in the drift
over a great part of the United States, and I was glad

[ io6 ]

T^he Stickeen Glaciers

to be able to set the question at rest, at least as far as I
was concerned.

The glacier and the mountains about it are on so
grand a scale and so generally inaccessible in the
ordinary sense, it seemed to matter but little what
course I pursued. Everything was full of interest,
even the weather, though about as unfavorable as
possible for wide views, and scrambling through the
moraine jungle brush kept one as wet as if all the way
was beneath a cascade.

I pushed on, with many a rest and halt to admire
the bold and marvelously sculptured ice-front, look-
ing all the grander and more striking in the gray mist
with all the rest of the glacier shut out, until I came
to a lake about two hundred yards wide and two
miles long with scores of small bergs floating in it,
some aground, close inshore against the moraine, the
light playing on their angles and shimmering in their
blue caves in ravishing tones. This proved to be the
largest of the series of narrow lakelets that lie in
shallow troughs between the moraine and the glacier,
a miniature Arctic Ocean, its ice-cliif s played upon by
whispering, rippling wavelets and its small berg floes
drifting in its currents or with the wind, or stranded
here and there along its rocky moraine shore.

Hundreds of small rills and good-sized streams
were falling into the lake from the glacier, singing in
low tones, some of them pouring in sheer falls over
blue cliifs from narrow ice-valleys, some spouting
from pipelike channels in the solid front of the glacier,
others gurgling out of arched openings at the base. All

[ 107]

"Travels in Alaska

these water-streams were riding on the parent ice-
stream, their voices joined in one grand anthem tell-
ing the wonders of their near and far-off fountains.
The lake itself is resting in a basin of ice, and the for-
ested moraine, though seemingly cut off from the
glacier and probably more than a century old, is in
great part resting on buried ice left behind as the
glacier receded, and melting slowly on account of
the protection afforded by the moraine detritus,
which keeps shifting and falling on the inner face long
after it is overgrown with lichens, mosses, grasses,
bushes, and even good-sized trees ; these changes going
on with marvelous deliberation until in fullness of
time the whole moraine settles down upon its bed-
rock foundation.

The outlet of the lake is a large stream, almost a
river in size, one of the main draining streams of the
glacier. I attempted to ford it where it begins to
break in rapids in passing over the moraine, but
found it too deep and rough on the bottom. 1 then
tried to ford at its head, where it is wider and glides
smoothly out of the lake, bracing myself against the
current with a pole, but found it too deep, and when
the icy water reached my shoulders I cautiously
struggled back to the moraine. I next followed it
down through the rocky jungle to a place where in
breaking across the moraine dam it was only about
thirty-five feet wide. Here I found a spruce tree,
which I felled for a bridge; it reached across, about
ten feet of the top holding in the bank brush. But the
force of the torrent, acting on the submerged branches

[ io8 1

"The Stickeen Glaciers

and the slender end of the trunk, bent it like a bo-w-
and made it very unsteady, and after testing it by
going out about a third of the way over, it seemed
likely to be carried away when bent deeper into the
current by my weight. Fortunately, I discovered
another larger tree well situated a little farther down,
which I felled, and though a few feet in the middle
was submerged, it seemed perfectly safe.

As it was now getting late, I started back to the
lakeside where I had left my bundle, and in trying to
hold a direct course found the interlaced jungle still
more difficult than it was along the bank of the tor-
rent. For over an hour I had to creep and struggle
close to the rocky ground like a fly in a spider-web
without being able to obtain a single glimpse of any
guiding feature of the landscape. Finding a little
willow taller than the surrounding alders, I climbed
it, caught sight of the glacier-front, took a compass
bearing, and sunk again into the dripping, blinding
maze of brush, and at length emerged on the lake-
shore seven hours after leaving it, all this time as wet
as though I had been swimming, thus completing a
trying day's work. But everything was deliciously
fresh, and I found new and old plant friends, and
lessons on Nature's Alaska moraine landscape-gar-
dening that made everything bright and light.

It was now near dark, and I made haste to make up
my flimsy little tent. The ground was desperately
rocky. I made out, however, to level down a strip
large enough to lie on, and by means of slim alder
stems bent over it and tied together soon had a home.

[ 109 ]

"Travels in Alaska

While thus busily engaged I was startled by a thunder-
ing roar across the lake. Running to the top of the
moraine, I discovered that the tremendous noise
was only the outcry of a newborn berg about fifty or
sixty feet in diameter, rocking and wallowing in the
waves it had raised as if enjoying its freedom after
its long grinding work as part of the glacier. After this
fine last lesson I managed to make a small fire out of
wet twigs, got a cup of tea, stripped off my dripping
clothing, wrapped myself in a blanket and lay brood-
ing on the gains of the day and plans for the morrow,
glad, rich, and almost comfortable.

It was raining hard when I awoke, but I made up
my mind to disregard the weather, put on my dripping
clothing, glad to know it was fresh and clean; ate
biscuits and a piece of dried salmon without attempt-
ing to make a tea fire; filled a bag with hardtack,
slung it over my shoulder, and with my indispensable
ice-axe plunged once more into the dripping jungle. I
found my bridge holding bravely in place against the
swollen torrent, crossed it and beat my way around
pools and logs and through two hours of tangle back
to the moraine on the north side of the outlet, — a
wet, weary battle but not without enjoyment. The
smell of the washed ground and vegetation made
every breath a pleasure, and I found Calypso borealis,
the first I had seen on this side of the continent, one
of my darlings, worth any amount of hardship; and I
saw one of my Douglas squirrels on the margin of a
grassy pool. The drip of the rain on the various leaves
was pleasant to hear. More especially marked were

[ no]

ne Stickeen Glaciers

the flat low-toned bumps and splashes of large drops
from the trees on the broad horizontal leaves of
Echinopanax horridum, like the drumming of thunder-
shower drops on veratrum and palm leaves, while the
mosses were indescribably beautiful, so fresh, so
bright, so cheerily green, and all so low and calm and
silent, however heavy and wild the wind and the rain
blowing and pouring above them. Surely never a
particle of dust has touched leaf or crown of all these
blessed mosses ; and how bright were the red rims of
the cladonia cups beside them, and the fruit of the
dwarf cornel! And the wet berries. Nature's precious
jewelry, how beautiful they were ! — huckleberries with
pale bloom and a crystal drop on each; red and yellow
salmon-berries, with clusters of smaller drops; and
the glittering, berry-like raindrops adorning the in-
terlacing arches of bent grasses and sedges around the
edges of the pools, every drop a mirror with all the
landscape in it. A' that and a' that and twice as
muckle's a' that in this glorious Alaska day, recalling,
however different, George Herbert's " Sweet day, so
cool, so calm, so bright."

In the gardens and forests of this wonderful moraine
one might spend a whole joyful life.

When I at last reached the end of the great moraine
and the front of the mountain that forms the north
side of the glacier basin, I tried to make my way along
its side, but, finding the climbing tedious and difficult,
took to the glacier and fared well, though a good deal
of step-cutting was required on its ragged, crevassed
margin. When night was drawing nigh, I scanned the

[ III 1

Travels in Alaska

steep mountainside in search of an accessible bench,
however narrow, where a bed and a fire might be gath-
ered for a camp. About dark great was my delight to
find a little shelf with a few small mountain hemlocks
growing in cleavage joints. Projecting knobs below it
enabled me to build a platform for a fireplace and a
bed, and by industrious creeping from one fissure to
another, cutting bushes and small trees and sliding
them down to within reach of my rock-shelf, I made
out to collect wood enough to last through the night.
In an hour or two I had a cheery fire, and spent
the night in turning from side to side, steaming and
drying after being wet two days and a night. For-
tunately this night it did not rain, but it was very
cold.

Pushing on next day, I climbed to the top of the
glacier by ice-steps and along its side to the grand
cataract two miles wide where the whole majestic
flood of the glacier pours like a mighty surging river
down a steep declivity in its channel. After gazing a
long time on the glorious show, I discovered a place
beneath the edge of the cataract where it flows over a
hard, resisting granite rib, into which I crawled and
enjoyed the novel and instructive view of a glacier
pouring over my head, showing not only its grinding,
polishing action, but how it breaks off large angular
boulder-masses — a most telling lesson in earth-
sculpture, confirming many I had already learned in
the glacier basins of the High Sierra of California. I
then crossed to the south side, noting the forms of
the huge blocks into which the glacier was broken in

[112]

^he Stickeen Glaciers

passing over the brow of the cataract, and how they
were welded.

The weather was now clear, opening views accord-
ing to my own heart far into the high snowy fountains.
I saw what seemed the farthest mountains, perhaps
thirty miles from the front, everywhere winter-bound,
but thick forested, however steep, for a distance of at
least fifteen miles from the front, the trees, hemlock
and spruce, clinging to the rock by root-holds among
cleavage joints. The greatest discovery was in meth-
ods of denudation displayed beneath the glacier.

After a few more days of exhilarating study I re-
turned to the river-bank opposite Choquette's land-
ing. Promptly at sight of the signal I made, the kind
Frenchman came across for me in his canoe. At his
house I enjoyed a rest while writing out notes; then
examined the smaller glacier fronting the one I had
been exploring, until a passing canoe bound for Fort
Wrangell took me aboard.

CHAPTER IX

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 en-
joyed 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, es-
pecially 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 pro-

[ 114]

A Canoe Voyage to Northward

visions 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 adven-
turous evangelist, and it was the opportunities the
trip might aiford to meet the Indians of the different
tribes on our route with reference to future mission-
ary 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 in-
fluence in gaining her son's consent to go on a danger-
ous 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, promis-
ing Heaven's care as well as his own for her precious

[IIS]

travels in Alaska

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 Is-
lands, 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 re-
turning 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 dan-

[ "6]

A Canoe Voyage to Northward

gers 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 Is-
land 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 tree-
less or nearly so. Some of them were distinctly glaci-
ated even below the tide-line, the effects of wave wash-
ing 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

[ 117]

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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 porta-
ble 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 re-
turn visit with gifts of rice and tobacco, etc. Mr.
Young spoke briefly on mission aff'airs 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 fol-
lowing words from the head of the family was the only
reply: —

"We have not much to say to you fellows. We al-
ways 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."

\ ii8 1

A Canoe Voyage to Northward

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 genera-
tions deep, slowly decaying, forming a grand mossy
mass of ruins, kept fresh and beautiful. All that is re-
pulsive about death was here hidden beneath abound-
ing 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 1 found vetches eight feet
high leaning on raspberry bushes, and tall ferns and
Smilacina unifolia with leaves six inches wide grow-
ing 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 at-
tempted 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

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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 com-
panions 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 con-
cluded 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 net-
work of rain rills. Perhaps the most delightful part of
my ramble was along a stream that flowed through a
leafy arch beneath overleaning 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

[ 120 ]

A Canoe Voyage to Northward

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 re-
markably 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 overlook-
ing 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 decay-
ing 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 stand-
ing on its head with roots in the air. A striking ex-
ample of this sort stood near the camp and I called
the missionary's attention to it.

"Come, Mr. Young," I shouted. "Here's some-
thing wonderful, the most wonderful tree you ever
saw; it is standing on its head."

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"Travels in Alaska

"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 fore-
most 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 consider-
able 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, sound-
ing 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 en-
courage 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 i8 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, en-

[ 122 ]

A Canoe Voyage to Northward

joying the changing effects of the weather on the drip-
ping 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 hun-
dred feet in length thousands of seedlings were grow-
ing. 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 com-
mand 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, sup-
port 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

[ 123 ]

Travels in Alaska

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 ques-
tion, "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 com-
pany, 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

[ 124 1

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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 fif-
teen miles from their villages. After preparing the
ground, and planting it, they visited it again in sum-
mer 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 po-
tatoes, 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 dis-
tributed— 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 por-
poise 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

I I2Sl

"Travels in Alaska

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 larg-
est 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 witch-
craft, 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 Kupreanol 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 re-
fusal to receive school-teachers or ministers. On the
contrary, with but one or two exceptions, all with ap-
parent good faith declared their willingness to re-
ceive them, and many seemed heartily delighted at

[126]

A Canoe Voyage to Northward

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 re-
ceiving 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 con-
gregation 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, fright-

[ 127 1

"Travels in Alaska

ened 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.

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 com-
ing of the whites. Our Indians, however, dreaded this
crossing so late in the season. They spoke of it re-
peatedly 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, "per-
haps 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 wel-
comed by everybody. Men, women, and children
made haste to the beach to meet us, the children star-

[ 128 ]

A Canoe Voyage to Northward

ing 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 curi-
ous 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, laugh-
ing 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 comer 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

[ 129 ]

travels in Alaska

taste it even for manner's sake. This disgust, how-
ever, 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 pre-
sided 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 meet-
ing. Mr. Young delivered the usual missionary ser-
mon 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 in-
spired 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 pre-
vailing patriarchal form of government each tribe is
divided into comparatively few families; and because
of quarrels, the chief of this branch moved his people

[ 130 ]

A Canoe Voyage to Northward

to this little bay, where the beach offered a good land-
ing for canoes. A stream which enters it yields abun-
dance 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 benevo-
lent 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 Indi-
ans, and I never felt more at home. The loving kind-
ness 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 here-
abouts is mostly a beautiful blue marble, waveworn
into a multitude of small coves and ledges. Fine sec-
tions were thus revealed along the shore, which with
their colors, brightened with showers and late-bloom-
ing 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

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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 ap-
proached the landing, the demoniac howling so greatly
increased I tried to dissuade Mr. Young from at-
tempting 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 mean-
ing 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 informa-
tion. 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 sud-
denly withdrawn. Not a single person was to be seen
on the street. At length a couple of old, crouching

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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 sud-
denly 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 misunder-
standing, 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 maj-
esty, 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
l?ack 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

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"Travels in Alaska

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 head-
lands 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 canons of the Chilcat and Chllcoot
Rivers. But rumors of trouble among the Indians
there now reached us. We found a party taking shel-
ter from the stormy wind In a little cove, who con-
firmed the bad news that the Chllcats 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 quar-
rels 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

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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 Chat-
ham 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 pic-
turesque 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 ap-
proached. 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 chiefs 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,

[I3S]

"Travels in Alaska

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 accord-
ance 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 ex-
ercises the chief arose and said that he would now like
to hear what the other white chief had to say. I di-
rected 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 be-
come interested in their welfare; that I seemed this

[136]

A Canoe Voyage to Northward

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-oif 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 inter-
ested, 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 dark-
ness, but eager for light; that they would gladly wel-
come 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 re-
sembled 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

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"Travels in Alaska

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 unedu-
cated 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

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which these cautious, thoughtful animals met strang-
ers 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.

CHAPTER X

THE DISCOVERY OF GLACIER BAY

FROM here, on October 24, we set sail for
Guide Charley's ice-mountains. The handle of
our heaviest axe was cracked, and as Charley declared
that there was no firewood to be had in the big ice-
mountain bay, we would have to load the canoe with
a store for cooking at an island out in the Strait a few
miles from the village. We were therefore anxious to
buy or trade for a good sound axe in exchange for our
broken one. Good axes are rare in rocky Alaska.
Soon or late an unlucky stroke on a stone concealed in
moss spoils the edge. Finally one in almost perfect con-
dition was offered by a young Hoona for our brok-
en-handled one and a half-dollar to boot; but when
the broken axe and money were given he promptly
demanded an additional twenty-five cents' worth
of tobacco. The tobacco was given him, then he re-
quired a half-dollar's worth more of tobacco, which
was also given; but when he still demanded something
more, Charley's patience gave way and we sailed in
the same condition as to axes as when we arrived.
This was the only contemptible commercial affair we
encountered among these Alaskan Indians.

We reached the wooded island about one o'clock,
made coffee, took on a store of wood, and set sail
direct for the Icy country, finding It very hard Indeed

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The Discovery of Glacier Bay

to believe the woodless part of Charley's description
of the Icy Bay, so heavily and uniformly are all the
shores forested wherever we had been. In this view
we were joined by John, Kadachan, and Toyatte, none
of them on all their lifelong canoe travels having ever
seen a woodless country.

We held a northwesterly course until long after
dark, when we reached a small inlet that sets in near
the mouth of Glacier Bay, on the west side. Here we
made a cold camp on a desolate snow-covered beach
in stormy sleet and darkness. At daybreak I looked
eagerly in every direction to learn what kind of place
we were in; but gloomy rain-clouds covered the moun-
tains, and I could see nothing that would give me a
clue, while Vancouver's chart, hitherto a faithful
guide, here failed us altogether. Nevertheless, we
made haste to be off; and fortunately, for just as we
were leaving the shore, a faint smoke was seen across
the inlet, toward which Charley, who now seemed
lost, gladly steered. Our sudden appearance so early
that gray morning had evidently alarmed our neigh-
bors, for as soon as we were within hailing distance
an Indian with his face blackened fired a shot over
our heads, and in a blunt, bellowing voice roared,
"Who are you.?"

Our interpreter shouted, "Friends and the Fort
Wrangell missionary."

Then men, women, and children swarmed out of
the hut, and awaited our approach on the beach. One
of the hunters having brought his gun with him,
Kadachan sternly rebuked him, asking with superb

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"Travels in Alaska

indignation whether he was not ashamed to meet a
missionary with a gun in his hands. Friendly relations,
however, were speedily established, and as a cold
rain was falling, they invited us to enter their hut. It
seemed very small and was jammed full of oily boxes
and bundles; nevertheless, twenty-one persons man-
aged to find shelter in it about a smoky fire. Our
hosts proved to be Hoona seal-hunters laying in their
winter stores of meat and skins. The packed hut was
passably well ventilated, but its heavy, meaty smells
were not the same to our noses as those we were ac-
customed to in the sprucy nooks of the evergreen
woods. The circle of black eyes peering at us through
a fog of reek and smoke made a novel picture. We
were glad, however, to get within reach of information,
and of course asked many questions concerning the
ice-mountains and the strange bay, to most of which
our inquisitive Hoona friends replied with counter-
questions as to our object in coming to such a place,
especially so late in the year. They had heard of Mr.
Young and his work at Fort Wrangell, but could not
understand what a missionary could be doing in such
a place as this. Was he going to preach to the seals
and gulls, they asked, or to the ice-mountains? And
could they take his word ? Then John explained that
only the friend of the missionary was seeking ice-
mountains, that Mr. Young had already preached
many good words in the villages we had visited, their
own among the others, that our hearts were good and
every Indian was our friend. Then we gave them a
little rice, sugar, tea, and tobacco, after which they

[ 142 1

"The Discovery of Glacier Bay

began to gain confidence and to speak freely. They
told us that the big bay was called by them Sit-a-da-
kay, or Ice Bay; that there were many large ice-
mountains in it, but no gold-mines; and that the
ice-mountain they knew best was at the head of the
bay, where most of the seals were found.

Notwithstanding the rain, I was anxious to push on
and grope our way beneath the clouds as best we
could, in case worse weather should come; but Charley
was ill at ease, and wanted one of the seal-hunters to
go with us, for the place was much changed. I prom-
ised to pay well for a guide, and in order to lighten
the canoe proposed to leave most of our heavy stores
in the hut until our return. After a long consultation
one of them consented to go. His wife got ready his
blanket and a piece of cedar matting for his bed, and
some provisions — mostly dried salmon, and seal
sausage made of strips of lean meat plaited around a
core of fat. She followed us to the beach, and just as
we were pushing off said with a pretty smile, "It is
my husband that you are taking away. See that you
bring him back."

We got under way about lo a.m. The wind was in
our favor, but a cold rain pelted us, and we could see
but little of the dreary, treeless wilderness which we
had now fairly entered. The bitter blast, however,
gave us good speed; our bedraggled canoe rose and
fell on the waves as solemnly as a big ship. Our course
was northwestward, up the southwest side of the bay,
near the shore of what seemed to be the mainland,
smooth marble islands being on our right. About

[143]

"Travels in Alaska

noon we discovered the first of the great glaciers, the
one I afterward named for James Geikie, the noted
Scotch geologist. Its lofty blue cliffs, looming through
the draggled skirts of the clouds, gave a tremendous
impression of savage power, while the roar of the new-
born icebergs thickened and emphasized the general
roar of the storm. An hour and a half beyond the
Geikie Glacier we ran into a slight harbor where the
shore is low, dragged the canoe beyond the reach of
drifting icebergs, and, much against my desire to
push ahead, encamped, the guide insisting that the
big ice-mountain at the head of the bay could not be
reached before dark, that the landing there was dan-
gerous even in daylight, and that this was the only safe
harbor on the way to it. While camp was being made,
I strolled along the shore to examine the rocks and the
fossil timber that abounds here. All the rocks are
freshly glaciated, even below the sea-level, nor have
the waves as yet worn off the surface polish, much
less the heavy scratches and grooves and lines of
glacial contour.

The next day being Sunday, the minister wished to
stay in camp; and so, on account of the weather, did
the Indians. I therefore set out on an excursion, and
spent the day alone on the mountain-slopes above the
camp, and northward, to see what I might learn.
Pushing on through rain and mud and sludgy snow,
crossing many brown, boulder-choked torrents, wad-
ing, jumping, and wallowing in snow up to my shoul-
ders was mountaineering of the most trying kind.
After crouching cramped and benumbed in the canoe,

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"The Discovery of Glacier Bay

poulticed In wet or damp clothing night and day, my
limbs had been asleep. This day they were awakened
and in the hour of trial proved that they had not lost
the cunning learned on many a mountain peak of
the High Sierra. I reached a height of fifteen hundred
feet, on the ridge that bounds the second of the great
glaciers. All the landscape was smothered in clouds
and I began to fear that as far as wide views were con-
cerned I had climbed in vain. But at length the
clouds lifted a little, and beneath their gray fringes I
saw the berg-filled expanse of the bay, and the feet of
the mountains that stand about it, and the imposing
fronts of five huge glaciers, the nearest being immedi-
ately beneath me. This was my first general view of
Glacier Bay, a solitude of ice and snow and newborn
rocks, dim, dreary, mysterious. I held the ground I
had so dearly won for an hour or two, sheltering my-
self from the blast as best I could, while with be-
numbed fingers I sketched what I could see of the
landscape, and wrote a few lines in my notebook.
Then, breasting the snow again, crossing the shifting
avalanche slopes and torrents, I reached camp about
dark, wet and weary and glad.

While I was getting some coffee and hardtack, Mr.
Young told me that the Indians were discouraged,
and had been talking about turning back, fearing that
I would be lost, the canoe broken, or in some other
mysterious way the expedition would come to grief if
I persisted in going farther. They had been asking
him what possible motive I could have in climbing
mountains when storms were blowing; and when he

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'Traveh in Alaska

replied that I was only seeking knowledge, Toyatte
said, "Muir must be a witch to seek knowledge in
such a place as this and in such miserable weather.'*
After supper, crouching about a dull fire of fossil
wood, they became still more doleful, and talked in
tones that accorded well with the wind and waters
and growling torrents about us, telling sad old stories
of crushed canoes, drowned Indians, and hunters
frozen in snowstorms. Even brave old Toyatte, dread-
ing the treeless, forlorn appearance of the region, said
that his heart was not strong, and that he feared his
canoe, on the safety of which our lives depended,
might be entering a skookum-house (jail) of ice, from
which there might be no escape; while the Hoona
guide said bluntly that if I was so fond of danger, and
meant to go close up to the noses of the ice-mountains,
he would not consent to go any farther; for we should
all be lost, as many of his tribe had been, by the sud-
den rising of bergs from the bottom. They seemed to
be losing heart with every howl of the wind, and, fear-
ing that they might fail me now that I was in the
midst of so grand a congregation of glaciers, I made
haste to reassure them, telling them that for ten
years I had wandered alone among mountains and
storms, and good luck always followed me; that with
me, therefore, they need fear nothing. The storm
would soon cease and the sun would shine to show us
the way we should go, for God cares for us and guides
us as long as we are trustful and brave, therefore all
childish fear must be put away. This little speech
did good. Kadachan, with some show of enthusiasm,

[ 146]

"The Discovery of Glacier Bay

said he liked to travel with good-luck people; and
dignified old Toyatte declared that now his heart was
strong again, and he would venture on with me as far
as I liked for my "wawa" was "delait" (my talk was
very good). The old warrior even became a little
sentimental, and said that even if the canoe was
broken he would not greatly care, because on the way
to the other world he would have good companions.

Next morning it was still raining and snowing, but
the south wind swept us bravely forward and swept
the bergs from our course. In about an hour we
reached the second of the big glaciers, which I after-
wards named for Hugh Miller. We rowed up its fiord
and landed to make a slight examination of its grand
frontal wall. The berg-producing portion we found
to be about a mile and a half wide, and broken into
an imposing array of jagged spires and pyramids, and
flat-topped towers and battlements, of many shades
of blue, from pale, shimmering, limpid tones in the
crevasses and hollows, to the most startling, chilling,
almost shrieking vitriol blue on the plain mural spaces
from which bergs had just been discharged. Back
from the front for a few miles the glacier rises in a
series of wide steps, as if this portion of the glacier
had sunk in successive sections as it reached deep
water, and the sea had found its way beneath it. Be-
yond this it extends indefinitely in a gently rising
prairie-like expanse, and branches along the slopes
and canons of the Fairweather Range.

From here a run of two hours brought us to the head
of the bay, and to the mouth of the northwest fiord,

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"Travels in Alaska

at the head of which He the Hoona seallng-grounds,
and the great glacier now called the Pacific, and
another called the Hoona. The fiord is about five
miles long, and two miles wide at the mouth. Here
our Hoona guide had a store of dry wood, which we
took aboard. Then, setting sail, we were driven
wildly up the fiord, as if the storm-wind were saying,
"Go, then, if you will, into my icy chamber; but you
shall stay in until I am ready to let you out." All this
time sleety rain was falling on the bay, and snow on
the mountains; but soon after we landed the sky be-
gan to open. The camp was made on a rocky bench
near the front of the Pacific Glacier, and the canoe
was carried beyond the reach of the bergs and berg-
waves. The bergs were now crowded in a dense pack
against the discharging front, as if the storm-wind
had determined to make the glacier take back her
crystal offspring and keep them at home.

While camp aff'airs were being attended to, I set
out to climb a mountain for comprehensive views ; and
before I had reached a height of a thousand feet the
rain ceased, and the clouds began to rise from the
lower altitudes, slowly lifting their white skirts, and
lingering in majestic, wing-shaped masses about the
mountains that rise out of the broad, icy sea, the high-
est of all the white mountains, and the greatest of all
the glaciers I had yet seen. Climbing higher for a
still broader outlook, I made notes and sketched, im-
proving the precious time while sunshine streamed
through the luminous fringes of the clouds and fell on
the green waters of the fiord, the glittering bergs, the

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T^he Discovery of Glacier Bay

crystal bluffs of the vast glacier, the intensely white,
far-spreading fields of ice, and the ineffably chaste
and spiritual heights of the Fairweather Range, which
were now hidden, now partly revealed, the whole
making a picture of icy wildness unspeakably pure
and sublime.

Looking southward, a broad ice-sheet was seen ex-
tending in a gently undulating plain from the Pacific
Fiord in the foreground to the horizon, dotted and
ridged here and there with mountains which were as
white as the snow-covered ice in which they were half,
or more than half, submerged. Several of the great
glaciers of the bay flow from this one grand fountain.
It is an instructive example of a general glacier cover-
ing the hills and dales of a country that is not yet
ready to be brought to the light of day — not only
covering but creating a landscape with the features it
is destined to have when, in the fullness of time, the
fashioning ice-sheet shall be lifted by the sun, and
the land become warm and fruitful. The view to the
westward is bounded and almost filled by the glorious
Fairweather Mountains, the highest among them
springing aloft in sublime beauty to a height of nearly
sixteen thousand feet, while from base to summit
every peak and spire and dividing ridge of all the
mighty host was spotless white, as if painted. It
would seem that snow could never be made to lie on
the steepest slopes and precipices unless plastered on
when wet, and then frozen. But this snow could not
have been wet. It must have been fixed by being
driven and set in small particles like the storm-dust of

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"Travels in Alaska

drifts, which, when In this condition. Is fixed not only
on sheer cliffs, but in massive, overcurling cornices.
Along the base of this majestic range sweeps the
Pacific Glacier, fed by innumerable cascading tribu-
taries, and discharging Into the head of Its fiord by
two mouths only partly separated by the brow of an
island rock about one thousand feet high, each nearly
a mile wide.

Dancing down the mountain to camp, my mind
glowing like the sunbeaten glaciers, I found the In-
dians seated around a good fire, entirely happy now
that the farthest point of the journey was safely
reached and the long, dark storm was cleared away.
How hopefully, peacefully bright that night were the
stars in the frosty sky, and how Impressive was the
thunder of the icebergs, rolling, swelling, reverberat-
ing through the solemn stillness ! I was too happy to
sleep.

About daylight next morning we crossed the fiord
and landed on the south side of the rock that divides
the wall of the great glacier. The whiskered faces of
seals dotted the open spaces between the bergs, and I
could not prevent John and Charley and Kadachan
from shooting at them. Fortunately, few, if any,
were hurt. Leaving the Indians in charge of the
canoe, I managed to climb to the top of the wall by a
good deal of step-cutting between the ice and dividing
rock, and gained a good general view of the glacier.
At one favorable place I descended about fifty feet
below the side of the glacier, where its denuding,
fashioning action was clearly shown. Pushing back

[ ISO ]

The Discovery of Glacier Bay

from here, I found the surface crevassed and sunken
in steps, like the Hugh Miller Glacier, as if it were
being undermined by the action of tide-waters. For a
distance of fifteen or twenty miles the river-like ice-
flood is nearly level, and when it recedes, the ocean
water will follow it, and thus form a long extension of
the fiord, with features essentially the same as those
now extending into the continent farther south, where
many great glaciers once poured into the sea, though
scarce a vestige of them now exists. Thus the domain
of the sea has been, and is being, extended in these
ice-sculptured lands, and the scenery of their shores
enriched. The brow of the dividing rock is about a
thousand feet high, and is hard beset by the glacier.
A short time ago it was at least two thousand feet be-
low the surface of the over-sweeping ice; and under
present climatic conditions it will soon take its place
as a glacier-polished island in the middle of the fiord,
like a thousand others in the magnificent archipelago.
Emerging from its icy sepulchre, it gives a most tell-
ing illustration of the birth of a marked feature of a
landscape. In this instance it is not the mountain,
but the glacier, that is in labor, and the mountain it-
self is being brought forth.

The Hoona Glacier enters the fiord on the south
side, a short distance below the Pacific, displaying a
broad and far-reaching expanse, over which many
lofty peaks are seen; but the front wall, thrust into
the fiord, is not nearly so interesting as that of the
Pacific, and I did not observe any bergs discharged

from it.

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"Travels in Alaska

In the evening, after witnessing the unveiling of
the majestic peaks and glaciers and their baptism in
the down-pouring sunbeams, it seemed inconceivable
that nature could have anything finer to show us.
Nevertheless, compared with what was to come the
next morning, all that was as nothing. The calm
dawn gave no promise of anything uncommon. Its
most impressive features were the frosty clearness of
the sky and a deep, brooding stillness made all the
more striking by the thunder of the newborn bergs.
The sunrise we did not see at all, for we were beneath
the shadows of the fiord cliffs; but in the midst of our
studies, while the Indians were getting ready to sail,
we were startled by the sudden appearance of a red
light burning with a strange unearthly splendor on
the topmost peak of the Fairweather Mountains. In-
stead of vanishing as suddenly as it had appeared, it
spread and spread until the whole range down to the
level of the glaciers was filled with the celestial fire.
In color it was at first a vivid crimson, with a thick,
furred appearance, as fine as the alpenglow, yet in-
describably rich and deep — not in the least like a
garment or mere external flush or bloom through
which one might expect to see the rocks or snow, but
every mountain apparently was glowing from the
heart like molten metal fresh from a furnace. Be-
neath the frosty shadows of the fiord we stood hushed
and awe-stricken, gazing at the holy vision; and had
we seen the heavens opened and God made manifest,
our attention could not have been more tremendously
strained. When the highest peak began to burn, it did

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T^he Discovery of Glacier Bay

not seem to be steeped in sunshine, however glorious,
but rather as if it had been thrust into the body of the
sun itself. Then the supernal fire slowly descended,
with a sharp line of demarkation separating it from
the cold, shaded region beneath; peak after peak, with
their spires and ridges and cascading glaciers, caught
the heavenly glow, until all the mighty host stood
transfigured, hushed, and thoughtful, as if awaiting
the coming of the Lord. The white, rayless light of
morning, seen when I was alone amid the peaks of the
California Sierra, had always seemed to me the most
telling of all the terrestrial manifestations of God.
But here the mountains themselves were made divine,
and declared His glory in terms still more impressive.
How long we gazed I never knew. The glorious
vision passed away in a gradual, fading change
through a thousand tones of color to pale yellow and
white, and then the work of the ice-world went on
again in everyday beauty. The green waters of the
fiord were filled with sun-spangles; the fleet of ice-
bergs set forth on their voyages with the upspringing
breeze; and on the innumerable mirrors and prisms
of these bergs, and on those of the shattered crystal
walls of the glaciers, common white light and rain-
bow light began to burn, while the mountains shone
in their frosty jewelry, and loomed again in the thin
azure in serene terrestrial majesty. We turned and
sailed away, joining the outgoing bergs, while "Gloria
in excelsis" still seemed to be sounding over all the
white landscape, and our burning hearts were ready
for any fate, feeling that, whatever the future might

[IS3 ]

"Travels in Alaska

have in store, the treasures we had gained this glori-
ous morning would enrich our lives forever.

