CHAPTER XVIII

The many people who innocently believe that there are no birds in Alaska may be surprised to learn that there are, at least, fifty different species in the southeastern part of that country.

Among these are the song sparrow, the rufous humming-bird, the western robin, of unfailing cheeriness, the russet-backed thrush, the barn swallow, the golden-crowned kinglet, the Oregon Junco, the winter wren, and the bird that, in liquid clearness and poignant sweetness of note, is second only to the western meadow-lark--the poetic hermit thrush.

He that has heard the impassioned notes of this shy bird rising from the woods of Sitka will smile at the assertion that there are no birds in Alaska.

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On the way to Indian River is the museum, whose interesting and valuable contents were gathered chiefly by Sheldon Jackson, and which still bears his name.

Dr. Jackson has been the general Agent of Education in Alaska since 1885, and the Superintendent of Presbyterian Missions since 1877. His work in Alaska in early years was, undoubtedly, of great value.

The museum stands in an evergreen grove, not far from the road. Here may be found curios and relics of great value. It is to be regretted, however, that many of the articles are labelled with the names of collectors instead of those of the real donors--at least, this is the information voluntarily given me by some of the donors.

In the collection is an interesting war bonnet, which was donated by Chief Kath-le-an, who planned and carried out the siege of 1878.

It was owned by one of Kath-le-an's ancestors. It is made of wood, carved into a raven's head. It has been worked and polished until the shell is more like velvet than wood, and is dyed black.

It was many years ago a polite custom of the Thlinkits to paint and oil the face of a visitor, as a matter of hospitality and an indication of friendly feeling and respect.

A visitor from another tribe to Sitka fell ill and died, shortly after having been so oiled and honored, and his people claimed that the oil was rancid,--or that some evil spell had been oiled into him,--and a war arose.

The Sitka tribe began the preparation of the raven war bonnet and worked upon it all summer, while actual hostilities were delayed.

As winter came on, Kath-le-an's ancestor one day addressed his young men, telling them that the new war bonnet on his head would serve as a talisman to carry them to a glorious victory over their enemies.

Through the battle that followed, the war bonnet was everywhere to be seen in the centre of the most furious fighting. Only once did it go down, and then only for a moment, when the chief struggled to his feet; and as his young men saw the symbol of victory rising from the dust, the thrill of renewed hope that went through them impelled them forward in one splendid, simultaneous movement that won the day.

In 1804 Kath-le-an himself wore the hat when his people were besieged for many days by the Russians.

On this occasion the spell of the war bonnet was broken; and upon his utter defeat, Kath-le-an, feeling that it had lost its charm for good luck, buried the unfortunate symbol in the woods.

Many years afterward Kath-le-an exhumed the hat and presented it to the museum.

"We will hereafter dwell in peace with the white people," he said; "so my young men will never again need the war bonnet."

Kath-le-an has to this day kept his word. He is still alive, but is nearly ninety years old.

Interesting stories and myths are connected with a large number of the relics in the museum--to which the small admission fee of fifty cents is asked.

One of the early picturesque block-houses built by the Russians still stands in a good state of preservation on a slight eminence above the town, on the way to the old cemetery.

The story of the lowering of the Russian flag, and the hoisting of the American colors at Sitka, is fraught with significance to the superstitious.

The steamship _John L. Stevens_, carrying United States troops from San Francisco, arrived in Sitka Harbor on the morning of October 9, 1867. The gunboats _Jamestown_ and _Resaca_ had already arrived and were lying at anchor. The _Ossipee_ did not enter the harbor until the morning of the eighteenth.

At three o'clock of the same day the command of General Jefferson C. Davis, about two hundred and fifty strong, in full uniform, armed and handsomely equipped, were landed, and marched to the heights where the famous Governor's Castle stood. Here they were met by a company of Russian soldiers who took their place upon the left of the flagstaff.

The command of General Davis formed on the right. The United States flag, which was to float for the first time in possession of Sitka, was in the care of a color guard--a lieutenant, a sergeant, and ten men.

Besides the officers and troops, there were present the Prince and Princess Matsukoff, many Russian and American residents, and some interested Indians.

