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 coming of the whites. Our Indians, however, dreaded this crossing
so late in the season. They spoke of it repeatedly 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, “perhaps 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 welcomed by everybody. Men, women, and
children made haste to the beach to meet us, the children staring 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 curious
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, laughing 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 corner 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 taste it even for manner’s sake. This
disgust, however, 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 presided 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 meeting. Mr. Young
delivered the usual missionary sermon 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 inspired 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 prevailing patriarchal form of government
each tribe is divided into comparatively few families; and because of
quarrels, the chief of this branch moved his people to this little bay,
where the beach offered a good landing for canoes. A stream which
enters it yields abundance 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 benevolent 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 Indians, and I never felt more at home. The
loving kindness 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 hereabouts is
mostly a beautiful blue marble, waveworn into a multitude of small
coves and ledges. Fine sections were thus revealed along the shore,
which with their colors, brightened with showers and late-blooming
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 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 approached the landing, the demoniac howling so
greatly increased I tried to dissuade Mr. Young from attempting 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 meaning 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 information. 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 suddenly withdrawn. Not a
single person was to be seen on the street. At length a couple of old,
crouching 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
suddenly 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 misunderstanding, 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 majesty, 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 back 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 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 headlands 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 cañons of the Chilcat and
Chilcoot Rivers. But rumors of trouble among the Indians there now
reached us. We found a party taking shelter from the stormy wind in a
little cove, who confirmed the bad news that the Chilcats 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 quarrels 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 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 Chatham
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 picturesque 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 approached. 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 chief’s 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, 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 accordance 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 exercises the chief arose and said that he
would now like to hear what the other white chief had to say. I
directed 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 become interested in their
welfare; that I seemed this 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-off
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
interested, 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 darkness, but eager for light; that
they would gladly welcome 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 resembled 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
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 uneducated 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 which
these cautious, thoughtful animals met strangers 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.