When we arrived at the mouth of the fiord, and
rounded the massive granite headland that stands
guard at the entrance on the north side, another large
glacier, now named the Reid, was discovered at the
head of one of the northern branches of the bay.
Pushing ahead into this new fiord, we found that it
was not only packed with bergs, but that the spaces
between the bergs were crusted with new ice, com-
pelling us to turn back while we were yet several
miles from the discharging frontal wall. But though
we were not then allowed to set foot on this magnifi-
cent glacier, we obtained a fine view of it, and I made
the Indians cease rowing while I sketched its principal
features. Thence, after steering northeastward a few
miles, we discovered still another large glacier, now
named the Carroll. But the fiord into which this
glacier flows was, like the last, utterly inaccessible on
account of ice, and we had to be content with a gen-
eral view and sketch of it, gained as we rowed slowly
past at a distance of three or four miles. The moun-
tains back of it and on each side of its inlet are sculp-
tured in a singularly rich and striking style of archi-
tecture, in which subordinate peaks and gables appear
in wonderful profusion, and an imposing conical
mountain with a wide, smooth base stands out in the
main current of the glacier, a mile or two back from
the discharging ice-wall.

We now turned southward down the eastern shore
of the bay, and in an hour or two discovered a glacier

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"The Discovery of Glacier Bay

of the second class, at the head of a comparatively
short fiord that winter had not yet closed. Here we
landed, and climbed across a mile or so of rough
boulder-beds, and back upon the wildly broken, re-
ceding front of the glacier, which, though it descends
' to the level of the sea, no longer sends off bergs. Many
large masses, detached from the wasting front by ir-
regular melting, were partly buried beneath mud,
sand, gravel, and boulders of the terminal moraine.
Thus protected, these fossil icebergs remain un-
melted for many years, some of them for a century or
more, as shown by the age of trees growing above
them, though there are no trees here as yet. At length
melting, a pit with sloping sides is formed by the
falling in of the overlying moraine material into the
space at first occupied by the buried ice. In this way
are formed the curious depressions in drift-covered
regions called kettles or sinks. On these decaying
glaciers we may also find many interesting lessons on
the formation of boulders and boulder-beds, which in
all glaciated countries exert a marked influence on
scenery, health, and fruitfulness.

Three or four miles farther down the bay, we came
to another fiord, up which we sailed in quest of more
glaciers, discovering one in each of the two branches
into which the fiord divides. Neither of these glaciers
quite reaches tide-water. Notwithstanding the ap-
parent fruitfulness of their fountains, they are in the
first stage of decadence, the waste from melting and
evaporation being greater now than the supply of new
ice from their snowy fountains. We reached the one in

[ iSS]

"Travels in Alaska

the north branch, climbed over its wrinkled brow,
and gained a good view of the trunk and some of the
tributaries, and also of the sublime gray cliffs of its
channel.

Then we sailed up the south branch of the inlet, but
failed to reach the glacier there, on account of a thin
sheet of new ice. With the tent-poles we broke a lane
for the canoe for a little distance; but it was slow
work, and we soon saw that we could not reach the
glacier before dark. Nevertheless, we gained a fair
view of it as it came sweeping down through its gi-
gantic gateway of massive Yosemite rocks three or
four thousand feet high. Here we lingered until sun-
down, gazing and sketching; then turned back, and
encamped on a bed of cobblestones between the forks
of the fiord.

We gathered a lot of fossil wood and after supper
made a big fire, and as we sat around it the brightness
of the sky brought on a long talk with the Indians
about the stars; and their eager, childlike attention
was refreshing to see as compared with the deathlike
apathy of weary town-dwellers, in whom natural curi-
osity has been quenched in toil and care and poor
shallow comfort.

After sleeping a few hours, I stole quietly out of the
camp, and climbed the mountain that stands between
the two glaciers. The ground was frozen, making the
climbing difficult in the steepest places ; but the views
over the icy bay, sparkling beneath the stars, were
enchanting. It seemed then a sad thing that any part
of so precious a night had been lost in sleep. The star-

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"The Discovery of Glacier Bay

light was so full that I distinctly saw not only the
berg-filled bay, but most of the lower portions of the
glaciers, lying pale and spirit-like amid the mountains.
The nearest glacier in particular was so distinct that
it seemed to be glowing with light that came from
within itself. Not even in dark nights have I ever
found any difficulty in seeing large glaciers; but on
this mountain-top, amid so much ice, in the heart of
so clear and frosty a night, everything was more or
less luminous, and I seemed to be poised in a vast
hollow between two skies of almost equal brightness.
This exhilarating scramble made me glad and strong
and I rejoiced that my studies called me before the
glorious night succeeding so glorious a morning had
been spent!

I got back to camp in time for an early breakfast,
and by daylight we had everything packed and were
again under way. The fiord was frozen nearly to its
mouth, and though the ice was so thin it gave us but
little trouble in breaking a way for the canoe, yet it
showed us that the season for exploration in these
waters was well-nigh over. We were in danger of being
imprisoned in a jam of icebergs, for the water-spaces
between them freeze rapidly, binding the floes into
one mass. Across such floes it would be almost im-
possible to drag a canoe, however industriously we
might ply the axe, as our Hoona guide took great
pains to warn us. I would have kept straight down
the bay from here, but the guide had to be taken
home, and the provisions we left at the bark hut had
to be got on board. We therefore crossed over to our

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Sunday storm-camp, cautiously boring a way through
the bergs. We found the shore lavishly adorned with
a fresh arrival of assorted bergs that had been left
stranded at high tide. They were arranged in a curv-
ing row, looking intensely clear and pure on the
gray sand, and, with the sunbeams pouring through
them, suggested the jewel-paved streets of the New
Jerusalem.

On our way down the coast, after examining the
front of the beautiful Geikie Glacier, we obtained our
first broad view of the great glacier afterwards named
the Muir, the last of all the grand company to be seen,
the stormy weather having hidden it when we first
entered the bay. It was now perfectly clear, and the
spacious, prairie-like glacier, with its many tributaries
extending far back into the snowy recesses of its
fountains, made a magnificent display of its wealth,
and I was strongly tempted to go and explore it at all
hazards. But winter had come, and the freezing of
its fiords was an insurmountable obstacle. I had,
therefore, to be content for the present with sketch-
ing and studying its main features at a distance.

When we arrived at the Hoona hunting-camp, men,
women, and children came swarming out to welcome
us. In the neighborhood of this camp I carefully
noted the lines of demarkation between the forested
and deforested regions. Several mountains here are
only in part deforested, and the lines separating the
bare and the forested portions are well defined. The
soil, as well as the trees, had slid off the steep slopes,
leaving the edge of the woods raw-looking and rugged.

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"The Discovery of Glacier Bay

At the mouth of the bay a series of moraine islands
show that the trunk glacier that occupied the bay
halted here for some time and deposited this island
material as a terminal moraine; that more of the bay
was not filled in shows that, after lingering here, it re-
ceded comparatively fast. All the level portions of
trunks of glaciers occupying ocean fiords, instead of
melting back gradually in times of general shrinking
and recession, as inland glaciers with sloping channels
do, melt almost uniformly over all the surface until
they become thin enough to float. Then, of course,
with each rise and fall of the tide, the sea water, with
a temperature usually considerably above the freez-
ing-point, rushes in and out beneath them, causing
rapid waste of the nether surface, while the upper is
being wasted by the weather, until at length the
fiord portions of these great glaciers become compara-
tively thin and weak and are broken up and vanish
almost simultaneously.

Glacier Bay is undoubtedly young as yet. Van-
couver's chart, made only a century ago, shows no
trace of it, though found admirably faithful in general.
It seems probable, therefore, that even then the en-
tire bay was occupied by a glacier of which all those
described above, great though they are, were only
tributaries. Nearly as great a change has taken place
in Sum Dum Bay since Vancouver's visit, the main
trunk glacier there having receded from eighteen to
twenty-five miles from the line marked on his chart.
Charley, who was here when a boy, said that the
place had so changed that he hardly recognized it, so

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"Travels in Alaska

many new islands had been born in the mean time
and so much ice had vanished. As we have seen, this
Icy Bay is being still farther extended by the reces-
sion of the glaciers. That this whole system of fiords
and channels was added to the domain of the sea by
glacial action is to my mind certain.

We reached the island from which we had obtained
our store of fuel about half-past six and camped here
for the night, having spent only five days in Sitadaka,
sailing round it, visiting and sketching all the six
glaciers excepting the largest, though I landed only
on three of them, — the Geikie, Hugh Miller, and
Grand Pacific, — the freezing of the fiords in front
of the others rendering them inaccessible at this late
season.

CHAPTER XI

THE COUNTRY OF THE CHILCATS

ON October 30 we visited a camp of Hoonas at
the mouth of a salmon-chuck. We had seen
some of them before, and they received us kindly.
Here we learned that peace reigned in Chilcat. The
reports that we had previously heard were, as usual
in such cases, wildly exaggerated. The little camp hut
of these Indians was crowded with the food-supplies
they had gathered — chiefly salmon, dried and tied in
bunches of convenient size for handling and trans-
porting to their villages, bags of salmon-roe, boxes of
fish-oil, a lot of mountain-goat mutton, and a few
porcupines. They presented us with some dried sal-
mon and potatoes, for which we gave them tobacco
and rice. About 3 p.m. we reached their village, and in
the best house, that of a chief, we found the family
busily engaged in making whiskey. The still and
mash were speedily removed and hidden away with
apparent shame as soon as we came in sight. When
we entered and passed the regular greetings, the
usual apologies as to being unable to furnish Boston
food for us and inquiries whether we could eat Indian
food were gravely made. Toward six or seven o'clock
Mr. Young explained the object of his visit and held
a short service. The chief replied with grave delibera-
tion, saying that he would be heartily glad to have a
teacher sent to his poor ignorant people, upon whom

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Travels in Alaska

he now hoped the light of a better day was beginning
to break. Hereafter he would gladly do whatever the
white teachers told him to do and would have no will
of his own. This under the whiskey circumstances
seemed too good to be quite true. He thanked us over
and over again for coming so far to see him, and com-
plained that Port Simpson Indians, sent out on a
missionary tour by Mr. Crosby, after making a good-
luck board for him and nailing it over his door, now
wanted to take it away. Mr. Young promised to
make him a new one, should this threat be executed,
and remarked that since he had offered to do his bid-
ding he hoped he would make no more whiskey. To
this the chief replied with fresh complaints concerning
the threatened loss of his precious board, saying that
he thought the Port Simpson Indians were very mean
in seeking to take it away, but that now he would tell
them to take it as soon as they liked for he was going
to get a better one at Wrangell. But no effort of the
missionary could bring him to notice or discuss the
whiskey business. The luck board nailed over the
door was about two feet long and had the following in-
scription: "The Lord will bless those who do his will.
When you rise in the morning, and when you retire at
night, give him thanks. Heccla Hockla Popla."

This chief promised to pray like a white man every
morning, and to bury the dead as the whites do. " I
often wondered," he said, "where the dead went to.
Now I am glad to know"; and at last acknowledged
the whiskey, saying he was sorry to have been caught
making the bad stuff. The behavior of all, even the

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"The Country of the Chilcats

little ones circled around the fire, was very good. There
was no laughter when the strange singing commenced.
They only gazed like curious, intelligent animals. A
little daughter of the chief with the glow of the fire-
light on her eyes made an interesting picture, head
held aslant. Another in the group, with upturned
eyes, seeming to half understand the strange words
about God, might have passed for one of Raphael's
angels.

The chiefs house was about forty feet square, of
the ordinary fort kind, but better built and cleaner
•than usual. The side-room doors were neatly paneled,
though all the lumber had been nibbled into shape
with a small narrow Indian adze. We had our tent
pitched on a grassy spot near the beach, being afraid
of wee beasties; which greatly offended Kadachan
and old Toyatte, who said, "If this is the way you are
to do up at Chilcat, we will be ashamed of you." We
promised them to eat Indian food and in every way
behave like good Chilcats.

We set out direct for Chilcat in the morning against
a brisk head wind. By keeping close inshore and work-
ing hard, we made about ten miles by two or three
o'clock, when, the tide having turned against us, we
could make scarce any headway, and therefore landed
in a sheltered cove a few miles up the west side of
Lynn Canal. Here I discovered a fine growth of yellow
cedar, but none of the trees were very large, the tall-
est only seventy-five to one hundred feet high. The
flat, drooping, plume-like branchlets hang edgewise,
giving the trees a thin, open, airy look. Nearly every

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"Travels in Alaska

tree that I saw in a long walk was more or less marked
by the knives and axes of the Indians, who use the
bark for matting, for covering house-roofs, and mak-
ing temporary portable huts. For this last purpose
sections five or six feet long and two or three wide are
pressed flat and secured from warping or splitting by
binding them with thin strips of wood at the end.
These they carry about with them in their canoes, and
in a few minutes they can be put together against
slim poles and made into a rainproof hut. Every pad-
dle that I have seen along the coast is made of the
light, tough, handsome yellow wood of this tree. It is-
a tree of moderately rapid growth and usually chooses
ground that is rather boggy and mossy. Whether its
network of roots makes the bog or not, I am unable
as yet to say.

Three glaciers on the opposite side of the canal were
in sight, descending nearly to sea-level, and many
smaller ones that melt a little below timber-line.
While I was sketching these, a canoe hove in sight,
coming on at a flying rate of speed before the wind.
The owners, eager for news, paid us a visit. They
proved to be Hoonas, a man, his wife, and four chil-
dren, on their way home from Chilcat. The man was
sitting in the stern steering and holding a sleeping
child in his arms. Another lay asleep at his feet. He
told us that Sitka Jack had gone up to the main
Chilcat village the day before he left, intending to
hold a grand feast and potlatch, and that whiskey up
there was flowing like water. The news was rather de-
pressing to Mr. Young and myself, for we feared the

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T'he Country of the Chilcats

effect of the poison on Toyatte's old enemies. At 8.30
P.M. we set out again on the turn of the tide, though
the crew did not rehsh this night work. Naturally
enough, they liked to stay in camp when wind and
tide were against us, but did n't care to make up lost
time after dark however wooingly wind and tide might
flow and blow. Kadachan, John, and Charley rowed,
and Toyatte steered and paddled, assisted now and
then by me. The wind moderated and almost died
away, so that we made about fifteen miles in six
hours, when the tide turned and snow began to fall.
We ran into a bay nearly opposite Berner's Bay,
where three or four families of Chilcats were camped,
who shouted when they heard us landing and de-
manded our names. Our men ran to the huts for news
before making camp. The Indians proved to be hunt-
ers, who said there were plenty of wild sheep on the
mountains back a few miles from the head of the bay.
This interview was held at three o'clock in the morn-
ing, a rather early hour. But Indians never resent any
such disturbance provided there is anything worth
while to be said or done. By four o'clock we had our
tents set, a fire made and some coffee, while the snow
was falling fast. Toyatte was out of humor with this
night business. He wanted to land an hour or two
before we did, and then, when the snow began to fall
and we all wanted to find a camping-ground as soon
as possible, he steered out into the middle of the canal,
saying grimly that the tide was good. He turned,
however, at our orders, but read us a lecture at
the first opportunity, telling us to start early if we

[165I

"Travels in Alaska

were in a hurry, but not to travel in the night like
thieves.

After a few hours' sleep, we set off again, with the
wind still against us and the sea rough. We were
all tired after making only about twelve miles, and
camped in a rocky nook where we found a family of
Hoonas in their bark hut beside their canoe. They
presented us with potatoes and salmon and a big
bucketful of berries, salmon-roe, and grease of some
sort, probably fish-oil, which the crew consumed with
wonderful relish.

A fine breeze was blowing next morning from the
south, which would take us to Chilcat in a few hours,
but unluckily the day was Sunday and the good wind
was refused. Sunday, it seemed to me, could be kept
as well by sitting in the canoe and letting the Lord's
wind waft us quietly on our way. The day was rainy
and the clouds hung low. The trees here are re-
markably well developed, tall and straight. I ob-
served three or four hemlocks which had been struck
by lightning, — the first I noticed in Alaska. Some of
the species on windy outjutting rocks become very
picturesque, almost as much so as old oaks, the foliage
becoming dense and the branchlets tufted in heavy
plume-shaped horizontal masses.

Monday was a fine clear day, but the wind was
dead ahead, making hard, dull work with paddles and
oars. We passed a long stretch of beautiful marble
cliifs enlivened with small merry waterfalls, and
toward noon came in sight of the front of the famous
Chilcat or Davidson Glacier, a broad white flood

[ i66 ]

ne Country of the Chilcats

reaching out two or three miles into the canal with
wonderful effect. I wanted to camp beside it but the
head wind tired us out before we got within six or
eight miles of it. We camped on the west side of a
small rocky island in a narrow cove. When I was
looking among the rocks and bushes for a smooth
spot for a bed, I found a human skeleton. My Indians
seemed not in the least shocked or surprised, explain-
ing that it was only the remains of a Chilcat slave.
Indians never bury or burn the bodies of slaves, but
just cast them away anywhere. Kind Nature was
covering the poor bones with moss and leaves, and I
helped in the pitiful work.

The wind was fair and joyful in the morning, and
away we glided to the famous glacier. In an hour or
so we were directly in front of it and beheld it in all
its crystal glory descending from its white mountain
fountains and spreading out in an immense fan three
or four miles wide against its tree-fringed terminal
moraine. But, large as it is, it long ago ceased to dis-
charge bergs.

The Chilcats are the most influential of all the
Thlinkit tribes. Whenever on our journey I spoke of
the interesting characteristics of other tribes we had
visited, my crew would invariably say, "Oh, yes,
these are pretty good Indians, but wait till you have
seen the Chilcats." We were now only five or six
miles distant from their lower village, and my crew
requested time to prepare themselves to meet their
great rivals. Going ashore on the moraine with their
boxes that had not been opened since we left Fort

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"Travels in Alaska

Wrangell, they sat on boulders and cut each other's
hair, carefully washed and perfumed themselves and
made a complete change in their clothing, even to
white shirts, new boots, new hats, and bright neckties.
Meanwhile, I scrambled across the broad, brushy, for-
ested moraine, and on my return scarcely recognized
my crew in their dress suits. Mr. Young also made
some changes in his clothing, while I, having nothing
dressy in my bag, adorned my cap with an eagle's
feather I found on the moraine, and thus arrayed we
set forth to meet the noble Thlinkits.

We were discovered while we were several miles
from the village, and as we entered the mouth of the
river we were hailed by a messenger from the chief,
sent to find out who we were and the objects of our
extraordinary visit.

"Who are you.^" he shouted in a heavy, far-reach-
ing voice. "What are your names.'* What do you
want.^ What have you come for .^"

On receiving replies, he shouted the information to
another messenger, who was posted on the river-bank
at a distance of a quarter of a mile or so, and he to
another and another in succession, and by this living
telephone the news was delivered to the chief as he
sat by his fireside. A salute was then fired to wel-
come us, and a swarm of musket-bullets, flying scarce
high enough for comfort, pinged over our heads.
As soon as we reached the landing at the village, a dig-
nified young man stepped forward and thus addressed
us: —

"My chief sent me to meet you, and to ask if you

[ i68 1

"The Country of the Chilcats

would do him the honor to lodge in his house during
your stay in our village?"

We replied, of course, that we would consider it a
great honor to be entertained by so distinguished a
chief.

The messenger then ordered a number of slaves,
who stood behind him, to draw our canoe out of
the water, carry our provisions and bedding into the
chiefs house, and then carry the canoe back from the
river where it would be beyond the reach of floating
ice. While we waited, a lot of boys and girls were
playing on a meadow near the landing — running
races, shooting arrows, and wading in the icy river
without showing any knowledge of our presence be-
yond quick stolen glances. After all was made secure,
he conducted us to the house, where we found seats
of honor prepared for us.

The old chief sat barefooted by the fireside, clad in
a calico shirt and blanket, looking down, and though
we shook hands as we passed him he did not look up.
After we were seated, he still gazed into the fire with-
out taking the slightest notice of us for about ten or
fifteen minutes. The various members of the chief's
family, also, — men, women, and children, — went
about their usual employment and play as if entirely
unconscious that strangers were in the house, it being
considered impolite to look at visitors or speak to
them before time had been allowed them to collect
their thoughts and prepare any message they might
have to deliver.

At length, after the politeness period had passed,
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Travels in Alaska

the chief slowly raised his head and glanced at his
visitors, looked down agaiil, cilid at last said, through
our interpreter: —

"I am troubled. It is customary when strangers
visit us to offer them food in case they might be
hungry, and I was abovvt. to do so, when I remem-
bered that the food u* ^ ^\* honorable white chiefs is
so much better than mine that I am ashamed to offer
it."

We, of course, replied that we would consider it a
great honor to enjoy the hospitality of so distin-
guished a chief as he was.

Hearing this, he looked up, saying, "I feel relieved";
or, in John the interpreter's words, "He feels good
now, he says he feels good."

He then ordered one of his family to see that the
visitors were fed. The young man who was to act as
steward took up his position in a corner of the house
commanding a view of all that was going on, and
ordered the slaves to make haste to prepare a good
meal; one to bring a lot of the best potatoes from the
cellar and wash them well; another to go out and pick
a basketful of fresh berries; another to broil a salmon;
while others made a suitable fire, pouring oil on the
wet wood to make it blaze. Speedily the feast was
prepared and passed around. The first course was
potatoes, the second fish-oil and salmon, next berries
and rose-hips; then the steward shouted the impor-
tant news, in a loud voice like a herald addressing an
army, "That's all!" and left his post.

Then followed all sorts of questions from the old

[ 170 1

The Country of the Chilcats

chief. He wanted to know what Professor Davidson
had been trying to do a year or two ago on a moun-
tain-top back of the village, with many strange things
looking at the sun when it grew dark in the daytime;
and we had to try to explain eclipses. He asked us if
we could tell him what made the water rise and fall
twice a day, and we tried to explain that the sun and
moon attracted the sea by showing how a magnet
attracted iron.

Mr. Young, as usual, explained the object of his
visit and requested that the people might be called
together in the evening to hear his message. Accord-
ingly all were told to wash, put on their best clothing,
and come at a certain hour. There was an audience
of about two hundred and fifty, to whom Mr. Young
preached. Toyatte led in prayer, while Kadachan and
John joined in the singing of several hymns. At the
conclusion of the religious exercises the chief made a
short address of thanks, and finished with a request
for the message of the other chief. I again tried in
vain to avoid a speech by telling the interpreter to
explain that I was only traveling to see the country,
the glaciers, and mountains and forests, etc., but these
subjects, strange to say, seemed to be about as inter-
esting as the gospel, and I had to deliver a sort of
lecture on the fine foodful country God had given
them and the brotherhood of man, along the same
general lines I had followed at other villages. Some
five similar meetings were held here, two of them in
the daytime, and we began to feel quite at home in the
big block-house with our hospitable and warlike friends.

[ 171 ]

T'raveh in Alaska

At the last meeting an old white-haired shaman of
grave and venerable aspect, with a high wrinkled
forehead, big, strong Roman nose and light-colored
skin, slowly and with great dignity arose and spoke
for the first time.

"I am an old man," he said, "but I am glad to
listen to those strange things you tell, and they may
well be true, for what is more wonderful than the
flight of birds in the air? I remember the first white
man I ever saw. Since that long, long-ago time I have
seen many, but never until now have I ever truly
known and felt a white man's heart. All the white
men I have heretofore met wanted to get something
from us. They wanted furs and they wished to pay
for them as small a price as possible. They all seemed
to be seeking their own good — not our good. I
might say that through all my long life I have never
until now heard a white man speak. It has always
seemed to me while trying to speak to traders and
those seeking gold-mines that it was like speaking to a
person across a broad stream that was running fast
over stones and making so loud a noise that scarce a
single word could be heard. But now, for the first
time, the Indian and the white man are on the same
side of the river, eye to eye, heart to heart. I have
always loved my people. I have taught them and
ministered to them as well as I could. Hereafter, I
will keep silent and listen to the good words of the
missionaries, who know God and the places we go to
when we die so much better than I do."

At the close of the exercises, after the last sermon

[ 172 ]

"The Country of the Chilcats

had been preached and the last speech of the Indian
chief and headmen had been made, a number of the
sub-chiefs were talking informally together. Mr.
Young, anxious to know what impression he had
made on the tribe with reference to mission work, re-
quested John to listen and tell him what was being
said.

"They are talking about Mr. Muir's speech," he
reported. "They say he knows how to talk and beats
the preacher far." Toyatte also, with a teasing smile,
said: "Mr. Young, mika tillicum hi yu tola wawa"
(your friend leads you far in speaking).

Later, when the sending of a missionary and teacher
was being considered, the chief said they wanted me,
and, as an inducement, promised that if I would
come to them they would always do as I directed,
follow my councils, give me as many wives as I liked,
build a church and school, and pick all the stones out
of the paths and make them smooth for my feet.

They were about to set out on an expedition to
the Hootsenoos to collect blankets as indemnity or
blood-money for the death of a Chilcat woman from
drinking whiskey furnished by one of the Hootsenoo
tribe. In case of their refusal to pay, there would be
fighting, and one of the chiefs begged that we would
pray them good luck, so that no one would be killed.
This he asked as a favor, after begging that we would
grant permission to go on this expedition, promising
that they would avoid bloodshed if possible. He
spoke in a very natural and easy tone and manner,
always serene and so much of a polished diplomat that

[ 173 ]

"Travels in Alaska

all polish was hidden. The younger chief stood while
speaking, the elder sat on the floor. None of the con-
gregation had a word to say, though they gave ap-
proving nods and shrugs.

The house was packed at every meeting, two a day.
Some climbed on the roof to listen around the smoke
opening. I tried in vain to avoid speechmaking, but,
as usual, I had to say something at every meeting. I
made five speeches here, all of which seemed to be
gladly heard, particularly what I said on the differ-
ent kinds of white men and their motives, and their
own kindness and good manners in making strangers
feel at home in their houses.

The chief had a slave, a young and good-looking
girl, who waited on him, cooked his food, lighted his
pipe for him, etc. Her servitude seemed by no means
galling. In the morning, just before we left on the
return trip, interpreter John overheard him telling
her that after the teacher came from Wrangell, he
was going to dress her well and send her to school and
use her in every way as if she were his own daughter.
Slaves are still owned by the richest of the Thlinkits.
Formerly, many of them were sacrificed on great oc-
casions, such as the opening of a new house or the
erection of a totem pole. Kadachan ordered John to
take a pair of white blankets out of his trunk and
wrap them about the chiefs shoulders, as he sat by
the fire. This gift was presented without ceremony
or saying a single word. The chief scarcely noticed
the blankets, only taking a corner in his hand, as if
testing the quality of the wool. Toyatte had been an

[ 174 1

T^he Country of the Chilcats

inveterate enemy and fighter of the Chilcats, but now,
having joined the church, he wished to forget the
past and bury all the hard feuds and be universally
friendly and peaceful. It was evident, however, that
he mistrusted the proud and warlike Chilcats and
doubted the acceptance of his friendly advances, and
as we approached their village became more and more
thoughtful.

"My wife said that my old enemies would be sure
to kill me. Well, never mind. I am an old man and
may as well die as not." He was troubled with palpi-
tation, and oftentimes, while he suffered, he put his
hand over his heart and said, "I hope the Chilcats
will shoot me here."

Before venturing up the river to the principal vil-
lage, located some ten miles up the river, we sent
Sitka Charley and one of the young Chilcats as mes-
sengers to announce our arrival and inquire whether
we would be welcome to visit them, informing the
chief that both Kadachan and Toyatte were Mr.
Young's friends and mine, that we were "all one
meat" and any harm done them would also be done
to us.

While our messengers were away, I climbed a pure-
white, dome-crowned mountain about fifty-five hun-
dred feet high and gained noble telling views to
the northward of the main Chilcat glaciers and the
multitude of mighty peaks from which they draw
their sources. At a height of three thousand feet I
found a mountain hemlock, considerably dwarfed, in
company with Sitka spruce and the common hem-

[i7Sl

"Travels in Alaska

lock, the tallest about twenty feet high, sixteen inches
in diameter. A few stragglers grew considerably higher,
say at about four thousand feet. Birch and two-leaf
pine were common.

The messengers returned next day, bringing back
word that we would all be heartily welcomed ex-
cepting Toyatte; that the guns were loaded and
ready to be fired to welcome us, but that Toyatte,
having insulted a Chilcat chief not long ago in Wran-
gell, must not come. They also informed us in their
message that they were very busy merrymaking with
other visitors, Sitka Jack and his friends, but that if
we could get up to the village through the running ice
on the river, they would all be glad to see us; they had
been drinking and Kadachan's father, one of the
principal chiefs, said plainly that he had just waked
up out of a ten days' sleep. We were anxious to make
this visit, but, taking the difficulties and untoward
circumstances into account, the danger of being
frozen in at so late a time, while Kadachan would not
be able to walk back on account of a shot in his foot,
the danger also from whiskey, the awakening of old
feuds on account of Toyatte's presence, etc., we re-
luctantly concluded to start back on the home jour-
ney at once. This was on Friday and a fair wind was
blowing, but our crew, who loved dearly to rest and
eat in these big hospitable houses, all said that Mon-
day would be kyas klosh for the starting-day. I
insisted, however, on starting Saturday morning, and
succeeded in getting away from our friends at ten
o'clock. Just as we were leaving, the chief who had

[ 176]

"The Country of the Chilcats

entertained us so handsomely requested a written
document to show that he had not killed us, so in
case we were lost on the way home he could not be
held accountable in any way for our death.

CHAPTER XII

THE RETURN TO FORT WRANGELL

THE day of our start for Wrangell was bright and
the Hoon, the north wind, strong. We passed
around the east side of the larger island which lies
near the south extremity of the point of land be-
tween the Chilcat and the Chilcoot channels and
thence held a direct course down the east shore of
the canal. At sunset we encamped in a small bay at
the head of a beautiful harbor three or four miles
south of Berner's Bay, and the next day, being Sun-
day, we remained in camp as usual, though the wind
was fair and it is not a sin to go home. The Indians
spent most of the day in washing, mending, eating,
and singing hymns with Mr. Young, who also gave
them a Bible lesson, while I wrote notes and sketched.
Charley made a sweathouse and all the crew got good
baths. This is one of the most delightful little bays
we have thus far enjoyed, girdled with tall trees
whose branches almost meet, and with views of pure-
white mountains across the broad, river-like canal.

Seeing smoke back in the dense woods, we went
ashore to seek it and discovered a Hootsenoo whiskey-
factory in full blast. The Indians said that an old
man, a friend of theirs, was about to die and they were
making whiskey for his funeral.

Our Indians were already out of oily flesh, which
they regard as a necessity and consume in enormous

[ 178 ]

ne Return to Fort Wrangell

quantities. The bacon was nearly gone and they
eagerly inquired for flesh at every camp we passed.
Here we found skinned carcasses of porcupines and
a heap of wild mutton lying on the confused hut
floor. Our cook boiled the porcupines in a big pot
with a lot of potatoes we obtained at the same hut, and
although the potatoes were protected by their skins,
the awfully wild penetrating porcupine flavor found a
way through the skins and flavored them to the very
heart. Bread and beans and dried fruit we had in
abundance, and none of these rank aboriginal dainties
ever came nigh any meal of mine. The Indians eat
the hips of wild roses entire like berries, and I was
laughed at for eating only the outside of this fruit and
rejecting the seeds.

When we were approaching the village of the Auk
tribe, venerable Toyatte seemed to be unusually pen-
sive, as if weighed down by some melancholy thought.
This was so unusual that I waited attentively to find
out the cause of his trouble.

When at last he broke silence it was to say, "Mr.
Young, Mr. Young," — he usually repeated the name,
— "I hope you will not stop at the Auk village."

"Why, Toyatte?" asked Mr. Young.

"Because they are a bad lot, and preaching to them
can do no good."

" Toyatte," said Mr. Young, "have you forgotten
what Christ said to his disciples when he charged them
to go forth and preach the gospel to everybody; and
that we should love our enemies and do good to those
who use us badly.'*"

[ 179 ]

"Travels in Alaska

"Well," replied Toyatte, "if you preach to them,
you must not call on me to pray, because I cannot
pray for Auks."

"But the Bible says we should pray for all men,
however bad they may be."

"Oh, yes, I know that, Mr. Young; I know it very
well. But Auks are not men, good or bad, — they are
dogs."

It was now nearly dark and quite so ere we found
a harbor, not far from the fine Auk Glacier which de-
scends into the narrow channel that separates Doug-
las Island from the mainland. Two of the Auks fol-
lowed us to our camp after eight o'clock and inquired
into our object in visiting them, that they might carry
the news to their chief. One of the chief's houses is
opposite our camp a mile or two distant, and we con-
cluded to call on him next morning.

