Part 12

Sunday, August 15. Bad sea, wind, waves, fog. Have to take to bed and do without breakfast. Stay in until lunch. We could not stop again at Shishmareff; could not get ashore. The next stop, late afternoon, is to be at the Little Diomede, to take off Jenness; but if too rough we shall go on to Teller. The wind is from the northwest and the foghorn keeps on blowing.

The whole day continues rough, foggy, unfriendly. The ship can not stop at the Diomede, nor go to Teller; obliged to go to Nome. After supper all chairs and movable articles have to be tied up. Most day in bed, but escaped real seasickness, and got some sleep.

Monday, 16. Weather moderated. We are in lee of the mountainous part of Seward Peninsula. After breakfast off Nome, and at 11 a. m. in town. First stop at Lomen's. Then from one to another till 4.55 p. m., when Dan Sutherland, the Alaska Delegate to Congress, escorts me to the boat. Saw many friends, got some mail, and, best of all, got a fine deposit collection for the National Museum from Mr. Carl Lomen. The judge asked me for another lecture for next Saturday, when we are to see Nome for the last time.

About 5 a. m. arrive at Golovnin Bay to take water. At this place this is generally a day of partial rest and recreation for the crew. The water is taken from a small stream fed by a spring that comes out from a cave of the mountain, and is put direct into the whaleboats, brought to ship, and pumped into its tanks.

Shortly after breakfast the captain gives us the larger motor boat, and with Mr. Berg and two of the seamen I start for a little survey trip along the northern shore of the bay. In less than an hour we reach a sheltered nook with a small stream, where there is an old frame dwelling with some out-structures, all evidently abandoned, though various articles of use hang or lie about, including several guns of old patterns.

On a bluff to the left of the house are six burials, some old, wood near all rotten, some more recent. The latter, two in number, both show a large animal skin covering of the body, besides which the latter shows remnants of clothing. Secure two good skeletons, practically complete; also head and a few parts of a newborn (or near) child. A unique feature--with one of the male skeletons is found a complete skeleton of an eagle. Could have got also a female skeleton, but was still unclean, and we perceived a small native motor boat coming toward us from the reindeer camp about 1½ miles farther inward. So we replaced everything (outwardly) and started off to meet the native boat. Found in it two young men and three women. Inquired about old sites and learned of one about 3 miles farther inward.

Stopped at the reindeer camp. Found there about a dozen individuals. Got more information, also a young man to go with us, bought for the _Bear_ a dozen good-sized silver salmon--caught this morning and lying for protection against flies, in a pool of water--and left for the old site "around the point."

A nice site, but small. Fine beach for bathing if it were in a warmer climate. Remains of about a half dozen semisubterranean houses. A copper nail from one shows they were not very ancient. And no burials left, save one, more recent, of a child, most of which is gone. But there is a green elevated plane rising from the beach and we soon find several varieties of berries, especially large and good blueberries, a variety of huckleberry, and a sort of wine-tasting dwarf blackberry. Collect enough for immediate consumption--a most welcome diversion in every way--and get some for the captain.

Leave near 1 p. m. A little lunch on boat, then once more the reindeer camp, where the young women make us good hot coffee with as good biscuits as one could find anywhere. Buy more berries from them, load our fish (12 salmon ranging about 12 pounds each, for $3), and start off for another site just around Stony Point.

Round up one point, then another and another, up to five, and by that time the going has become so rough that we get much tossed about, ship water, dog gets frightened and near sick, and just as we reach what we thought must be the last point there juts out still another. It is now so rough that the boatswain thinks we could not land, and so nothing remains but to turn back to the mother boat. Reach there near 3.30 p. m. Soon all boats are hoisted, and at 4 the _Bear_ is on her way to St. Michael.

August 18. Arrived about midnight off St. Michael; must stay outside due to shoal water. Somewhat rough.

In the morning boat coaling, dirty work, so all who can go ashore. Meet Mr. Williams again; buy a few native articles in stores, visit Mrs. Evans, the teacher-nurse, who has on an occasion successfully amputated a native's finger. The deputy marshal takes me to his house, gives me some dried deer meat and smoked salmon strips, and promises to be on a lookout for specimens for us. Near noon return. Still rough.

