Part 9

Leaving Killisnoo, we cross Chatham Strait almost at right angles to its course (or due west), here about ten miles wide, and enter Peril Straits, about thirty-five miles long. They sweep boldly to the north in a great arc, and, like all winding and rapidly and alternately widening and narrowing of the inland channels, they are extremely picturesque, more from the contrast of different scenes so swiftly changed before one's eyes, than from anything radically new so presented. The old Russian name for them was Paboogni (meaning "pernicious") Strait, and they got this title rather from an incident of appetite than bad navigation. In the latter part of last century the Russians used to import the poor Aleuts of the Aleutian Islands, far to the westward, as mercenaries to fight their battles for them against the T'linkit Indians of this region; and, while encamped here, they partook of a large number of mussels, which proved poisonous, killing some, and putting many on the sick list for that particular campaign. In some of the very contracted places the tides run with great velocity; but, by taking advantage of the proper times (which the nearness of Killisnoo on one side and Sitka on the other makes easy) and a more thorough knowledge of the few impediments, the dangers to navigation here are now about _nil_. Once through Peril Straits, we can look out on the Pacific Ocean through Salisbury Sound for a few minutes before turning southward through a series of short straits and channels "too numerous to mention;" and then, after twenty to twenty-five miles of sailing, we come to Sitka, the capital of the Territory. It is most picturesquely located at the head of Sitka Sound, through which, looking in a southwest direction, the Pacific Ocean is plainly visible. Looking in this way, its bay seems full of pretty little islets, sprinkled all over it, that are almost invisible as seen from the ocean when approaching, so densely are they covered with timber, and so exactly like the timbered hills of the mainland, against which they are thrown. The steamer, after winding its way through a tortuous channel, finally brings to at a commodious wharf, with the city before you, which is in strange contrast with the wild, rugged scenery through which the tourist has been sailing. To our left, as we pass on to the wharf, is the Indian village of the Sitkas, one of the largest among the islands of the inland passage. To our front and right stretch the white settlements of the town. At the large Indian village, which is near--or, really, part of--Sitka, there are estimated to gather fully a thousand Indians in the winter time, the summer finding them partially dispersed over a greater area to gain their sustenance. These houses are like those described as being near Wrangell. In one way they have somewhat patterned after white men, in partitioning off the ends and sides of these large rooms into sleeping apartments by canvas and cloth drapery. It is said that the most fiendish ceremonies and diabolical cruelties were practiced at their "house-warmings," so to speak. Before the white men put a stop to these ceremonies, a slave was killed, with the greatest cruelties, under each of the corner uprights; and, as a house could not have less than four of these, and sometimes had more, by its irregularities, one may contemplate the suffering with which a large village like that at Sitka has been baptized.

In the town proper the Greek Church is the most conspicuous and interesting object to the tourist, and especially those who have never seen one of this religion. It is built in the form of a Greek cross, in plan, and is surmounted by an Oriental dome over the centre, which has been painted an emerald green color. One wing is used as a chapel, and contains, besides a curious font, an exquisite painting of the Virgin and Child, copied from the celebrated picture at Moscow. All the drapery is of silver, and the halo of gold; so, of the painting itself, nothing is seen but the faces and background. The chancel, which is raised above the body of the church, is approached by three broad steps leading to four doors, two of which are handsomely carved and richly gilded, and contain four oval and two square _bas reliefs_. Above is a large picture of the Last Supper, covered, like that of the Madonna, with silver, as are two others, one on each side of the altar. Across the threshold of these doors no woman may set her foot, and across the inner ones to the innermost sanctuary none but the priest himself, or his superiors in the general Greek Church, or the white Czar, can enter. The doors, however, usually stand open; and the priest in residence, Father Metropaulski, is exceedingly courteous to visitors, showing them the costly and magnificent vestments and the bishop's crown, almost covered with pearls and amethysts. The ornaments and the candelabra are all of silver, the walls are hung with portraits of princes and prelates, and the general effect is rich in the extreme.