I wanted to examine the Auk Glacier in the morn-
ing, but tried to be satisfied with a general view and
sketch as we sailed around its wide fan-shaped front.
It is one of the most beautiful of all the coast glaciers
that are in the first stage of decadence. We called on
the Auk chief at daylight, when he was yet in bed, but
he arose goodnatu redly, put on a calico shirt, drew a
blanket around his legs, and comfortably seated him-
self beside a small fire that gave light enough to show
his features and those of his children and the three
women that one by one came out of the shadows. All
listened attentively to Mr. Young's message of good-
will. The chief was a serious, sharp-featured, dark-
complexioned man, sensible-looking and with good

\ i8o 1

"The Return to Fort IVrangell

manners. He was very sorry, he said, that his people
had been drinking in his absence and had used us so
ill; he would like to hear us talk and would call his
people together if we would return to the village.
This offer we had to decline. We gave him good words
and tobacco and bade him good-bye.

The scenery all through the channel is magnificent,
something like Yosemite Valley in its lofty avalanche-
swept wall cliffs, especially on the mainland side, which
are so steep few trees can find footing. The lower
island side walls are mostly forested. The trees are
heavily draped with lichens, giving the woods a
remarkably gray, ancient look. I noticed a good many
two-leafed pines in boggy spots. The water was
smooth, and the reflections of the lofty walls striped
with cascades were charmingly distinct.

It was not easy to keep my crew full of wild flesh.
We called at an Indian summer camp on the main-
land about noon, where there were three very squalid
huts crowded and jammed full of flesh of many colors
and smells, among which we discovered a lot of bright
fresh trout, lovely creatures about fifteen inches long,
their sides adorned with vivid red spots. We pur-
chased five of them and a couple of salmon for a box of
gun-caps and a little tobacco. About the middle of
the afternoon we passed through a fleet of icebergs,
their number increasing as we neared the mouth of
the Taku Fiord, where we camped, hoping to explore
the fiord and see the glaciers where the bergs, the first
we had seen since leaving Icy Bay, are derived.

We left camp at six o'clock, nearly an hour before

[ i8i ]

"Travels in Alaska

daybreak. My Indians were glad to find the fiord
barred by a violent wind, against which we failed to
make any headway; and as it was too late in the sea-
son to wait for better weather, I reluctantly gave up
this promising work for another year, and directed
the crew to go straight ahead down the coast. We
sailed across the mouth of the happy inlet at fine
speed, keeping a man at the bow to look out for the
smallest of the bergs, not easily seen in the dim light,
and another bailing the canoe as the tops of some of
the white caps broke over us. About two o'clock we
passed a large bay or fiord, out of which a violent
wind was blowing, though the main Stephens Passage
was calm. About dusk, when we were all tired and
anxious to get into camp, we reached the mouth of
Sum Dum Bay, but nothing like a safe landing could
we find. Our experienced captain was indignant, as
well he might be, because we did not see fit to stop
early in the afternoon at a good camp-ground he had
chosen. He seemed determined to give us enough of
night sailing as a punishment to last us for the rest
of the voyage. Accordingly, though the night was
dark and rainy and the bay full of icebergs, he pushed
grimly on, saying that we must try to reach an
Indian village on the other side of the bay or an old
Indian fort on an island in the middle of it. We made
slow, weary, anxious progress while Toyatte, who was
well acquainted with every feature of this part of the
coast and could find his way in the dark, only laughed
at our misery. After a mile or two of this dismal night
work we struck across toward the island, now invisi-

[ 182]

ll

i

t w

)

^

"The Return to Fort Wrangell

ble, and came near being wrecked on a rock which
showed a smooth round back over which the waves
were breaking. In the hurried Indian shouts that fol-
lowed and while we were close against the rock, Mr.
Young shouted, as he leaned over against me, "It's
a whale, a whale!" evidently fearing its tail, several
specimens of these animals, which were probably still
on his mind, having been seen in the forenoon. While
we were passing along the east shore of the island we
saw a light on the opposite shore, a joyful sight, which
Toyatte took for a fire in the Indian village, and
steered for it. John stood in the bow, as guide through
the bergs. Suddenly, we ran aground on a sand bar.
Clearing this, and running back half a mile or so, we
again stood for the light, which now shone brightly.
I thought it strange that Indians should have so large
a fire. A broad white mass dimly visible back of the
fire Mr. Young took for the glow of the fire on the
clouds. This proved to be the front of a glacier. After
we had effected a landing and stumbled up toward
the fire over a ledge of slippery, algae-covered rocks,
and through the ordinary tangle of shore grass, we
were astonished to find white men instead of Indians,
the first we had seen for a month. They proved to be
a party of seven gold-seekers from Fort Wrangell.
It was now about eight o'clock and they were in bed,
but a jolly Irishman got up to make coffee for us and
find out who we were, where we had come from, where
going, and the objects of our travels. We unrolled
our chart and asked for information as to the extent
and features of the bay. But our benevolent friend

[ 183 ]

"Travels in Alaska

took great pains to pull wool over our eyes, and made
haste to say that if "ice and sceneries" were what we
were looking for, this was a very poor, dull place.
There were "big rocks, gulches, and sceneries" of a
far better quality down the coast on the way to Wran-
gell. He and his party were prospecting, he said, but
thus far they had found only a few colors and they
proposed going over to Admiralty Island in the
morning to try their luck.

In the morning, however, when the prospectors
were to have gone over to the island, we noticed a
smoke half a mile back on a large stream, the outlet
of the glacier we had seen the night before, and an
Indian told us that the white men were building a big
log house up there. It appeared that they had found
a promising placer mine in the moraine and feared we
might find it and spread the news. Daylight revealed
a magnificent fiord that brought Glacier Bay to mind.
Miles of bergs lay stranded on the shores, and the
waters of the branch fiords, not on Vancouver's chart,
were crowded with them as far as the eye could reach.
After breakfast we set out to explore an arm of the
bay that trends southeastward, and managed to force
a way through the bergs about ten miles. Farther
we could not go. The pack was so close no open water
was in sight, and, convinced at last that this part of my
work would have to be left for another year, we
struggled across to the west side of the fiord and
camped.

I climbed a mountain next morning, hoping to
gain a view of the great fruitful glaciers at the head of

[ 184]

"The Return to Fort TVrangell

the fiord or, at least, of their snowy fountains. But
in this also I failed; for at a distance of about sixteen
miles from the mouth of the fiord a change to the
northward in its general trend cut off all its upper
course from sight.

Returning to camp baified and weary, I ordered all
hands to pack up and get out of the ice as soon as
possible. And how gladly was that order obeyed!
Toyatte's grand countenance glowed like a sun-filled
glacier, as he joyfully and teasingly remarked that
"the big Sum Dum ice-mountain had hidden his face
from me and refused to let me pay him a visit." All
the crew worked hard boring a way down the west
side of the fiord, and early in the afternoon we reached
comparatively open water near the mouth of the bay.
Resting a few minutes among the drifting bergs, tak-
ing last lingering looks at the wonderful place I might
never see again, and feeling sad over my weary fail-
ure to explore it, I was cheered by a friend I little
expected to meet here. Suddenly, I heard the familiar
whir of an ousel's wings, and, looking up, saw my little
comforter coming straight from the shore. In a second
or two he was with me, and flew three times around
my head with a happy salute, as if saying, "Cheer
up, old friend, you see I am here and all's well." He
then flew back to the shore, alighted on the topmost
jag of a stranded iceberg, and began to nod and bow
as though he were on one of his favorite rocks in the
middle of a sunny California mountain cataract.

Mr. Young regretted not meeting the Indians here,
but mission work also had to be left until next season.

[ 185 ]

"Travels in Alaska

Our happy crew hoisted sail to a fair wind, shouted
"Good-bye, Sum Dum!" and soon after dark reached
a harbor a few miles north of Hobart Point.

We made an early start the next day, a fine, calm
morning, glided smoothly down the coast, admiring
the magnificent mountains arrayed in their winter
robes, and early in the afternoon reached a lovely
harbor on an island five or six miles north of Cape
Fanshawe. Toyatte predicted a heavy winter storm,
though only a mild rain was falling as yet. Every-
body was tired and hungry, and as the voyage was
nearing the end, I consented to stop here. While the
shelter tents were being set up and our blankets
stowed under cover, John went out to hunt and killed
a deer within two hundred yards of the camp. When
we were at the camp-fire in Sum Dum Bay, one of the
prospectors, replying to Mr. Young's complaint that
they were oftentimes out of meat, asked Toyatte why
he and his men did not shoot plenty of ducks for the
minister. "Because the duck's friend would not let
us," said Toyatte; "when we want to shoot, Mr. Muir
always shakes the canoe."

Just as we were passing the south headland of Port
Houghton Bay, we heard a shout, and a few minutes
later saw four Indians in a canoe paddling rapidly
after us. In about an hour they overtook us. They
were an Indian, his son, and two women with a load
of fish-oil and dried salmon to sell and trade at Fort
Wrangell. They camped within a dozen yards of us;
with their sheets of cedar bark and poles they speedily
made a hut, spread spruce boughs in it for a carpet,

[ 186 1

"The Return to Fort JVrangell

unloaded the canoe, and stored their goods under
cover. Toward evening the old man came smiling
with a gift for Toyatte, — a large fresh salmon, which
was promptly boiled and eaten by our captain and
crew as if it were only a light refreshment like a bis-
cuit between meals. A few minutes after the big sal-
mon had vanished, our generous neighbor came to
Toyatte with a second gift of dried salmon, which
after being toasted a few minutes tranquilly followed
the fresh one as though it were a mere mouthful.
Then, from the same generous hands, came a third
gift, — a large milk-panful of huckleberries and grease
boiled together, — and, strange to say, this wonder-
ful mess went smoothly down to rest on the broad and
deep salmon foundation. Thus refreshed, and appe-
tite sharpened, my sturdy crew made haste to begin
on the buck, beans, bread, etc., and, boiling and roast-
ing, managed to get comfortably full on but little
more than half of it by sundown, making a good deal
of sport of my pity for the deer and refusing to eat
any of it and nicknaming me the ice ancou and the
deer and duck's tillicum,

Sunday was a wild, driving, windy day with but
little rain but big promise of more. I took a walk back
in the woods. The timber here is very fine, about as
large as any I have seen in Alaska, much better than
farther north. The Sitka spruce and the common
hemlock, one hundred and fifty and two hundred feet
high, are slender and handsome. The Sitka spruce
makes good firewood even when green, the hemlock
very poor. Back a little way from the sea, there was

[ 187]

"Travels in Alaska

a good deal of yellow cedar, the best I had yet seen.
The largest specimen that I saw and measured on the
trip was five feet three inches in diameter and about
one hundred and forty feet high. In the evening Mr.
Young gave the Indians a lesson, calling in our Indian
neighbors. He told them the story of Christ coming
to save the world. The Indians wanted to know why
the Jews had killed him. The lesson was listened to
with very marked attention. Toyatte's generous
friend caught a devil-fish about three feet in diameter
to add to his stores of food. It would be very good, he
said, when boiled in berry and colicon-oil soup. Each
arm of this savage animal with its double row of
button-like suction discs closed upon any object
brought within reach with a grip nothing could escape.
The Indians tell me that devil-fish live mostly on
crabs, mussels, and clams, the shells of which they
easily crunch with their strong, parrot-like beaks.
That was a wild, stormy, rainy night. How the rain
soaked us in our tents!

"Just feel that," said the minister in the night, as
he took my hand and plunged it into a pool about
three inches deep in which he was lying.

"Never mind," I said, "it is only water. Every-
thing is wet now. It will soon be morning and we will
dry at the fire."

Our Indian neighbors were, if possible, still wetter.
Their hut had been blown down several times during
the night. Our tent leaked badly, and we were lying
in a mossy bog, but around the big camp-fire we were
soon warm and half dry. We had expected to reach

[ i88 1

"The Return to Fort Wrangell

Wrangell by this time. Toyatte said the storm might
last several days longer. We were out of tea and coffee,
much to Mr. Young's distress. On my return from a
walk I brought in a good big bunch of glandular
ledum and boiled it in the teapot. The result of this
experiment was a bright, clear amber-colored, rank-
smelling liquor which I did not taste, but my suffering
companion drank the whole potful and praised it.
The rain was so heavy we decided not to attempt to
leave camp until the storm somewhat abated, as we
were assured by Toyatte that we would not be able
to round Cape Fanshawe, a sheer, outjutting head-
land, the nose as he called it, past which the wind
sweeps with great violence in these southeastern
storms. With what grateful enthusiasm the trees wel-
comed the life-giving rain! Strong, towering spruces,
hemlocks, and cedars tossed their arms, bowing, wav-
ing, in every leap, quivering and rejoicing together
in the gray, roaring storm. John and Charley put on
their gun-coats and went hunting for another deer,
but returned later in the afternoon with clean hands,
having fortunately failed to shed any more blood.
The wind still held in the south, and Toyatte, grimly
trying to comfort us, told us that we might be held
here a week or more, which we should not have minded
much, for we had abundance of provisions. Mr. Young
and I shifted our tent and tried to dry blankets. The
wind moderated considerably, and at 7 a.m. we started
but met a rough sea and so stiff a wind we barely
succeeded in rounding the cape by all hands pulling
their best. Thence we struggled down the coast,

[ 189 ]

"Travels in Alaska

creeping close to the shore and taking advantage of
the shelter of protecting rocks, making slow, hard-won
progress until about the middle of the afternoon,
when the sky opened and the blessed sun shone out
over the beautiful waters and forests with rich amber
light; and the high, glacier-laden mountains, adorned
with fresh snow, slowly came to view in all their
grandeur, the bluish-gray clouds crawling and linger-
ing and dissolving until every vestige of them van-
ished. The sunlight made the upper snow-fields pale
creamy yellow, like that seen on the Chilcat moun-
tains the first day of our return trip. Shortly after
the sky cleared, the wind abated and changed around
to the north, so that we ventured to hoist our sail, and
then the weary Indians had rest. It was interesting to
note how speedily the heavy swell that had been roll-
ing for the last two or three days was subdued by the
comparatively light breeze from the opposite direc-
tion. In a few minutes the sound was smooth and no
trace of the storm was left, save the fresh snow and
the discoloration of the water. All the water of the
sound as far as I noticed was pale coifee-color like
that of the streams in boggy woods. How much of
this color was due to the inflow of the flooded streams
many times increased in size and number by the rain,
and how much to the beating of the waves along the
shore stirring up vegetable matter in shallow bays,
I cannot determine. The eflfect, however, was very
marked.

About four o'clock we saw smoke on the shore and
ran in for news. We found a company of Taku In-

[ 190 1

"The Return to Fort TVrangell

dians, who were on their way to Fort Wrangell, some
six men and about the same number of women. The
men were sitting in a bark hut, handsomely reinforced
and embowered with fresh spruce boughs. The wo-
men were out at the side of a stream, washing their
many bits of calico. A little girl, six or seven years
old, was sitting on the gravelly beach, building a play-
house of white quartz pebbles, scarcely caring to stop
her work to gaze at us. Toyatte found a friend among
the men, and wished to encamp beside them for the
night, assuring us that this was the only safe harbor
to be found within a good many miles. But we re-
solved to push on a little farther and make use of the
smooth weather after being stormbound so long, much
to Toyatte and his companion's disgust. We rowed
about a couple of miles and ran into a cozy cove where
wood and water were close at hand. How beautiful
and homelike it was! plushy moss for mattresses
decked with red cornel berries, noble spruce standing
guard about us and spreading kindly protecting arms.
A few ferns, aspidiums, polypodiums, with dewberry
vines, coptis, pyrola, leafless huckleberry bushes, and
ledum grow beneath the trees. We retired at eight
o'clock, and just then Toyatte, who had been at-
tentively studying the sky, presaged rain and another
southeaster for the morrow.

The sky was a little cloudy next morning, but the
air was still and the water smooth. We all hoped that
Toyatte, the old weather prophet, had misread the
sky signs. But before reaching Point Vanderpeut the
rain began to fall and the dreaded southeast wind to

1 191 1

"Travels in Alaska

blow, which soon increased to a stiff breeze, next
thing to a gale, that lashed the sound into ragged
white caps. Cape Vanderpeut is part of the terminal
of an ancient glacier that once extended six or eight
miles out from the base of the mountains. Three large
glaciers that once were tributaries still descend nearly
to the sea-level, though their fronts are back in nar-
row fiords, eight or ten miles from the sound. A similar
point juts out into the sound five or six miles to the
south, while the missing portion is submerged and
forms a shoal.

All the cape is forested save a narrow strip about
a mile long, composed of large boulders against which
the waves beat with loud roaring. A bar of foam a mile
or so farther out showed where the waves were break-
ing on a submerged part of the moraine, and I sup-
posed that we would be compelled to pass around it
in deep water, but Toyatte, usually so cautious, de-
termined to cross it, and after giving particular direc-
tions, with an encouraging shout every oar and paddle
was strained to shoot through a narrow gap. Just at
the most critical point a big wave heaved us aloft and
dropped us between two huge rounded boulders,
where, had the canoe been a foot or two closer to either
of them, it must have been smashed. Though I had
offered no objection to our experienced pilot's plan,
it looked dangerous, and I took the precaution to
untie my shoes so they could be quickly shaken off
for swimming. But after crossing the bar we were not
yet out of danger, for we had to struggle hard to keep
from being driven ashore while the waves were beat-

[ 192 1

The Return to Fort IVrangell

ing us broadside on. At length we discovered a little
inlet, into which we gladly escaped. A pure-white
iceberg, weathered to the form of a cross, stood amid
drifts of kelp and the black rocks of the wave-beaten
shore in sign of safety and welcome. A good fire soon
warmed and dried us into common comfort. Our nar-
row escape was the burden of conversation as we sat
around the fire. Captain Toyatte told us of two simi-
lar adventures while he was a strong young man. In
both of them his canoe was smashed and he swam
ashore out of the surge with a gun in his teeth. He
says that if we had struck the rocks he and Mr. Young
would have been drowned, all the rest of us probably
would have been saved. Then, turning to me, he
asked me if I could have made a fire in such a case
without matches, and found a way to Wrangell with-
out canoe or food.

We started about daybreak from our blessed white
cross harbor, and, after rounding a bluff cape oppo-
site the mouth of Wrangell Narrows, a fleet of ice-
bergs came in sight, and of course I was eager to trace
them to their source. Toyatte naturally enough was
greatly excited about the safety of his canoe and
begged that we should not venture to force a way
through the bergs, risking the loss of the canoe and
our lives now that we were so near the end of our
long voyage.

"Oh, never fear, Toyatte," I replied. "You know
we are always lucky — the weather is good. I only
want to see the Thunder Glacier for a few minutes,
and should the bergs be packed dangerously close,

[ 193 ]

Travels in Alaska

I promise to turn back and wait until next sum-

mer.

Thus assured, he pushed rapidly on until we en-
tered the fiord, where we had to go cautiously slow.
The bergs were close packed almost throughout the
whole extent of the fiord, but we managed to reach a
point about two miles from the head — commanding
a good view of the down-plunging lower end of the
glacier and blue, jagged ice-wall. This was one of the
most imposing of the first-class glaciers I had as yet
seen, and with its magnificent fiord formed a fine tri-
umphant close for our season's ice work. I made a
few notes and sketches and turned back in time to
escape from the thickest packs of bergs before dark.
Then Kadachan was stationed in the bow to guide
through the open portion of the mouth of the fiord and
across Soutchoi Strait. It was not until several hours
after dark that we were finally free from ice. We oc-
casionally encountered stranded packs on the delta,
which in the starlight seemed to extend indefinitely in
every direction. Our danger lay in breaking the canoe
on small bergs hard to see and in getting too near the
larger ones that might split or roll over.

"Oh, when will we escape from this ice?" moaned
much-enduring old Toyatte.

We ran aground in several places in crossing the
Stickeen delta, but finally succeeded in groping our
way over muddy shallows before the tide fell, and
encamped on the boggy shore of a small island, where
we discovered a spot dry enough to sleep on, after
tumbling about in a tangle of bushes and mossy logs.

I 194 I

"The Return to Fort TVrangell

We left our last camp November 21 at daybreak.
The weather was calm and bright. Wrangell Island
came into view beneath a lovely rosy sky, all the
forest down to the water's edge silvery gray with a
dusting of snow. John and Charley seemed to be
seriously distressed to find themselves at the end of
their journey while a portion of the stock of provis-
ions remained uneaten. "What is to be done about
it.'*" they asked, more than half in earnest. The fine,
strong, and specious deliberation of Indians was well
illustrated on this eventful trip. It was fresh every
morning. They all behaved well, however, exerted
themselves under tedious hardships without flinching
for days or weeks at a time; never seemed in the least
nonplussed; were prompt to act in every exigency;
good as servants, fellow travelers, and even friends.

We landed on an island in sight of Wrangell and
built a big smoky signal fire for friends in town, then
set sail, unfurled our flag, and about noon completed
our long journey of seven or eight hundred miles. As
we approached the town, a large canoeful of friendly
Indians came flying out to meet us, cheering and
handshaking in lusty Boston fashion. The friends
of Mr. Young had intended to come out in a body to
welcome him back, but had not had time to complete
their arrangements before we landed. Mr. Young
was eager for news. I told him there could be no
news of importance about a town. We only had real
news, drawn from the wilderness. The mail steamer
had left Wrangell eight days before, and Mr. Vander-
bilt and family had sailed on her to Portland. I had

[195]

travels in Alaska

to wait a month for the next steamer, and though I
would have liked to go again to Nature, the mountains
were locked for the winter and canoe excursions no
longer safe.

So I shut myself up in a good garret alone to wait
and work. I was invited to live with Mr. Young but
concluded to prepare my own food and enjoy quiet
work. How grandly long the nights were and short
the days! At noon the sun seemed to be about an
hour high, the clouds colored like sunset. The
weather was rather stormy. North winds prevailed
for a week at a time, sending down the temperature
to near zero and chilling the vapor of the bay into
white reek, presenting a curious appearance as it
streamed forward on the wind, like combed wool.
At Sitka the minimum was eight degrees plus; at
Wrangell, near the storm-throat of the Stickeen, zero.
This is said to be the coldest weather ever experienced
in southeastern Alaska.

CHAPTER XIII

ALASKA INDIANS

LOOKING back on my Alaska travels, I have
always been glad that good luck gave me Mr.
Young as a companion, for he brought me into con-
fiding contact with the Thlinkit tribes, so that I
learned their customs, what manner of men they were,
how they lived and loved, fought and played, their
morals, religion, hopes and fears, and superstitions,
how they resembled and differed in their characteris-
tics from our own and other races. It was easy to see
that they differed greatly from the typical American
Indian of the interior of this continent. They were
doubtless derived from the Mongol stock. Their
down-slanting oval eyes, wide cheek-bones, and
rather thick, outstanding upper lips at once suggest
their connection with the Chinese or Japanese. I
have not seen a single specimen that looks in the least
like the best of the Sioux, or indeed of any of the
tribes to the east of the Rocky Mountains. They also
differ from other North American Indians in being
willing to work, when free from the contamination of
bad whites. They manage to feed themselves well,
build good substantial houses, bravely fight their
enemies, love their wives and children and friends,
and cherish a quick sense of honor. The best of them
prefer death to dishonor, and sympathize with their
neighbors in their misfortunes and sorrows. Thus

[ 197I

"Travels in j4laska

when a family loses a child by death, neighbors visit
them to cheer and console. They gather around the
fire and smoke, talk kindly and naturally, telling the
sorrowing parents not to grieve too much, reminding
them of the better lot of their child in another world
and of the troubles and trials the little ones escape
by dying young, all this in a perfectly natural, straight-
forward way, wholly unlike the vacant, silent, hesi-
tating behavior of most civilized friends, who often-
times in such cases seem nonplussed, awkward, and
afraid to speak, however sympathetic.

The Thlinkits are fond and indulgent parents. In
all my travels I never heard a cross, fault-finding word,
or anything like scolding inflicted on an Indian child,
or ever witnessed a single case of spanking, so common
in civilized communities. They consider the want of
a son to bear their name and keep it alive the saddest
and most deplorable ill-fortune imaginable.

The Thlinkit tribes give a hearty welcome to Chris-
tian missionaries. In particular they are quick to
accept the doctrine of the atonement, because they
themselves practice it, although to many of the
civilized whites it is a stumbling-block and rock of
ofl"ense. As an example of their own doctrine of
atonement they told Mr. Young and me one evening
that twenty or thirty years ago there was a bitter war
between their own and the Sitka tribe, great fighters,
and pretty evenly matched. After fighting all summer
in a desultory, squabbling way, fighting now under
cover, now in the open, watching for every chance for
a shot, none of the women dared venture to the salmon-

[ 198 1

Alaska Indians

streams or berry-fields to procure their winter stock
of food. At this crisis one of the Stickeen chiefs came
out of his block-house fort into an open space midway
between their fortified camps, and shouted that he
wished to speak to the leader of the Sitkas.

When the Sitka chief appeared he said; —

"My people are hungry. They dare not go to the
salmon-streams or berry-fields for "winter supplies,
and if this war goes on much longer most of my people
will die of hunger. We have fought long enough; let
us make peace. You brave Sitka warriors go home,
and we will go home, and we will all set out to dry
salmon and berries before it is too late."

The Sitka chief replied : —

"You may well say let us stop fighting, when you
have had the best of it. You have killed ten more of
my tribe than we have killed of yours. Give us ten
Stickeen men to balance our blood-account; then, and
not till then, will we make peace and go home."

"Very well," replied the Stickeen chief, "you know
my rank. You know that I am worth ten common
men and more. Take me and make peace."

This noble offer was promptly accepted; the
Stickeen chief stepped forward and was shot down in
sight of the fighting bands. Peace was thus estab-
lished, and all made haste to their homes and ordinary
work. That chief literally gave himself a sacrifice
for his people. He died that they might live. There-
fore, when missionaries preached the doctrine of
atonement, explaining that when all mankind had
gone astray, had broken God's laws and deserved to

[ 199 ]

travels in Alaska

die, God's son came forward, and, like the Stickeen
chief, offered himself as a sacrifice to heal the cause
of God's wrath and set all the people of the world free,
the doctrine was readily accepted.

"Yes, your words are good," they said. "The Son
of God, the Chief of chiefs, the Maker of all the world,
must be worth more than all mankind put together;
therefore, when His blood was shed, the salvation of
the world was made sure."

A telling illustration of the ready acceptance of this
doctrine was displayed by Shakes, head chief of the
Stickeens at Fort Wrangell. A few years before my
first visit to the Territory, when the first missionary
arrived, he requested Shakes to call his people to-
gether to hear the good word he had brought them.
Shakes accordingly sent out messengers throughout
the village, telling his people to wash their faces, put
on their best clothing, and come to his block-house
to hear what their visitor had to say. When all were
assembled, the missionary preached a Christian ser-
mon on the fall of man and the atonement whereby
Christ, the Son of God, the Chief of chiefs, had re-
deemed all mankind, provided that this redemption
was voluntarily accepted with repentance of their
sins and the keeping of his commandments.

When the missionary had finished his sermon,
Chief Shakes slowly arose, and, after thanking the
missionary for coming so far to bring them good tid-
ings and taking so much unselfish interest in the wel-
fare of his tribe, he advised his people to accept the
new religion, for he felt satisfied that because the

[ 200 ]

Alaska Indians

white man knew so much more than the Indian,
the white man's religion was likely to be better than
theirs.

"The white man," said he, "makes great ships.
We, like children, can only make canoes. He makes
his big ships go with the wind, and he also makes them
go with fire. We chop down trees with stone axes; the
Boston man with iron axes, which are far better. In
everything the ways of the white man seem to be
better than ours. Compared with the white man we
are only blind children, knowing not how best to live
either here or in the country we go to after we die.
So I wish you to learn this new religion and teach it
to your children, that you may all go when you die
into that good heaven country of the white man and
be happy. But I am too old to learn a new religion,
and besides, many of my people who have died were
bad and foolish people, and if this word the mission-
ary has brought us is true, and I think it is, many of
my people must be in that bad country the mission-
ary calls 'Hell,' and I must go there also, for a Stickeen
chief never deserts his people in time of trouble. To
that bad country, therefore, I will go, and try to cheer
my people and help them as best I can to endure their
misery."

Toyatte was a famous orator. I was present at the
meeting at Fort Wrangell at which he was examined
and admitted as a member of the Presbyterian
Church. When called upon to answer the questions
as to his ideas of God, and the principal doctrines of
Christianity, he slowly arose in the crowded audience,

[ 201 ]

Travels in Alaska

while the missionary said, "Toyatte, you do not need
to rise. You can answer the questions seated."

To this he paid no attention, but stood several min-
utes without speaking a word, never for a moment
thinking of sitting down like a tired woman while
making the most important of all the speeches of his
life. He then explained in detail what his mother had
taught him as to the character of God, the great
Maker of the world; also what the shamans had taught
him ; the thoughts that often came to his mind when
he was alone on hunting expeditions, and what he first
thought of the religion which the missionaries had
brought them. In all his gestures, and in the language
in which he expressed himself, there was a noble sim-
plicity and earnestness and majestic bearing which
made the sermons and behavior of the three distin-
guished divinity doctors present seem commonplace
in comparison.

Soon after our return to Fort Wrangell this grand
old man was killed in a quarrel in which he had taken
no other part than that of peacemaker. A number of
the Taku tribe came to Fort Wrangell, camped near
the Stickeen village, and made merry, manufacturing
and drinking hootchenoo, a vile liquor distilled from
a mash made of flour, dried apples, sugar, and
molasses, and drunk hot from the still. The manu-
facture of hootchenoo being illegal, and several of
Toyatte's tribe having been appointed deputy con-
stables to prevent it, they went to the Taku camp
and destroyed as much of the liquor as they could
find. The Takus resisted, and during the quarrel one

[ 202 ]

Alaska Indians

of the Stickeens struck a Taku in the face — an un-
pardonable offense. The next day messengers from
the Taku camp gave notice to the Stickeens that they
must make atonement for that blow, or fight with
guns. Mr. Young, of course, was eager to stop the
quarrel and so was Toyatte. They advised the
Stickeen who had struck the Taku to return to their
camp and submit to an equal blow in the face from
the Taku. He did so; went to the camp, said he was
ready to make atonement, and invited the person
whom he had struck to strike him. This the Taku
did with so much force that the balance of justice
was again disturbed. The attention of the Takus was
called to the fact that this atoning blow was far
harder than the one to be atoned for, and immedi-
ately a sort of general free fist-fight began, and the
quarrel was thus increased in bitterness rather than
diminished.

Next day the Takus sent word to the Stickeens to
get their guns ready, for to-morrow they would come
up and fight them, thus boldly declaring war. The
Stickeens in great excitement assembled and loaded
their guns for the coming strife. Mr. Young ran
hither and thither amongst the men of his congrega-
tion, forbidding them to fight, reminding them that
Christ told them when they were struck to ofi'er the
other cheek instead of giving a blow in return, doing
everything in his power to still the storm, but all in
vain. Toyatte stood outside one of the big block-
houses with his men about him, awaiting the onset of
the Takus. Mr. Young tried hard to get him away to

[ 203 ]

"Travels in Alaska

a place of safety, reminding him that he belonged to
his church and no longer had any right to fight.
Toyatte calmly replied : —

"Mr. Young, Mr. Young, I am not going to fight.
You see I have no gun in my hand; but I cannot go
inside of the fort to a place of safety like women and
children while my young men are exposed to the
bullets of their enemies. I must stay with them and
share their dangers, but I will not fight. But you,
Mr. Young, you must go away; you are a minister
and you are an important man. It would not do for
you to be exposed to bullets. Go to your home in the
fort; pretty soon 'hi yu poogh'" (much shooting).

At the first fire Toyatte fell, shot through the
breast. Thus died for his people the noblest old
Roman of them all.

On this first Alaska excursion I saw Toyatte under
all circumstances, — in rain and snow, landing at
night in dark storms, making fires, building shelters,
exposed to all kinds of discomfort, but never under
any circumstances did I ever see him do anything, or
make a single gesture, that was not dignified, or hear
him say a word that might not be uttered anywhere.
He often deplored the fact that he had no son to take
his name at his death, and expressed himself as very
grateful when I told him that his name would not be
forgotten, — that I had named one of the Stickeen
glaciers for him.

Part II
The Trip of 1880

CHAPTER XIV

SUM DUM BAY

1 ARRIVED early on the morning of the eighth of
August on the steamer California to continue my
explorations of the fiords to the northward which were
closed by winter the previous November. The noise
of our cannon and whistle was barely sufficient to
awaken the sleepy town. The morning shout of one
good rooster was the only evidence of life and health
in all the place. Everything seemed kindly and
familiar — the glassy water; evergreen islands; the
Indians with their canoes and baskets and blankets
and berries; the jet ravens, prying and flying about
the streets and spruce trees; and the bland, hushed
atmosphere brooding tenderly over all.