It was arranged by Captain Pestchouroff and General Lovell N. Rosseau, Commissioner for the United States, that the United States should lead in firing the first salute, but that there should be alternate guns from the American and Russian batteries--thus giving the flag of each nation a double national salute.

The ceremony was begun by the lowering of the Russian flag--which caused the princess to burst into passionate weeping, while all the Russians gazed upon their colors with the deepest sorrow and regret marked upon their faces.

As the battery of the _Ossipee_ led off in the salute and the deep peals crashed upon Mount Verstovi and reverberated across the bay, an accident occurred which has ever been considered an omen of misfortune.

The Russian flag became entangled about the ropes, owing to a high wind, and refused to be lowered.

The staff was a native pine, about ninety feet in height. Russian soldiers, who were sailors as well, at once set out to climb the pole. It was so far to the flag, however, that their strength failed ere they reached it.

A "boatswain's chair" was hastily rigged of rope, and another Russian soldier was hoisted to the flag. On reaching it, he untangled it and then made the mistake of dropping it to the ground, not understanding Captain Pestchouroff's energetic commands to the contrary.

It fell upon the bayonets of the Russian soldiers--which was considered an ill omen for Russia.

The United States flag was then slowly hoisted by George Lovell Rosseau, and the salutes were fired as before, the Russian water battery leading this time.

The hoisting of the flag was so timed that at the exact instant of its reaching its place, the report of the last big gun of the _Ossipee_ roared out its final salute.

Upon the completion of the salutes, Captain Pestchouroff approached the commissioner and said:--

"General Rosseau, by authority of his Majesty, the Emperor of Russia, I transfer to the United States the Territory of Alaska."

The transfer was simply accepted, and the ceremony was at an end.

No one understanding the American spirit can seriously condemn the Americans present for the three cheers which burst spontaneously forth; yet there are occasions upon which an exhibition of good taste, repression, and consideration for the people of other nationalities present is more admirable and commendable than a spread-eagle burst of patriotism.

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The last trouble caused by the Sitkan Indians was in 1878. The sealing schooner _San Diego_ carried among its crew seven men of the Kake-sat-tee clan. The schooner was wrecked and six of the Kake-sat-tees were drowned. Chief Kath-le-an demanded of Colonel M. D. Ball, collector of customs and, at that time, the only representative of the government in Sitka, one thousand blankets for the life of each man drowned.

Colonel Ball, appreciating the gravity of the situation, and desiring time to prepare for the attack which he knew would be made upon the town, promised to write to the company in San Francisco and to the government in Washington.

After a long delay a reply to his letter arrived from the company, which refused, as he had expected, to allow the claim, and stated that no wages, even, were due the men who were drowned.

The government--which at that time had a vague idea that Alaska was a great iceberg floating between America and Siberia--paid no attention to the plea for assistance.

When Chief Kath-le-an learned that payment in blankets would not be made, he demanded the lives of six white men. This, also, being refused, he withdrew to prepare for battle.

Then hasty preparations were made in the settlement to meet the hourly expected attack. All the firearms were made ready for action, and a guard kept watch day and night. The Russian women and children were quartered in the home of Father Nicolai Metropolsky; the Americans in the custom-house.

The Indians held their war feast many miles from Sitka. On their way to attack the village they passed the White Sulphur Hot Springs, on the eastern shore of Baranoff Island, and murdered the man in charge.

They then demanded the lives of five white men, and when their demand was again refused, they marched stealthily upon the settlement.

However, Sitka possessed a warm and faithful friend in the person of Anna-Hoots, Chief of the Kak-wan-tans. He and his men met the hostile party and, while attempting to turn them aside from their murderous purpose, a general fight among the two clans was precipitated.

Before the Kake-sat-tees could again advance, a mail-boat arrived, and the war passion simmered.

When the boat sailed, a petition was sent to the British authorities at Esquimault, asking, for humanity's sake, that assistance be sent to Sitka.

Kath-le-an had retreated for reenforcement; and on the eve of his return to make a second attack, H.M.S. _Osprey_ arrived in the harbor.