Next to the church in interest--with some visitors, probably, ranking before it--is the old Muscovite castle on the hill. Here, in days gone by, the stern Romanoff ruled this land, and Baron Wrangell, one of Russia's many celebrated Polar explorers, held sway. It is said that it has been twice destroyed, once by fire and then by an earthquake, but was again erected with such staunch belongings that it will probably stand for ages much as it is to-day. It is now used as an office for United States Government officials, and it has a ball-room and theatre, with the same old brass chandeliers and huge bronze hinges that adorned it in its glory. The whole building has a semi-deserted and melancholy appearance; but it is of exceeding interest, speaking to us as it does of a grander history, when Sitka was the metropolis of the Pacific coast of North America, and it was the centre from which such power emanated. To sentimental tourists I will relate a tradition that has been published concerning the stern old castle; and, whether it fits the truth or not, it fits the sombre surroundings of the ancient pile. It runs, that, when Baron Romanoff was governor, he had living with him an orphan niece and ward, who, like all orphan nieces in feudal castles, especially those who figure in tradition, was very beautiful. But, when the baron commanded her to marry a beautiful prince, who was a guest at the castle, she refused, having given her heart to a handsome young lieutenant of the household. The old baron, who, like the rest of his race in traditional accounts, was an accomplished diplomate, feigning an interest in the young lieutenant which he did not feel, sent him away on a short expedition, and in the mean time hurried on the preparations for the marriage of the unhappy girl to the prince. Deprived of the support of her lover's counsels and presence, she yielded to the threats of her uncle, and the ceremony was solemnized. Half an hour after the marriage, while the rejoicing and the gayety were at their height, the young lieutenant strode into the ball-room, his travel-stained dress and haggard appearance contrasting strangely with the glittering costumes and gay faces of the revelers; and, during the silence which followed his ominous appearance, he stepped up to the hapless girl, and took her hand. After gazing for a few moments on the ring the prince had placed there, he, without a word, and before any one could interfere, drew a dagger from his belt, and stabbed her to the heart. In the wild confusion that followed, he escaped from the castle; and, overcome with grief, unable to live without the one he so fondly loved, yet ruthlessly murdered, he threw himself into the sea. And now her spirit is seen on the anniversary of her wedding night, her slender form robed in heavy silk brocade, pressing her hands on the wound in her heart, the tears streaming from her eyes. Sometimes, before a severe storm, she makes her appearance in the little tower at the top of the building once used as a lighthouse. There she burns a light until dawn for the spirit of her lover at sea.

Almost directly west from Sitka, about fifteen miles distant, is Mount Edgecumbe, so named by Cook, it having previously been called Mount San Jacinto by Bodega in 1775, and Mount St. Hyacinth again by La Perouse. Tchirikov, before all others, I believe, got it chronicled as Mount St. Lazarus; and it looked as if it would go through the whole calendar of the saints, and their different national changes, if it had not gotten pretty firmly rooted as Mount Edgecumbe. It is nearly 3,000 feet above the level of the sea, and looks like a peak of 5,000 feet cut off by a huge shaving plane at its present height. This truncated apex is a crater, said to be, by those who have visited it, some 2,000 feet in diameter by one-tenth as deep. In the early and middle summer time, the snow from its table-like crown has partially disappeared, and the bright red volcanic rock projects in radiating ridges from the white covering that is disappearing, making a most beautiful crest to a mountain already picturesque by its singular isolation. When in this condition, with the western setting sun directly over it, and its golden beams radiating upward, and the royal red ridges radiating downward, both thrown against their background of blue sky and water and white snow, it makes a superb picture that the brush of a Turner could hardly copy, let alone a feeble pen describe.