How delightful it is, and how it makes one's pulses
bound to get back into this reviving northland wil-
derness ! How truly wild it is, and how joyously one's
heart responds to the welcome it gives, its waters
and mountains shining and glowing like enthusiastic
human faces 1 Gliding along the shores of its network
of channels, we may travel thousands of miles with-
out seeing any mark of man, save at long intervals
some little Indian village or the faint smoke of a
camp-fire. Even these are confined to the shore.
Back a few yards from the beach the forests are as
trackless as the sky, while the mountains, wrapped in

[ 207 ]

Travels in Alaska

their snow and ice and clouds, seem never before to
have been even looked at.

For those who really care to get into hearty contact
with the coast region, travel by canoe is by far the
better way. The larger canoes carry from one to three
tons, rise lightly over any waves likely to be met on
the inland channels, go well under sail, and are easily
paddled alongshore in calm weather or against
moderate winds, while snug harbors where they may
ride at anchor or be pulled up on a smooth beach are
to be found almost everywhere. With plenty of
provisions packed in boxes, and blankets and warm
clothing in rubber or canvas bags, you may be truly
independent, and enter into partnership with Nature;
to be carried with the winds and currents, accept the
noble invitations offered all along your way to enter
the mountain fiords, the homes of the waterfalls and
glaciers, and encamp almost every night beneath
hospitable trees.

I left Fort Wrangell the i6th of August, accom-
panied by Mr. Young, in a canoe about twenty-five
feet long and five wide, carrying two small square sails
and manned by two Stickeen Indians — Captain
Tyeen and Hunter Joe — and a half-breed named
Smart Billy. The day was calm, and bright, fleecy,
clouds hung about the lowest of the mountain-brows,
while far above the clouds the peaks were seen
stretching grandly away to the northward with their
ice and snow shining in as calm a light as that which
was falling on the glassy waters. Our Indians wel-
comed the work that lay before them, dipping their

r 208 1

Sum Dum Bay

oars in exact time with hearty good will as we glided
past island after island across the delta of the Stickeen
into Soutchoi Channel.

By noon we came in sight of a fleet of icebergs from
Hutli Bay. The Indian name of this icy fiord is Hutli,
or Thunder Bay, from the sound made by the bergs
in falling and rising from the front of the inflowing
glacier.

As we floated happily on over the shining waters,
the beautiful islands, in ever-changing pictures, were
an unfailing source of enjoyment; but chiefly our
attention was turned upon the mountains. Bold
granite headlands with their feet in the channel, or
some broad-shouldered peak of surpassing grandeur,
would fix the eye, or some one of the larger glaciers,
with far-reaching tributaries clasping entire groups of
peaks and its great crystal river pouring down through
the forest between gray ridges and domes. In these
grand picture lessons the day was spent, and we
spread our blankets beneath a Menzies spruce on
moss two feet deep.

Next morning we sailed around an outcurving bank
of boulders and sand ten miles long, the terminal
moraine of a grand old glacier on which last No-
vember we met a perilous adventure. It is located
just opposite three large converging glaciers which
formerly united to form the vanished trunk of the
glacier to which the submerged moraine belonged. A
few centuries ago it must have been the grandest
feature of this part of the coast, and, so well pre-
served are the monuments of its greatness, the noble

[ 209 ]

T'raveh in Alaska

old ice-river may be seen again in imagination about
as vividly as if present in the flesh, with snow-clouds
crawling about its fountains, sunshine sparkling on
its broad flood, and its ten-mile ice-wall planted in the
deep waters of the channel and sending off its bergs
with loud resounding thunder.

About noon we rounded Cape Fanshawe, scudding
swiftly before a fine breeze, to the delight of our
Indians, who had now only to steer and chat. Here we
overtook two Hoona Indians and their families on
their way home from Fort Wrangell. They had ex-
changed five sea-otter furs, worth about a hundred
dollars apiece, and a considerable number of fur-seal,
land-otter, marten, beaver, and other furs and skins,
some $800 worth, for a new canoe valued at eighty
dollars, some flour, tobacco, blankets, and a few bar-
rels of molasses for the manufacture of whiskey.
The blankets were not to wear, but to keep as money,
for the almighty dollar of these tribes is a Hudson's
Bay blanket. The wind died away soon after we met,
and as the two canoes glided slowly side by side, the
Hoonas made minute inquiries as to who we were and
what we were doing so far north. Mr. Young's object
in meeting the Indians as a missionary they could in
part understand, but mine in searching for rocks and
glaciers seemed past comprehension, and they asked
our Indians whether gold-mines might not be the
main object. They remembered, however, that I had
visited their Glacier Bay ice-mountains a year ago,
and seemed to think there might be, after all, some
mysterious interest about them of which they were

[ 210 1

Sum Dum Bay

Ignorant. Toward the middle of the afternoon they
engaged our crew in a race. We pushed a little way
ahead for a time, but, though possessing a consider-
able advantage, as it would seem, in our long oars,
they at length overtook us and kept up until after
dark, when we camped together in the rain on the
bank of a salmon-stream among dripping grass and
bushes some twenty-five miles beyond Cape Fan-
shawe.

These cold northern waters are at times about as
brilliantly phosphorescent as those of the warm
South, and so they were this evening in the rain and
darkness, with the temperature of the water at forty-
nine degrees, the air fifty-one. Every stroke of the
oar made a vivid surge of white light, and the canoes
left shining tracks.

As we neared the mouth of the well-known salmon-
stream where we intended making our camp, we
noticed jets and flashes of silvery light caused by the
startled movement of the salmon that were on their
way to their spawning-grounds. These became more
and more numerous and exciting, and our Indians
shouted joyfully, "Hi yu salmon! Hi yu muck-a-
muck!" while the water about the canoe and be-
neath the canoe was churned by thousands of fins
into silver fire. After landing two of our men to com-
mence camp-work, Mr. Young and I went up the
stream with Tyeen to the foot of a rapid, to see him
catch a few salmon for supper. The stream was so
filled with them there seemed to be more fish than
water in it, and we appeared to be sailing in boiling,

[211]

"Travels in Alaska

seething silver light marvelously relieved in the jet
darkness. In the midst of the general auroral glow
and the specially vivid flashes made by the fright-
ened fish darting ahead and to right and left of the
canoe, our attention was suddenly fixed by a long,
steady, comet-like blaze that seemed to be made by
some frightful monster that was pursuing us. But
when the portentous object reached the canoe, it
proved to be only our little dog, Stickeen.

After getting the canoe into a side eddy at the foot
of the rapids, Tyeen caught half a dozen salmon in a
few minutes by means of a large hook fastened to the
end of a pole. They were so abundant that he simply
groped for them in a random way, or aimed at them
by the light they themselves furnished. That food
to last a month or two may thus be procured in less
than an hour is a striking illustration of the fruitful-
ness of these Alaskan waters.

Our Hoona neighbors were asleep in the morning
at sunrise, lying in a row, wet and limp like dead
salmon. A little boy about six years old, with no
other covering than a remnant of a shirt, was lying
peacefully on his back, like Tam o' Shanter, despising
wind and rain and fire. He is up now, looking happy
and fresh, with no clothes to dry and no need of
washing while this weather lasts. The two babies
are firmly strapped on boards, leaving only their
heads and hands free. Their mothers are nursing
them, holding the boards on end, while they sit on
the ground with their breasts level with the little
prisoners' mouths.

[ 212 1

Sum Dum Bay

This morning we found out how beautiful a nook
we had got into. Besides the charming picturesque-
ness of its lines, the colors about it, brightened by
the rain, made a fine study. Viewed from the shore,
there was first a margin of dark-brown algae, then
a bar of yellowish-brown, next a dark bar on the
rugged rocks marking the highest tides, then a bar
of granite boulders with grasses in the seams, and
above this a thick, bossy, overleaning fringe of
bushes colored red and yellow and green. A wall of
spruces and hemlocks draped and tufted with gray
and yellow lichens and mosses embowered the camp-
ground and overarched the little river, while the
camp-fire smoke, like a stranded cloud, lay motion-
less in their branches. Down on the beach ducks and
sandpipers in flocks of hundreds were getting their
breakfasts, bald eagles were seen perched on dead
spars along the edge of the woods, heavy-looking and
overfed, gazing stupidly like gorged vultures, and
porpoises were blowing and plunging outside.

As for the salmon, as seen this morning urging their
way up the swift current, — tens of thousands of them,
side by side, with their backs out of the water in
shallow places now that the tide was low, — nothing
that I could write might possibly give anything like a
fair conception of the extravagance of their numbers.
There was more salmon apparently, bulk for bulk,
than water in the stream. The struggling multitudes,
crowding one against another, could not get out of
our way when we waded into the midst of them.
One of our men amused himself by seizing them above

[ 213 ]

"Travels in Alaska

the tail and swinging them over his head. Thousands
could thus be taken by hand at low tide, while they
were making their way over the shallows among the
stones.

Whatever may be said of other resources of the
Territory, it is hardly possible to exaggerate the im-
portance of the fisheries. Not to mention cod, herring,
halibut, etc., there are probably not less than a thou-
sand salmon-streams in southeastern Alaska as large
or larger than this one (about forty feet wide)
crowded with salmon several times a year. The first
run commenced that year in July, while the king
salmon, one of the five species recognized by the
Indians, was in the Chilcat River about the middle
of the November before.

From this wonderful salmon-camp we sailed joy-
fully up the coast to explore icy Sum Dum Bay, be-
ginning my studies where I left off the previous
November. We started about six o'clock, and pulled
merrily on through fog and rain, the beautiful wooded
shore on our right, passing bergs here and there, the
largest of which, though not over two hundred feet
long, seemed many times larger as they loomed gray
and indistinct through the fog. For the first five
hours the sailing was open and easy, nor was there
anything very exciting to be seen or heard, save now
and then the thunder of a falling berg rolling and
echoing from cliff to cliff, and the sustained roar of
cataracts.

About eleven o'clock we reached a point where the
fiord was packed with ice all the way across, and we

[ 214 ]

Sum Dum Bay

ran ashore to fit a block of wood on the cutwater of
our canoe to prevent its being battered or broken.
While Captain Tyeen, who had had considerable ex-
perience among berg ice, was at work on the canoe,
Hunter Joe and Smart Billy prepared a warm
lunch.

The sheltered hollow where we landed seems to be
a favorite camping-ground for the Sum Dum seal-
hunters. The pole-frames of tents, tied with cedar
bark, stood on level spots strewn with seal bones,
bits of salmon, and spruce bark.

We found the work of pushing through the ice
rather tiresome. An opening of twenty or thirty
yards would be found here and there, then a close
pack that had to be opened by pushing the smaller
bergs aside with poles. I enjoyed the labor, however,
for the fine lessons I got, and in an hour or two we
found zigzag lanes of water, through which we pad-
dled with but little interruption, and had leisure to
study the wonderful variety of forms the bergs pre-
sented as we glided past them. The largest we saw
did not greatly exceed two hundred feet in length, or
twenty-five or thirty feet in height above the water.
Such bergs would draw from one hundred and fifty
to two hundred feet of water. All those that have
floated long undisturbed have a projecting base at the
water-line, caused by the more rapid melting of the
immersed portion. When a portion of the berg breaks
off, another base line is formed, and the old one,
sharply cut, may be seen rising at all angles, giving it
a marked character. Many of the oldest bergs are

[2ISl

"Travels in Alaska

beautifully ridged by the melting out of narrow fur-
rows strictly parallel throughout the mass, revealing
the bedded structure of the ice, acquired perhaps cen-
turies ago, on the mountain snow fountains. A berg
suddenly going to pieces is a grand sight, especially
when the water is calm and no motion is visible save
perchance the slow drift of the tide-current. The pro-
longed roar of its fall comes with startling effect, and
heavy swells are raised that haste away in every
direction to tell what has taken place, and tens of
thousands of its neighbors rock and swash in sym-
pathy, repeating the news over and over again. We
were too near several large ones that fell apart as we
passed them, and our canoe had narrow escapes. The
seal-hunters, Tyeen says, are frequently lost in these
sudden berg accidents.

In the afternoon, while we were admiring the
scenery, which, as we approached the head of the
fiord, became more and more sublime, one of our
Indians called attention to a flock of wild goats on a
mountain overhead, and soon afterwards we saw two
other flocks, at a height of about fifteen hundred feet,
relieved against the mountains as white spots. They
are abundant here and throughout the Alaskan Alps
in general, feeding on the grassy slopes above the
timber-line. Their long, yellowish hair is shed at this
time of year and they were snowy white. None of
nature's cattle are better fed or better protected from
the cold. Tyeen told us that before the introduction
of guns they used to hunt them with spears, chasing
them with their wolf-dogs, and thus bringing them

1 216]

Sum Dum Bay

to bay among the rocks, where they were easily
approached and killed.

The upper half of the fiord is about from a mile to a
mile and a half wide, and shut in by sublime Yosemite
cliffs, nobly sculptured, and adorned with waterfalls
and fringes of trees, bushes, and patches of flowers;
but amid so crowded a display of novel beauty it was
not easy to concentrate the attention long enough on
any portion of it without giving more days and years
than our lives could afford. I was determined to see
at least the grand fountain of all this ice. As we
passed headland after headland, hoping as each was
rounded we should obtain a view of it, it still re-
mained hidden.

"Ice-mountain hi yu kumtux hide," — glaciers
know how to hide extremely well, — said Tyeen, as he
rested for a moment after rounding a huge granite
shoulder of the wall whence we expected to gain a
view of the extreme head of the fiord. The bergs,
however, were less closely packed and we made good
progress, and at half-past eight o'clock, fourteen and
a half hours after setting out, the great glacier came
in sight at the head of a branch of the fiord that comes
in from the northeast.

The discharging front of this fertile, fast-flowing
glacier is about three quarters of a mile^ wide, and
probably eight or nine hundred feet deep, about one
hundred and fifty feet of its dep^h rising above the
water as a grand blue barrier wall. It is much wider a
few miles farther back, the front being jammed be-
tween sheer granite walls from thirty-five hundred to

[2171

Travels in Alaska

four thousand feet high. It shows grandly from where
it broke on our sight, sweeping boldly forward and
downward in its majestic channel, swaying from side
to side in graceful fluent lines around stern unflinch-
ing rocks. While I stood in the canoe making a sketch
of it, several bergs came off" with tremendous dashing
and thunder, raising a cloud of ice-dust and spray to
a height of a hundred feet or more.

"The ice-mountain is well disposed toward you,"
said Tyeen. "He is firing his big guns to welcome you."

After completing my sketch and entering a few
notes, I directed the crew to pull around a lofty bur-
nished rock on the west side of the channel, where, as
I knew from the trend of the canon, a large glacier
once came in; and what was my delight to discover
that the glacier was still there and still pouring its ice
into a branch of the fiord. Even the Indians shared
my joy and shouted with me. I expected only one
first-class glacier here, and found two. They are only
about two miles apart. How glorious a mansion that
precious pair dwell in! After sunset we made haste
to seek a camp-ground. I would fain have shared
these upper chambers with the two glaciers, but there
was no landing-place in sight, and we had to make
our way back a few miles in the twilight to the mouth
of a side canon where we had seen timber on the way
up. There seemed to be a good landing as we ap-
proached the shore, but, coming nearer, we found that
the granite fell directly into deep water without lead-
ing any level margin, though the slope a short dis-
tance back was not very steep.

[218]

Sum Dum Bay

After narrowly scanning the various seams and
steps that roughened the granite, we concluded to
attempt a landing rather than grope our way farther
down the fiord through the ice. And what a time we
had climbing on hands and knees up the slippery
glacier-polished rocks to a shelf some two hundred
feet above the water and dragging provisions and
blankets after us! But it proved to be a glorious
place, the very best camp-ground of all the trip, — a
perfect garden, ripe berries nodding from a fringe of
bushes around its edges charmingly displayed in the
light of our big fire. Close alongside there was a lofty
mountain capped with ice, and from the blue edge of
that ice-cap there were sixteen silvery cascades in a
row, falling about four thousand feet, each one of the
sixteen large enough to be heard at least two miles.

How beautiful was the firelight on the nearest lark-
spurs and geraniums and daisies of our garden! How
hearty the wave greeting on the rocks below brought
to us from the two glaciers 1 And how glorious a song
the sixteen cascades sang!

The cascade songs made us sleep all the sounder,
and we were so happy as to find in the morning that
the berg waves had spared our canoe. We set off in
high spirits down the fiord and across to the right side
to explore a remarkably deep and narrow branch of
the main fiord that I had noted on the way up, and
that, from the magnitude of the glacial characters
on the two colossal rocks that guard the entrance,
promised a rich reward for our pains.

After we had sailed about three miles up this side
[ 219 ]

"Travels in Alaska

fiord, we came to what seemed to be its head, for trees
and rocks swept in a curve around from one side to
the other without showing any opening, although the
walls of the canon were seen extending back indefi-
nitely, one majestic brow beyond the other.

When we were tracing this curve, however, in a
leisurely way, in search of a good landing, we were
startled by Captain Tyeen shouting, "Skookum
chuck I Skookum chuck ! "(strong water, strong water),
and found our canoe was being swept sideways by a
powerful current, the roar of which we had mistaken
for a waterfall. We barely escaped being carried over
a rocky bar on the boiling flood, which, as we after-
wards learned, would have been only a happy shove
on our way. After we had made a landing a little dis-
tance back from the brow of the bar, we climbed the
highest rock near the shore to seek a view of the
channel beyond the inflowing tide rapids, to find out
whether or no we could safely venture in. Up over
rolling, mossy, bushy, burnished rock waves we
scrambled for an hour or two, which resulted in a fair
view of the deep-blue waters of the fiord stretching
on and on along the feet of the most majestic Yo-
semite rocks we had yet seen. This determined our
plan of shooting the rapids and exploring it to its
farthest recesses. This novel interruption of the
channel is a bar of exceedingly hard resisting granite,
over which the great glacier that once occupied it
swept, without degrading it to the general level, and
over which tide-waters now rush in and out with the
violence of a mountain torrent.

[ 220 ]

Sum Dum Bay

Returning to the canoe, we pushed off, and in a few
moments were racing over the bar with lightning
speed through hurrahing waves and eddies and sheets
of foam, our little shell of a boat tossing lightly as a
bubble. Then, rowing across a belt of back-flowing
water, we found ourselves on a smooth mirror reach
between granite walls of the very wildest and most
exciting description, surpassing in some ways those of
the far-famed Yosemite Valley.

As we drifted silent and awe-stricken beneath the
shadows of the mighty cliffs, which, in their tre-
mendous height and abruptness, seemed to overhang
at the top, the Indians gazing intently, as if they,
too, were impressed with the strange, awe-inspiring
grandeur that shut them in, one of them at length
broke the silence by saying, "This must be a good
place for woodchucks; I hear them calling."

When I asked them, further on, how they thought
this gorge was made, they gave up the question, but
offered an opinion as to the formation of rain and
soil. The rain, they said, was produced by the rapid
whirling of the earth by a stout mythical being called
Yek. The water of the ocean was thus thrown up, to
descend again in showers, just as it is thrown off a
wet grindstone. They did not, however, understand
why the ocean water should be salt, while the rain
from it is fresh. The soil, they said, for the plants
to grow on is formed by the washing of the rain on
the rocks and gradually accumulating. The grind-
ing action of ice in this connection they had not
recognized.

[ 221 ]

"Travels in Alaska

Gliding on and on, the scenery seemed at every
turn to become more lavishly fruitful in forms as
well as more sublime in dimensions — snowy falls
booming in splendid dress; colossal domes and battle-
ments and sculptured arches of a line neutral-gray
tint, their bases laved by the blue fiord water; green
ferny dells ; bits of flower-bloom on ledges ; fringes of
willow and birch; and glaciers above all. But when
we approached the base of a majestic rock like the
Yosemite Half Dome at the head of the fiord, where
two short branches put out, and came in sight of
another glacier of the first order sending off bergs,
our joy was complete. I had a most glorious view of
it, sweeping in grand majesty from high mountain
fountains, swaying around one mighty bastion after
another, until it fell into the fiord in shattered over-
leaning fragments. When we had feasted awhile on
this unhoped-for treasure, I directed the Indians to
pull to the head of the left fork of the fiord, where we
found a large cascade with a volume of water great
enough to be called a river, doubtless the outlet of a
receding glacier not in sight from the fiord.

This is in form and origin a typical Yosemite
valley, though as yet its floor is covered with ice and
water, — ice above and beneath, a noble mansion in
which to spend a winter and a summer! It is about
ten miles long, and from three quarters of a mile to
one mile wide. It contains ten large falls and cas-
cades, the finest one on the left side near the head.
After coming in an admirable rush over a granite
brow where it is first seen at a height of nine hundred

[ 222 ]

Sum Dum Bay

or a thousand feet, it leaps a sheer precipice of about
two hundred and fifty feet, then divides and reaches
the tide-water in broken rapids over boulders. An-
other about a thousand feet high drops at once on
to the margin of the glacier two miles back from
the front. Several of the others are upwards of three
thousand feet high, descending through narrow
gorges as richly feathered with ferns as any channel
that water ever flowed in, though tremendously
abrupt and deep. A grander array of rocks and
waterfalls I have never yet beheld in Alaska.

The amount of timber on the walls is about the
same as that on the Yosemite walls, but owing to
greater moisture, there is more small vegetation, —
bushes, ferns, mosses, grasses, etc.; though by far
the greater portion of the area of the wall-surface is
bare and shining with the polish it received when
occupied by the glacier that formed the fiord. The
deep-green patches seen on the mountains back of the
walls at the limits of vegetation are grass, where
the wild goats, or chamois rather, roam and feed.
The still greener and more luxuriant patches farther
down in gullies and on slopes where the declivity is
not excessive, are made up mostly of willows, birch,
and huckleberry bushes, with a varying amount of
prickly ribes and rubus and echinopanax. This
growth, when approached, especially on the lower
slopes near the level of the sea at the jaws of the
great side canons, is found to be the most impene-
trable and tedious and toilsome combination of
fighting bushes that the weary explorer ever fell into,

[ 223 ]

T^raveh in Alaska

incomparably more punishing than the buckthorn
and manzanita tangles of the Sierra.

The cliff gardens of this hidden Yosemite are ex-
ceedingly rich in color. On almost every rift and
bench, however small, as well as on the wider table-
rocks where a little soil has lodged, we found gay
multitudes of flowers, far more brilliantly colored
than would be looked for in so cool and beclouded
a region, — larkspurs, geraniums, painted-cups, blue-
bells, gentians, saxifrages, epilobiums, violets, par-
nassia, veratrum, spiranthes and other orchids, fri-
tillaria, smilax, asters, daisies, bryanthus, cassiope,
linnaea, and a great variety of flowering ribes and
rubus and heath worts. Many of the above, though
with soft stems and leaves, are yet as brightly painted
as those of the warm sunlands of the south. The
heathworts in particular are very abundant and
beautiful, both in flower and fruit, making delicate
green carpets for the rocks, flushed with pink bells,
or dotted with red and blue berries. The tallest of
the grasses have ribbon leaves well tempered and
arched, and with no lack of bristly spikes and nodding
purple panicles. The alpine grasses of the Sierra,
making close carpets on the glacier meadows, I have
not yet seen in Alaska.

The ferns are less numerous in species than in
California, but about equal in the number of fronds.
I have seen three aspidiums, two woodsias, a lomaria,
polypodium, cheilanthes, and several species of pteris.

In this eastern arm of Sum Dum Bay and its Yo-
semite branch, I counted from my canoe, on my way

[ 224 ]

Sum Dum Bay

up and down, thirty small glaciers back of the walls,
and we saw three of the first order; also thirty-seven
cascades and falls, counting only those large enough
to make themselves heard several miles. The whole
bay, with its rocks and woods and ice, reverberates
with their roar. How many glaciers may be dis-
closed in the other great arm that I have not seen as
yet, I cannot say, but, judging from the bergs it sends
down, I guess not less than a hundred pour their
turbid streams into the fiord, making about as many
joyful, bouncing cataracts.

About noon we began to retrace our way back into
the main fiord, and arrived at the gold-mine camp
after dark, rich and weary.

On the morning of August 21 I set out with my
three Indians to explore the right arm of this noble
bay, Mr. Young having decided, on account of mis-
sion work, to remain at the gold-mine. So here is
another fine lot of Sum Dum ice, — thirty-five or
forty square miles of bergs, one great glacier of the
first class descending into the fiord at the head, the
fountain whence all these bergs were derived, and
thirty-one smaller glaciers that do not reach tide-
water; also nine cascades and falls, large size, and
two rows of Yosemite rocks from three to four
thousand feet high, each row about eighteen or
twenty miles long, burnished and sculptured in the
most telling glacier style, and well trimmed with
spruce groves and flower gardens; a' that and more
of a kind that cannot here be catalogued.

For the first five or six miles there is nothing ex-
[ 225 ]

"Travels in Alaska

cepting the icebergs that is very striking in the
scenery as compared with that of the smooth un-
encumbered outside channels, where all is so evenly
beautiful. The mountain-wall on the right as you
go up is more precipitous than usual, and a series of
small glaciers is seen along the top of it, extending
their blue-crevassed fronts over the rims of pure-
white snow fountains, and from the end of each front
a hearty stream coming in a succession of falls and
rapids over the terminal moraines, through patches of
dwarf willows, and then through the spruce woods
into the bay, singing and dancing all the way down.
On the opposite side of the bay from here there is a
small side bay about three miles deep, with a showy
group of glacier-bearing mountains back of it. Every-
where else the view is bounded by comparatively low
mountains densely forested to the very top.

After sailing about six miles from the mine, the
experienced mountaineer could see some evidence of
an opening from this wide lower portion, and on reach-
ing it, it proved to be the continuation of the main
west arm, contracted between stupendous walls of
gray granite, and crowded with bergs from shore to
shore, which seem to bar the way against everything
but wings. Headland after headland, in most impos-
ing array, was seen plunging sheer and bare from dizzy
heights, and planting its feet in the ice-encumbered
water without leaving a spot on which one could land
from a boat, while no part of the great glacier that
pours all these miles of ice into the fiord was visible.
Pushing our way slowly through the packed bergs,

[ 226 ]

Sum Dum Bay

and passing headland after headland, looking eagerly
forward, the glacier and its fountain mountains were
still beyond sight, cut off by other projecting head-
land capes, toward which I urged my way, enjoy-
ing the extraordinary grandeur of the wild unfin-
ished Yosemite. Domes swell against the sky in fine
lines as lofty and as perfect in form as those of the
California valley, and rock-fronts stand forward, as
sheer and as nobly sculptured. No ice-work that I
have ever seen surpasses this, either in the magnitude
of the features or effectiveness of composition.

On some of the narrow benches and tables of the
walls rows of spruce trees and two-leaved pines were
growing, and patches of considerable size were found
on the spreading bases of those mountains that stand
back inside the canons, where the continuity of the
walls is broken. Some of these side canons are cut
down to the level of the water and reach far back,
opening views into groups of glacier fountains that
give rise to many a noble stream ; while all along the
tops of the walls on both sides small glaciers are
seen, still busily engaged in the work of completing
their sculpture. I counted twenty-five from the
canoe. Probably the drainage of fifty or more pours
into this fiord. The average elevation at which they
melt is about eighteen hundred feet above sea-level,
and all of them are residual branches of the grand
trunk that filled the fiord and overflowed its walls
when there was only one Sum Dum glacier.

The afternoon was wearing away as we pushed on
and on through the drifting bergs without our having

[ 227 ]

"Travels in Alaska

obtained a single glimpse of the great glacier. A Sum
Dum seal-hunter, whom we met groping his way
deftly through the ice in a very small, unsplitable
Cottonwood canoe, told us that the ice-mountain was
yet fifteen miles away. This was toward the middle
of the afternoon, and I gave up sketching and making
notes and worked hard with the Indians to reach it
before dark. About seven o'clock we approached
what seemed to be the extreme head of the fiord, and
still no great glacier in sight — only a small one,
three or four miles long, melting a thousand feet above
the sea. Presently, a narrow side opening appeared
between tremendous cliffs sheer to a height of four
thousand feet or more, trending nearly at right
angles to the general trend of the fiord, and appar-
ently terminated by a cliff, scarcely less abrupt or
high, at a distance of a mile or two. Up this bend we
toiled against wind and tide, creeping closely along
the wall on the right side, which, as we looked up-
ward, seemed to be leaning over, while the waves
beating against the bergs and rocks made a discour-
aging kind of music. At length, toward nine o'clock,
just before the gray darkness of evening fell, a long,
triumphant shout told that the glacier, so deeply and
desperately hidden, was at last hunted back to its
benmost bore. A short distance around a second
bend in the canon, I reached a point where I ob-
tained a good view of it as it pours its deep, broad
flood into the fiord in a majestic course from between
the noble mountains, its tributaries, each of which
would be regarded elsewhere as a grand glacier, con-

f 228 1

Sum Dum Bay

verging from right and left from a fountain set far in
the silent fastnesses of the mountains.

"There is your lost friend," said the Indians laugh-
ing; "he says, *Sagh-a-ya'" (how do you do)? And
while berg after berg was being born with thundering
uproar, Tyeen said, "Your friend has klosh tumtum
(good heart). Hear! Like the other big-hearted one
he is firing his guns in your honor."

I stayed only long enough to make an outline
sketch, and then urged the Indians to hasten back
some six miles to the mouth of a side canon I had
noted on the way up as a place where we might camp
in case we should not find a better. After dark we had
to move with great caution through the ice. One of
the Indians was stationed in the bow with a pole to
push aside the smaller fragments and look out for the
most promising openings, through which he guided
us, shouting, "Friday! Tucktayl" (shoreward, sea-
ward) about ten times a minute. We reached this
landing-place after ten o'clock, guided in the darkness
by the roar of a glacier torrent. The ground was all
boulders and it was hard to find a place among them,
however small, to lie on. The Indians anchored the
canoe well out from the shore and passed the night
in it to guard against berg-waves and drifting waves,
after assisting me to set my tent in some sort of way
among the stones well back beyond the reach of the
tide. I asked them as they were returning to the
canoe if they were not going to eat something. They
answered promptly : —

"We will sleep now, if your ice friend will let us.

I 229 1

"Travels in Alaska

We will eat to-morrow, but we can find some bread
for you if you want it."

"No," I said, "go to rest. I, too, will sleep now and
eat to-morrow." Nothing was attempted in the way
of light or fire. Camping that night was simply lying
down. The boulders seemed to make a fair bed after
finding the best place to take their pressure.

During the night I was awakened by the beating of
the spent ends of berg-waves against the side of my
tent, though I had fancied myself well beyond their
reach. These special waves are not raised by wind or
tide, but by the fall of large bergs from the snout of
the glacier, or sometimes by the overturning or break-
ing of large bergs that may have long floated in
perfect poise. The highest berg-waves oftentimes
travel half a dozen miles or farther before they are
much spent, producing a singularly impressive up-
roar in the far recesses of the mountains on calm dark
nights when all beside is still. Far and near they tell
the news that a berg is born, repeating their story
again and again, compelling attention and reminding
us of earthquake-waves that roll on for thousands of
miles, taking their story from continent to continent.

When the Indians came ashore in the morning and
saw the condition of my tent they laughed heartily
and said, "Your friend [meaning the big glacier] sent
you a good word last night, and his servant knocked
at your tent and said, 'Sagh-a-ya, are you sleeping
well.?'"

I had fasted too long to be in very good order for
hard work, but while the Indians were cooking, I made,

[ 230 ]

Sum Dum Bay

out to push my way up the canon before breakfast
to seek the glacier that once came into the fiord,
knowing from the size and muddiness of the stream
that drains it that it must be quite large and not
far off. I came in sight of it after a hard scramble
of two hours through thorny chaparral and across
steep avalanche taluses of rocks and snow. The front
reaches across the cafion from wall to wall, covered
with rocky detritus, and looked dark and forbidding
in the shadow cast by the cliffs, while from a low,
cavelike hollow its draining stream breaks forth, a
river in size, with a reverberating roar that stirs all
the cafion. Beyond, in a cloudless blaze of sunshine, I
saw many tributaries, pure and white as new-fallen
snow, drawing their sources from clusters of peaks
and sweeping down waving slopes to unite their
crystal currents with the trunk glacier in the central
cafion. This fine glacier reaches to within two hun-
dred and fifty feet of the level of the sea, and would
even yet reach the fiord and send off bergs but for the
waste it suffers in flowing slowly through the trunk
cafion, the declivity of which is very slight.

Returning, I reached camp and breakfast at ten
o'clock; then had everything packed into the canoe,
and set off leisurely across the fiord to the mouth
of another wide and low cafion, whose lofty outer
cliffs, facing the fiord, are telling glacial advertise-
ments. Gladly I should have explored it all, traced its
streams of water and streams of ice, and entered its
highest chambers, the homes and fountains of the
snow. But I had to wait. I only stopped an hour or

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"Travels in Alaska

two, and climbed to the top of a rock through the
common underbrush, whence I had a good general
view. The front of the main glacier is not far
distant from the fiord, and sends off small bergs into
a lake. The walls of its tributary cafions are re-
markably jagged and high, cut in a red variegated
rock, probably slate. On the way back to the canoe I
gathered ripe salmon-berries an inch and a half in
diameter, ripe huckleberries, too, in great abundance,
and several interesting plants I had not before met in
the territory.