The appeal to another nation for aid, and the bitter newspaper criticism of its own indifference, had at last aroused the United States government to a realization of its responsibilities. The revenue cutter _Wolcott_ dropped anchor in the Sitka Harbor a few days after the _Osprey_; and from that time on Sitka was not left without protection.

Along the curving road to Indian River stands the soft gray Episcopal Church, St. Peter's-by-the-Sea. Built of rough gray stone and shingles, it is an immediate pleasure and rest to the eye.

"Its doors stand open to the sea, The wind goes thro' at will, And bears the scent of brine and blue To the far emerald hill."

Any stranger may enter alone, and passing into any pew, may kneel in silent communion with the God who has created few things on this earth more beautiful than Sitka.

No admission is asked. The church is free to the prince and the pauper, the sinner and the saint; to those of every creed, and to those of no creed at all.

The church has no rector, but is presided over by P. T. Rowe, the Bishop of All Alaska and the Beloved of All Men; him who carries over land and sea, over ice and everlasting snow, over far tundra wastes and down the lone and mighty Yukon in his solitary canoe or bidarka, by dog team and on foot, to white people and dark, and to whomsoever needs--the simple, sweet, and blessed message of Love.

It was in 1895 that Reverend P. T. Rowe, Rector of St. James' Church, Sault Sainte Marie, was confirmed as Bishop of Alaska. He went at once to that far and unknown land; and of him and his work there no words are ever heard save those of love and praise. He is bishop, rector, and travelling missionary; he is doctor, apothecary, and nurse; he is the hope and the comfort of the dying and the pall-bearer of the dead. He travels many hundreds of miles every year, by lone and perilous ways, over the ice and snow, with only an Indian guide and a team of huskies, to carry the word of God into dark places. He is equally at ease in the barabara and in the palace-like homes of the rich when he visits the large cities of the world.

Bishop Rowe is an exceptionally handsome man, of courtly bearing and polished manners. The moment he enters a church his personality impresses itself upon the people assembled to hear him speak.

On a gray August Sunday in Nome--three thousand miles from Sitka--I was surprised to see so many people on their way to midday service, Alaska not being famed for its church-going qualities.

"Oh, it is the Bishop," said the hotel clerk, smiling. "Bishop Rowe," he added, apparently as an after-thought. "Everybody goes to church when he comes to town."

I had never seen Bishop Rowe, and I had planned to spend the day alone on the beach, for the surf was rolling high and its musical thunder filled the town. Its lonely, melancholy spell was upon me, and its call was loud and insistent; and my heart told me to go.

But I had heard so much of Bishop Rowe and his self-devoted work in Alaska that I finally turned my back upon temptation and joined the narrow stream of humanity wending its way to the little church.

When Bishop Rowe came bending his dark head through the low door leading from the vestry, clad in his rich scarlet and purple and gold-embroidered robes, I thought I had never seen so handsome a man.

But his appearance was forgotten the moment he began to speak. He talked to us; but he did not preach. And we, gathered there from so many distant lands--each with his own hopes and sins and passions, his own desires and selfishness--grew closer together and leaned upon the words that were spoken there to us. They were so simple, and so earnest, and so sweet; they were so seriously and so kindly uttered.

And the text--it went with us, out into the sea-sweet, surf-beaten streets of Nome; and this was it, "Love me; and tell me so." Like the illustrious Veniaminoff, Bishop Rowe, of a different church and creed, and working in a later, more commercial age, has yet won his hold upon northern hearts by the sane and simple way of Love. The text of his sermon that gray day in the surf-beaten, tundra-sweet city of Nome is the text that he is patiently and cheerfully working out in his noble life-work.

Mr. Duncan, at Metlakahtla, has given his life to the Indians who have gathered about him; but Bishop Rowe, of All Alaska, has given his life to dark men and white, wherever they might be. Year after year he has gone out by perilous ways to find them, and to scatter among them his words of love--as softly and as gently as the Indians used to scatter the white down from the breasts of sea-birds, as a message of peace to all men.

The White Sulphur Hot Springs, now frequently called the Sitka Hot Springs, are situated on Hot Springs Bay on the eastern shore of Baranoff Island, almost directly east of Sitka.