Lieutenant C. E. S. Wood, who visited this portion of Alaska in 1877, and gave a graphic description of his travels in the _Century Magazine_ of July, 1882, gives therein the following interesting Indian legend concerning Mount Edgecumbe:

"One drowsy eve we saw the peak of Edgecumbe for the last time. The great truncated cone caught the hues of the sunset, and we could note the gloom gathering deeper and deeper in the hollow of the crater. Our Indians were stolidly smoking the tobacco we had given them, and were resting after the labors of the day with bovine contentment. Tah-ah-nah-kleck related to us the T'linkit legend of Edgecumbe.

"A long time ago the earth sank beneath the water, and the water rose and covered the highest places, so that no man could live. It rained so hard that it was as if the sea fell from the sky. All was black, and it became so dark, that no man knew another. Then a few people ran here and there and made a raft of cedar logs; but nothing could stand against the white waves, and the raft was broken in two.

"On one part floated the ancestors of the T'linkits; on the other, the parents of all other nations. The waters tore them apart, and they never saw each other again. Now their children are all different, and do not understand each other. In the black tempest, Chethl was torn from his sister Ah-gish-ahn-ahkon [The-woman-who-supports-the-earth], Chethl [symbolized in the osprey] called aloud to her, 'You will never see me again; but you will hear my voice forever!' Then he became an enormous bird, and flew to southwest, till no eye could follow him. Ah-gish-ahn-ahkon climbed above the waters, and reached the summit of Edgecumbe. The mountain opened, and received her into the bosom of the earth. That hole [the crater] is where she went down. Ever since that time she has held the earth above the water. The earth is shaped like the back of a turtle, and rests on a pillar; Ah-gish-ahn-ahkon holds the pillar. Evil spirits that wish to destroy mankind seek to overthrow her and drive her away. The terrible battles are long and fierce in the lower darkness. Often the pillar rocks and sways in the struggle, and the earth trembles and seems like to fall; but Ah-gish-ahn-ahkon is good and strong, so the earth is safe. Chethl lives in the bird Kunna-Kaht-eth; his nest is in the top of the mountain, in the hole through which his sister disappeared.

"He carries whales in his claws to this eyrie, and there devours them. He swoops from his hiding-place, and rides on the edge of the coming storm. The roaring of the tempest is his voice calling to his sister. He claps his wings in the peals of thunder, and its rumbling is the rustling of his pinions. The lightning is the flashing of his eyes."

Looking inland are the glacier-clad summits of the interior mountains, Vostovia predominating, where few people, even among the Indians of the country, have ever been. Taking all its surroundings, it may be well said, as has been written, that Sitka Bay rivals in scenic beauty its nearest counterpart, the far-famed Bay of Naples. Near Sitka comes in a beautiful mountain stream called the Indian river. A most picturesque road leads out to this rambling brook, and a less frequented trail winds up its valley; but, if the steamer stops long enough to warrant the tramp, no one should fail to stroll along its two or three miles of winding way, embowered in absolutely tropical foliage, so dense and deep is it. It is the only road worthy of the name in Alaska; and, if one wends his way through it, and then combines his information acquired thereby with a view of the Alpine country of this part of the Territory, he will plainly comprehend why there are no more roads than this particular one, and feel willing to give full credit to its makers. It is near the half-way point of the journey, also; and this warrants a little inshore exercise that can be had at no other stopping place so well.

About ten or eleven miles south of Sitka, on the mainland, but protected seaward by a breakwater of (Necker) islands, is Hot Springs Bay, on whose shores are springs which give it its name. About six or seven years before we obtained the Territory, the Russian American Fur Company, whose headquarters were at Sitka (since Baron Wrangell established them there in 1832), built a hospital at Hot Springs, which was said to have had wonderful remedial powers in skin and rheumatic diseases; but, for some reasons, the place has been abandoned (probably the lack of government by the United States), and the buildings are reported to be in a state of decay. The Indians used the waters for illness, and thus called the attention of the Russians thereto. The temperature of the water is from 120 to 125 degrees, and it contains a number of elements held in solution, as sulphur, chlorine, manganese, sodium and iron, besides combinations of these, and with other elements. It is worth a visit to see these hot springs, with the thermometer soaring up above the hundreds; for, in a day or two, by way of strange contrast, you will be among glaciers and icebergs towering as far in feet above your head.