About noon, when the tide was in our favor, we set
out on the return trip to the gold-mine camp. The
sun shone free and warm. No wind stirred. The
water spaces between the bergs were as smooth as
glass, reflecting the unclouded sky, and doubling the
ravishing beauty of the bergs as the sunlight streamed
through their innumerable angles in rainbow colors.

Soon a light breeze sprang up, and dancing lily
spangles on the water mingled their glory of light
with that burning on the angles of the ice.

On days like this, true sun-days, some of the bergs
show a purplish tinge, though most are white from
the disintegrating of their weathered surfaces. Now
and then a new-born one is met that is pure blue
crystal throughout, freshly broken from the fountain
or recently exposed to the air by turning over. But
in all of them, old and new, there are azure caves and
rifts of ineffable beauty, in which the purest tones of
light pulse and shimmer, lovely and untainted as any-
thing on earth or in the sky.

[ 232 1

Sum Dum Bay

As we were passing the Indian village I presented
a little tobacco to the headmen as an expression of
regard, while they gave us a few smoked salmon,
after putting many questions concerning my explora-
tion of their bay and bluntly declaring their disbelief
in the ice business.

About nine o'clock we arrived at the gold camp,
where we found Mr. Young ready to go on with us
the next morning, and thus ended two of the
brightest and best of all my Alaska days.

CHAPTER XV

FROM TAKU RIVER TO TAYLOR BAY

1 NEVER saw Alaska looking better than it did
when we bade farewell to Sum Dum on August 22
and pushed on northward up the coast toward Taku.
The morning was clear, calm, bright — not a cloud
in all the purple sky, nor wind, however gentle, to
shake the slender spires of the spruces or dew-laden
grass around the shores. Over the mountains and over
the broad white bosoms of the glaciers the sunbeams
poured, rosy as ever fell on fields of ripening wheat,
drenching the forests and kindling the glassy waters
and icebergs into a perfect blaze of colored light.
Every living thing seemed joyful, and nature's work
was going on in glowing enthusiasm, not less appre-
ciable in the deep repose that brooded over every
feature of the landscape, suggesting the coming fruit-
fulness of the icy land and showing the advance that
has already been made from glacial winter to summer.
The care-laden commercial lives we lead close our
eyes to the operations of God as a workman, though
openly carried on that all who will look may see. The
scarred rocks here and the moraines make a vivid
showing of the old winter-time of the glacial period,
and mark the bounds of the mer-de-glace that once
filled the bay and covered the surrounding mountains.
Already that sea of ice is replaced by water, in which
multitudes of fishes are fed, while the hundred

[ 234 ]

From "Taku River to "Taylor Bay

glaciers lingering about the bay and the streams that
pour from them are busy night and day bringing in
sand and mud and stones, at the rate of tons every
minute, to fill it up. Then, as the seasons grow
warmer, there will be fields here for the plough.

Our Indians, exhilarated by the sunshine, were
garrulous as the gulls and plovers, and pulled heartily
at their oars, evidently glad to get out of the ice with
a whole boat.

"Now for Taku," they said, as we glided over the
shining water. "Good-bye, Ice-Mountains ; good-bye,
Sum Dum." Soon a light breeze came, and they un-
furled the sail and laid away their oars and began, as
usual in such free times, to put their goods in order,
unpacking and sunning provisions, guns, ropes, cloth-
ing, etc. Joe has an old flintlock musket suggestive
of Hudson's Bay times, which he wished to discharge
and reload. So, stepping in front of the sail, he fired
at a gull that was flying past before I could prevent
him, and it fell slowly with outspread wings along-
side the canoe, with blood dripping from its bill. I
asked him why he had killed the bird, and followed
the question by a severe reprimand for his stupid
cruelty, to which he could offer no other excuse than
that he had learned from the whites to be careless
about taking life. Captain Tyeen denounced the deed
as likely to bring bad luck.

Before the whites came most of the Thlinkits held,
with Agassiz, that animals have souls, and that it
was wrong and unlucky to even speak disrespectfully
of the fishes or any of the animals that supplied them^

[ 235 ]

"Travels in Alaska

with food. A case illustrating their superstitious be-
liefs in this connection occurred at Fort Wrangell
while I was there the year before. One of the sub-
chiefs of the Stickeens had a little son five or six years
old, to whom he was very much attached, always
taking him with him in his short canoe-trips, and
leading him by the hand while going about town.
Last summer the boy was taken sick, and gradually
grew weak and thin, whereupon his father became
alarmed, and feared, as is usual in such obscure cases,
that the boy had been bewitched. He first applied in
his trouble to Dr. Carliss, one of the missionaries,
who gave medicine, without effecting the imme-
diate cure that the fond father demanded. He was,
to some extent, a believer in the powers of mission-
aries, both as to material and spiritual aifairs, but in
so serious an exigency it was natural that he should
go back to the faith of his fathers. Accordingly, he
sent for one of the shamans, or medicine-men, of his
tribe, and submitted the case to him, who, after
going through the customary incantations, declared
that he had discovered the cause of the difficulty.

"Your boy," he said, "has lost his soul, and this is
the way it happened. He was playing among the
stones down on the beach when he saw a crawfish in
the water, and made fun of it, pointing his finger at
it and saying, *0h, you crooked legs! Oh, you crooked
legs! You can't walk straight; you go sidewise,'
which made the crab so angry that he reached out his
long nippers, seized the lad's soul, pulled it out of him
and made off with it into deep water. And," con-

[ 236]

From "Taku River to "Taylor Bay

tinued the medicine-man, "unless his stolen soul is
restored to him and put back in its place he will die.
Your boy is really dead already; it is only his lonely,
empty body that is living now, and though it may
continue to live in this way for a year or two, the boy
will never be of any account, not strong, nor wise,
nor brave."

The father then inquired whether anything could
be done about it; was the soul still in possession of the
crab, and if so, could it be recovered and re-installed
in his forlorn son.f* Yes, the doctor rather thought it
might be charmed back and re-united, but the job
would be a difficult one, and would probably cost
about fifteen blankets.

After we were fairly out of the bay into Stephens
Passage, the wind died away, and the Indians had to
take to their oars again, which ended our talk. On we
sped over the silvery level, close alongshore. The
dark forests extending far and near, planted like a
field of wheat, might seem monotonous in general
views, but the appreciative observer, looking closely,
will find no lack of interesting variety, however far
he may go. The steep slopes on which they grow
allow almost every individual tree, with its peculiar-
ities of form and color, to be seen like an audience on
seats rising above one another — the blue-green,
sharply-tapered spires of the Menzies spruce, the
warm yellow-green Mertens spruce with their finger-
like tops all pointing in the same direction, or droop-
ing gracefully like leaves of grass, and the airy,
feathery, brownish-green Alaska cedar. The outer

[ 237 1

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fringe of bushes along the shore and hanging over the
brows of the cliffs, the white mountains above, the
shining water beneath, the changing sky over all,
form pictures of divine beauty in which no healthy
eye may ever grow weary.

Toward evening at the head of a picturesque bay
we came to a village belonging to the Taku tribe. We
found it silent and deserted. Not a single shaman or
policeman had been left to keep it. These people are
so happily rich as to have but little of a perishable
kind to keep, nothing worth fretting about. They
were away catching salmon, our Indians said. All the
Indian villages hereabout are thus abandoned at
regular periods every year, just as a tent is left for a
day, while they repair to fishing, berrying, and hunt-
ing stations, occupying each in succession for a week
or two at a time, coming and going from the main,
substantially built villages. Then, after their sum-
mer's work is done, the winter supply of salmon dried
and packed, fish-oil and seal-oil stored in boxes,
berries and spruce bark pressed into cakes, their
trading-trips completed, and the year's stock of
quarrels with the neighboring tribe patched up in
some way, they devote themselves to feasting, danc-
ing, and hootchenoo drinking. The Takus, once a
powerful and warlike tribe, were at this time, like
most of the neighboring tribes, whiskied nearly out
of existence. They had a larger village on the Taku
River, but, according to the census taken that year
by the missionaries, they numbered only 269 in
all, — 109 men, 79 women, and 81 children, figures

[ 238 ]

From "Taku River to Taylor Bay

that show the vanishing condition of the tribe at a
glance.

Our Indians wanted to camp for the night in one
of the deserted houses, but I urged them on into the
clean wilderness until dark, when we landed on a
rocky beach fringed with devirs-clubs, greatly to the
disgust of our crew. We had to make the best of it,
however, as it was too dark to seek farther. After
supper was accomplished among the boulders, they
retired to the canoe, which they anchored a little way
out, beyond low tide, while Mr. Young and I at the
expense of a good deal of scrambling and panax sting-
ing, discovered a spot on which we managed to sleep.

The next morning, about two hours after leaving
our thorny camp, we rounded a great mountain rock
nearly a mile in height and entered the Taku fiord.
It is about eighteen miles long and from three to five
miles wide, and extends directly back into the heart
of the mountains, draining hundreds of glaciers and
streams. The ancient glacier that formed it was far
too deep and broad and too little concentrated to
erode one of those narrow canons, usually so im-
pressive in sculpture and architecture, but it is all the
more interesting on this account when the grandeur
of the ice work accomplished is recognized. This fiord,
more than any other I have examined, explains the
formation of the wonderful system of channels ex-
tending along the coast from Puget Sound to about
latitude 59 degrees, for it is a marked portion of the
system, — a branch of Stephens Passage. Its trends
and general sculpture are as distinctly glacial as those

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"Travels in Alaska

of the narrowest fiord, while the largest tributaries of
the great glacier that occupied it are still in existence.
I counted some forty-five altogether, big and little,
in sight from the canoe in sailing up the middle of the
fiord. Three of them, drawing their sources from
magnificent groups of snowy mountains, came down
to the level of the sea and formed a glorious spectacle.
The middle one of the three belongs to the first class,
pouring its majestic flood, shattered and crevassed,
directly into the fiord, and crowding about twenty-
five square miles of it with bergs. The next below it
also sends off bergs occasionally, though a narrow
strip of glacial detritus separates it from the tide«
water. That forenoon a large mass fell from it, dam-
ming its draining stream, which at length broke the
dam, and the resulting flood swept forward thousands
of small bergs across the mud-flat into the fiord. In a
short time all was quiet again; the flood-waters re-
ceded, leaving only a large blue scar on the front of
the glacier and stranded bergs on the moraine flat to
tell the tale.

These two glaciers are about equal in size — two
miles wide — and their fronts are only about a mile
and a half apart. While I sat sketching them from a
point among the drifting icebergs where I could see
far back into the heart of their distant fountains, two
Taku seal-hunters, father and son, came gliding
toward us in an extremely small canoe. Coming
alongside with a goodnatured "Sagh-a-ya," they in-
quired who we were, our objects, etc., and gave us
information about the river, their village, and two

[ 240 ]

From "Taku River to Taylor Bay

other large glaciers that descend nearly to the sea-
level a few miles up the river canon. Crouching in
their little shell of a boat among the great bergs, with
paddle and barbed spear, they formed a picture as
arctic and remote from anything to be found in
civilization as ever was sketched for us by the ex-
plorers of the Far North.

Making our way through the crowded bergs to the
extreme head of the fiord, we entered the mouth of
the river, but were soon compelled to turn back on
account of the strength of the current. The Taku
River is a large stream, nearly a mile wide at the
mouth, and, like the Stickeen, Chilcat, and Chil-
coot, draws its sources from far inland, crossing the
mountain-chain from the interior through a majes-
tic canon, and draining a multitude of glaciers on its
way.

The Taku Indians, like the Chilcats, with a keen
appreciation of the advantages of their position for
trade, hold possession of the river and compel the
Indians of the interior to accept their services as
middle-men, instead of allowing them to trade directly
with the whites.

When we were baffled in our attempt to ascend the
river, the day was nearly done, and we began to seek
a camp-ground. After sailing two or three miles along
the left side of the fiord, we were so fortunate as to
find a small nook described by the two Indians, where
firewood was abundant, and where we could drag our
canoe up the bank beyond reach of the berg-waves.
Here we were safe, with a fine outlook across the fiord

[241 ]

'Travels in Alaska

to the great glaciers and near enough to see the birth
of the icebergs and the wonderful commotion they
make, and hear their wild, roaring rejoicing. The
sunset sky seemed to have been painted for this one
mountain mansion, fitting it like a ceiling. After the
fiord was in shadow the level sunbeams continued to
pour through the miles of bergs with ravishing beauty,
reflecting and refracting the purple light like cut
crystal. Then all save the tips of the highest became
dead white. These, too, were speedily quenched, the
glowing points vanishing like stars sinking beneath
the horizon. And after the shadows had crept higher,
submerging the glaciers and the ridges between them,
the divine alpenglow still lingered on their highest
fountain peaks as they stood transfigured in glorious
array. Now the last of the twilight purple has van-
ished, the stars begin to shine, and all trace of the
day is gone. Looking across the fiord the water seems
perfectly black, and the two great glaciers are seen
stretching dim and ghostly into the shadowy moun-
tains now darkly massed against the starry sky.

Next morning it was raining hard, everything
looked dismal, and on the way down the fiord a
growling head wind battered the rain in our faces, but
we held doggedly on and by lo a.m. got out of the
fiord into Stephens Passage. A breeze sprung up in
our favor that swept us bravely on across the passage
and around the end of Admiralty Island by dark. We
camped in a boggy hollow on a blufl" among scraggy,
usnea-bearded spruces. The rain, bitterly cold and
driven by a stormy wind, thrashed us well while we

[ 242 ]

From "Taku River to Taylor Bay

floundered in the stumpy bog trying to make a fire
and supper.

When daylight came we found our camp-ground a
very savage place. How we reached it and established
ourselves in the thick darkness it would be difficult to
tell. We crept along the shore a few miles against
strong head winds, then hoisted sail and steered
straight across Lynn Canal to the mainland, which we
followed without great difficulty, the wind having
moderated toward evening. Near the entrance to
Icy Strait we met a Hoona who had seen us last year
and who seemed glad to see us. He gave us two
salmon, and we made him happy with tobacco and
then pushed on and camped near Sitka Jack's de-
serted village.

Though the wind was still ahead next morning, we
made about twenty miles before sundown and camped
on the west end of Farewell Island. We bumped
against a hidden rock and sprung a small leak that
was easily stopped with resin. The salmon-berries
were ripe. While climbing a bluff for a view of our
course, I discovered moneses, one of my favorites, and
saw many well-traveled deer-trails, though the island
is cut oflF from the mainland and other islands by at
least five or six miles of icy, berg-encumbered water.

We got under way early next day, — a gray, cloudy
morning with rain and wind. Fair and head winds
were about evenly balanced throughout the day.
Tides run fast here, like great rivers. We rowed and
paddled around Point Wimbledon against both wind
and tide, creeping close to the feet of the huge, bold

[ 243 ]

Travels in Alaska

rocks of the north wall of Cross Sound, which here
were very steep and awe-inspiring as the heavy swells
from the open sea coming in past Cape Spencer dashed
white against them, tossing our frail canoe up and
down lightly as a feather. The point reached by
vegetation shows that the surf dashes up to a height of
about seventy-five or a hundred feet. We were awe-
stricken and began to fear that we might be upset
should the ocean waves rise still higher. But little
Stickeen seemed to enjoy the storm, and gazed at the
foam-wreathed cliffs like a dreamy, comfortable
tourist admiring a sunset. We reached the mouth of
Taylor Bay about two or three o'clock in the after-
noon, when we had a view of the open ocean before
we entered the bay. Many large bergs from Glacier
Bay were seen drifting out to sea past Cape Spencer.
We reached the head of the fiord now called Taylor
Bay at five o'clock and camped near an immense
glacier with a front about three miles wide stretching
across from wall to wall. No icebergs are discharged
from it, as it is separated from the water of the fiord
at high tide by a low, smooth mass of outspread, over-
swept moraine material, netted with torrents and
small shallow rills from the glacier-front, with here
and there a lakelet, and patches of yellow mosses and
garden spots bright with epilobium, saxifrage, grass-
tufts, sedges, and creeping willows on the higher
ground. But only the mosses were sufficiently abun-
dant to make conspicuous masses of color to relieve the
dull slaty gray of the glacial mud and gravel. The
front of the glacier, like all those which do not dis-

[ 244 ]

From "Taku River to "Taylor Bay

charge icebergs, is rounded like a brow, smooth-
looking in general views, but cleft and furrowed,
nevertheless, with chasms and grooves in which the
light glows and shimmers in glorious beauty. The
granite walls of the fiord, though very high, are not
deeply sculptured. Only a few deep side canons with
trees, bushes, grassy and flowery spots interrupt their
massive simplicity, leaving but few of the clifl"s ab-
solutely sheer and bare like those of Yosemite, Sum
Dum, or Taku. One of the side canons is on the left
side of the fiord, the other on the right, the tributa-
ries of the former leading over by a narrow tide-
channel to the bay next to the eastward, and by a
short portage over into a lake into which pours a
branch glacier from the great glacier. Still another
branch from the main glacier turns to the right.
Counting all three of these separate fronts, the width
of this great Taylor Bay Glacier must be about seven
or eight miles.

While camp was being made. Hunter Joe climbed
the eastern wall in search of wild mutton, but found
none. He fell in with a brown bear, however, and got
a shot at it, but nothing more. Mr. Young and I
crossed the moraine slope, splashing through pools
and streams up to the ice-wall, and made the inter-
esting discovery that the glacier had been advancing
of late years, ploughing up and shoving forward
moraine soil that had been deposited long ago, and
overwhelming and grinding and carrying away the
forests on the sides and front of the glacier. Though
not now sending off icebergs, the front is probably

[ 245 ]

"Travels in Alaska

far below sea-level at the bottom, thrust forward be-
neath its wave-washed moraine.

Along the base of the mountain-wall we found
abundance of salmon-berries, the largest measuring
an inch and a half in diameter. Strawberries, too,
are found hereabouts. Some which visiting Indians
brought us were as fine in size and color and flavor as
any I ever saw anywhere. After wandering and won-
dering an hour or two, admiring the magnificent
rock and crystal scenery about us, we returned to
camp at sundown, planning a grand excursion for
the morrow.

I set off early the morning of August 30 before
any one else in camp had stirred, not waiting for
breakfast, but only eating a piece of bread. I had in-
tended getting a cup of coffee, but a wild storm was
blowing and calling, and I could not wait. Running
out against the rain-laden gale and turning to catch
my breath, I saw that the minister's little dog had
left his bed in the tent and was coming boring through
the storm, evidently determined to follow me. I told
him to go back, that such a day as this had nothing
for him.

"Go back," I shouted, "and get your breakfast."
But he simply stood with his head down, and when I
began to urge my way again, looking around, I saw
he was still following me. So I at last told him to come
on if he must and gave him a piece of the bread I had
in my pocket.

Instead of falling, the rain, mixed with misty shreds
of clouds, was flying in level sheets, and the wind was

[ 246 ]

From Taku River to Taylor Bay

roaring as I had never heard wind roar before. Over
the icy levels and over the woods, on the mountains,
over the jagged rocks and spires and chasms of the
glacier it boomed and moaned and roared, filling the
fiord in even, gray, structureless gloom, inspiring and
awful. I first struggled up in the face of the blast to
the east end of the ice-wall, where a patch of forest
had been carried away by the glacier when it was ad-
vancing. I noticed a few stumps well out on the
moraine flat, showing that its present bare, raw con-
dition was not the condition of fifty or a hundred
years ago. In front of this part of the glacier there is
a small moraine lake about half a mile in length,
around the margin of which are a considerable num-
ber of trees standing knee-deep, and of course dead.
This also is a result of the recent advance of the
ice.

Pushing up through the ragged edge of the woods
on the left margin of the glacier, the storm seemed to
increase in violence, so that it was difficult to draw
breath in facing it; therefore I took shelter back of a
tree to enjoy it and wait, hoping that it would at last
somewhat abate. Here the glacier, descending over
an abrupt rock, falls forward in grand cascades, while
a stream swollen by the rain was now a torrent, —
wind, rain, ice-torrent, and water-torrent in one grand
symphony.

At length the storm seemed to abate somewhat, and
I took off my heavy rubber boots, with which I had
waded the glacial streams on the flat, and laid them
with my overcoat on a log, where I might find them

[ 247 1

"Travels in Alaska

on my way back, knowing I would be drenched any-
how, and firmly tied my mountain shoes, tightened
my belt, shouldered my ice-axe, and, thus free and
ready for rough work, pushed on, regardless as pos-
sible of mere rain. Making my way up a steep granite
slope, its projecting polished bosses encumbered here
and there by boulders and the ground and bruised
ruins of the ragged edge of the forest that had been
uprooted by the glacier during its recent advance, I
traced the side of the glacier for two or three miles,
finding everywhere evidence of its having encroached
on the woods, which here run back along its edge for
fifteen or twenty miles. Under the projecting edge of
this vast ice-river I could see down beneath it to a
depth of fifty feet or so in some places, where logs and
branches were being crushed to pulp, some of it al-
most fine enough for paper, though most of it stringy
and coarse.

After thus tracing the margin of the glacier for
three or four miles, I chopped steps and climbed to
the top, and as far as the eye could reach, the nearly
level glacier stretched indefinitely away in the gray
cloudy sky, a prairie of ice. The wind was now al-
most moderate, though rain continued to fall, which
I did not mind, but a tendency to mist in the drooping
draggled clouds made me hesitate about attempt-
ing to cross to the opposite shore. Although the dis-
tance was only six or seven miles, no traces at this
time could be seen of the mountains on the other side,
and in case the sky should grow darker, as it seemed
inclined to do, I feared that when I got out of sight of

[ 248]

From "Taku River to "Taylor Bay

land and perhaps into a maze of crevasses I might
find difficulty in winning a way back.

Lingering a while and sauntering about in sight of
the shore, I found this eastern side of the glacier re-
markably free from large crevasses. Nearly all I met
were so narrow I could step across them almost any-
where, while the few wide ones were easily avoided by
going up or down along their sides to where they nar-
rowed. The dismal cloud ceiling showed rifts here
and there, and, thus encouraged, I struck out for the
west shore, aiming to strike it five or six miles above
the front wall, cautiously taking compass bearings at
short intervals to enable me to find my way back
should the weather darken again with mist or rain or
snow. The structure lines of the glacier itself were,
however, my main guide. All went well. I came to a
deeply furrowed section about two miles in width
where I had to zigzag in long, tedious tacks and make
narrow doublings, tracing the edges of wide longi-
tudinal furrows and chasms until I could find a
bridge connecting their sides, oftentimes making the
direct distance ten times over. The walking was good
of its kind, however, and by dint of patient doubling
and axe-work on dangerous places, I gained the op-
posite shore in about three hours, the width of the
glacier at this point being about seven miles. Oc-
casionally, while making my way, the clouds lifted a
little, revealing a few bald, rough mountains sunk to
the throat in the broad, icy sea which encompassed
them on all sides, sweeping on forever and forever as
we count time, wearing them away, giving them the

[ 249 ]

travels in Alaska

shape they are destined to take when in the fullness
of time they shall be parts of new landscapes.

Ere I lost sight of the east-side mountains, those
on the west came in sight, so that holding my course
was easy, and, though making haste, I halted for a
moment to gaze down into the beautiful pure blue
crevasses and to drink at the lovely blue wells, the
most beautiful of all Nature's water-basins, or at the
rills and streams outspread over the ice-land prairie,
never ceasing to admire their lovely color and music
as they glided and swirled in their blue crystal chan-
nels and potholes, and the rumbling of the moulins, or
mills, where streams poured into blue-walled pits of
unknown depth, some of them as regularly circular
as if bored with augers. Interesting, too, were the
cascades over blue cliffs, where streams fell into
crevasses or slid almost noiselessly down slopes so
smooth and frictionless their motion was concealed.
The round or oval wells, however, from one to ten
feet wide, and from one to twenty or thirty feet deep,
were perhaps the most beautiful of all, the water so
pure as to be almost invisible. My widest views did
not probably exceed fifteen miles, the rain and mist
making distances seem greater.

On reaching the farther shore and tracing it a few
miles to northward, I found a large portion of the
glacier-current sweeping out westward in a bold and
beautiful curve around the shoulder of a mountain
as if going direct to the open sea. Leaving the main
trunk, it breaks into a magnificent uproar of pin-
nacles and spires and up-heaving, splashing wave-

[ 250 ]

From "Taku River to "Taylor Bay

shaped masses, a crystal cataract incomparably
greater and wilder than a score of Niagaras.

Tracing its channel three or four miles, I found
that it fell into a lake, which it fills with bergs. The
front of this branch of the glacier is about three miles
wide. I first took the lake to be the head of an arm of
the sea, but, going down to its shore and tasting it, I
found it fresh, and by my aneroid perhaps less than
a hundred feet above sea-level. It is probably sepa-
rated from the sea only by a moraine dam. I had not
time to go around its shores, as it was now near five
o'clock and I was about fifteen miles from camp, and
I had to make haste to recross the glacier before dark,
which would come on about eight o'clock. I there-
fore made haste up to the main glacier, and, shaping
my course by compass and the structure lines of the
ice, set oif from the land out on to the grand crystal
prairie again. All was so silent and so concentred,
owing to the low dragging mist, the beauty close
about me was all the more keenly felt, though tinged
with a dim sense of danger, as if coming events were
casting shadows. I was soon out of sight of land, and
the evening dusk that on cloudy days precedes the
real night gloom came stealing on and only ice was in
sight, and the only sounds, save the low rumbling of
the mills and the rattle of falling stones at long in-
tervals, were the low, terribly earnest moanings of the
wind or distant waterfalls coming through the thick-
ening gloom. After two hours of hard work I came
to a maze of crevasses of appalling depth and width
which could not be passed apparently either up or

[2SI ]

"Travels in Alaska

down. I traced them with firm nerve developed by
the danger, making wide jumps, poising cautiously on
dizzy edges after cutting footholds, taking wide cre-
vasses at a grand leap at once frightful and inspiring.
Many a mile was thus traveled, mostly up and down
the glacier, making but little real headway, running
much of the time as the danger of having to pass the
night on the ice became more and more imminent.
This I could do, though with the weather and my
rain-soaked condition it would be trying at best. In
treading the mazes of this crevassed section I had
frequently to cross bridges that were only knife-edges
for twenty or thirty feet, cutting off the sharp tops
and leaving them flat so that little Stickeen could
follow me. These I had to straddle, cutting off the
top as I progressed and hitching gradually ahead like
a boy riding a rail fence. All this time the little dog
followed me bravely, never hesitating on the brink of
any crevasse that I had jumped, but now that it was
becoming dark and the crevasses became more
troublesome, he followed close at my heels instead of
scampering far and wide, where the ice was at all
smooth, as he had in the forenoon. No land was now
in sight. The mist fell lower and darker and snow
began to fly. I could not see far enough up and down
the glacier to judge how best to work out of the be-
wildering labyrinth, and how hard I tried while there
was yet hope of reaching camp that night! a hope
which was fast growing dim like the sky. After dark,
on such ground, to keep from freezing, I could only
jump up and down until morning on a piece of flat

[ 252 ]

From Taku River to T^aylor Bay

ice between the crevasses, dance to the boding music
of the winds and waters, and as I was already tired
and hungry I would be in bad condition for such ice
work. Many times I was put to my mettle, but with
a firm-braced nerve, all the more unflinching as the
dangers thickened, I worked out of that terrible ice-
web, and with blood fairly up Stickeen and 1 ran over
common danger without fatigue. Our very hardest
trial was in getting across the very last of the sliver
bridges. After examining the first of the two widest
crevasses, I followed its edge half a mile or so up and
down and discovered that its narrowest spot was
about eight feet wide, which was the limit of what I
was able to jump. Moreover, the side I was on —
that is, the west side — was about a foot higher than
the other, and I feared that in case I should be stopped
by a still wider impassable crevasse ahead that I
would hardly be able to take back that jump from
its lower side. The ice beyond, however, as far as I
could see it, looked temptingly smooth. Therefore,
after carefully making a socket for my foot on the
rounded brink, I jumped, but found that I had noth-
ing to spare and more than ever dreaded having to
retrace my way. Little Stickeen jumped this, how-
ever, without apparently taking a second look at it,
and we ran ahead joyfully over smooth, level ice,
hoping we were now leaving all danger behind us.
But hardly had we gone a hundred or two yards when
to our dismay we found ourselves on the very widest
of all the longitudinal crevasses we had yet encount-
ered. It was about forty feet wide. I ran anxiously

[ 253 1

"Travels in Alaska

up the side of it to northward, eagerly hoping that I
could get around its head, but my worst fears were
realized when at a distance of about a mile or less it
ran into the crevasse that I had just jumped. I then
ran down the edge for a mile or more below the point
where I had first met it, and found that its lower end
also united with the crevasse I had jumped, showing
dismally that we were on an island two or three hun-
dred yards wide and about two miles long and the
only way of escape from this island was by turning
back and jumping again that crevasse which I
dreaded, or venturing ahead across the giant cre-
vasse by the very worst of the sliver bridges I had ever
seen. It was so badly weathered and melted down
that it formed a knife-edge, and extended across from
side to side in a low, drooping curve like that made
by a loose rope attached at each end at the same
height. But the worst difficulty was that the ends of
the down-curving sliver were attached to the sides
at a depth of about eight or ten feet below the surface
of the glacier. Getting down to the end of the bridge,
and then after crossing it getting up the other side,
seemed hardly possible. However, I decided to dare
the dangers of the fearful sliver rather than to attempt
to retrace my steps. Accordingly I dug a low groove
in the rounded edge for my knees to rest in and, lean-
ing over, began to cut a narrow foothold on the steep,
smooth side. When I was doing this, Stickeen came
up behind me, pushed his head over my shoulder,
looked into the crevasses and along the narrow knife-
edge, then turned and looked in my face, muttering

[ 254 ]

From "Taku River to Taylor Bay

and whining as If trying to say, "Surely you are not
going down there." I said, "Yes, Stickeen, this is the
only way." He then began to cry and ran wildly
along the rim of the crevasse, searching for a better
way, then, returning baffled, of course, he came be-
hind me and lay down and cried louder and louder.

After getting down one step I cautiously stooped
and cut another and another in succession until I
reached the point where the sliver was attached to the
wall. There, cautiously balancing, I chipped down the
upcurved end of the bridge until I had formed a small
level platform about a foot wide, then, bending for-
ward, got astride of the end of the sliver, steadied my-
self with my knees, then cut off the top of the sliver,
hitching myself forward an inch or two at a time,
leaving it about four inches wide for Stickeen. Ar-
rived at the farther end of the sliver, which was about
seventy-five feet long, I chipped another little plat-
form on its upcurved end, cautiously rose to my feet,
and with infinite pains cut narrow notch steps and
finger-holds in the wall and finally got safely across.
All this dreadful time poor little Stickeen was crying
as if his heart was broken, and when I called to him
in as reassuring a voice as I could muster, he only
cried the louder, as if trying to say that he never,
never could get down there — the only time that the
brave little fellow appeared to know what danger was.
After going away as if I was leaving him, he still
howled and cried without venturing to try to follow
me. Returning to the edge of the crevasse, I told him
that I must go, that he could come if he only tried,

l2SSl

"Travels in Alaska

and finally In despair he hushed his cries, slid his little
feet slowly down into my footsteps out on the big
sliver, walked slowly and cautiously along the sliver
as if holding his breath, while the snow was falling
and the wind was moaning and threatening to blow
him off. When he arrived at the foot of the slope
below me, I was kneeling on the brink ready to assist
him in case he should be unable to reach the top. He
looked up along the row of notched steps I had made,
as if fixing them in his mind, then with a nervous
spring he whizzed up and passed me out on to the
level ice, and ran and cried and barked and rolled
about fairly hysterical in the sudden revulsion from
the depth of despair to triumphant joy. I tried
to catch him and pet him and tell him how good and
brave he was, but he would not be caught. He ran
round and round, swirling like autumn leaves in an
eddy, lay down and rolled head over heels. I told
him we still had far to go and that we must now stop
all nonsense and get off^ the ice before dark. I knew
by the ice-lines that every step was now taking me
nearer the shore and soon it came in sight. The head-
land four or five miles back from the front, covered
with spruce trees, loomed faintly but surely through
the mist and light fall of snow not more than two
miles away. The ice now proved good all the way
across, and we reached the lateral moraine just at
dusk, then with trembling limbs, now that the danger
was over, we staggered and stumbled down the
bouldery edge of the glacier and got over the danger-
ous rocks by the cascades while yet a faint light lin-

[256]

From "Taku River to T^aylor Bay

gered. We were safe, and then, too, came limp weari-
ness such as no ordinary work ever produces, how-
ever hard it may be. Wearily we stumbled down
through the woods, over logs and brush and roots,
devil's-clubs pricking us at every faint blundering
tumble. At last we got out on the smooth mud slope
with only a mile of slow but sure dragging of weary
limbs to camp. The Indians had been firing guns to
guide me and had a fine supper and fire ready, though
fearing they would be compelled to seek us in the
morning, a care not often applied to me. Stickeen and
I were too tired to eat much, and, strange to say, too
tired to sleep. Both of us, springing up in the night
again and again, fancied we were still on that dreadful
ice bridge in the shadow of death.