The bay is sheltered by many small green islands, with lofty mountains rising behind the sloping shores. It is an ideally beautiful and desirable place to visit, even aside from the curative qualities of the clear waters which bubble from pools and crevices among the rocks. These springs have been famous since their discovery by Lisiansky in 1805. Sir George Simpson visited them in 1842; and with every year that has passed their praises have been more enthusiastically sung by the fortunate ones who have voyaged to that dazzlingly green and jewelled region.

The main spring has a temperature of one hundred and fifty-three degrees Fahrenheit, its waters cooking eggs in eight minutes. From this spring the baths are fed, their waters, flowing down to the sea, being soon reduced in temperature to one hundred and thirty degrees.

Filmy vapors float over the vicinity of the springs and rise in funnel-shaped columns which may be seen at a considerable distance, and which impart an atmosphere of mystery and unreality to the place.

Vegetation is of unusual luxuriance, even for this land of tropical growth; and in recent years experiments with melons and vegetables which usually mature in tropic climes only, have been entirely successful in this steamy and balmy region.

There are four springs, in whose waters the Indians, from the time of their discovery, have sought to wash away the ills to which flesh is heir. They came hundreds of miles and lay for hours at a time in the healing baths with only their heads visible. The bay was neutral ground where all might come, but where none might make settlement or establish claims.

The waters near abound in fish and water-fowl, and the forests with deer, bears, and other large game.

The place is coming but slowly to the recognition of the present generation. When the tropic beauty of its location and the curative powers of its waters are more generally known, it will be a Mecca for pilgrims.

The main station of Government Agricultural Experimental work in Alaska is located at Sitka. Professor C. C. Georgeson is the special agent in charge of the work, which has been very successful. It has accomplished more than anything else in the way of dispelling the erroneous impressions which people have received of Alaska by reading the descriptions of early explorers who fancied that every drift of snow was a living glacier and every feather the war bonnet of a savage.

In 1906, at Coldfoot, sixty miles north of the Arctic Circle, were grown cucumbers eight inches long, nineteen-inch rhubarb, potatoes four inches long, cabbages whose matured heads weighed eight pounds, and turnips weighing sixteen pounds--all of excellent quality.

At Bear Lake, near Seward and Cook Inlet, were grown good potatoes, radishes, lettuce, carrots, beets, rhubarb, strawberries, raspberries, Logan berries, blackberries; also, roses, lilacs, and English ivy. In this locality cows and chickens thrive and are profitable investments for those who are not too indolent to take care of them.

Alaskan lettuce must be eaten to be appreciated. During the hot days and the long, light hours of the nights it grows so rapidly that its crispness and delicacy of flavor cannot be imagined.

Everything in Alaska is either the largest, the best, or most beautiful, in the world, the people who live there maintain; and this soon grows to be a joke to the traveller. But when the assertion that lettuce grown in Alaska is the most delicious in the world is made, not a dissenting voice is heard.

Along the coast, sea-weed and fish guano are used as fertilizers; and soil at the mouth of a stream where there is silt is most desirable for vegetables.

In southeastern Alaska and along the coast to Kodiak, at Fairbanks and Copper Centre, at White Horse, Dawson, Rampart, Tanana, Council City, Eagle, and other places on the Yukon, almost all kinds of vegetables, berries, and flowers grow luxuriantly and bloom and bear in abundance. One turnip, of fine flavor, has been found sufficient for several people.

In the vicinity of the various hot springs, even corn, tomatoes, and muskmelons were successful to the highest degree.

On the Yukon cabbages form fine white, solid heads; cauliflower is unusually fine and white; beets grow to a good size, are tender, sweet, and of a bright red; peas are excellent; rhubarb, parsley, and celery were in many places successful. Onions seem to prove a failure in nearly all sections of the country; and potatoes, turnips, and lettuce are the prize vegetables.

Grain growing is no longer attempted. The experiment made by the government, in the coast region, proved entirely unsatisfactory. It will usually mature, but August, September, and October are so rainy that it is not possible to save the crop. It is, however, grown as a forage crop, for which purpose it serves excellently.

