Part 11

August 2. With clothes on, and anticipation, slept poorly. Ship stopped about 1 a. m. and I imagined we were off Barrow. But on rising find that we have gone on and then backward again, encountering ever more ice. It is cold and foggy outside, and cloudy and gloomy. We now meander among the big floes, now and then bump into one until the whole ship heaves and shivers, and occasionally the siren, stop for a while to diminish the shock. We are now on way back to Wainwright. If we only could go as far back as Point Hope, where there is so much of interest. I might have stayed over, but would surely have reproached myself for missing the remainder of the coast.

Back off Wainwright, cold, windy, sky gloomy as usual.

Late in the afternoon go with the trader to land, to visit the site of an older village, about a mile down the shore. Walk along the beach. Cold wind, raincoat stiffens. Walrus meat and blubber chunks (slabs, etc.) along the beach at several places, also a large skinned seal. Traces, as one nears the village, of worked stones, but all waterworn and no finished objects. At one place in bank, about 3 feet deep, a layer of clear blue ice about 20 inches thick--strangely pure ice, not frozen earth or even inclusion of any dirt or gravel.

Village site small, along the edge of the low (about 10 feet) bluff. Count remains of eight dwellings. Some animal bones, but nothing else on surface or in vicinity. Burial place not seen. Companion says there is nothing.

A simple supper at the trader's, prepared by his Eskimo wife, and good company: Doctor Smith, of the Geological Survey, with two of his men; Jim Allen, the storekeeper, a big, good-hearted fellow; La Voy, the big, active movie man, who knows all the gossip and enjoys telling it with embellishment; and two men of the trader. Menu: Soup, boiled reindeer meat, underdone biscuits, coffee.

After supper go to a meeting at the school, where our missionary, Doctor Goodman, is to talk to the natives. Large schoolroom crowded. I talk through an interpreter--a serious disadvantage--on cleanliness. Fine study for me on the many present, though like elsewhere on such occasions they are mainly women and children. Good many Indianlike faces, though cheekbones more prominent and more flatness between them. But hair, low foreheads, eyes (except in children where they are more superficial, less sunken, and with more epicanthus than in Indians), lips, and other characteristics the same as in Indians. Some of the faces are strong, many among the younger pleasant, some of the young women handsome. A moderate number of mix bloods, even among the adults. Color of skin in full bloods medium to submedium brown, exactly as in full-blood Indians along the Yukon, but cheeks more dusky red.

The behavior of these people is in all important points radically that of the Indian, but they are more approachable and open and matter-of-fact people. More easily civilized. Good mechanics. Less superstitious, more easily converted to white man's religion. And good singers. Their singing at the meeting in the schoolhouse would have shamed a good many whites in this respect.

Except for epidemics, I am told, these natives would more than hold their own in numbers. They are fecund, if conditions are right. Sterility is rare. They marry fairly young.

August 3. Still standing, though we had to pull out farther south and away from the shore. The water was pretty rough and I had to go to bed again, but weather moderated.

We are in touch with the world through the ship's radio, but get more trash--same all through the radio service in Alaska--than serious news. Spend time in reading, talking; some play solitaire games; captain and Allen play cribbage. Deck too small for any outside games, even if it were not so cold.

Ice floes floating about us, now scarce, now thicker; water splashing against them and wearing them out into pillared halls, mushrooms, and other strange forms. Due to their snow covering, the water upon them, so far as it results from melting, is sweet, and in it swim many small fishes. It snowed a bit again to-day.

August 4. No change, except that the sea is somewhat calmer, and for a while we have once more seen the sun, but it was hazy and just mildly warm, while the same wind, from the sea, even though now subdued, has an icy undertone. It snowed a little this morning.

Thursday, August 5. Sea calm, atmosphere hazy, but the wind has turned at last slightly offshore and the sun penetrates through the mists, until it conquers and shines, warm and bright if not wholly clear, once more. Ice visible only on the horizon. At 7.15 we start on another effort to reach Barrow.