Nevertheless, we arose next morning in newness of
life. Never before had rocks and ice and trees seemed
so beautiful and wonderful, even the cold, biting rain-
storm that was blowing seemed full of loving-kind-
ness, wonderful compensation for all that we had
endured, and we sailed down the bay through the
gray, driving rain rejoicing.

CHAPTER XVI

GLACIER BAY

WHILE Stickeen and I were away, a Hoona,
one of the head men of the tribe, paid Mr.
Young a visit, and presented him with porpoise-meat
and berries and much interesting information. He
naturally expected a return visit, and when we called
at his house, a mile or two down the fiord, he said his
wives were out in the rain gathering fresh berries to
complete a feast prepared for us. We remained, how-
ever, only a few minutes, for I was not aware of this
arrangement or of Mr. Young's promise until after
leaving the house. Anxiety to get around Cape Wim-
belton was the cause of my haste, fearing the storm
might increase. On account of this ignorance, no
apologies were offered him, and the upshot was that
the good Hoona became very angry. We succeeded,
however, in the evening of the same day, in explaining
our haste, and by sincere apologies and presents made
peace.

After a hard struggle we got around stormy Wim-
belton and into the next fiord to the northward
(Klunastucksana — Dundas Bay). A cold, drenching
rain was falling, darkening but not altogether hiding
its extraordinary beauty, made up of lovely reaches
and side fiords, feathery headlands and islands, beauti-
ful every one and charmingly collocated. But how it
rained, and how cold it was, and how weary we were

[ 258]

Glacier Bay

pulling most of the time against the wind! The
branches of this bay are so deep and so numerous
that, with the rain and low clouds concealing the
mountain landmarks, we could hardly make out the
main trends. While groping and gazing among the
islands through the misty rain and clouds, we discov-
ered wisps of smoke at the foot of a sheltering rock
in front of a mountain, where a choir of cascades were
chanting their rain songs. Gladly we made for this
camp, which proved to belong to a rare old Hoona
sub-chief, so tall and wide and dignified in demeanor
he looked grand even in the sloppy weather, and every
inch a chief in spite of his bare legs and the old shirt
and draggled, ragged blanket in which he was dressed.
He was given to much handshaking, gripping hard,
holding on and looking you gravely in the face while
most emphatically speaking in Thlinkit, not a word
of which we understood until interpreter John came
to our help. He turned from one to the other of us,
declaring, as John interpreted, that our presence did
him good like food and fire, that he would welcome
white men, especially teachers, and that he and all
his people compared to ourselves were only children.
When Mr. Young informed him that a missionary
was about to be sent to his people, he said he would
call them all together four times and explain that a
teacher and preacher were coming and that they
therefore must put away all foolishness and prepare
their hearts to receive them and their words. He then
introduced his three children, one a naked lad five or
six years old who, as he fondly assured us, would soon

[ 259 ]

"Travels in Alaska

be a chief, and later to his wife, an intelligent-looking
woman of whom he seemed proud. When we arrived
she was out at the foot of the cascade mountain
gathering salmon-berries. She came in dripping and
loaded. A few of the fine berries saved for the chil-
dren she presented, proudly and fondly beginning
with the youngest, whose only clothing was a nose-
ring and a string of beads. She was lightly appareled
in a cotton gown and bit of blanket, thoroughly be-
draggled, but after unloading her berries she retired
with a dry calico gown around the corner of a rock and
soon returned fresh as a daisy and with becoming
dignity took her place by the fireside. Soon two other
berry-laden women came in, seemingly enjoying the
rain like the bushes and trees. They put on little
clothing so that they may be the more easily dried,
and as for the children, a thin shirt of sheeting is the
most they encumber themselves with, and get wet
and half dry without seeming to notice it while we
shiver with two or three dry coats. They seem to
prefer being naked. The men also wear but little in
wet weather. When they go out for all day they put
on a single blanket, but in choring around camp, get-
ting firewood, cooking, or looking after their precious
canvas, they seldom wear anything, braving wind
and rain in utter nakedness to avoid the bother of
drying clothes. It is a rare sight to see the children
bringing in big chunks of firewood on their shoulders,
balancing in crossing boulders with firmly set bow-
legs and bulging back muscles.

We gave Ka-hood-oo-shough, the old chief, some
[ 260 ]

Glacier Bay

tobacco and rice and coffee, and pitched our tent near
his hut among tall grass. Soon after our arrival the
Taylor Bay sub-chief came in from the opposite di-
rection from ours, telling us that he came through a
cut-off passage not on our chart. As stated above, we
took pains to conciliate him and soothe his hurt feel-
ings. Our words and gifts, he said, had warmed his
sore heart and made him glad and comfortable.

The view down the bay among the islands was,
I thought, the finest of this kind of scenery that I
had yet observed.

The weather continued cold and rainy. Neverthe-
less Mr. Young and I and our crew, together with
one of the Hoonas, an old man who acted as guide,
left camp to explore one of the upper arms of the bay,
where we were told there was a large glacier. We
managed to push the canoe several miles up the
stream that drains the glacier to a point where the
swift current was divided among rocks and the banks
were overhung with alders and willows. I left the
canoe and pushed up the right bank past a magnifi-
cent waterfall some twelve hundred feet high, and
over the shoulder of a mountain, until I secured a
good view of the lower part of the glacier. It is prob-
ably a lobe of the Taylor Bay or Brady Glacier.

On our return to camp, thoroughly drenched and
cold, the old chief came to visit us, apparently as wet
and cold as ourselves.

"I have been thinking of you all day," he said,
"and pitying you, knowing how miserable you were,
and as soon as I saw your canoe coming back I was

[261 ]

travels in Alaska

ashamed to think that I had been sitting warm and
dry at my fire while you were out in the storm; there-
fore I made haste to strip off my dry clothing and put
on these wet rags to share your misery and show how
much I love you."

I had another long talk with Ka-hood-oo-shough
the next day.

"I am not able," he said, "to tell you how much
good your words have done me. Your words are
good, and they are strong words. Some of my people
are foolish, and when they make their salmon-traps
they do not take care to tie the poles firmly together,
and when the big rain-floods come the traps break
and are washed away because the people who made
them are foolish people. But your words are strong
words and when storms come to try them they will
stand the storms."

There was much hand shaking as we took our leave
and assurances of eternal friendship. The grand old
man stood on the shore watching us and waving fare-
well until we were out of sight.

We now steered for the Muir Glacier and arrived
at the front on the east side the evening of the third,
and camped on the end of the moraine, where there
was a small stream. Captain Tyeen was inclined to
keep at a safe distance from the tremendous threat-
ening cliffs of the discharging wall. After a good deal
of urging he ventured within half a mile of them, on
the east side of the fiord, where with Mr. Young I
went ashore to seek a camp-ground on the moraine,
leaving the Indians in the canoe. In a few minutes

f 262 1

Glacier Bay

after we landed a huge berg sprung aloft with awful
commotion, and the frightened Indians incontinently-
fled down the fiord, plying their paddles with admir-
able energy in the tossing waves until a safe harbor
was reached around the south end of the moraine.
I found a good place for a camp in a slight hollow
where a few spruce stumps afforded firewood. But all
efforts to get Tyeen out of his harbor failed. "No-
body knew," he said, "how far the angry ice moun-
tain could throw waves to break his canoe." There-
fore I had my bedding and some provisions carried
to my stump camp, where I could watch the bergs as
they were discharged and get night views of the brow
of the glacier and its sheer jagged face all the way
across from side to side of the channel. One night the
water was luminous and the surge from discharging
icebergs churned the water into silver fire, a glorious
sight in the darkness. I also went back up the east side
of the glacier five or six miles and ascended a moun-
tain between its first two eastern tributaries, which,
though covered with grass near the top, was exceed-
ingly steep and difficult. A bulging ridge near the
top I discovered was formed of ice, a remnant of the
glacier when it stood at this elevation which had been
preserved by moraine material and later by a thatch
of dwarf bushes and grass.

Next morning at daybreak I pushed eagerly back
over the comparatively smooth eastern margin of the
glacier to see as much as possible of the upper foun-
tain region. About five miles back from the front I
climbed a mountain twenty-five hundred feet high,

[263]

Travels in Alaska

from the flowery summit of which, the day being clear,
the vast glacier and its principal branches were dis-
played in one magnificent view. Instead of a stream
of ice winding down a mountain-walled valley like the
largest of the Swiss glaciers, the Muir looks like a
broad undulating prairie streaked with medial mo-
raines and gashed with crevasses, surrounded by
numberless mountains from which flow its many
tributary glaciers. There are seven main tributaries
from ten to twenty miles long and from two to six
miles wide where they enter the trunk, each of them
fed by many secondary tributaries ; so that the whole
number of branches, great and small, pouring from
the mountain fountains perhaps number upward of
two hundred, not counting the smallest. The area
drained by this one grand glacier can hardly be less
than seven or eight hundred miles, and probably con-
tains as much ice as all the eleven hundred Swiss
glaciers combined. Its length from the frontal wall
back to the head of its farthest fountain seemed to be
about forty or fifty miles, and the width just below
the confluence of the main tributaries about twenty-
five miles. Though apparently motionless as the
mountains, it flows on forever, the speed varying in
every part with the seasons, but mostly with the
depth of the current, and the declivity, smoothness
and directness of the different portions of the basin.
The flow of the central cascading portion near the
front, as determined by Professor Reid, is at the rate
of from two and a half to five inches an hour, or from
five to ten feet a day. A strip of the main trunk about

[264I

Glacier Bay

a mile in width, extending along the eastern margin
about fourteen miles to a lake filled with bergs, has so
little motion and is so little Interrupted by crevasses,
a hundred horsemen might ride abreast over it with-
out encountering very much difficulty.

But far the greater portion of the vast expanse
looking smooth in the distance Is torn and crumpled
into a bewildering network of hummocky ridges and
blades, separated by yawning gulfs and crevasses, so
that the explorer, crossing it from shore to shore,
must always have a hard time. In hollow spots here
and there In the heart of the icy wilderness are small
lakelets fed by swift-glancing streams that flow with-
out friction in blue shining channels, making delight-
ful melody, singing and ringing in silvery tones of
peculiar sweetness, radiant crystals like flowers in-
effably fine growing in dazzling beauty along their
banks. Few, however, will be likely to enjoy them.
Fortunately to most travelers the thundering Ice-wall,
while comfortably accessible, is also the most strik-
ingly interesting portion of the glacier.

The mountains about the great glacier were also
seen from this standpoint in exceedingly grand and
telling views, ranged and grouped in glorious array.
Along the valleys of the main tributaries to the north-
westward I saw far into their shadowy depths, one
noble peak in its snowy robes appearing beyond an-
other in fine perspective. One of the most remark-
able of them, fashioned like a superb crown with del-
icately fluted sides, stands In the middle of the second
main tributary, counting from left to right. To the

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"Travels in Alaska

westward the magnificent Fairweather Range is dis-
played In all its glory, lifting its peaks and glaciers
into the blue sky. Mt. Fairweather, though not the
highest. Is the noblest and most majestic in port and
architecture of all the sky-dwelling company. La
Pe rouse, at the south end of the range, is also a mag-
nificent mountain, symmetrically peaked and sculp-
tured, and wears its robes of snow and glaciers In
noble style. LItuya, as seen from here. Is an immense
tower, severely plain and massive. It makes a fine
and terrible and lonely Impression. Crillon, though
the loftiest of all (being nearly sixteen thousand feet
high), presents no well-marked features. Its ponder-
ous glaciers have ground it away into long, curling
ridges until, from this point of view, It resembles a
huge twisted shell. The lower summits about the
Mulr Glacier, like this one, the first that I climbed, are
richly adorned and enlivened with flowers, though
they make but a faint show In general views. Lines
and dashes of bright green appear on the lower slopes
as one approaches them from the glacier, and a fainter
green tinge may be noticed on the subordinate sum-
mits at a height of two thousand or three thousand
feet. The lower are mostly alder bushes and the top-
most a lavish profusion of flowering plants, chiefly
casslope, vaccinium, pyrola, erigeron, gentlana,
campanula, anemone, larkspur, and columbine, with
a few grasses and ferns. Of these casslope is at once
the commonest and the most beautiful and influential.
In some places its delicate stems make mattresses
more than a foot thick over several acres, while the

[ 266 ]

Glacier Bay

bloom Is so abundant that a single handful plucked
at random contains hundreds of its pale pink bells.
The very thought of this Alaska garden is a joyful
exhilaration. Though the storm-beaten ground it is
growing on is nearly half a mile high, the glacier cen-
turies ago flowed over it as a river flows over a boulder;
but out of all the cold darkness and glacial crushing
and grinding comes this warm, abounding beauty and
life to teach us that what we in our faithless igno-
rance and fear call destruction is creation finer and
finer.

When night was approaching I scrambled down
out of my blessed garden to the glacier, and returned
to my lonely camp, and, getting some coffee and
bread, again went up the moraine to the east end of
the great ice-wall. It is about three miles long, but
the length of the jagged, berg-producing portion that
stretches across the fiord from side to side like a huge
green-and-blue barrier is only about two miles and
rises above the water to a height of from two hundred
and fifty to three hundred feet. Soundings made by
Captain Carroll show that seven hundred and twenty
feet of the wall is below the surface, and a third un-
measured portion is buried beneath the moraine de-
tritus deposited at the foot of it. Therefore, were the
water and rocky detritus cleared away, a sheer preci-
pice of Ice would be presented nearly two miles long
and more than a thousand feet high. Seen from a dis-
tance, as you come up the fiord, it seems compara-
tively regular In form, but It Is far otherwise; bold,
jagged capes jut forward Into the fiord, alternating

"Travels in Alaska

with deep reentering angles and craggy hollows with
plain bastions, while the top is roughened with in-
numerable spires and pyramids and sharp hacked
blades leaning and toppling or cutting straight into
the sky.

The number of bergs given off varies somewhat
with the weather and the tides, the average being
about one every five or six minutes, counting only
those that roar loud enough to make themselves heard
at a distance of two or three miles. The very largest,
however, may under favorable conditions be heard
ten miles or even farther. When a large mass sinks
from the upper fissured portion of the wall, there is
first a keen, prolonged, thundering roar, which slowly
subsides into a low muttering growl, followed by
numerous smaller grating clashing sounds from the
agitated bergs that dance in the waves about the
newcomer as if in welcome; and these again are fol-
lowed by the swash and roar of the waves that are
raised and hurled up the beach against the mo-
raines. But the largest and most beautiful of the
bergs, instead of thus falling from the upper weath-
ered portion of the wall, rise from the submerged
portion with a still grander commotion, springing with
tremendous voice and gestures nearly to the top of the
wall, tons of water streaming like hair down their
sides, plunging and rising again and again before they
finally settle in perfect poise, free at last, after having
formed part of the slow-crawling glacier for centuries.
And as we contemplate their history, as they sail
calmly away down the fiord to the sea, how wonderful

[ 268 ]

Glacier Bay

it seems that ice formed from pressed snow on the
far-off mountains two or three hundred years ago
should still be pure and lovely in color after all its
travel and toil in the rough mountain quarries, grind-
ing and fashioning the features of predestined land-
scapes.

When sunshine is sifting through the midst of the
multitude of icebergs that fill the fiord and through
the jets of radiant spray ever rising from the tremen-
dous dashing and splashing of the falling and upspring-
ing bergs, the eifect is indescribably glorious. Glori-
ous, too, are the shows they make in the night when the
moon and stars are shining. The berg-thunder seems
far louder than by day, and the projecting buttresses
seem higher as they stand forward in the pale* light,
relieved by gloomy hollows, while the new-born bergs
are dimly seen, crowned with faint lunar rainbows in
the up-dashing spray. But it is in the darkest nights
when storms are blowing and the waves are phos-
phorescent that the most impressive displays are
made. Then the long range of ice-bluifs is plainly
seen stretching through the gloom in weird, unearthly
splendor, luminous wave foam dashing against every
blufi" and drifting berg; and ever and anon amid all
this wild auroral splendor some huge new-born berg
dashes the living water into yet brighter foam, and
the streaming torrents pouring from its sides are
worn as robes of light, while they roar in awful ac-
cord with the winds and waves, deep calling unto
deep, glacier to glacier, from fiord to fiord over all
the wonderful bay.

[269]

"Travels in Alaska

After spending a few days here, we struck across
to the main Hoona village on the south side of Icy
Strait, thence by a long cut-off with one short portage
to Chatham Strait, and thence down through Peril
Strait, sailing all night, hoping to catch the mail
steamer at Sitka. We arrived at the head of the strait
about daybreak. The tide was falling, and rushing
down with the swift current as if descending a majestic
cataract was a memorable experience. We reached
Sitka the same night, and there I paid and discharged
my crew, making allowance for a couple of days or so
for the journey back home to Fort Wrangell, while I
boarded the steamer for Portland and thus ended
my explorations for this season.

Part III
The Trip of l8go

CHAPTER XVII

IN CAMP AT GLACIER BAY

I LEFT San Francisco for Glacier Bay on the
steamer City of Pueblo, June 14, 1890, at 10
A.M., this being my third trip to southeastern Alaska
and fourth to Alaska, including northern and western
Alaska as far as Unalaska and Pt. Barrow and the
northeastern coast of Siberia. The bar at the Golden
Gate was smooth, the weather cool and pleasant.
The redwoods in sheltered coves approach the shore
closely, their dwarfed and shorn tops appearing here
and there in ravines along the coast up to Oregon.
The wind-swept hills, beaten with scud, are of course
bare of trees. Along the Oregon and Washington
coast the trees get nearer the sea, for spruce and con-
torted pine endure the briny winds better than the
redwoods. We took the inside passage between the
shore and Race Rocks, a long range of islets on which
many a good ship has been wrecked. The breakers
from the deep Pacific, driven by the gale, made a
glorious display of foam on the bald islet rocks, send-
ing spray over the tops of some of them a hundred
feet high or more in sublime, curving, jagged-edged
and flame-shaped sheets. The gestures of these up-
springing, purple-tinged waves as they dashed and
broke were sublime and serene, combining displays
of graceful beauty of motion and form with tremen-
dous power — a truly glorious show. I noticed sev-

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"Travels in Alaska

eral small villages on the green slopes between the
timbered mountains and the shore. Long Branch
made quite a display of new houses along the beach,
north of the mouth of the Columbia.

I had pleasant company on the Pueblo and sat at
the chief engineer's table, who was a good and merry
talker. An old San Francisco lawyer, rather stiff and
dignified, knew my father-in-law, Dr. Strentzel. Three
ladies, opposed to the pitching of the ship, were ab-
sent from table the greater part of the way. My best
talker was an old Scandinavian sea-captain, who was
having a new bark built at Port Blakely, — an inter-
esting old salt, every sentence of his conversation
flavored with sea-brine, bluif and hearty as a sea-
wave, keen-eyed, courageous, self-reliant, and so
stubbornly skeptical he refused to beUeve even in
glaciers.

"After you see your bark," I said, "and find every-
thing being done to your mind, you had better go on
to Alaska and see the glaciers."

"Oh, I haf seen many glaciers already."

"But are you sure that you know what a glacier
is?" I asked.

"Veil, a glacier is a big mountain all covered up
vith ice."

"Then a river," said I, "must be a big mountain all
covered with water."

I explained what a glacier was and succeeded in
exciting his interest. I told him he must reform, for a
man who neither believed in God nor glaciers must
be very bad, indeed the worst of all unbelievers.

[ 274 ]

In Camp at Glacier Bay

At Port Townsend I met Mr. Loomis, who had
agreed to go with me as far as the Muir Glacier. We
sailed from here on the steamer Queen. We touched
again at Victoria, and I took a short walk into the
adjacent woods and gardens and found the flowery
vegetation in its glory, especially the large wild rose
for which the region is famous, and the spiraea and
English honeysuckle of the gardens.

June i8. We sailed from Victoria on the Queen
at 10.30 A.M. The weather all the way to Fort
Wrangell was cloudy and rainy, but the scenery is
delightful even in the dullest weather. The marvelous
wealth of forests, islands, and waterfalls, the cloud-
wreathed heights, the many avalanche slopes and
slips, the pearl-gray tones of the sky, the browns of
the woods, their purple flower edges and mist fringes,
the endless combinations of water and land and ever-
shifting clouds — none of these greatly interest the
tourists. I noticed one of the small whales that fre-
quent these channels and mentioned the fact, then
called attention to a charming group of islands, but
they turned their eyes from the islands, saying, "Yes,
yes, they are very fine, but where did you see the
whale.?"

The timber is larger and apparently better every
way as you go north from Victoria, that is on the
islands, perhaps on account of fires from less rain to
the southward. All the islands have been overswept
by the ice-sheet and are but little changed as yet, save
a few of the highest summits which have been sculp-

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"Travels in Alaska

tured by local residual glaciers. All have approxi-
mately the form of greatest strength with reference
to the overflow of an ice-sheet, excepting those men-
tioned above, which have been more or less eroded
by local residual glaciers. Every channel also has
the form of greatest strength with reference to ice-
action. Islands, as we have seen, are still being born
in Glacier Bay and elsewhere to the northward.

I found many pleasant people aboard, but strangely
ignorant on the subject of earth-sculpture and land-
scape-making. Professor Niles, of the Boston In-
stitute of Technology, is aboard; also Mr. Russell and
Mr. Kerr of the Geological Survey, who are now on
their way to Mt. St. Elias, hoping to reach the sum-
mit; and a granddaughter of Peter Burnett, the first
governor of California.

We arrived at Wrangell in the rain at 10.30 p.m.
There was a grand rush on shore to buy curiosities
and see totem poles. The shops were jammed and
mobbed, high prices paid for shabby stuif manufac-
tured expressly for tourist trade. Silver bracelets
hammered out of dollars and half dollars by Indian
smiths are the most popular articles, then baskets,
yellow cedar toy canoes, paddles, etc. Most people
who travel look only at what they are directed to
look at. Great is the power of the guidebook-maker,
however ignorant. I inquired for my old friends
Tyeen and Shakes, who were both absent.

June 20. We left Wrangell early this morning and
passed through the Wrangell Narrows at high tide.

[ 276 ]

In Camp at Glacier Bay

I noticed a few bergs near Cape Fanshawe from
Wrangell Glacier. The water ten miles from Wrangell
is colored with particles derived mostly from the
Stickeen River glaciers and Le Conte Glacier. All the
waters of the channels north of Wrangell are green
or yellowish from glacier erosion. We had a good view
of the glaciers all the way to Juneau, but not of their
high, cloud-veiled fountains. The stranded bergs on
the moraine bar at the mouth of Sum Dum Bay
looked just as they did when I first saw them ten
years ago.

Before reaching Juneau, the Queen proceeded up
the Taku Inlet that the passengers might see the fine
glacier at its head, and ventured to within half a mile
of the berg-discharging front, which is about three
quarters of a mile wide. Bergs fell but seldom, per-
haps one in half an hour. The glacier makes a rapid
descent near the front. The inlet, therefore, will not
be much extended beyond its present limit by the
recession of the glacier. The grand rocks on either
side of its channel show ice-action in telling style.
The Norris Glacier, about two miles below the Taku,
is a good example of a glacier in the first stage of
decadence. The Taku River enters the head of the
inlet a little to the east of the glaciers, coming from
beyond the main coast range. All the tourists are de-
lighted at seeing a grand glacier in the flesh. The
scenery is very fine here and in the channel at Juneau.
On Douglas Island there is a large mill of 240 stamps,
all run by one small water-wheel, which, however, is
acted on by water at enormous pressure. The forests

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Travels in Alaska

around the mill are being rapidly nibbled away. Wind
is here said to be very violent at times, blowing away
people and houses and sweeping scud far up the moun-
tain-side. Winter snow is seldom more than a foot or
two deep.

June 21. We arrived at Douglas Island at five in
the afternoon and went sight-seeing through the mill.
Six hundred tons of low-grade quartz are crushed per
day. Juneau, on the mainland opposite the Douglas
Island mills, is quite a village, well supplied with
stores, churches, etc. A dance-house in which Indians
are supposed to show native dances of all sorts is per-
haps the best-patronized of all the places of amuse-
ment. A Mr. Brooks, who prints a paper here, gave
us some information on Mt. St. Elias, Mt. Wrangell,
and the Cook Inlet and Prince William Sound region.
He told Russell that he would never reach the sum-
mit of St. Elias, that it was inaccessible. He saw no
glaciers that discharged bergs into the sea at Cook
Inlet, but many in Prince William Sound.

June 22. Leaving Juneau at noon, we had a good
view of the Auk Glacier at the mouth of the channel
between Douglas Island and the mainland, and of
Eagle Glacier a few miles north of the Auk on the
east side of Lynn Canal. Then the Davidson Glacier
came in sight, finely curved, striped with medial
moraines, and girdled in front by its magnificent tree-
fringed terminal moraine; and besides these many
others of every size and pattern on the mountains

[ 278 ]

In Camp at Glacier Bay

bounding Lynn Canal, most of them comparatively
small, completing their sculpture. The mountains on
either hand and at the head of the canal are strikingly
beautiful at any time of the year. The sky to-day is
mostly clear, with just clouds enough hovering about
the mountains to show them to best advantage as
they stretch onward in sustained grandeur like two
separate and distinct ranges, each mountain with its
glaciers and clouds and fine sculpture glowing bright
in smooth, graded light. Only a few of them exceed
five thousand feet in height; but as one naturally as-
sociates great height with ice-and-snow-laden moun-
tains and with glacial sculpture so pronounced, they
seem much higher. There are now two canneries
at the head of Lynn Canal. The Indians furnish some
of the salmon at ten cents each. Everybody sits up to
see the midnight sky. At this time of the year there
is no night here, though the sun drops a degree or two
below the horizon. One may read at twelve o'clock
San Francisco time.

June 2j. Early this morning we arrived in Glacier
Bay. We passed through crowds of bergs at the
mouth of the bay, though, owing to wind and tide,
there were but few at the front of Muir Glacier. A
fine, bright day, the last of a group of a week or two,
as shown by the dryness of the sand along the shore
and on the moraine — rare weather hereabouts. Most
of the passengers went ashore and climbed the mo-
raine on the east side to get a view of the glacier from
a point a little higher than the top of the front wall.

[ 279 ]

"Travels in Alaska

A few ventured on a mile or two farther. The day was
delightful, and our one hundred and eighty passengers
were happy, gazing at the beautiful blue of the bergs
and the shattered pinnacled crystal wall, awed by the
thunder and commotion of the falling and rising ice-
bergs, which ever and anon sent spray flying several
hundred feet into the air and raised swells that set all
the fleet of bergs in motion and roared up the beach,
telling the story of the birth of every iceberg far and
near. The number discharged varies much, influenced
in part no doubt by the tides and weather and seasons,
sometimes one every five minutes for half a day at a
time on the average, though intervals of twenty or
thirty minutes may occur without any considerable
fall, then three or four immense discharges will take
place in as many minutes. The sound they make is
like heavy thunder, with a prolonged roar after deep
thudding sounds — a perpetual thunderstorm easily
heard three or four miles away. The roar in our tent
and the shaking of the ground one or two miles dis-
tant from points of discharge seems startlingly near.
I had to look after camp-supplies and left the ship
late this morning, going with a crowd to the glacier;
then, taking advantage of the fine weather, I pushed
off alone into the silent icy prairie to the east, to
Nunatak Island, about five hundred feet above the
ice. I discovered a small lake on the larger of the two
islands, and many battered and ground fragments of
fossil wood, large and small. They seem to have come
from trees that grew on the island perhaps centuries
ago. I mean to use this island as a station in setting

[ 280 ]

In Camp at Glacier Bay

out stakes to measure the glacial flow. The top of
Mt. Fairweather is in sight at a distance of perhaps
thirty miles, the ice all smooth on the eastern border,
wildly broken in the central portion. I reached the
ship at 2.30 P.M. I had intended getting back at noon
and sending letters and bidding friends good-bye, but
could not resist this glacier saunter. The ship moved
off as soon as I was seen on the moraine bluff, and
Loomis and I waved our hats in farewell to the many
wavings of handkerchiefs of acquaintances we had
made on the trip.

Our goods — blankets, provisions, tent, etc. — lay
in a rocky moraine hollow within a mile of the great
terminal wall of the glacier, and the discharge of
the rising and falling icebergs kept up an almost con-
tinuous thundering and echoing, while a few gulls flew
about on easy wing or stood like specks of foam on
the shore. These were our neighbors.

After my twelve-mile walk, I ate a cracker and
planned the camp. I found that one of my boxes had
been left on the steamer, but still we have more than
enough of everything. We obtained two cords of dry
wood at Juneau which Captain Carroll kindly had
his men carry up the moraine to our camp-ground.
We piled the wood as a wind-break, then laid a floor
of lumber brought from Seattle for a square tent,
nine feet by nine. We set the tent, stored our pro-
visions in it, and made our beds. This work was done
by 11.30 P.M., good daylight lasting to this time. We
slept well in our roomy cotton house, dreaming of
California home nests in the wilderness of ice.

[ 281 ]

"Travels in Alaska

June 25. A rainy day. For a few hours I kept
count of the number of bergs discharged, then saun-
tered along the beach to the end of the crystal wall.
A portion of the way is dangerous, the moraine bluif
being capped by an overlying lobe of the glacier,
which as it melts sends down boulders and fragments
of ice, while the strip of sandy shore at high tide is
only a few rods wide, leaving but little room to escape
from the falling moraine material and the berg-
waves. The view of the ice-cliifs, pinnacles, spires and
ridges was very telling, a magnificent picture of na-
ture's power and industry and love of beauty. About
a hundred or a hundred and fifty feet from the shore
a large stream issues from an arched, tunnel-like
channel in the wall of the glacier, the blue of the ice
hall being of an exquisite tone, contrasting with the
strange, sooty, smoky, brown-colored stream. The
front wall of the Muir Glacier is about two and a half
or three miles wide. Only the central portion about
two miles wide discharges icebergs. The two wings
advanced over the washed and stratified moraine de-
posits have little or no motion, melting and receding
as fast, or perhaps faster, than it advances. They have
been advanced at least a mile over the old re-formed
moraines, as is shown by the overlying, angular,
recent moraine deposits, now being laid down, which
are continuous with the medial moraines of the gla-
cier.

In the old stratified moraine banks, trunks and
branches of trees showing but little sign of decay
occur at a height of about a hundred feet above tide-

[ 282 ]

In Camp at Glacier Bay

water. I have not yet compared this fossil wood with
that of the opposite shore deposits. That the glacier
was once withdrawn considerably back of its present
limit seems plain. Immense torrents of water had
filled in the inlet with stratified moraine-material,
and for centuries favorable climatic conditions al-
lowed forests to grow upon it. At length the glacier
advanced, probably three or four miles, uprooting and
burying the trees which had grown undisturbed for
centuries. Then came a great thaw, which produced
the flood that deposited the uprooted trees. Also the
trees which grew around the shores above reach of
floods were shed ofl", perhaps by the thawing of the
soil that was resting on the buried margin of the
glacier, left on its retreat and protected by a cover-
ing of moraine-material from melting as fast as the
exposed surface of the glacier. What appear to be
remnants of the margin of the glacier when it stood
at a much higher level still exist on the left side and
probably all along its banks on both sides just below
its present terminus.

June 26, We fixed a mark on the left wing to meas-
ure the motion if any. It rained all day, but I had a
grand tramp over mud, ice, and rock to the east wall
of the inlet. Brown metamorphic slate, close-grained
in places, dips away from the inlet, presenting edges
to ice-action, which has given rise to a singularly
beautiful and striking surface, polished and grooved
and fluted.

All the next day it rained. The mountains were

[ 283 ]

"Travels in Alaska

smothered in dull-colored mist and fog, the great
glacier looming through the gloomy gray fog fringes
with wonderful effect. The thunder of bergs booms
and rumbles through the foggy atmosphere. It is
bad weather for exploring but delightful neverthe-
less, making all the strange, mysterious region yet
stranger and more mysterious.

June 28. A light rain. We were visited by two
parties of Indians. A man from each canoe came
ashore, leaving the women in the canoe to guard
against the berg-waves. I tried my Chinook and
made out to say that I wanted to hire two of them in
a few days to go a little way back on the glacier and
around the bay. They are seal-hunters and prom-
ised to come again with "Charley," who "hi yu
kumtux wawa Boston " — knew well how to speak
English.

I saw three huge bergs born. Spray rose about
two hundred feet. Lovely reflections showed of the
pale-blue tones of the ice-wall and mountains in
the calm water. Mirages are common, making the
stranded bergs along the shore look like the sheer
frontal wall of the glacier from which they were dis-
charged.

I am watching the ice-wall, berg life and behavior,
etc. Yesterday and to-day a solitary small flycatcher
was feeding about camp. A sandpiper on the shore,
loons, ducks, gulls, and crows, a few of each, and a
bald eagle are all the birds I have noticed thus far.
The glacier is thundering gloriously.