The numerous small valleys, coves, and pockets afford desirable locations for gardens, berries, and some varieties of fruit trees.

In the interior encouraging success has been obtained with grain. The experiments at Copper Centre have not been so satisfactory as at Rampart, three and a half degrees farther north, on the Yukon.

At Copper Centre heavy frosts occur as early as August 14; while at Rampart no "killing" frosts have been known before the grain had ripened, in the latter part of August.

Rampart is the loveliest settlement on the Yukon, with the exception of Tanana. Across the river from Rampart, the green fields of the Experimental Station slope down to the water. The experiments carried on here by Superintendent Rader, under the general supervision of Professor Georgeson--who visits the stations yearly--have been very satisfactory.

Experimental work was begun at Rampart in 1900, and grain has matured there every year, while at Copper Centre only one crop of four has matured. In 1906, owing to dry weather, the growth was slow until the middle of July; from that date on to the latter part of August there were frequent rains, causing a later growth of grain than usual. The result of these conditions was that when the first "killing" frost occurred, the grain was still growing, and all plats, save those seeded earliest, were spoiled for the finer purposes. The frosted grain was, however, immediately cut for hay, twenty tons of which easily sold for four thousand, one hundred and fifty-two dollars.

These results prove that even where grain cannot be grown to the best advantage, it may be profitably grown for hay. For the latter purpose larger growing varieties would be sown, which would produce a much heavier yield and bring larger profits. At present all the feed consumed in the interior by the horses of pack trains and of travellers is hauled in from tide-water,--a hundred miles, at least, and frequently two or three times as far,--and two hundred dollars a ton for hay is a low price. The actual cost of hauling a ton of hay from Valdez to Copper Centre, one hundred miles, is more than two hundred dollars.

Road-house keepers advertise "specially low" rates on hay at twenty cents a pound, the ordinary retail price at that distance from tide-water being five hundred dollars a ton.

The most serious drawback to the advancement of agriculture in Alaska is the lack of interest on the part of the inhabitants. Probably not fifty people could be found in the territory who went there for the purpose of making homes. Now and then a lone dreamer of dreams may be found who lives there--or who would gladly live there, if he might--only for the beauty of it, which can be found nowhere else; and which will soon vanish before the brutal tread of civilization.

The others go for gold. If they do not expect to dig it out of the earth themselves, they plan and scheme to get it out of those who have so acquired it. There is no scheme that has not been worked upon Alaska and the real workers of Alaska.

The schemers go there to get gold; honestly, if possible, but to get gold; to live "from hand to mouth," while they are there, and to get away as quickly as possible and spend their gold far from the country which yielded it. They have neither the time nor the desire to do anything toward the development of the country itself.

Ex-Governor John G. Brady is one of the few who have devoted their lives to the interest and the up-building of Alaska.

Thirty years ago he went to Alaska and established his home at Sitka. There he has lived all these years with his large and interesting family; there he still lives.

He has a comfortable home, gardens and orchards that leave little to be desired, and has demonstrated beyond all doubt that the man who wishes to establish a modern, comfortable--even luxurious--home in Alaska, can accomplish his purpose without serious hardship to his family, however delicate the members thereof may be.

The Bradys are enthusiasts and authorities on all matters pertaining to Alaska.

Governor Brady has been called the "Rose Governor" of Alaska, because of his genuine admiration for this flower. He can scarcely talk five minutes on Alaska without introducing the subject of roses; and no enthusiast has ever talked more simply and charmingly of the roses of any land than he talks of the roses of Alaska,--the cherished ones of the garden, and the big pink ones of Unalaska and the Yukon.

As missionary and governor, Mr. Brady has devoted many years to this splendid country; and the distressful troubles into which he has fallen of late, through no fault of his own, can never make a grateful people forget his unselfish work for the up-building and the civilization of Alaska.

To-day, Sitka is idyllic. Her charm is too poetic and too elusive to be described in prose. A greater contrast than she presents to such hustling, commercial towns as Juneau, Valdez, Cordova, and Katalla, could scarcely be conceived. To drift into the harbor of Sitka is like entering another world.

The Russian influence is still there, after all these years--as it is in Kodiak and Unalaska.