Pass Wainwright, and all is well until after lunch, when fog (though fortunately not thick) develops and the floes increase until they are as thick as at the first attempt in this same region. Heavy bumps and strains follow one another and the boat must often go very slow or even stop altogether. Sometimes the heavy ship just staggers from the impact, but the floes are generally broken by the shock and swirl away out of our way, or scraping the ship pass to the rear. All aboard show new interest and energy. The forced stops and inaction were dulling even to the crew.

File a wireless to be sent from Barrow. It will reach Washington to-morrow after we shall have started on the return journey.

Two dogs on board fight fiercely. An officer, the owner of one, trying to separate them is bitten by his own through a finger.

A marine, in swinging the heavy lead with which they are constantly sounding the depth, gets the cord caught about his hand and suffers a bad sprain with fracture.

The captain's little black cat, Peter, helps to entertain us by his antics. No wonder sailors in their often monotonous existence like all sorts of mascots.

Friday, August 6. Of course our dates got mixed, and more than one has to consult the calendar and count. The _Bear_ had to turn back once more last night; ice too heavy. Anchored, however, not far to south. This morning very cloudy, rainy, chilly, but wind from near to east, and so from about 6 a. m. we are once more laboriously on our way. Now and then a bump, heave, stagger, then again the screw resumes its cheerful song. We are passing through the most dangerous part of all the coast here where many vessels have been lost, sometimes whole small fleets of whalers. But very few come here now--we have seen but one since leaving Kotzebue. They call this stretch "the boat graveyard."

Saturday, August 7. Stalled, about 30 miles from Barrow. Anchored in the protection of a great grounded flat, in a clear pond of water, with ice all around it, but especially seaward, where the pack seems solid. Some open water reported beyond it, but wind (wild) keeps from the wrong quarter and the captain will make no further attempt until conditions change. Of course it is cloudy again and has rained some during the night and morning, but the temperature is somewhat higher, so that one does not need an overcoat and gloves, although the officers wear their sheep-lined short coats which are nice and warm.

After noon asked the captain for the skin whaleboat to explore the shore. The latter is nearly a mile distant and shows about 60 feet high dirt bluffs. Got the boat and went with the boatswain. Berg, a young "hand," Weenie, and the movie man, La Voy. Rowed with La Voy. Had a wholesome two and a half hours exploring. Found a little stream, with traces of native deer camp (collected two seal skulls); a moderate number of flowers and grasses (collected some mushrooms); some fossil shells from the bluffs; and two Eskimo burials. One of these, a woman, nearly all washed away and lost; of the other, a man, secured the skull, jaw, one shoulder blade and part of a diseased femur with corresponding socket (mushroom arthritis), also the two humeri. A good specimen. Returned, rowing again, near 4. All there playing cribbage and solitaire.

Am tempted to walk to Barrow; but there are some streams in the way which it might be impossible to ford. Moreover, no one knows the distance.

Sunday, August 8. Morning finds us once more thwarted, and standing at our place of refuge. No change in conditions, but there will be a change of moon to-night, so I at least have hopes. In my travels I learned too much about the moon not to believe in it. Toward evening ice begins to move out.

Monday, August 9. At 12.30 a. m., unexpectedly, a new start. The wind has turned at last (new moon!) to northeast, but is mild. Soon in ice. Many bumps and much creaking and shaking. Captain's collie gets scared and tries to get into our beds, one after another. But very little sleep under these conditions.

In the morning we find ourselves in a thicker ice field than any before, with floes on all sides. Boat barely creeps. Toward 10 a. m. further progress found almost impossible, and so forced to turn backward once more. However, can not even go back and so, near 12, anchor about a mile offshore opposite a small river with lagoon-like mouth and two tents of natives--"Shinara," or "Shinerara."

Ask captain for a boat to visit and explore the coast. Consents, and so at 1 we go forth, about eight of us, with the captain's dog. Reach Eskimo, photograph the group. All look remarkably Indianlike. Then go to look for skeletal material. Nothing near, so return for the Eskimo boy. He leads me about a mile over the highland tundra to two burials in boxes--not old. Look through crevices shows in one an adolescent, in the other a female (or a boy) with hair and skin still on. Leave both.