[ 284 ]

In Camp at Glacier Bay

June JO. Clearing clouds and sunshine. In less than
a minute I saw three large bergs born. First there is
usually a preliminary thundering of comparatively
small masses as the large mass begins to fall, then the
grand crash and boom and reverberating roaring.
Oftentimes three or four heavy main throbbing thuds
and booming explosions are heard as the main mass
falls in several pieces, and also secondary thuds and
thunderings as the mass or masses plunge and rise
again and again ere they come to rest. Seldom, if ever,
do the towers, battlements, and pinnacles into which
the front of the glacier is broken fall forward head-
long from their bases like falling trees at the water-
level or above or below it. They mostly sink verti-
cally or nearly so, as if undermined by the melting
action of the water of the inlet, occasionally main-
taining their upright position after sinking far below
the level of the water, and rising again a hundred feet
or more into the air with water streaming like hair
down their sides from their crowns, then launch for-
ward and fall flat with yet another thundering report,
raising spray in magnificent, flamelike, radiating jets
and sheets, occasionally to the very top of the front
wall. Illumined by the sun, the spray and angular
crystal masses are indescribably beautiful. Some of
the discharges pour in fragments from clefts in the
wall like waterfalls, white and mealy-looking, even
dusty with minute swirling ice-particles, followed by
a rushing succession of thunder-tones combining into
a huge, blunt, solemn roar. Most of these crumbling
discharges are from the excessively shattered central

[ 285 ]

"Travels in Alaska

part of the ice-wall; the solid deep-blue niasses from
the ends of the wall forming the large bergs rise from
the bottom of the glacier.

Many lesser reports are heard at a distance of a
mile or more from the fall of pinnacles into crevasses
or from the opening of new crevasses. The berg dis-
charges are very irregular, from three to twenty-two
an hour. On one rising tide, six hours, there were sixty
bergs discharged, large enough to thunder and be
heard at distances of from three quarters to one and
a half miles; and on one succeeding falling tide, six
hours, sixty-nine were discharged.

July I. We were awakened at four o'clock this
morning by the whistle of the steamer George W.
Elder. I went out on the moraine and waved my hand
in salute and was answered by a toot from the whistle.
Soon a party came ashore and asked if I was Pro-
fessor Muir. The leader. Professor Harry Fielding
Reid of Cleveland, Ohio, introduced himself and his
companion, Mr. Gushing, also of Gleveland, and six
or eight young students who had come well provided
with instruments to study the glacier. They landed
seven or eight tons of freight and pitched camp be-
side ours. I am delighted to have companions so con-
genial — we have now a village.

As I set out to climb the second mountain, three
thousand feet high, on the east side of the glacier, I
met many tourists returning from a walk on the
smooth east margin of the glacier, and had to answer
many questions. I had a hard climb, but wonderful

[ 286 ]

In Camp at Glacier Bay

views were developed and I sketched the glacier from
this high point and most of its upper fountains.

Many fine alpine plants grew here, an anemone on
the summit, two species of cassiope in shaggy mats,
three or four dwarf willows, large blue hairy lupines
eighteen inches high, parnassia, phlox, solidago,
dandelion, white-flowered bryanthus, daisy, pedicu-
laris, epilobium, etc., with grasses, sedges, mosses,
and lichens, forming a delightful deep spongy sod.
Woodchucks stood erect and piped dolefully for an
hour "Chee-chee!" with jaws absurdly stretched to
emit so thin a note — rusty-looking, seedy fellows,
also a smaller striped species which stood erect and
cheeped and whistled like a Douglas squirrel. I saw
three or four species of birds. A finch flew from her
nest at my feet; and I almost stepped on a family of
young ptarmigan ere they scattered, little bunches
of downy brown silk, small but able to run well. They
scattered along a snow-bank, over boulders, through
willows, grass, and flowers, while the mother, very
lame, tumbled and sprawled at my feet. I stood still
until the little ones began to peep ; the mother an-
swered "Too-too-too" and showed admirable judg-
ment and devotion. She was in brown plumage with
white on the wing primaries. She had fine grounds on
which to lead and feed her young.

Not a cloud in the sky to-day; a faint film to the
north vanished by noon, leaving all the sky full of
soft, hazy light. The magnificent mountains around
the widespread tributaries of the glacier; the great,
gently undulating, prairie-like expanse of the main

[ 287]

Travels in Alaska

trunk, bluish on the east, pure white on the west and
north; its trains of moraines in magnificent curving
lines and many colors — black, gray, red, and brown;
the stormy, cataract-like, crevassed sections ; the hun-
dred fountains; the lofty, pure white Fairweather
Range; the thunder of the plunging bergs; the fleet of
bergs sailing tranquilly in the inlet — formed a glow-
ing picture of nature's beauty and power.

July 2, I crossed the inlet with Mr. Reid and Mr.
Adams to-day. The stratified drift on the west side
all the way from top to base contains fossil wood. On
the east side, as far as I have seen it, the wood occurs
only in one stratum at a height of about a hundred
and twenty feet in sand and clay. Some in a bank of
the west side are rooted in clay soil. I noticed a large
grove of stumps in a washed-out channel near the
glacier-front but had no time to examine closely.
Evidently a flood carrying great quantities of sand
and gravel had overwhelmed and broken off these
trees, leaving high stumps. The deposit, about a
hundred feet or more above them, had been recently
washed out by one of the draining streams of the
glacier, exposing a part of the old forest floor certainly
two or three centuries old.

I climbed along the right bank of the lowest of the
tributaries and set a signal flag on a ridge fourteen
hundred feet high. This tributary is about one and a
fourth or one and a half miles wide and has four sec-
ondary tributaries. It reaches tide-water but gives
off no bergs. Later I climbed the large Nunatak

f 288 1

In Camp at Glacier Bay

Island, seven thousand feet high, near the west margin
of the glacier. It is composed of crumbling granite
draggled with washed boulders, but has some endur-
ing bosses which on sides and top are polished and
scored rigidly, showing that it had been heavily over-
swept by the glacier when it was thousands of feet
deeper than now, like a submerged boulder in a river-
channel. This island is very irregular in form, owing
to the variations in the structure joints of the granite.
It has several small lakelets and has been loaded
with glacial drift, but by the melting of the ice about
its flanks is shedding it ofi*, together with some of its
own crumbling surface. I descended a deep rock
gully on the north side, the rawest, dirtiest, dustiest,
most dangerous that I have seen hereabouts. There
is also a large quantity of fossil wood scattered on this
island, especially on the north side, that on the south
side having been cleared off" and carried away by the
first tributary glacier, which, being lower and melting
earlier, has allowed the soil of the moraine material to
fall, together with its forest, and be carried off. That
on the north side is now being carried off or buried.
The last of the main ice foundation is melting and the
moraine material re-formed over and over again, and
the fallen tree-trunks, decayed or half decayed or in
a fair state of preservation, are also unburied and
buried again or carried off to the terminal or lateral
moraine.

I found three small seedling Sitka spruces, feeble
beginnings of a new forest. The circumference of the
island is about seven miles. I arrived at camp about

[ 289 ]

"Travels in Alaska

midnight, tired and cold. Sailing across the inlet in a
cranky rotten boat through the midst of icebergs was
dangerous, and I was glad to get ashore.

July 4., I climbed the east wall to the summit,
about thirty-one hundred feet or so, by the northern-
most ravine next to the yellow ridge, finding about
a mile of snow in the upper portion of the ravine and
patches on the summit. A few of the patches probably
lie all the year, the ground beneath them is so plant-
less. On the edge of some of the snow-banks I noticed
cassiope. The thin, green, mosslike patches seen from
camp are composed of a rich, shaggy growth of cas-
siope, white-flowered bryanthus, dwarf vaccinium
with bright pink flowers, saxifrages, anemones, blue-
bells, gentians, small erigeron, pedicularis, dwarf
willow and a few species of grasses. Of these, Cassiope
tetragona is far the most influential and beautiful.
Here it forms mats a foot thick and an acre or more
in area, the sections being measured by the size and
drainage of the soil-patches. I saw a few plants an-
chored in the less crumbling parts of the steep-faced
bosses and steps — parnassia, potentilla, hedysarum,
lutkea, etc. The lower, rough-looking patches half
way up the mountain are mostly alder bushes ten or
fifteen feet high. I had a fine view of the top of the
mountain-mass which forms the boundary wall of
the upper portion of the inlet on the west side, and
of several glaciers, tributary to the first of the eastern
tributaries of the main Muir Glacier. Five or six of
these tributaries were seen, most of them now melted

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In Camp at Glacier Bay

off from the trunk and independent. The highest
peak to the eastward has an elevation of about five
thousand feet or a little less. I also had glorious
views of the Fairweather Range, La Perouse, Crillon,
Lituya, and Fairweather. Mt. Fairweather is the
most beautiful of all the giants that stand guard
about Glacier Bay. When the sun is shining on it
from the east or south its magnificent glaciers and
colors are brought out in most telling display. In the
late afternoon its features become less distinct. The
atmosphere seems pale and hazy, though around to the
north and northeastward of Fairweather innumerable
white peaks are displayed, the highest fountain-heads
of the Muir Glacier crowded together in bewildering
array, most exciting and inviting to the mountaineer.
Altogether I have had a delightful day, a truly glori-
ous celebration of the fourth.

July 6, I sailed three or four miles down the east
coast of the inlet with the Reid party's cook, who is
supposed to be an experienced camper and prospector,
and landed at a stratified moraine-bank. It was here
that I camped in 1880, a point at that time less than
half a mile from the front of the glacier, now one and a
half miles. I found my Indian's old camp made just
ten years ago, and Professor Wright's of five years ago.
Their alder-bough beds and fireplace were still marked
and but little decayed. I found thirty-three species
of plants in flower, not counting willows — a showy
garden on the shore only a few feet above high
tide, watered by a fine stream. Lutkea, hedysarum,

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T^raveh in Alaska

parnassia, epilobium, bluebell, solidago, habenaria,
strawberry with fruit half grown, arctostaphylos,
mertensia, erigeron, willows, tall grasses and alder
are the principal species. There are many butterflies
in this garden. Gulls are breeding near here. I saw
young in the water to-day.

On my way back to camp I discovered a group of
monumental stumps in a washed-out valley of the
moraine and went ashore to observe them. They are
in the dry course of a flood-channel about eighty feet
above mean tide and four or five hundred yards back
from the shore, where they have been pounded and
battered by boulders rolling against them and over
them, making them look like gigantic shaving-
brushes. The largest is about three feet in diameter
and probably three hundred years old. I mean to
return and examine them at leisure. A smaller stump,
still firmly rooted, is standing astride of an old crum-
bling trunk, showing that at least two generations of
trees flourished here undisturbed by the advance or
retreat of the glacier or by its draining stream-floods.
They are Sitka spruces and the wood is mostly in a
good state of preservation. How these trees were
broken off without being uprooted is dark to me at
present. Perhaps most of their companions were up-
rooted and carried away.

July y. Another fine day; scarce a cloud in the sky.
The icebergs in the bay are miraged in the distance to
look like the frontal wall of a great glacier. I am writing
letters in anticipation of the next steamer, the Queen.

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In Camp at Glacier Bay

She arrived about 2.30 p.m. with two hundred and
thirty tourists. What a show they made with their
ribbons and kodaks ! All seemed happy and enthusi-
astic, though it was curious to see how promptly all of
them ceased gazing when the dinner-bell rang, and
how many turned from the great thundering crystal
world of ice to look curiously at the Indians that came
alongside to sell trinkets, and how our little camp and
kitchen arrangements excited so many to loiter and
waste their precious time prying into our poor hut.

July 8. A fine clear day. I went up the glacier to
observe stakes and found that a marked point near
the middle of the current had flowed about a hundred
feet in eight days. On the medial moraine one mile
from the front there was no measureable displace-
ment. I found a raven devouring a tom-cod that was
alive on a shallow at the mouth of the creek. It had
probably been wounded by a seal or eagle.

July 10. I have been getting acquainted with the
main features of the glacier and its fountain mountains
with reference to an exploration of its main tributaries
and the upper part of its prairie-like trunk, a trip I
have long had in mind. I have been building a sled
and must now get fully ready to start without refer-
ence to the weather. Yesterday evening I saw a large
blue berg just as it was detached sliding down from
the front. Two of Professor Reid's party rowed out to
it as it sailed past the camp, estimating it to be two
hundred and forty feet in length and one hundred feet
high.

CHAPTER XVIII

MY SLED-TRIP ON THE MUIR GLACIER

I STARTED off the morning of July ii on my
memorable sled-trip to obtain general views of the
main upper part of the Muir Glacier and its seven
principal tributaries, feeling sure that I would learn
something and at the same time get rid of a severe
bronchial cough that followed an attack of the grippe
and had troubled me for three months. I intended to
camp on the glacier every night, and did so, and my
throat grew better every day until it was well, for no
lowland microbe could stand such a trip. My sled
was about three feet long and made as light as possi-
ble. A sack of hardtack, a little tea and sugar, and a
sleeping-bag were firmly lashed on it so that nothing
could drop off however much it might be jarred and
dangled in crossing crevasses.

Two Indians carried the baggage over the rocky
moraine to the clear glacier at the side of one of the
eastern Nunatak Islands. Mr. Loomis accompanied
me to this first camp and assisted in dragging the
empty sled over the moraine. We arrived at the middle
Nunatak Island about nine o'clock. Here I sent back
my Indian carriers, and Mr. Loomis assisted me the
first day in hauling the loaded sled to my second
camp at the foot of Hemlock Mountain, returning
the next morning.

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My Sled-Trip on the Muir Glacier

July 13. I skirted the mountain to eastward a few
miles and was delighted to discover a group of trees
high up on its ragged rocky side, the first trees I had
seen on the shores of Glacier Bay or on those of any
of its glaciers. I left my sled on the ice and climbed
the mountain to see what I might learn. I found that
all the trees were mountain hemlock {Tsuga merten-
siana), and were evidently the remnant of an old well-
established forest, standing on the only ground that
was stable, all the rest of the forest below it having
been sloughed off with the soil from the disintegrating
slate bed rock. The lowest of the trees stood at an
elevation of about two thousand feet above the sea,
the highest at about three thousand feet or a little
higher. Nothing could be more striking than the con-
trast between the raw, crumbling, deforested portions
of the mountain, looking like a quarry that was being
worked, and the forested part with its rich, shaggy
beds of cassiope and bryanthus in full bloom, and
its sumptuous cushions of flower-enameled mosses.
These garden-patches are full of gay colors of gentian,
erigeron, anemone, larkspur, and columbine, and are
enlivened with happy birds and bees and marmots.
Climbing to an elevation of twenty-five hundred
feet, which is about fifteen hundred feet above the
level of the glacier at this point, I saw and heard a
few marmots, and three ptarmigans that were as
tame as barnyard fowls. The sod is sloughing off on
the edges, keeping it ragged. The trees are storm-
bent from the southeast. A few are standing at an
elevation of nearly three thousand feet; at twenty-

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"Travels in Alaska

five hundred feet, pyrola, veratrum, vaccinium, fine
grasses, sedges, willows, mountain-ash, buttercups,
and acres of the most luxuriant cassiope are in bloom.

A lake encumbered with icebergs lies at the end of
Divide Glacier. A spacious, level-floored valley be-
yond it, eight or ten miles long, with forested moun-
tains on its west side, perhaps discharges to the south-
eastward into Lynn Canal. The divide of the glacier
is about opposite the third of the eastern tributaries.
Another berg-dotted lake into which the drainage of
the Braided Glacier flows, lies a few miles to the west-
ward and is one and a half miles long. Berg Lake is
next the remarkable Girdled Glacier to the southeast-
ward.

When the ice-period was in its prime, much of the
Muir Glacier that now flows northward into Howling
Valley flowed southward into Glacier Bay as a tribu-
tary of the Muir. All the rock contours show this, and
so do the medial moraines. Berg Lake is crowded
with bergs because they have no outlet and melt
slowly. I heard none discharged. I had a hard time
crossing the Divide Glacier, on which I camped.
Half a mile back from the lake 1 gleaned a little fossil
wood and made a fire on moraine boulders for tea. I
slept fairly well on the sled. I heard the roar of four
cascades on a shaggy green mountain on the west side
of Howling Valley and saw three wild goats fifteen
hundred feet up in the steep grassy pastures.

July 14., I rose at four o'clock this cloudy and dis-
mal morning and looked for my goats, but saw only

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My Sled' "Trip on the Muir Glacier

one. I thought there must be wolves where there were
goats, and in a few minutes heard their low, dismal,
far-reaching howling. One of them sounded very
near and came nearer until it seemed to be less than a
quarter of a mile away on the edge of the glacier.
They had evidently seen me, and one or more had
come down to observe me, but I was unable to catch
sight of any of them. About half an hour later, while
I was eating breakfast, they began howling again, so
near I began to fear they had a mind to attack me,
and I made haste to the shelter of a big square boulder,
where, though I had no gun, I might be able to de-
fend myself from a front attack with my alpenstock.
After waiting half an hour or so to see what these
wild dogs meant to do, I ventured to proceed on my
journey to the foot of Snow Dome, where I camped
for the night.

There are six tributaries on the northwest side of
Divide arm, counting to the Gray Glacier, next after
Granite Canon Glacier going northwest. Next is Dirt
Glacier, which is dead. I saw bergs on the edge of the
main glacier a mile back from here which seem to
have been left by the draining of a pool in a sunken
hollow. A circling rim of driftwood, back twenty rods
on the glacier, marks the edge of the lakelet shore
where the bergs lie scattered and stranded. It is now
half past ten o'clock and getting dusk as I sit by my
little fossil-wood fire writing these notes. A strange
bird is calling and complaining. A stream is rushing
into a glacier well on the edge of which I am camped,
back a few yards from the base of the mountain for

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T^ravels in Alaska

fear of falling stones. A few small ones are rattling
down the steep slope. I must go to bed.

July 75. I climbed the dome to plan a way, scan
the glacier, and take bearings, etc., in case of storms.
The main divide is about fifteen hundred feet; the
second divide, about fifteen hundred also, is about
one and one half miles southeastward. The flow of
water on the glacier noticeably diminished last night
though there was no frost. It is now already increas-
ing. Stones begin to roll into the crevasses and into
new positions, sliding against each other, half turning
over or falling on moraine ridges. Mud pellets with
small pebbles slip and roll slowly from ice-hummocks
again and again. How often and by how many ways
are boulders finished and finally brought to anything
like permanent form and place in beds for farms and
fields, forests and gardens. Into crevasses and out
again, into moraines, shifted and reinforced and re-
formed by avalanches, melting from pedestals, etc.
Rain, frost, and dew help In the work; they are swept
in rills, caught and ground in pot-hole mills. Moraines
of washed pebbles, like those on glacier margins, are
formed by snow avalanches deposited In crevasses,
then weathered out and projected on the Ice as shallow
raised moraines. There Is one such at this camp.

A ptarmigan is on a rock twenty yards distant, as
if on show. It has red over the eye, a white line, not
conspicuous, over the red, belly white, white mark-
ings over the upper parts on ground of brown and
black wings, mostly white as seen when flying, but

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My Sled- Trip on the Muir Glacier

the coverts the same as the rest of the body. Only
about three inches of the folded primaries show white.
The breast seems to have golden iridescent colors,
white under the wings. It allowed me to approach
within twenty feet. It walked down a sixty degree
slope of the rock, took flight with a few whirring wing-
beats, then sailed with wings perfectly motionless
four hundred yards down a gentle grade, and vanished
over the brow of a cliff. Ten days ago Loomis told
me that he found a nest with nine eggs. On the way
down to my sled I saw four more ptarmigans. They
utter harsh notes when alarmed. "Crack, chuck,
crack," with the r rolled and prolonged. I also saw fresh
and old goat-tracks and some bones that suggest
wolves.

There is a pass through the mountains at the head
of the third glacier. Fine mountains stand at the head
on each side. The one on the northeast side is the
higher and finer every way. It has three glaciers,
tributary to the third. The third glacier has altogether
ten tributaries, five on each side. The mountain on
the left side of White Glacier is about six thousand
feet high. The moraines of Girdled Glacier seem
scarce to run anywhere. Only a little material is
carried to Berg Lake. Most of it seems to be at rest as
a terminal on the main glacier-field, which here has
little motion. The curves of these last as seen from
this mountain-top are very beautiful.

It has been a glorious day, all pure sunshine. An
hour or more before sunset the distant mountains, a
vast host, seemed more softly ethereal than ever, pale

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"Travels in Maska

blue, ineffably fine, all angles and harshness melted
off in the soft evening light. Even the snow and the
grinding, cascading glaciers became divinely tender
and fine in this celestial amethystine light. I got
back to camp at 7.15, not tired. After my hardtack
supper I could have climbed the mountain again and
got back before sunrise, but dragging the sled tires
me. I have been out on the glacier examining a mo-
raine-like mass about a third of a mile from camp. It
is perhaps a mile long, a hundred yards wide, and is
thickly strewn with wood. I think that it has been
brought down the mountain by a heavy snow ava-
lanche, loaded on the ice, then carried away from the
shore in the direction of the flow of the glacier. This
explains detached moraine-masses. This one seems to
have been derived from a big roomy cirque or amphi-
theatre on the northwest side of this Snow Dome
Mountain.

To shorten the return journey I was tempted to
glissade down what appeared to be a snow-filled
ravine, which was very steep. All went well until I
reached a bluish spot which proved to be ice, on which
I lost control of myself and rolled into a gravel talus
at the foot without a scratch. Just as I got up and
was getting myself orientated, I heard a loud fierce
scream, uttered in an exulting, diabolical tone of voice
which startled me, as if an enemy, having seen me
fall, was glorying in my death. Then suddenly two
ravens came swooping from the sky and alighted on
the jag of a rock within a few feet of me, evidently
hoping that I had been maimed and that they were

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My Sled' l^rip on the Muir Glacier

going to have a feast. But as they stared at me, study-
ing my condition, impatiently waiting for bone-pick-
ing time, I saw what they were up to and shouted,
"Not yet, not yet!"

July i6. At 7 A.M. I left camp to cross the main
glacier. Six ravens came to the camp as soon as I
left. What wonderful eyes they must have ! Nothing
that moves in all this icy wilderness escapes the eyes
of these brave birds. This is one of the loveliest morn-
ings I ever saw in Alaska; not a cloud or faintest hint
of one in all the wide sky. There is a yellowish haze
in the east, white in the west, mild and mellow as a
Wisconsin Indian Summer, but finer, more ethereal,
God's holy light making all divine.

In an hour or so I came to the confluence of the
first of the seven grand tributaries of the main Muir
Glacier and had a glorious view of it as it comes
sweeping down in wild cascades from its magnificent,
pure white, mountain-girt basin to join the main
crystal sea, its many fountain peaks, clustered and
crowded, all pouring forth their tribute to swell its
grand current. I crossed its front a little below its
confluence, where its shattered current, about two or
three miles wide, is reunited, and many rills and good-
sized brooks glide gurgling and ringing in pure blue
channels, giving delightful animation to the icy
solitude.

Most of the ice-surface crossed to-day has been very
uneven, and hauling the sled and finding a way over
hummocks has been fatiguing. At times I had to lift

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"Travels in Alaska

the sled bodily and to cross many narrow, nerve-try-
ing, ice-sliver bridges, balancing astride of them, and
cautiously shoving the sled ahead of me with tremen-
dous chasms on either side. I had made perhaps not
more than six or eight miles in a straight line by six
o'clock this evening when I reached ice so hummocky
and tedious I concluded to camp and not try to take
the sled any farther. I intend to leave it here in
the middle of the basin and carry my sleeping-bag
and provisions the rest of the way across to the west
side. I am cozy and comfortable here resting in the
midst of glorious icy scenery, though very tired. I
made out to get a cup of tea by means of a few shav-
ings and splinters whittled from the bottom board of
my sled, and made a fire in a little can, a small camp-
fire, the smallest I ever made or saw, yet it answered
well enough as far as tea was concerned. I crept into
my sack before eight o'clock as the wind was cold and
my feet wet. One of my shoes is about worn out. I
may have to put on a wooden sole. This day has been
cloudless throughout, with lovely sunshine, a purple
evening and morning. The circumference of moun-
tains beheld from the midst of this world of ice is
marvelous, the vast plain reposing in such soft tender
light, the fountain mountains so clearly cut, holding
themselves aloft with their loads of ice in supreme
strength and beauty of architecture. I found a skull
and most of the other bones of a goat on the glacier
about two miles from the nearest land. It had proba-
bly been chased out of its mountain home by wolves
and devoured here. I carried its horns with me. I

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My Sled' Trip on the Muir Glacier

saw many considerable depressions in the glacial sur-
face, also a pitlike hole, irregular, not like the ordinary
wells along the slope of the many small dirt-clad hil-
locks, faced to the south. Now the sun is down and
the sky is saffron yellow, blending and fading into
purple around to the south and north. It is a curious
experience to be lying in bed writing these notes,
hummock waves rising in every direction, their edges
marking a multitude of crevasses and pits, while all
around the horizon rise peaks innumerable of most
intricate style of architecture. Solemnly growling and
grinding moulins contrast with the sweet low-voiced
whispering and warbling of a network of rills, singing
like water-ouzels, glinting, gliding with indescribable
softness and sweetness of voice. They are all around,
one within a few feet of my hard sled bed.

July 17. Another glorious cloudless day is dawning
in yellow and purple and soon the sun over the eastern
peak will blot out the blue peak shadows and make all
the vast white ice prairie sparkle. I slept well last
night in the middle of the icy sea. The wind was cold
but my sleeping-bag enabled me to lie neither warm
nor intolerably cold. My three-months cough is gone.
Strange that with such work and exposure one should
know nothing of sore throats and of what are called
colds. My heavy, thick-soled shoes, resoled just be-
fore starting on the trip six days ago, are about worn
out and my feet have been wet every night. But no
harm comes of it, nothing but good. I succeeded in
getting a warm breakfast in bed. I reached over the

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edge of my sled, got hold of a small cedar stick that I
had been carrying, whittled a lot of thin shavings
from it, stored them on my breast, then set fire to a
piece of paper in a shallow tin can, added a pinch of
shavings, held the cup of water that always stood at
my bedside over the tiny blaze with one hand, and
fed the fire by adding little pinches of shavings until
the water boiled, then pulling my bread sack within
reach, made a good warm breakfast, cooked and eaten
in bed. Thus refreshed, I surveyed the wilderness of
crevassed, hummocky ice and concluded to try to
drag my little sled a mile or two farther, then, finding
encouragement, persevered, getting it across innu-
merable crevasses and streams and around several
lakes and over and through the midst of hummocks,
and at length reached the western shore between
five and six o'clock this evening, extremely fatigued.
This I consider a hard job well done, crossing so wildly
broken a glacier, fifteen miles of it from Snow Dome
Mountain, in two days with a sled weighing alto-
gether not less than a hundred pounds. I found in-
numerable crevasses, some of them brimful of water.
I crossed in most places just where the ice was close
pressed and welded after descending cascades and
was being shoved over an upward slope, thus closing
the crevasses at the bottom, leavingonly the upper sun-
melted beveled portion open for water to collect in.
Vast must be the drainage from this great basin.
The waste in sunshine must be enormous, while in
dark weather rains and winds also melt the ice and
add to the volume produced by the rain itself. The

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My Sled- "Trip on the Muir Glacier

winds also, though in temperature they may be only
a degree or two above freezing- point, dissolve the ice
as fast, or perhaps faster, than clear sunshine. Much
of the water caught in tight crevasses doubtless freezes
during the winter and gives rise to many of the ir-
regular veins seen in the structure of the glacier.
Saturated snow also freezes at times and is incorpo-
rated with the ice, as only from the lower part of the
glacier is the snow melted during the summer. I
have noticed many traces of this action. One of the
most beautiful things to be seen on the glacier is the
myriads of minute and intensely brilliant radiant
lights burning in rows on the banks of streams and
pools and lakelets from the tips of crystals melting in
the sun, making them look as if bordered with dia-
monds. These gems are rayed like stars and twinkle;
no diamond radiates keener or more brilliant light.
It was perfectly glorious to think of this divine light
burning over all this vast crystal sea in such ineffa-
bly fine effulgence, and over how many other of icy
Alaska's glaciers where nobody sees it. To produce
these effects I fancy the ice must be melting rapidly,
as it was being melted to-day. The ice in these pools
does not melt with anything like an even surface, but
in long branches and leaves, making fairy forests of
points, while minute bubbles of air are constantly
being set free. I am camped to-night on what I call
Quarry Mountain from its raw, loose, plantless condi-
tion, seven or eight miles above the front of the glacier.
I found enough fossil wood for tea. Glorious is the
view to the eastward from this camp. The sun has

[ 30s ]

"Travels in Alaska

set, a few clouds appear, and a torrent rushing down a
gully and under the edge of the glacier is making a
solemn roaring. No tinkling, whistling rills this night.
Ever and anon I hear a falling boulder. I have had
a glorious and instructive day, but am excessively
weary and to bed I go.

July l8. I felt tired this morning and meant to rest
to-day. But after breakfast at 8 a.m. I felt I must be
up and doing, climbing, sketching new views up the
great tributaries from the top of Quarry Mountain.
Weariness vanished and I could have climbed, I think,
five thousand feet. Anything seems easy after sled-
dragging over hummocks and crevasses, and the con-
stant nerve-strain in jumping crevasses so as not to
slip in making the spring. Quarry Mountain is the
barest I have seen, a raw quarry with infinite abun-
dance of loose decaying granite all on the go. Its
slopes are excessively steep. A few patches of epilo-
bium make gay purple spots of color. Its seeds fly
everywhere seeking homes. Quarry Mountain is cut
across into a series of parallel ridges by oversweeping
ice. It is still overswept in three places by glacial
flows a half to three quarters of a mile wide, finely
arched at the top of the divides. I have been sketch-
ing, though my eyes are much inflamed and I can
scarce see. All the lines I make appear double. I fear
I shall not be able to make the few more sketches I
want to-morrow, but must try. The day has been
gloriously sunful, the glacier pale yellow toward five
o'clock. The hazy air, white with a yellow tinge,

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My Sled-^Trip on the Muir Glacier

gives an Indian-summerish effect. Now the blue
evening shadows are creeping out over the icy plain,
some ten miles long, with sunny yellow belts between
them. Boulders fall now and again with dull, blunt
booming, and the gravel pebbles rattle.

July ig. Nearly blind. The light is intolerable and
I fear I may be long unfitted for work. I have
been lying on my back all day with a snow poultice
bound over my eyes. Every object I try to look
at seems double; even the distant mountain-ranges
are doubled, the upper an exact copy of the lower,
though somewhat faint. This is the first time in Alaska
that I have had too much sunshine. About four
o'clock this afternoon, when I was waiting for the
evening shadows to enable me to get nearer the main
camp, where I could be more easily found in case my
eyes should become still more inflamed and I should
be unable to travel, thin clouds cast a grateful shade
over all the glowing landscape. I gladly took ad-
vantage of these kindly clouds to make an effort to
cross the few miles of the glacier that lay between me
and the shore of the inlet. I made a pair of goggles
but am afraid to wear them. Fortunately the ice here
is but little broken, therefore I pulled my cap well
down and set off about five o'clock. I got on pretty
well and camped on the glacier in sight of the main
camp, which from here in a straight line is only five or
six miles away. I went ashore on Granite Island and
gleaned a little fossil wood with which I made tea on
the ice.

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July 20. I kept wet bandages on my eyes last night
as long as I could, and feel better this morning, but all
the mountains still seem to have double summits,
giving a curiously unreal aspect to the landscape. I
packed everything on the sled and moved three miles
farther down the glacier, where I want to make meas-
urements. Twice to-day I was visited on the ice by a
hummingbird, attracted by the red lining of the bear-
skin sleeping-bag.

I have gained some light on the formation of gravel-
beds along the inlet. The material is mostly sifted
and sorted by successive rollings and washings along
the margins of the glacier-tributaries, where the sup-
ply is abundant beyond anything I ever saw else-
where. The lowering of the surface of a glacier when
its walls are not too steep leaves a part of the margin
dead and buried and protected from the wasting sun-
shine beneath the lateral moraines. Thus a marginal
valley is formed, clear ice on one side, or nearly so,
buried ice on the other. As melting goes on, the
marginal trough, or valley, grows deeper and wider,
since both sides are being melted, the land side
slower. The dead, protected ice in melting first sheds
off the large boulders, as they are not able to lie on
slopes where smaller ones can. Then the next larger
ones are rolled off, and pebbles and sand in succession.
Meanwhile this material is subjected to torrent-action,
as if it were cast into a trough. When floods come it is
carried forward and stratified, according to the force
of the current, sand, mud, or larger material. This ex-
poses fresh surfaces of ice and melting goes on again,

[ 308]

My Sled- "Trip on the Muir Glacier

until enough material has been undermined to form a
veil in front; then follows another washing and carry-
ing-away and depositing where the current is allowed
to spread. In melting, protected margin terraces are
oftentimes formed. Perhaps these terraces mark suc-
cessive heights of the glacial surface. From terrace
to terrace the grist of stone is rolled and sifted. Some,
meeting only feeble streams, have only the fine par-
ticles carried away and deposited in smooth beds;
others, coarser, from swifter streams, overspread the
fine beds, while many of the large boulders no doubt
roll back upon the glacier to go on their travels
again.

