Ghost Creek
July 1-2, 10.30 p. m. A night on the Yukon. (Pl. 3, a,) They have lit a powder against the mosquitoes. Smear the many gnat bites with Mentholatum—helps but for a while—and having now my fine meshed netting, my own bedding, and a clean pillow, I feel fine, safe from all the pests, and ready for a quiet night, all alone.
Commenced dozing off when a he-cat, who hid in the store at closing, begins to make all kinds of unnamable noises. Stand it for a while, but he does not stop and one could never sleep—so crawl out from the bed, catch the beast, and throw him out.
In again and settling down, when another cat—did not know there were two here—begins to mew and tries to force its way out under the door, which is about 2½ inches above the floor. Persists until I have to get up the second time. Throw that cat out and in bed once more.
In a minute, however, the dogs outside espied the cats and began a pandemonium of howls and yelps and barks. Try hard, but can not stand it. Moreover, the last cat got on the roof, where I hear him walking, and he seems in no hurry to get off. So finally have to get out, catch the cat on the edge of the roof, throw him back into the store, and to bed for another trial. But soon have to smear the body; the bites itch too much. The sleepiness is now quite gone. A mild amusement as to what next. It must be midnight or later now, and it has grown cold. One blanket is not sufficient. Doze off a little, wake up with cold, readjust blanket and flaps of bag, doze off a little again—the dogs commence to howl, just for a song this time, in two, three, then a unison. The bites itch bitterly, now here, now there. The sun has risen; it is real cold, probably no more than about 40° to 45° F. And so on until 5.30, when at last fall into a deep, dreamless sleep, regardless of light, cats, dogs, and everything and sleep until 8.30.
Wake up, can not believe my watch; but it goes, and so probably is right. But no one anywhere yet stirring.
Dress, wash a bit in the muddy river; head feels as if it had been knocked by something heavy. Make my "roll" of bedding and then work on notes, putting down faithfully what has transpired. About 9.30, at last, the storekeeper comes to say they overslept and that a cup of coffee will be ready before long.
Friday, July 2. "Ghost Creek" was named so because of many burials about the creek. The flat between the hills here is about three-fourths of a mile long by the water front, with rising slopes, and used to extend considerably farther out, but was "cut" or washed away by the river. It has been used for a village site and burial ground by the old Indians of the vicinity. As the banks tumble away, bone arrow points, barbed and not, stone scrapers, and other objects wash out. Graves are found in the ground as well as above it. Russian influence prevalent in the objects buried with the bodies, but site extends to pre-Russian time. Same type graves as at Bonasila, with slight local modifications.
At Bonasila the burials above ground were in boxes of hewn wood, joined somewhat as the logs in a log house, and without any base. The body inside was covered with birch bark (three or four pieces), then covered with the top planks, unfastened, and these in turn covered with about a foot of earth and sod. At Ghost Creek the same, but there is an undressed-stake base or platform on which the sides of the "coffin" rest and with somewhat less earth and sod on the top of the box. But graves differ here from underground and birch bark alone (no trace of wood, if any was ever there; but probably none used) to such aboveground as have iron nails and sawed planks. Here, as at Bonasila, a few simple articles are generally found buried at the head, and for these many of the graves were already despoiled and the skeletal remains scattered or reburied.
There appears to be no line of demarcation between the underground and aboveground graves; possibly the latter were winter burials, but this must be looked into further.
The bodies here, except the latest, are buried flexed. Exceptionally, both at Bonasila and here, the planks surrounding the grave were painted with some mineral pigments which resist decomposition better than the wood, and decorated in a very good native way with series of animals and men, caribou, bear, etc. Too faint to photograph, and too bulky and decayed to take away; but decoration much superior to ordinary Indian pictographs, and apparently connecting with the type of art of the northwest coast. It is of interest that practically the same decorated burials were seen by Dall among the Eskimo of Norton Sound (Unalaklik).[4] In this case it was probably the Indian habit that was adopted by the near-by Eskimo, for none of the more northern Eskimo practiced such burials. The habit was also known in southeastern Alaska. (Pl. 3, b.)
Jim Walker, the helpful local mix-breed trader, has dug out many of these graves (alone or with Harry Lawrence), and a good many of the objects are said to have been taken away by Father O'Hara, formerly of the Holy Cross Mission.
According to all indications the stone culture of Bonasila and of Ghost Creek (1½ miles upstream from Holy Cross) were related, both passing apparently into the Russian period, and that at Ghost Creek continuing down to our times, for there is still living here an old man who belongs to this place which once had a large village. Much could be done yet and saved in both places.
Saturday, July 3. At last slept, notwithstanding everything, and succeeded even in being warm.