Then into the boat once more after buying some fossil teeth, and with the boy Isaac--his father is Abraham--try to go into the river, and soon get stuck in the stickiest mud (oily shale) imaginable--great work to clean even the oar with which we had to push ourselves off. Land then on the beach and for the next two hours explore that side of the basin. Find remains of two small settlements--seven huts in all, none very old.

Gather five skulls with parts of four skeletons, most bones missing; also some mushrooms, several interesting humeri of seals, and a piece of pumice-like fossil bone. Near 4.30 begins to rain a bit so we hurry to boat, and in a little while, after depositing Isaac near his camp, reach the _Bear_.

Eskimo on shore had two skinned seal lying on the ground, and there were many reindeer horns. A pile of them was over a fire, being smoked.

The wind has been the whole day from the northeast, the long-wished-for wind, and the ice has moved out sufficiently to induce the captain to make another start. So at 5 p. m. off we go again, and for quite a while the screw sings merrily, until we reach some remaining ice, when there are more bumps and staggers.

The waters about the ship show, whenever calmer, the heads of swimming seal, grown and little. But they are wary and keep at a distance. Otherwise the only live things are an occasional gull, and rarely a couple of ducks. In the icy water, however, on and about the floes, are seen again numerous small, dark fish (from the size of a big minnow to that of a tomcod); and along the shore swim merrily hundreds of very tame and graceful little snipes, lovely small birds, too little, luckily, to be hunted.

Little enthusiasm about my collecting, but the boatswain and some at least of the men are genuinely helpful. I believe some of the others are a bit superstitious. But I get some chance at least, and that is precious.

Expect to reach Barrow before 12 p. m., and to start back before morning--a big chance for some sleep again if I want to do some collecting. Sleep, through the frequent lack of it, has become a kind of obsession in one's thoughts, yet when there were chances during the days of waiting it would not come.

August 9, evening, to 10 next morning. This is a land of odds and wonders. In the morning things looked hopeless; toward evening the wind has driven away enough ice to make a narrow open lane near the shore, and utilizing this we arrived without difficulty at 8 p. m. at the long unreachable Barrow. At 9 boat takes us ashore. At 9.30 p. m. I start with an Eskimo and a seaman (Weenie) from the _Bear_ on a collecting trip over about 3 square miles of tundra behind Barrow, and at 12.30 return to ship with four bags of skulls and bones. But sleep! Hardly any since 12.30 last night, and very little after return to-day, for due to fear of ice they called in everybody from shore before 3 a. m., and the newcomers keep on walking and talking and banging with their baggage until 5, when, fearing a return of the ice, we start once more southward, toward--it feels strange, but it is so--home. It was a remarkable good fortune, our getting there thus and getting out again, as we did, without damage.

Barrow is a good-looking and rather important place. It stretches about 2 miles along the low shore, in three clusters, the two main ones separated by a lagoon. It has a radio station, a mission hospital, and a school. There are over 200 natives here, and also quite a few whites, including Mr. Charles Brower, the trader, observer and collector, with his native wife and their family, the teacher, the missionary and his family, and the nurses.

The burial place here is the most extensive in the Eskimo territory. Taking the older parts and the new, it covers over a square mile of the tundra, beginning not far beyond the site of the hospital and extending to and beyond a small stream that flows over a mile inland. But the burials were grouped in a few spots, the rest being barren.

This extensive burial ground is now about exhausted for scientific purposes, except for such skeletons and objects as may have been assimilated--i. e. buried--by the tundra. That such exist became quite evident during our search, and they naturally are the oldest and most valuable. We secured two good skulls of this nature. They were completely buried, only a little of the vault showing, and had there been time we should doubtless have found also parts of the skeletons. The skulls were discolored brown.

Of the later skeletal material we found but the leavings, the best having been carried off by other collectors. There were remnants of hundreds of skulls and skeletons, but for the most part so damaged as not to be worth saving. Nevertheless our diligent midnight search was not in vain, and we brought back four sacks full of specimens, the Eskimo carrying his with the utmost good nature. The destruction here is due to sailors and other whites and to dogs, foxes, and reindeer.