At night a bad blow and the ship tossing a great deal, almost as during the storm to St. Lawrence. Feel it considerably, but after 3 a. m. wind and water moderate. Feel effects of it, however, whole morning. For an explorer to be ever in rough weather subject to seasickness is a horrid affliction.

August 19. Off Nome once more. Everything, city, mountains, appear exceedingly, unnaturally clear--not a good sign. After 9 a. m. go to town. Soon at the Lomens' headquarters, and the sons, particularly Carl, bring out three smaller boxes full of things from St. Lawrence and Nunivak Islands, and give me the choice of all. And after I am through--near two hours' fast work--Carl adds one beautiful tusk (carved) from Nunivak Island, and then adds another, and two big bones of a mammoth, some as gifts, some as an addition to his loan to our institution. Excellent men.

Lunch with Ralph and Carl; then a good walk in the open; and then another lecture. All pleased, and two bring me specimens for our museum. Slowly back to boat and 4.45 on the _Bear_ again. Nice day, but getting cooler and blustery.

Captain Ross comes to port, the graphophone starts its usual jazz songs next (ward) room, then the supper, all visitors gone, and the _Bear_ raises anchor to be off for the north once more.

August 19, evening. A new, final chapter begins with to-day. What will it contain when over?

August 20. Rough. Go north until in plain sight of the Diomedes as well as Cape Wales, and then the captain decides landing would be risky, if not impossible; and so reluctantly we turn back and proceed toward Teller. What a tantalizing experience this must have been to poor Jenness, who is waiting for us on the Little Diomede, a most dreary place, to be taken off; and I, too, expected collections at both the Diomedes and the Cape.

Saturday, August 21. Port Clarence, off Teller. This proved a day never to be forgotten; for failure of a rigid system, for bad weather, for strain and endurance, and nearness to almost anything.

My purpose was to utilize the _Bear's_ visit to Teller for a survey of a Chukchee-Eskimo battle field, of which I heard repeatedly from the Yukon onward. Sometime during the earlier half of the last century the Chukchee from Asia are said to have made an invasion of the peninsula and to have reached as far as the Salt Lake, east of Teller, when they were met by the united Eskimo and badly defeated. The exact spot where this happened is, however, somewhat uncertain, and it was to locate it, examine, and collect what might be possible of the remains that were said to be still there that I asked Captain Cochran to let me have one of the motor boats, to which he kindly consented, uniting the trip with some topographical observations for his own purposes.

The evening before I was told by the second officer that we shall start some time soon after midnight for that part of the old battle field--there seemed to be two of them--at the eastern point of the Salt Lake. As a result could not undress, and after ship stopped in Port Clarence, near 11 p. m., had but a little rest. The call came at 4 a. m. A little breakfast, a package of lunch, and start at 5.10.

First note. Ship about 7 miles from Teller. Water deep enough much nearer, but we came at night. Here there are already dark nights between about 9 p. m. and 4 a. m., and so they were cautious.

Second. The officer says he has orders not to stop at Teller, where there is an old Indian (Dunak) from whom I expected to get exact bearings, and where there is also a white trader, Mr. Peterson, who knows the place and might possibly have accompanied us.

Third. Distances, as usual, longer than estimated. We find eventually that the destination is about 32 miles from Teller.

Fourth. A brisk head wind and sea retarding us.

Fifth. As we approach our spot, a shoal water, with grass, preventing us from going straight to the most likely place, and no other way was tried. It is 11 a. m. and already I hear an intimation that we shall not have time for anything except to make a lunch. This is the same officer, a very good man at his post but rigid and without much interest in anything else than his own field, who after 10 miles' trip to Kotzebue gave us 25 minutes there, when it required 15 minutes alone to reach the school from the boat.