It has been cloudy mostly to-day, though sunny in
the afternoon, and my eyes are getting better. The
steamer Queen is expected in a day or two, so I must
try to get down to the inlet to-morrow and make
signal to have some of the Reid party ferry me over. I
must hear from home, write letters, get rest and more
to eat.

Near the front of the glacier the ice was perfectly
free, apparently, of anything like a crevasse, and in
walking almost carelessly down it I stopped opposite
the large granite Nunatak Island, thinking that I
would there be partly sheltered from the wind. I had
not gone a dozen steps toward the island when I sud-
denly dropped into a concealed water-filled crevasse,
which on the surface showed not the slightest sign of
its existence. This crevasse like many others was
being used as the channel of a stream, and at some
narrow point the small cubical masses of ice into

[ 309 ]

"Travels in Alaska

which the glacier surface disintegrates were jammed
and extended back farther and farther till they com-
pletely covered and concealed the water. Into this I
suddenly plunged, after crossing thousands of really
dangerous crevasses, but never before had I encoun-
tered a danger so completely concealed. Down I
plunged over head and ears, but of course bobbed
up again, and after a hard struggle succeeded in
dragging myself out over the farther side. Then I
pulled my sled over close to Nunatak cliff, made haste
to strip off my clothing, threw it in a sloppy heap and
crept into my sleeping-bag to shiver away the night
as best I could.

July 21, Dressing this rainy morning was a miser-
able job, but might have been worse. After wringing
my sloppy underclothing, getting it on was far from
pleasant. My eyes are better and 1 feel no bad effect
from my icy bath. The last trace of my three months'
cough is gone. No lowland grippe microbe could sur-
vive such experiences.

I have had a fine telling day examining the ruins
of the old forest of Sitka spruce that no great time
ago grew in a shallow mud-filled basin near the
southwest corner of the glacier. The trees were pro-
tected by a spur of the mountain that puts out here,
and when the glacier advanced they were simply
flooded with fine sand and overborne. Stumps by the
hundred, three to fifteen feet high, rooted in a stream
of fine blue mud on cobbles, still have their bark on.
A stratum of decomposed bark, leaves, cones, and old

[ 310 ]

My Sled- "Trip on the Muir Glacier

trunks is still in place. Some of the stumps are on
rocky ridges of gravelly soil about one hundred and
twenty-five feet above the sea. The valley has been
washed out by the stream now occupying it, one of
the glacier's draining streams a mile long or more and
an eighth of a mile wide.

I got supper early and was just going to bed, when
I was startled by seeing a man coming across the mo-
raine, Professor Reid, who had seen me from the main
camp and who came with Mr. Loomis and the cook
in their boat to ferry me over. I had not intended
making signals for them until to-morrow but was
glad to go. I had been seen also by Mr. Case and one
of his companions, who were on the western moun-
tain-side above the fossil forest, shooting ptarmigans.
I had a good rest and sleep and leisure to find out
how rich I was in new facts and pictures and how
tired and hungry I was.

CHAPTER XIX

AURORAS

A FEW days later I set out with Professor Reid's
party to visit some of the other large glaciers
that flow into the bay, to observe what changes have
taken place in them since October, 1879, when I
first visited and sketched them. We found the upper
half of the bay closely choked with bergs, through
which it was exceedingly difficult to force a way.
After slowly struggling a few miles up the east side,
we dragged the whale-boat and canoe over rough
rocks into a fine garden and comfortably camped for
the night.

The next day was spent in cautiously picking a way
across to the west side of the bay; and as the strangely
scanty stock of provisions was already about done,
and the ice-jam to the northward seemed impenetra-
ble, the party decided to return to the main camp by
a comparatively open, roundabout way to the south-
ward, while with the canoe and a handful of food-
scraps I pushed on northward. After a hard, anxious
struggle, I reached the mouth of the Hugh Miller
fiord about sundown, and tried to find a camp-spot
on its steep, boulder-bound shore. But no landing-
place where it seemed possible to drag the canoe
above high-tide mark was discovered after examining
a mile or more of this dreary, forbidding barrier, and
as night was closing down, I decided to try to grope
my way across the mouth of the fiord in the starlight

[ 312 1

j4uroras

to an open sandy spot on which I had camped in
October, 1879, a distance of about three or four
miles.

With the utmost caution I picked my way through
the sparkling bergs, and after an hour or two of this
nerve-trying work, when I was perhaps less than half-
way across and dreading the loss of the frail canoe
which would include the loss of myself, I came to a
pack of very large bergs which loomed threateningly,
offering no visible thoroughfare. Paddling and push-
ing to right and left, I at last discovered a sheer-
walled opening about four feet wide and perhaps two
hundred feet long, formed apparently by the splitting
of a huge iceberg. I hesitated to enter this passage,
fearing that the slightest change in the tide-current
might close it, but ventured nevertheless, judging
that the dangers ahead might not be greater than
those I had already passed. When I had got about a
third of the way in, I suddenly discovered that the
smooth-walled ice-lane was growing narrower, and
with desperate haste backed out. Just as the bow of
the canoe cleared the sheer walls they came together
with a growling crunch. Terror-stricken, I turned
back, and in an anxious hour or two gladly reached
the rock-bound shore that had at first repelled me,
determined to stay on guard all night in the canoe or
find some place where with the strength that comes
in a fight for life I could drag it up the boulder wall
beyond ice danger. This at last was happily done
about midnight, and with no thought of sleep I went
to bed rejoicing.

[ 313 ]

travels in Alaska

My bed was two boulders, and as I lay wedged and
bent on their up-bulging sides, beguiling the hard,
cold time in gazing into the starry sky and across the
sparkling bay, magnificent upright bars of light in
bright prismatic colors suddenly appeared, marching
swiftly in close succession along the northern horizon
from west to east as if in diligent haste, an auroral
display very different from any I had ever before be-
held. Once long ago in Wisconsin I saw the heavens
draped in rich purple auroral clouds fringed and folded
in most magnificent forms ; but in this glory of light,
so pure, so bright, so enthusiastic in motion, there
was nothing in the least cloud-like. The short color-
bars, apparently about two degrees in height, though
blending, seemed to be as well defined as those of
the solar spectrum.

How long these glad, eager soldiers of light held on
their way I cannot tell; for sense of time was charmed
out of mind and the blessed night circled away in
measureless rejoicing enthusiasm.

In the early morning after so inspiring a night I
launched my canoe feeling able for anything, crossed
the mouth of the Hugh Miller fiord, and forced a way
three or four miles along the shore of the bay, hoping
to reach the Grand Pacific Glacier in front of Mt.
Fairweather. But the farther I went, the ice-pack, in-
stead of showing inviting little open streaks here and
there, became so much harder jammed that on some
parts of the shore the bergs, drifting south with the
tide, were shoving one another out of the water be-
yond high-tide line. Farther progress to northward

[314]

Auroras

was thus rigidly stopped, and now I had to fight for a
way back to my cabin, hoping that by good tide luck
I might reach it before dark. But at sundown I was
less than half-way home, and though very hungry
was glad to land on a little rock island with a smooth
beach for the canoe and a thicket of alder bushes for
fire and bed and a little sleep. But shortly after sun-
down, while these arrangements were being made, lo
and behold another aurora enriching the heavens!
and though it proved to be one of the ordinary al-
most colorless kind, thrusting long, quivering lances
toward the zenith from a dark cloudlike base, after
last night's wonderful display one's expectations
might well be extravagant and I lay wide awake
watching.

On the third night I reached my cabin and food.
Professor Reid and his party came in to talk over the
results of pur excursions, and just as the last one of
the visitors opened the door after bidding good-night,
he shouted, "Muir, come look here. Here's something
fine."

I ran out in auroral excitement, and sure enough
here was another aurora, as novel and wonderful as
the marching rainbow-colored columns — a glowing
silver bow spanning the Muir Inlet in a magnificent
arch right under the zenith, or a little to the south
of it, the ends resting on the top of the mountain-
walls. And though colorless and steadfast, its in-
tense, solid, white splendor, noble proportions, and
fineness of finish excited boundless admiration. In
form and proportion it was like a rainbow, a bridge of

[315I

"Travels in Alaska

one span five miles wide; and so brilliant, so fine and
solid and homogeneous in every part, I fancy that if
all the stars were raked together into one windrow,
fused and welded and run through some celestial
rolling-mill, all would be required to make this one
glowing white colossal bridge.

After my last visitor went to bed, I lay down on the
moraine in front of the cabin and gazed and watched.
Hour after hour the wonderful arch stood perfectly
motionless, sharply defined and substantial-looking as
if it were a permanent addition to the furniture of the
sky. At length while it yet spanned the inlet in serene
unchanging splendor, a band of fluffy, pale gray,
quivering ringlets came suddenly all in a row over
the eastern mountain-top, glided in nervous haste up
and down the under side of the bow and over the
western mountain-wall. They were about one and a
half times the apparent diameter of the bow in length,
maintained a vertical posture all the way across, and
slipped swiftly along as if they were suspended like
a curtain on rings. Had these lively auroral fairies
marched across the fiord on the top of the bow instead
of shuffling along the under side of it, one might have
fancied they were a happy band of spirit people on a
journey making use of the splendid bow for a bridge.
There must have been hundreds of miles of them; for
the time required for each to cross from one end of
the bridge to the other seemed only a minute or less,
while nearly an hour elapsed from their first appear-
ance until the last of the rushing throng vanished
behind the western mountain, leaving the bridge as

[316I

Auroras

bright and solid and steadfast as before they arrived.
But later, half an hour or so, it began to fade. Fis-
sures or cracks crossed it diagonally through which a
few stars were seen, and gradually it became thin and
nebulous until it looked like the Milky Way, and at
last vanished, leaving no visible monument of any
sort to mark its place.

I now returned to my cabin, replenished the fire,
warmed myself, and prepared to go to bed, though too
aurorally rich and happy to go to sleep. But just as
I was about to retire, I thought I had better take
another look at the sky, to make sure that the glorious
show was over; and, contrary to all reasonable expec-
tations, I found that the pale foundation for another
bow was being laid right overhead like the first. Then
losing all thought of sleep, I ran back to my cabin,
carried out blankets and lay down on the moraine
to keep watch until daybreak, that none of the sky
wonders of the glorious night within reach of my
eyes might be lost.

I had seen the first bow when it stood complete in
full splendor, and its gradual fading decay. Now I
was to see the building of a new one from the begin-
ning. Perhaps in less than half an hour the silvery
material was gathered, condensed, and welded into a
glowing, evenly proportioned arc like the first and in
the same part of the sky. Then in due time over the
eastern mountain-wall came another throng of rest-
less electric auroral fairies, the infinitely fine pale-
gray garments of each lightly touching those of their
neighbors as they swept swiftly along the under

[ 317 1

"Travels in Alaska

side of the bridge and down over the western moun-
tain like the merry band that had gone the same way
before them, all keeping quivery step and time to
music too fine for mortal ears.

While the gay throng was gliding swiftly along, I
watched the bridge for any change they might make
upon it, but not the slightest could I detect. They
left no visible track, and after all had passed the
glowing arc stood firm and apparently immutable,
but at last faded slowly away like its glorious prede-
cessor.

Excepting only the vast purple aurora mentioned
above, said to have been visible over nearly all the
continent, these two silver bows in supreme, serene,
supernal beauty surpassed everything auroral I ever
beheld.

THE END

Index

Index

Adams, Mr., 288.

Admiralty Island, 128, 242.

Alaska, coast scenery, 13-18; length
of coast-line, 14; climate, 36-43,
196; fisheries, 214.

Albatrosses, 4.

Alder, 91.

Alexander Archipelago, trip through,
13 ^/ seq.; extent, 14; glacial geol-
ogy, 16, 17.

Alpenglow, 242.

Apple, wild, 32.

Atmosphere, 37-40, 42.

Auk Glacier, 180, 278.

Auk Indians, ^ee Indians.

Auroras, 314-18.

Axes, 140.

Bear, black, 122.
Bear, brown, 245.
Beaver, 122.
Berg Lake, 296, 299.
Berg-waves, 229, 230.
Berner's Bay, 165, 178.
Berries, 30, 31. See also Huckle-
berries and Salmon-berries.
Berry-pickers, 30-33.
Big Stickeen Glacier, 46-48, 103-

13-
Birds, 122, 213; at Muir Glacier,

284, 287. See also under species.
Blindness, snow, 306-10.
Brady Glacier. See Taylor Bay

Glacier.
Braided Glacier, 296.
British Columbia, visit to, 6-8, 12;

along the coast, 13 ^/ seq.
Brooks, Mr., of Juneau, 278.
Bryanthus, 92.

Buck Station, 103.
Buck's, 47.

California, coast of, 5.

Calypso borealis, 1 10.

Camp-fires, first Alaskan camp-
fire, 22-24; pleasures of, 24; in
a can, 302-04.

Canoes, Alaskan Indian, 29, 30;
adventures in, 192, 193; advan-
tages of travel by, 208; size and
equipment, 208.

Cape Fanshawe, 59, 186, 189, 210,
277.

Cape Gardner, 128.

Cape Spencer, 244.

Cape Vanderpeut, 191, 192.

Cape Wimbledon, 243, 258.

Caribou, 84.

"Caribou," 78.

Caribou Camp, 78.

Carliss, Dr., 236.

Carpenter-shop, night in, 20.

Carroll, Capt., 267, 281.

Carroll Glacier, 154.

Case, Mr., 311.

Cassiar, steamer, cruise, 56-75;
trouble caused by salt water in
her boilers, 59, 60, 63.

Cassiar gold-mines, 26, 27, 44.

Cassiope, 92, 266, 296.

Cassiope tetragona, 290.

Cedar, Alaska, 237.

Cedar, yellow, 163, 164, 188.

Charley. See Sitka Charley.

Chatham Strait, 116, 128, 135, 270.

Chilcat Glacier. See Davidson
Glacier.

Chilcat Indians. See Indians.

[ 321 ]

Index

Choquette, Mr., 104, 105, 113.
City of Pueblo, steamer, 273, 274.
Climate, of southeastern Alaska,

36-43, 196.
Coal, n.
Coast Range, excursion up Stickeen

River across, 44-50; adventure

on a peak of, 50-55; view of from

Glenora Peak, 93-96.
Collector of customs, at Wrangell,

23, 31, 32-
Columbia River, 12.
Cross Sound, 244.
Cushing, Mr., of Cleveland, 286.

Dakota, steamer, 3.

Davidson Glacier, or Chilcat Gla-
cier, 116, 166, 167, 278.

Dease Creek, 79.

Dease Lake, 79.

Deer, 122.

Deer Bay, 118.

Defot Creek, 79, 80, 84.

Devil-fish, 188.

Devil's-club, or panax (Echino-
■panax korridum), 99, III, 239.

Dipper. See Ousel.

Dirt Glacier (Glacier Bay), 297.

Dirt Glacier (Stickeen), 48, 97-103.

Divide Glacier, 296.

Dogs, two fine, 78. See also Stickeen.

Douglas Island, 180, 181, 277, 278.

Dundas Bay, 258-61.

Eagle, bald, 213, 284.
Eagle Glacier, 278.
Echiveria, 92.
Esquimault Harbor, 6.

Fairweather Range, 147, 149, 266,
288, 291; sunrise light on, 152,

153-
Farewell Island, 243.
Ferns, on Sum Dum Bay, 224.
Fire, a wonderful camp-fire, 22-24.

Flowers, at Wrangell, 32; on the
Cassiar Trail, 81, 83; of Glenora
Peak, 90-93; on Sum Dum Bay,
219, 224; near Muir Glacier, 266,
267, 287, 290, 291, 295, 296; at
Victoria, 275.

Forests, on eastern flank of Coast
Range, 49, 50; on coast, 61, 62;
of the Cassiar Trail, 79; on Glen-
ora Peak, 91; reproduction, 123;
near Chilcat, 175, 176; of Doug-
las Island, 180, 181; near Port
Houghton Bay, 187, 188; on
Stephens Passage, 237; on the
islands north of Victoria, 275; a
ruined forest, 292, 310, 311.

Fort Wrangell. See Wrangell.

Fraser River, 8.

Geikie Glacier, 144, 158.

George W. Elder, steamer, 286.

Geranium, blue, 91.

Gertrude, steamer, 97.

Girdled Glacier, 296, 299.

Glacial action, in the Alexander
Archipelago, 16, 17.

Glacier, Auk, 180, 278; Big Stick-
een, 46-48, 103-13; Brady, see
Taylor Bay; Braided, 296; Car-
roll, 154; Chilcat, see Davidson;
Davidson, 116, 166, 167, 278;
Dirt (Glacier Bay), 297; Dirt
(Stickeen), 48, 97-103; Divide,
296; Eagle, 278; Geikie, 144, 158;
Girdled, 296, 299; Grand Pacific,
148-51, 314; Granite Cafion, 297;
Gray, 297; Hoona, 148, 151;
Hugh Miller, 147; Muir, 158,
262-70, 279-318; Norris, 277;
Pacific, see Grand Pacific; Reid,
154; Taylor Bay, 244-56, 261;
Thunder, 193, 194; Toyatte, 204;
Wrangell, 116.

Glacier Bay, first heard of, 134,
135; discovery, 140-45; explora-

[ 322 ]

Index

tion, 145-60; age, 159; formation,
160; second visit, 262-70; visit in
1890, 279-318; only trees on
shores of, 295.

Glaciers, 57-59, 69; of the Alexander
Archipelago, 16; a lesson on, 57,
58; exploring a glacier, 63-68;
formation of kettle holes, 106,
155; breaking off rock-fragments,
112; of Glacier Bay, 144-60;
apparent luminosity, 157; melt-
ing of sea-level glaciers, 159; of
Lynn Canal, 164; of Sum Dum
Bay, 183, 217, 218, 222, 225-32;
near Cape Vanderpeut, 192, 209;
of the Taku Fiord, 239-42, 277;
adventure with a dog on Taylor
Bay Glacier, 246-257; crevasses,
249, 251-56, 304, 309, 310; wells
and moulins, 250, 303; a Scandi-
navian sea-captain on, 274; roll-
ing and grinding of stones on, 298;
melting and freezing, 304, 305;
formation of gravel-beds, 308, 309.

Glenora, 43, 45, 50, 89, 90.

Glenora Peak, 90-96.

Goats, mountain, 216, 296, 299, 302.

Gold, 80.

Grand Pacific Glacier, 148-51, 314.

Granite Caiion Glacier, 297.

Granite Island, 307.

Grasses, 84.

Gray Glacier, 297.

Gulls, 4, 15, 38, 292.

Harebell, 91.

Hemlock, 166; an old, 123.

Hemlock, mountain, 175, 295.

Hemlock Mountain, 294.

Hobart Point, 186.

Hoona Glacier, 148, 151.

Hoona Indians, ^ee Indians.

Hootchenoo, 202.

Hootsenoo Indians. See Indians.

Howling Valley, 296.

Huckleberries, 31, 92, 119, 232.
Hugh Miller Fiord, 312, 314.
Hugh Miller Glacier, 147.
Hummingbird, 308.
Hunter Joe, Stickeen Indian, 208,

215, 235, 245.
Hutli Bay, 209.

Ice, industry, 59.

Icebergs, birth, no, 268, 269, 280-
82, 284-86; in Glacier Bay, 144-
48, 150, 153-58, 279-82, 290,
292, 293, 312-14; "fossil" ice-
bergs, 155; near Taku Fiord, 181,
182; in Sum Dum Bay, 184,
185, 214-18, 225-32; an iceberg
weathered to the form of a cross,
193; at mouth of Wrangell Nar-
rows, 193, 194; near Hutli Bay,
209; difficult navigation among,
215; breaking up, 215, 216;
waves caused by, 229, 230; col-
ors, 232, 242; of the Taku Fiord,
240-42, 277; in a lake, 251; from
the Muir Glacier, 263, 268, 269;
in phosphorescent water, 269; a
large berg, 293; in Berg Lake,
296; a narrow escape from crush-
ing, 313-

Icy Bay. See Glacier Bay.

Icy Strait, 116, 135, 243, 270.

Indians, alarmed by a camp-fire,
23, 24; Stickeens at Wrangell, 27-
36; berry-picking, 30-33; Stick-
eens adopt Muir into the tribe,
33, 34; dinner and dance, 33-36;
visit to a deserted village, 70-74;
totem poles, 72-74; Toltan, or
Stick, Indians, 76, 77; hunting
caribou, 84; on the march, 84, 85;
Kitty and her crew, 89; two
canoe-men, 97, 98, 103; crew of
canoe voyage to Chilcat, 1 15-17,
119, 120, 122-24, 128, 132-36,
140-47, ISO, 156, 163, 165, 167,

[ 323

Index

170, 171, 174-76, 178-83, 185-

95; an anxious mother, 115, 116;
Kake Indians, 118, 119, 124-27;
playing, 119, 120; deer-hunting,
122; on the calls of geese, etc.,
122; on wolves, 124; farming,
128; funerals, 125, 178; readiness
to receive religious instruction,
126, 127, 130, 137, 161, 162, 172,
198; a crying child, 127, 128;
Hootsenoos, 128-33, 173, 178;
treatment of children, 129-31,
138, 198; food, 129, 130, 161, 170,
178, 187, 188; a drunken village,
131-33; Chilcats, 134, 161, 164,

165, \(i^-^^\ Hoonas, 135-43.

161-66, 2ia-i2, 243, 258-62;
dignity, 135-38; Muir's speeches
to, 136, 137, 171, 173, 174; a
grasping Hoona, 140; a party of
seal-hunters, 141-43; the Hoona
guide, 143, 146, 148, 157; making
whiskey, 161, 178, 202; a chief's
house, 163; bodies of slaves un-
buried, 167; reception at a Chil-
cat village, 169-74; politeness,
169; slaves, 174; Auk Indians,
179-81; Taku Indians, 190, 191,
202-04, 238, 240, 241; physical
characteristics, 197; willingness
to work, 197; thrift, 197; courage
and sense of honor, 197; sym-
pathy, 197, 198; doctrine of
atonement, 198-204; Sitkas, 198,
199; self-sacrifice of a Stickeen
chief, 198, 199; Chief Shakes and
the white man's religion, 200,
201; Toyatte's admission to the
Church, 201, 202; Toyatte's
noble death, 202-04; crew on
trip of 1880, 208, 210-13, 215-
18, 220-22, 225, 228-30, 235,
237-39, 24s, 261-63, 270; trade,
210; nursing babies, 212; hunt-
ing mountain goats, 216; on for-

mation of rain and soil, 221; vil-
lage at Sum Dum Bay, 233;
superstitions about animals, 235-
37; a deserted village, 238; two
seal-hunters among the icebergs,
240, 241; an offended Hoona,
258, 261; a dignified old sub-
chief, 259-62; clothing, 260; an
instance of politeness, 261, 262;
at Muir Glacier, 284, 294.
Island of the Standing Stone,

117.
Islands, formation and glaciation,
27s, 276.

Jackson, Dr. Sheldon, 20 and note.

Joe. See Hunter Joe.

John, Stickeen Indian, 115, 117,
119, 120, 124, 128, 136, 141, 142,
150, 165, 170, 171, 173, 174, 183,
186, 189, 195.

Juan de Fuca, Straits of, 6, 8.

Juneau, 277, 278.

Kadachan, Chief, 70, 71, 74; on
canoe voyage, 115, 116, 119, 124,
127, 133, 141, 146, 150, 163, 16s,
171, 174-76, 194; talks about
wolves, 124.

Ka-hood-00-shough, a Hoona sub-
chief, 259-62.

Kake Indians. See Indians.

Kashoto, Hoona chief, 135-39.

Kerr, Mark Brickell, 276.

Kettle holes, 106, 155.

Kiku Strait, 116.

Killisnoo, 130.

Kitty, an Indian woman, 89.

Klugh-Quan, 125.

Klunastucksana, 258-61.

Kupreanof Island, 116.

Lane, Capt. Nat, 55.
Le Claire, a French Canadian, 80-
86.

324

Index

Ledum tea, 189.

Lichens, 118.

Linnaea, 32, 78.

Long Beach, Wash., 274.

Loomis, Mr., on trip to Muir Gla-
cier, 275, 281, 294, 299.

Lynn Canal, n6, 134, 163, 164, 243,
278, 279.

McDames Creek, 79.

Marmot, Parry's, 138.

Marmots, 85, 295. See also Wood-
chucks.

Mill, quartz-crushing, 277, 278.

Miners, 26, 27, 86; a French Cana-
dian, 80-86; party in Sum Dum
Bay, 183, 184, 186.

Missionaries, at Wrangell, 19-21;
excursion with, 56-75. See also
Young, Rev. Samuel Hall.

Moneses, 243.

Moraines, island, 159; Cape Van-
derpeut, 192, 209; of Muir Gla-
cier, 282, 283; of washed pebbles,
298.

Mosses, 121, 209, 244.

Moulins, 250, 303.

Mt. Baker, 10.

Mt. Crillon, 266, 291.

Mt. Fairweather, 266, 281, 291.

Mt. Hood, 10.

Mt. La Perouse, 266, 291.

Mt. Lituya, 266, 291.

Mt. Rainier, 9, 10.

Mt. St. Elias, 95, 276, 278.

Mountains, an adventure in moun-
tain-climbing, 50-55; actual and
apparent height, 279.

Muir Glacier, discovery, 158; second
visit to, 262-70; icebergs dis-
charged from, 263, 268, 269; size
and drainage area, 264; size of
wall, 267, 282; visit in 1890, 279-
318; moraines, 282, 283; trees
broken off by, 282, 283, 292; rate

of speed, 293; sled-trip on, 294-
311; crevasses, 304; a drop into a
water-filled crevasse, 309, 310.
Muir Inlet, 315.

News, real, 195.

Niles, Prof. William Harmon, 276.
Norris Glacier, 277.
Nunatak Islands, 280, 288, 289,
294, 309, 310-

Olympia, 9.

Olympic Mountains, 8, 9.
Oregon, coast of, 6, 273.
Ousel, water, 185.

Pacific Fiord, 149.

Pacific Glacier, 148-51, 314.

Panax. See Devil's-club.

Peril Strait, 270.

Phosphorescence, 211, 212, 269.

Pine, contorted, 273.

Pine, tamarac or black, 49.

Point Vanderpeut. See Cape Van-

derpeut.
Point Wimbledon, 243, 258.
Porcupines, as food, 179.
Porpoises, 4, 5.
Port Houghton Bay, 186.
Port Townsend, 11, 12, 275.
Portland, Ore., 12.
Prince Frederick Sound, 1 1 6, 128.
Prince of Wales Island, 116.
Pseudotsuga douglasii. See Spruce,

Douglas.
Ptarmigan, 287, 295, 298, 299.
Puget Sound, 8-12.

Quarry Mountain, 305, 306.

Queen, steamer, trip to Muir Gla-
cier on, 275-81 ; touches at Glacier
Bay again, 292, 293.

Race Rocks, 273.

Raven, 207; eating a tom-cod, 293;

[ 325 ]

Index

two disappointed birds, 300, 301;
eyesight, 301.

Redwood, 273.

Reid, Prof. Harry Fielding, 28,
286, 288,311,315.

Reid Glacier, 154.

Russell, Mr., of the Geological Sur-
vey, 276, 278.

Salmon, ^G, yj; in phosphorescent
water, 211, 212; a struggling mul-
titude, 213, 214; fishery, 214;
canneries, 279.

Salmon-berries, 232, 246, 260.

Sea voyage, 3-5.

Sea-captain, a skeptical, 274.

Seals, 150.

Seattle, 11.

Sericocarpus, 92.

Shakes, Chief of Stickeen Indians,
35, 36; attitude towards Chris-
tianity, 200, 201.

Shamans, 172, 236.

Sheep, mountain, 165.

Sit-a-da-kay, 143.

Sitka, 270.

Sitka Charley, 115, 117, 119, 134,
140, 141, 143, 150, 159, i6s, 17s,
178, 189, 195.

Sitka Indians. See Indians.

Sitka Jack, 164, 176.

Smart Billy, half-breed, 208, 21 5.

Smilacina unifolia, 119.

Snow, at Wrangell, 42, 43.

Snow Dome, 297-300.

Soutchoi Strait, 194, 209.

Spruce, seedlings on a prostrate,
123.

Spruce (Picea alba), 49, 50.

Spruce, Douglas {Pseudotsuga doug-
lasii), 10, II.

Spruce, Menzies, 237.

Spruce, Mertens, 237.

Spruce, Sitka, 133, 187; ruins of a
forest, 292, 310, 311.

Squirrel, Douglas, 87, IIO.

Stephens Passage, 182, 237, 239,
242.

Stick Indians. See Indians.

Stickeen, the dog, in phosphorescent
water, 212; enjoying a storm,
244; adventures on a glacier, 246-

57.

Stickeen Indians. See Indians.

Stickeen River, 26, 43, 194; excur-
sion up, 44-55; course, 44, 45;
second trip up, 76-113.

Strawberries, 246.

Sum Dum Bay, 116, 159, 182-86,
214-34, 278.

Sumner Strait, 116.

Sunrise, 37; light on mountaintops,

152, 153-
Sunsets, at sea, 5; in Alaska, 39, 40.
Swans, 122.

Tacoma, 10, 11.

Tahoma, 9.

Taku Fiord, 181, 182, 239-41, 277.

Taku Indians. See Indians.

Taku River, 241, 277.

Taverns, along the Cassiar trail,
87, 88.

Taylor Bay, 244-58.

Taylor Bay Glacier, or Brady
Glacier, 244, 245, 261; adventure
with the dog Stickeen on, 246-

57-

Telegraph Creek, 76, 89.

Thibert Creek, 79-81.

Thrush, 61.

Thunder Bay, 209.

Thunder Glacier, 193, 194.

Toltan Indians. See Indians.

Totem poles, 72-74.

Tourists, behavior of, 293.

Toyatte, Stickeen Indian, captain
on canoe voyage, 115-17, 120,
124, 127, 128, 133-36, 141, 146,
147, 163, 165, 171, 174-76, 179,

[ 326 ]

Index

i8o, 182, 183, 185-87, 189, 191-
94; out of humor, 165; enmity
with Chilcats, 174-76; opinion of
the Auk tribe, 179, 180; his noble
speech when admitted to the
Church, 201, 202; his death for
his people, 202-04; his dignity,
204.

Toyatte Glacier, 204.

Trees, at Wrangell, 32; remarkable
growth of mosses on, 121, 122; in
moraines of Muir Glacier, 282,
283, 292.

Trout, 181.

Tyeen, Captain, Stickeen Indian,
208, 211, 212, 215-18, 220, 23s,
262, 263.

Valley, a Yosemite-like, 221-24.
Vancouver, George, 159.
Vancouver Island, 6-8.
Vanderbilt, Mr., a Wrangell mer-
chant, 20, 21, 33, 56, 195, 196.
Vanderbilt, Annie, 21.
Veratrum, 92.
Vetch, 119.
Victoria, B.C., 6-8, 12, 275.

Ward's, ^T, 88.
Washington, coast of, 6, 273.
Water-ousel, 185.

Waterfalls, an interesting fall, 121;
in Sum Dum Bay, 222, 223.

Whales, 4, 5, 275.

White Glacier, 299.

Willows, dwarf, 92.

Wilson's, 78.

Wolves, the Indians' opinion of,

124; howling, 297.
Wood, "fossil," 282, 283, 289, 296,

297, 305, 307.

Woodchucks, 287. See also Mar-
mot.

Wrangell, first visit to, 18-46; de-
scription, 25-28; weather, 28, 40-
43; excursions from, 44-195; a
month in, 196; arrival in 1880,
207; departure, 208; visit in 1890,
276.

Wrangell Glacier, 116, 277.

Wrangell Island, 25, 195.

Wrangell Narrows, 69, 193, 276.

Wright, Prof., 291.

Yana Taowk, a Kake chief, 127.

Young, Rev. Samuel Hall, 24, 33,
65, 66, 197, 198; mountain-
climbing adventure, 50-55; on
canoe voyage to Chllcat, 114-
95, passim; preaching to In-
dians, 126, 127, 130, 136, 161,
171, 173, 180, 188; at the time of
Toyatte's death, 203, 204; on
second trip to Glacier Bay, 208,
211,225,233,239,245,258,259,
261, 262.

Glossary

of Words in the Chinook Jargon

Boston: English.

Chuck : Water, stream.

Delait : Very, or very good.

Friday: Shoreward.

Hi yu : A great quantity of, plenty of.

Hootckenoo : A native liquor. See page 202.

Hyas : Big, very.

Klosh: Good.

Kumtux : Know, understand.

Mika: You, your {singular).

Muck-a-muck : Food.

Poogh : Shoot, shooting.

Sagh-a-ya : How do you do?

Skookum: Strong.

Skookum-kouse : Jail.

Tillicum: Friend.

Tola : Lead {verb).

Tucktay: Seaward.

Tumtum : Mind, heart.

fFaufa : Talk {noun or verb).

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