The reindeer herds, going in hundreds over the ground, help materially to scatter and damage the bones. So, the older material gone, while the more recent burials are, at least so far as the younger element is concerned, quite worthless to science, containing many mix bloods of all sorts--even occasionally with the negro (men from the wrecked whaleboats). The collection now secured was the last one possible from this locality, except through excavation.

Tuesday, August 10. The boat is now crowded. We lost one woman and got three; also about five or six men--newspaper, movie, radioman, a dog teamster, a trapper. Quite a variety, in every way, and most are to go with us at least as far as Nome. They will have to hang up two hammocks in our little cabin each night, and some must sleep elsewhere.

Packing the whole morning. Five boxes. My man of last night helping, a fine, big young fellow. This aid in the work is a great boon to me, and the transportation of the many specimens by the _Bear_ down to Seattle or San Francisco will be a fine service to the Institution.

The older of us, that is those who have been longer on the ship, feel like veterans and are drawn closer together. The new lot, heterogeneous, do not attract, particularly one of the women. An older one, evidently a well-liked nurse, goes off at Wainwright, which we reach once more at 8 p. m. Here goes off also Jim Allen, the trader, who is a good fellow in a rough shell and whom I learned to like. He helped us all a good deal while in the ice.

The movie man from Point Hope is a somewhat spoiled, gossipy, and roughshod, but otherwise, a good-hearted big kid--not very wise, but not mischievous, and more than efficient in his own calling. Is 40, but already aging, like a weather-beaten poplar--not pine or oak. Is violently against all "kikes," or eastern money-lending Jews, from whom he used to borrow at usurious interest and who sold him out once or twice when he could not pay.

Lost Jim Allen and dropped the nurse, but are still too many. At 10 p. m., just as the minister and I have retired, there comes a call for the former to go up. A couple of Eskimos have arrived, with their friends, to be married. So he dresses and performs the function. I am too weary to rise and dress to go and look at it. He says it was quite tame. Then the anchor, and once more we are off. No ice any more, and the sea has again a swell, which was absent in the ice-covered waters.

Wednesday, August 11. Swell, but not bad, though one of the women, another nurse, is ill, and the other, a "writer," etc., will not get up for breakfast. Quite a problem now to get washed and shaved. Both the minister (archdeacon) and the movie man like to use perfumed things, and the former takes much time with his toilet, so I endeavor as before to be first up.

August 12. A great day. Was called a little after 12.30 a. m., after but little sleep (through anticipation), to examine a site ashore--a coal mine, a water source, and possibly something human. Two miles to shore, in semidarkness; no night yet in these regions. A long tramp over the mossy and grassy tundra; mosquitoes. One native igloo, and on a little elevation some distance off a grave of a child; otherwise nothing. After examination of the coal strata, a curious secondary inclusion in sand and gravel, and the stream of water (good to drink, even if not clear), we depart and reach ship again after 4 a. m.

Beginning to be--in fact am already--a "night doctor," for sure. Never thought I could stand such doings, but am standing it, and that even with some cold and bothersome night cough. But am sure short on sleeping, for it is impossible for me to catch up during the days; am not a day sleeper. I suppose when one is most of the time half hungry his mind naturally reverts to hunger, as mine does to sleep.

We are due to-day again at Point Hope, and I am anxious for a little time there.

At night. This was a day of harvest. Reached Point Hope about 3 p. m., but had to go around again to the other side, due to the swell and surf on the north. I went to shore in the first boat, about 4 p. m. Doctor Goodman, with whom we are very friendly, was with me and promised to go over and help me get some men with whom I want to excavate the burial hole of his predecessor. But when on the shore stays behind and remains. So we go on with my man from the ship to the whalebone graveyard. Near there see two Eskimo men with some dogs. They smile; so I tell them what I want; in two minutes have engaged them; in about three more we begin to dig, and in about five minutes after strike first bones.