So we end by landing on the extremity of a spit there to make lunch, and I have only the time it takes to prepare the latter. I find, in hurry, remains of five old semisubterranean dwellings on the northern side of the point, and about as many low mounds with remnants about of rotten driftwood--undoubtedly old burials. Probably the skeletons have been assimilated by the tundra vegetation and blown material. A single native skull, a female, without face, is lying about. Collected.

While lunch is being made ready the officer and the boatswain, Mr. Berg, each shoot a duck. Then the lunch, a hurried loading, and departure, after some delay in setting the sail, at 1.30 p. m. I saw nothing that looked like a battle field. Its determination and survey must be left for some future explorer.

Sail rapidly. Wind fresh, with us, also waves. Cross Salt Lake, and Tussoc "River." About 4.30 reach Grantly Harbor and wind increases; also waves. We run fast, and well enough, but the umiak (skin boat) we are pulling begins to suffer. It rides crazily and is jerked over the seething waves. The crossbar by which it is partly held breaks, and now the boat goes more sidewise, with water lapping over its border and getting in. Wind now quite a gale, breaking waves everywhere--every now and then a big one--whitecaps all over. A dim view of Teller in distance, when the skin boat begins to fill more rapidly and sag. Must stop engine--waves toss us like mad--one could be thrown bodily out of the boat if not careful in bending or moving and holding. The sail comes down and the mast is laid down, a bad piece of work. Berg and Pete Brant (an elderly trapper with us but formerly of Coast Guard Service at Nome, a good sailor and knowing these waters) work very hard and well. The skin boat has to be pulled alongside and bailed out by young Weenie, a very hard and dangerous task. Mr. Berg's rain hat ("souwester") blows off and is lost in the seething waves. Later Weenie nearly loses his--snatches it out between the boats with a narrow escape for his head. Then Weenie climbs into the skin boat--a brave act--and finishes the bailing, but is much "in" after getting back. Then our big staunch motor launch starts again at reduced speed. But the skin boat does great antics and threatens to fill again or break; so Pete Brant holds the rope and is jerked every now and then, until I fear that he may any moment be jerked out into the waves and watch to catch his legs. Fortunately he succeeds in preventing it, but there was a slim margin.

It has drizzled or rained, besides the wind, most of the afternoon, and there is a lot of spray to splashes from the waves. All this has to be taken as it comes, but the water is not cold, and our boots and oilskins give protection. Nevertheless my right knee to hip gets thoroughly wet and chilly, and I was not alone. But there is little time to think of such things. We see at Teller the waves breaking high on the shore, some boats already on the beach and others being driven there, a few people looking helplessly on.

About 5.50 we round the Teller spit and come in the lee of it into calmer water. But the visibility over the water is probably not over a mile now, and we see no trace of the _Bear_. The gasoline supply is getting rather low; and all are more or less cold, though dressed warmer than I and, due to their hip-high rubber boots--mine reach only to the knee--not wet. I now shake a lot with the cold, without being able to stop it. So we skirt the protecting bluffs southward to where everyone thinks the _Bear_ is, near a little stream from which they were to take fresh water. But though we all strain our eyes to the limit, there is no trace of the ship.

Thus reach Cape Riley and the stream, which is found dry, without a drop of water. Get on the pebbly beach, turn skin boat over to get the water out, and hurry to chop wood. No wood save the water troughs, so chop these. Must have fire. I warm up a little by running around and chopping. They pour gasoline on the wood, make a big fire, cook a pot of coffee, and with bread and preserved meat make a supper, though it is mainly coffee.

Near 8 and getting dark. Storm, outside of protection of cliffs, unabated. There is a second watering place, 7 or 8 miles across the bay, and our only chance to find the _Bear_ is to rush for this. But to do this we must go diagonally across the waves and similarly against the wind--a bad prospect. Also, we have only just about enough gasoline to reach the place. But there is no help.

Thus a new start, and before long we are once more in the waves. It is now quite obscure. The waves break now and then and splash over us. Before long the skin boat is again sagging and in danger of sinking. Once more pull alongside and dangerous, exhausting bailing by Weenie.