Breakfast 8.30, for a wonder. Two soft-boiled Seattle eggs, two bits of toast with canned butter (not bad at all), some over-preserved raspberries, and a faded-looking nearly cold "flapjack" with sirup, also mediocre tea. But all goes here, and the stomach calls for no other attention than to fill it.
Finishing work, getting further information from the old Indian, writing, and waiting to go away with a trader to Paimute, the first all-Eskimo village, 25 miles farther down the river. Rains occasionally, but not very cold. Many gnats when wind moderates.
Lunch—canned sardines (in this land of fresh salmon!), a bit of toast, some canned fruit, and that unsavory tea.
Have utilized this day in a profitable manner. Have learned that there was another burial ground about half a mile farther upstream, behind an elevation. So got a rowboat and with Jim Walker's young boy rowed over. Had to wade through high grass over a wet flat, and then up the rank grass and bush-covered slope, and there found a number of old burials. All rifled, but most of the bones still there. So send boy back, on the quiet—there is above the store the camp of the old man with an old Indian woman and sick girl—for some boxes, and meanwhile collect. It is an unceasing struggle with the mosquitoes and gnats in the tall grass and weeds; but one after another I find what remains of the usual old box burials. The bones are mostly in good condition. The boy arrives with several empty gasoline boxes, we gather drier grass and moss, and pack right on the spot, eventually get to the boat, strike off as far as possible from the shore so none could see what is carried, and proceed to Walker's storehouse. Old Indian and his old crony nevertheless stand on bank and look long at us. In storehouse boxes closed, later delivered by the boy to the mail boat, and so that much is saved; for were it not collected, in a few years the weather, vegetation, and animals, human and other, would destroy everything.
BUREAU OF AMERICAN ETHNOLOGY FORTY-SIXTH ANNUAL REPORT PLATE 3
a, Midnight on the Yukon
b, Lower middle Yukon: Painted burial box of a Yukon Indian (before 1884) said to have been a hunter of Bielugas (white whales), which used to ascend far up the Yukon
BUREAU OF AMERICAN ETHNOLOGY FORTY-SIXTH ANNUAL REPORT PLATE 4
a, Eskimo camp below Paimute, Yukon River
b, Old "protolithic" site 12 miles down from Paimute, right bank, just beyond "12-mile hill." (skull, bones, stones)
c, "Old" site in bank seen in middle of picture, 12 miles down from Paimute, opposite that shown in preceding figure. (A. H., 1926)
Moreover, the utmost care is taken always to leave everything in as good shape as found; and the remains taken will be treated so well and may give us so much that we need that there is no more hesitation in securing them than there would be on the part of a paleontologist in securing old bones for his purposes.
For supper, though it is still early, am invited by Simel, an elderly Jew mail carrier. Have fine meat-and-potato soup, lettuce-and-cucumber salad (even if the cucumbers from the Holy Cross hothouse are overripe and bitter), fresh (storage) meat, cooked dried apples, and poor but hot coffee—all seasoned with the best will and genuine, simple friendliness.
Max Simel, whose home is at Ophir, has been in this country 29 years, and "never needed to buy a quarter's worth of medicine." Has a wife in Seattle, also a daughter and a son; has not seen them for four years. Wants me to call on them and tell them I met him. With his companion, Paul Keating, of Holikachakat, gives me some interesting information. They tell me independently and then together of an occurrence that shows what may happen along this great river. A well-known white man and woman, prospectors on their mail route, have last year thawed and dug out a shaft, nearly 40 feet deep, through muck and silt, to the gravel, in which they hoped to get gold; and just before they reached the gravel they found a piece of calico, old and in bad condition, but still showing some of its design and color.
7 p. m. It rains, but wind has moderated, and so near 7 p. m. we start on our way farther down the river, stopping just long enough at Holy Cross to attend to my reservation for St. Michael. The agent has no idea when the boat will go—maybe the 11th, maybe not until the 14th or later.
Going on an old leaky scow with an elderly, faded, chewing, not very talkative but for all that very kindly and accommodating man, who with one hand holds the steering wheel and with the other most of the time keeps on bailing. He carries supplies for his store and I my outfit, camera, and umbrella. Sky has here and there cleared, even patches of sun appear on far-away clean-cut hills. Water not very rough; make fair time downstream. Banks flat now, river broad, some hills in distance.
8.00 p. m. Hills nearer ahead of us. Some of the flats look from distance like fine tree nurseries. Getting cool. Cloudy ahead. The banks flat and low, no good site for habitation. Not even fishing camps here—just long "cut-banks" (banks being cut by the river) and low beaches. Here and there new bars and islands that are being built by the river. No birds, no boats, just an occasional floating snag or a rare solitary gull.