The only way out of Sitka harbor, without putting to sea, is back through Peril Straits again; and, passing back, one can hardly realize that it is the same waterway, so radically different are the views presented. In the harbor of Sitka is Japonskoi (Japanese) Island, which may be identified by the captain's chart of the harbor, and which has a curious history. Here, about eighty years ago, an old Japanese junk, that had drifted across the sea on the Kuro-Siwo, or Japanese current, was stranded, and the Russians kindly cared for the castaway sailors who had survived the dreadful drift, and returned them to their country, after an experience that is seldom equaled, even in the romantic accounts of maritime misfortunes. The drifting of Japanese junks, and those of adjacent countries, is not so infrequent as one would suppose, and this fact might set the reflective man to thinking as to the ethnical possibilities accruing therefrom, the settlement of North America, etc.

This Kuro-Siwo, or Japanese current,--sometimes called black current, or Japanese black current, from its hue,--corresponds in many ways to the Gulf Stream of the Atlantic: like it, its waters are warmed in the equatorial regions under a vertical sun; and, like it, a great portion of these waters are carried northward in its flow, and their heat poured upon the eastern shores of its ocean, till their climate is phenomenally temperate compared with the western shores in the same parallels. Sitka is said to have, as a result of facing this current, a mean winter temperature of a point half way between Baltimore and Washington, or slightly milder than the winter temperature of Baltimore. It is said to be no unusual thing to suffer from an ice famine in Sitka. A short way inland the winters are not so temperate, more snow falling at that season, while rain characterizes the coast face; but during the summer, or excursion season, these rains are not unpleasantly frequent. I take the following from a letter from Sitka, and published in the San Francisco _Bulletin_ of January 9, 1882, before this country was really opened to excursionists, although the subject was being discussed, so much had been heard of this wonderland:

"The climate, as shown by the meteorological data collected by the signal service observers, is not of such a disagreeable character as some would have us believe. The scientific data collected and tabulated for the year 1881, as shown by the records at Sitka, Chilkoot, Juneau and Killisnoo, disprove most emphatically the seemingly malicious assertions in reference to its climate.

========================================================================= |April.|May.|June.|July.|Aug. |Sept.|Oct. |Nov.| Dec. --------------------+------+----+-----+-----+-----+-----+-----+----+----- Mean Temperature | 42.5 |45.4|51.2 | 54.2|56.7 |54. |46.3 |41.8|34.8 Max. Temperature | 56.5 |61. |65. | 67. |79. |63.8 |57.8 |52.8|44.9 Min. Temperature | 31. |31. |41. | 43. |43.9 |40.5 |32. |22.5|14. Total rainfall, | | | | | | | | | inches | 4.21| 3.1| 1.54| 4.4| 1.98|12.11| 5.04|13.5|10.52 --------------------+------+----+-----+-----+-----+-----+-----+----+-----

"A study of the above data, combined with an actual experience, compels the writer to admit that the summer weather of Southeastern Alaska is the most delightful that can be enjoyed throughout the length and breadth of this vast territory, and throws in the shade all the boasted claims of many, if not most, of the famous summer resorts in the 'States.' There were only two days during the long, pleasant summer, that were rendered disagreeable by that feeling of oppressiveness caused by heat. The nights were cool and pleasant; the days always warm enough for open windows, through which the invigorating breezes from the snow-capped mountains or the broad Pacific, would blow at will; the long, bright days, when the sun disappeared only for a few hours, when twilight, after sunset, seemed to mingle with the rays of early dawn; the nights beautified by the dancing beams of the _aurora borealis_, and the myriad stars that seemed as if hung on invisible threads in the deep blue firmament. * * In regard to the summer weather, I reiterate that no one could possibly choose a more delightful place in which to spend a portion of the heated term than in making a trip through this portion of the Territory."