And so on, tossed, driven aside, but thanks to the good engine never stopping. I hold to seat not to be thrown against things or even out; the others are becoming gruff, irritable. And then Higsby makes out a faint light far ahead. No one certain, but in a while it seems moving. A solitary small light somewhere far on the shore, probably, not the boat.

But soon another stronger light discerned, seemingly moving to the left, and later several--the ship in all probability.

We toss and reel and stagger nearer, but motor still going strong. For the skin boat they found at last a position in which it takes but little water. Finally see decisively a blinking light, the mast signal. We show our lantern a few times. Then the ship looms before us, but there is still the risky task of getting alongside and aboard. However, all is accomplished without real damage.

The cabin--the good and anxious captain--a little canned grapefruit, and bed. But head falls and rises, the events of the day reappear, wonder what has become of the trade schooner we saw being driven on the beach--and so on until consciousness passes into deep sleep. The _Bear_ is fairly quiet, not in the brunt of the weather. And this eventually moderates, so that a little after 4 we start again, only to anchor once more at 6, a little below where last night we had our supper.

August 22. Cloudy, drizzly, rough still, and wireless news of widespread bad storms, even in the States. So we shall wait. One more hope for my collections at the Cape and with Jenness.

Captain says this morning the officer misunderstood his orders about Teller. The trip demonstrated a number of things. One of the main and most gratifying was the sterling quality of the men with me, officer, boatswain, motorman. Weenie, Pete, in the teeth of real danger. They were all that men should be under such conditions, which is the best way I can express it. The trip may have been in vain so far as its scientific object was concerned, but it brought a number of men face to face with life's stresses and found their mettle of the truest quality, without exception, to witness which was worth the whole experience.

August 22-23. During the night have left Port Clarence and endeavored once more to reach Wales and the Diomedes, to be again turned away by fog and rough weather. The captain doubts if there will be any more decent "spells." The season for this stormy sea is too far advanced. Unable to land anywhere.

The day is followed by another horrid night, again off the St. Lawrence Island. Boat tossing and heaving and rolling, waves reaching and even splashing over the level of the high upper deck in the back, everything tied tip and cleared or fastened, a danger in making even a few steps of being thrown against something, or on the deck of being thrown overboard, and everything constantly cracking, creaking, with every few minutes an impact big thud-like or a splash of a wave, the floor heaving and twisting; and thus from before evening until morning. Then a trace easier, but the whole day gloomy and rough and the night again more unsettled. To-day better, wind which began east then turned northwest, then almost north, now stopped, but a heavy swell is running, heaving us nearly as much as yesterday. We have gone very slowly.

Have arrived off Savonga. The sky is now clear and there is not much wind, but the swell is and keeps on such that, notwithstanding the repeated calls of our siren, the Eskimo whom we see above the beach near their boats, do not dare to launch these and come, nor does the captain care to risk one of our own launches, though we need fresh reindeer meat and all would like once more to meet the nice lot of natives of this village. After a prolonged wait and as conditions show no improvement, nothing remains but to leave the island.

Our next stop, if the weather permits, is to be at Nunivak Island. This is a large island off the Alaskan coast, well below the present delta of the Yukon and some distance above Kuskokwim Bay. The island is one of the least explored, and the people living upon it one of the least known. It is only during the last few years that a trading and a reindeer post has been established on this island, and only the second year that there is a teacher. What little is known of the natives, a branch of the Eskimo, shows that they have many different habits from those farther north, in clothing, decoration, etc. They make rather good black pottery, and from this island come the most elaborate carvings in ivory, reminding strongly of small totem poles. A photograph of a group of these people, seen at the Lomen Studio at Nome, showed remarkably broad and short faces, unlike the Eskimo of the north. All of which made me very anxious to visit the island.

To be brief such a visit, though promised to me by the captain, could not be realized. The waters about the island are so imperfectly charted that in weather that continued half rough it was thought unwise to risk a landing. I felt this keenly, as the various other impossibilities of the trip. But I could never forget all the unexpected help I received from the Revenue Cutter Service, for which I was deeply grateful, and had to acknowledge the justice of the captain's position. We came so near that the land birds from the island were already about us, but then turned toward the Pribilofs and Unalaska....