My good friend the boatswain, Mr. Berg, comes to help, and as I now have four to work I take a bag and go on collecting a little more over the plains beyond where we are. Get a good bag. Find another good-natured Eskimo, Frank, coming from fishing, engage him to help carrying and eventually to take place of one of my first workers, who is an old man. Then we see Doctor Goodman, far away, coming to the mission. Borrow two more shovels from his stock and a few coal bags. Meanwhile bone and skull pile is fairly exposed from one side and top gravel partly removed, so I give up intended trip to old village site and, as we were given only to 9.30 p. m., go to work on the pile.

A great deal here. More than anticipated, though all is a jumble, with the long and other bones of the skeleton on the top. The work is to get down in the moist gravel, disengage one bone and skull after another as rapidly as possible, give it a rapid look-over, and either save, if fairly well preserved or showing some special feature, or discard. If saved, the specimen is handed to one of the Eskimo, who cleans it of gravel, lays it out to dry a little, and then places it gently in a bag.

Many of the bones and skulls were found so damaged that they had to be left. But much was also good. The strenuous work, however, had to go on without interruption and at the fullest possible speed, if the main part of what was there was to be saved. So no supper, no stop for even a minute, until after 8 p. m. Sixteen bags full, and some of the sacks quite spacious. At last had to give up--no more time, no sacks, and lower down everything frozen as hard as flint. The main part, however, secured--183 good skulls, several hundred lower jaws, and a lot of long and other bones. This, together with the rest of the material from this place, ought to give us data of much value.

But now, how shall the lot be got on the boat. Luckily, one of the Eskimo that has been working for me has a dog team and sled. So I engage these; and shortly after we finish putting everything in order--in the presence now of Doctor Goodman, who comes to look at us--the man arrives, with a good-sized sled and 13 whitish dogs. Load all the bags on--and then a sight never to be forgotten--the dogs pulling the load across the tundra, depressions, gravels, right down to the water's edge and to the motor boat that is waiting for us. How they strained, pulled with all will, and obeyed. A wise leader in front, six pairs behind. No reins, only a few calls from the Eskimo, and they knew just what to do. Tried to photograph them, but light already poor--advancing season. (Pl. 9, _a._ _b._)

Then hurry to the teacher, not home; to La Voy, not home. Find teacher in tent, sick, trembling; I fear beginning of typhoid. Did not get anything for me in our absence. La Voy promised to give me some things from his collections, but now is not here. A native woman, however, meets me far out on the beach, and I learn she has dug out for me since our first visit five good skulls from the ground--some, she shows, deep to above the elbow. She has them near the ship--we go on--on the road boys and women overtake me with a few things to sell. Then the woman brings her skulls, in a bag on her back, in excellent condition. I pay her for her trouble. Reach our boat, and the bell on the _Bear_ rings 9.30.

The bone pile--the sled and dogs and load over the tundra--the woman carrying a native (seal) bag with skulls--will be three rare, indelible pictures.

On the _Bear_ at 10. A little sandwich, fruit, and a cinnamon cake with coffee, and to bed. But irritating tire-cough keeps me up for another hour.

Friday, 13th. Packing. A nice day. Toward evening stop at Kevalina. Obtain a few things and pictures. To bed soon, but cough still bothers. I have nothing for it; there is but little on the boat in the way of medicines outside of the most ordinary things.

Saturday, 14th. Up 5.30, early breakfast, and 6.45 start once more for Kotzebue. The _Bear_ has anchored about 12 miles off, so do not reach village until 8.35, and have to go back at 9.10. Rush to store, get boxes, barrels, and packing. And then to the schoolhouse, where I expect some information about the skeleton found under the house and obtained on my former visit. Also promised information from Mr. Chance, the supervisor, about old sites. But Mr. Chance is gone, and no letter or message--it came later, to Washington. A few words with the teacher, and one of the boys from our boat is already calling me.

Return at 11 a. m. and spend the rest of the day packing, finishing just at supper. A curious sunset at 8, a horizontally banded sun, several clear-cut, fairly broad, dark bands. Sea getting rougher.