"In Alaska, in midsummer," according to a late letter, "the almost continuous light of day shines upon bright green slopes, shaded here and there with dark timber belts, rising up from the deep blue waters. An endless variety of bright-hued flowers, the hum of insects, and melodious song of birds, * * * would cause a stranger, suddenly translated there, to think himself in any country but Alaska."--_Chicago Herald, 1885._

When we are some five or six miles back on our northward way to Peril Straits, a pretty little bay, on Baronoff Island, is pointed out to us, on our starboard (by this time all the passengers are able seamen) side, called Old Harbor, or Starri-Gaven, in Russian. It was there that Baronoff built his first fort, called the Archangel Gabriel, in 1799, which, after a number of rapidly recurring vicissitudes, was annihilated, and its garrison massacred, by the Sitka Indians, three years later. Baronoff re-established his power at the present site of Sitka, calling the new place Archangel Michael,--Archangel Gabriel having failed in his duty as a protector; and from this name it was called New Archangel, which changed to Sitka with the change of flags in 1867, although American maps had dubbed it Sitka before this.

Once more in Chatham Strait, with the ship's head pointed northward, we are on our way to the northernmost recesses of the inland passage, and with the greatest wonders of our wonderland ahead of us. At its northern end, Chatham Strait divides into two narrow waterways, Icy Strait leading off to the west, to the land and waters of glaciers and icebergs, while Lynn Canal continues broad Chatham to the north. Lynn Canal is a double-headed inlet, the western arm at its head being called the Chilkat Inlet, and the eastern arm the Chilkoot Inlet, after two tribes of T'linkit Indians living on these respective channels. It is a beautiful sheet of water, more Alpine in character than any yet entered. Glaciers of blue and emerald ice can be seen almost everywhere, peeping from underneath the snow-capped mountains and ranges that closely enclose this well-protected canal, and render it picturesque in the extreme. Here is the Eagle Glacier on the right, and dozens that have never been named, and a most massive one (Davison's) on our left, just as we enter Chilkat Inlet. At the head of Chilkat Inlet is Pyramid Harbor, so named after an island of pyramidal profile in its waters. It marks the highest point you will probably reach in the inland passage, unless Chilkoot Inlet is entered, which is occasionally done.

We are now in the land of the Chilkats, one of the most aggressive and arrogant, yet withal industrious and wealthy, Indian tribes of the T'linkits. It should be remembered that all the Alaskan Indians of the inland passage (except the Hy-dahs of Dixon Entrance) are bound together by a common language, called the T'linkit; but having so little else in sympathy that the sub-tribes often war against each other, these sub-tribes having separate chiefs, medicine men and countries, in fact, and being known by different names. We have already spoken of the Stickeens, Kootznahoos, Sitkas, etc.; and by these names they are known among the whites of this portion of the Territory, the title T'linkit being seldom heard. At the salmon cannery, on the west shore, a small but recently built village of Chilkats is clustered; but, to see them in "all their glory," the Chilkat river should be ascended to their principal village of Klukwan.

Of this country,--the Chilkat and Chilkoot,--Mrs. Eugene S. Willard, the wife of the missionary presiding at Haines Mission, in Chilkoot Inlet, and who has resided here a number of years, writes in the _Century Magazine_, of October, 1885:

"From Portage Bay (of Chilkoot Inlet) west to the Chilkat river and southward to the point, lies the largest tract of arable land, so far as my knowledge goes, in Southeastern Alaska, while the climate does not differ greatly from that of Pennsylvania * * * Here summer reaches perfection, never sultry, rarely chilling. * * * In May the world and the sun wake up together. In his new zeal, we find old Sol up before us at 2:15 A. M., and he urges us on until 9:45 at night. Even then the light is only turned down; for the darkest hour is like early summer twilight, not too dark for reading.