Only little remains to be told. At the Pribilof Island, St. Paul, we stopped at night, to take on four live fur seals for the Academy of Sciences of San Francisco, and there we ran once more into stormy weather. Here are a few notes from this period:

August 27. Toward evening again a gale, southwest. At night worse. Ship tossing rather wildly. No possibility to me of either getting up or resting. Barely keep from being horribly ill again.

Later in night ship had to be turned back and just drift.

August 28. All day the storm continues. I could take no meals, not even a drop of water. In bed and barely standing it. Ship hove to at last and just drifting.

August 29. Gale keeps on just as bad, howling till 1.30 a. m. Then it moderates somewhat and ship starts going again. Last night we were only 60 miles from Unalaska, now a good deal farther out. Steam, still in half a gale and big sea, until after midday, when, not without some difficulty and danger, we reach the fine little protected harbor of Unalaska. Feel weak, near worn out.

August 30, p. m. Rest, and all is well again. Secure a little rowboat and go with old Pete Brant to near-by islands. Storm over for the day and fair, though not entirely. Row, climb hills, pick berries and mushrooms, watch a bearlike semiwild pig, out whole afternoon, returning strengthened, refreshed. Only no appetite yet. Found no traces of human occupancy, but heard of some in the "Captain's Bay" and at other spots.

The few Aleuts in Unalaska at this time show physiognomies akin to the brachycephalic Indian, and not the Eskimo type.

August 31-September 1. A new gale, with drizzles. Luckily we are at a dock, but I can do little. They are cleaning the boilers and coaling. Evening of 1st have a good dinner--captain and the rest of us from the _Bear's_ cabin--at a friendly local trader, Louis Strauss, and after that give lecture on "Man's Origin, etc." Introduction by Capt. Van Buskirk, local commodore of the Revenue Cutter Service. Lecture well received, make numerous friends, get good information. Strauss's supper was the first I could eat with some taste and hunger. But the lecture did me good.

September 2. Coaling and overhauling of boilers finished. Gale stopped. Ship leaves 1 p. m. Day fairly sunny. Everyone sees us off. Harbor and hills look fine, though sky again clouded. Outside quite a swell after the gales. Pass the _Haida_, practicing with her cannon. The _Algonkin_ was here too, with the story of their visit to the Punuk Islands. The fresh green steep mountains toward the entrance of the harbor are refreshing to the eye.

Pass through Akitan. Pass picturesque, especially the outstanding isolated rocks near the islands.

Toward evening, far to the left (east), see under the clouds a glorious icy cone, the "Pogrovemoi," and later a lower but still great mountain a little farther and to the right an old but not so very old volcano. Other volcanoes there are, the captain tells me, now hidden by the low clouds.

Have a new passenger, Mr. Charles Brower, the trader of Barrow. Came from the _Brower_, ship of his own company, a little larger and faster than the _Bear_, and going also to San Francisco, but with poorer accommodations. Brings with him a box of archeological specimens from the Barter Island, in the north. Examine them, but find little of special interest.

It takes us a little less than 10 days of a fairly good journey to reach San Francisco. Dock at Oakland late in the evening. The next morning, after breakfast, the boxes and barrels with collections are taken on the dock--a big pile. Then the Santa Fe officials kindly run a flat freight car to the pile, the boxes, etc., are loaded on, the main part taken to the freight depot, the most valuable ones to express, shipped, and shortly after what remains of the expedition is on the Santa Fe Limited for Chicago. It only needs to be added that, notwithstanding the variety of receptacles and the difficulties of packing, the collections reached the Institution without damage to a single specimen. Thanks once more for the help received in making all safe to the captain and officers of the _Bear_, to Mr. Berg, the best of boatswains, to the carpenter, and to all those of the crew who assisted.

THE YUKON TERRITORY--SITES, THE INDIANS, THE ESKIMO

THE TANANA

BRIEF HISTORICAL DATA