Just before reaching "Old Lowden," overtaken by a rather crazily driven small motor boat with four young Indians, who hand us a crude message for the storekeeper at Galena, telling him that a baby in the camp is to die to-night. I offer to see the baby. Find a boy infant about one year or a little over, ill evidently with bronchitis. Father and mother, each about 30, sit over it brooding in dumb grief, each on one side. Respond not to my presence, and barely so to my questions. And when I begin to tell to the fellow who interprets and is some relative that the baby need not die, and what to do—I note that he is somewhat under the influence of liquor and a little flushed—to my dismay he begins to rant against me as a doctor and against the Government, and wants me perforce, seemingly, to say that the child is going to die and die to-night. There are two guns around and I almost anticipate his catching hold of one. The gist of the piecemeal talk is that they believe I am a Government doctor, who ought to stay four or five days with them and take over the child's treatment, and yet the fellow insists that the child will die before next morning. I do not know what they would say or do to the doctor if he undertook to stay and the child died—or if it recovered. It is dismal. They have the idea that the "Government" is obliged to do all sorts of things for them, without being clear just what, and that it does not do them. They believe, and try to say so, that I am sent and paid by the Government to treat them. Probably they have heard about the Government medical party that is to examine conditions along the river this summer, and think that I do not want to do or give what is necessary. I give all the possible advice, but there is plainly no inclination to follow it. I offer some medicine; they sneer at medicine. Even the father says he does not understand it or want it. They are all surly and in a dangerous, stupid mood. So there is nothing left but to go away as well as one may.
On way down the bank a woman is seen cleaning and cutting fish—knife steel, with wood or ivory handle, of the Chinese and Eskimo type. A porcupine, bloated, and with flies and maggots on it already about the nose, mouth, and eyes, lies next to the woman, and its turn will probably come next after the fish.
Have modest lunch—canned pears, a bit of cold bacon left from morning, a bit of cheese, and coffee; and start once more onward. So much beauty here, and such human discord.
3.30 p. m. Passing on right bank a line of bluffs, wholly of loess, about 200 feet high and approximately 4 miles long, and as if shaven with knife from top to water's edge. After that flats only on both sides, with but one hill far ahead of us.
Motor trouble again—same old pump; but not for long; in half an hour on again. A steamer upward passes us—like a stranger, and power.
Galena
A little town (village), on a flat promontory. An old consumptive storekeeper—no knowledge of any old implements or skeletal remains. Lowden village moved here due to mine opposite and better site. About 10 Indian houses here; inhabitants now mostly in fishing camps.
From Galena down, low shores and islands as on the Tanana, as far as can be seen, with mountains, grayish blue, in far distance (and only occasional glimpses). River never less than three-fourths of a mile and sometimes together with its sloughs and islands several miles broad. Some geese; occasional rabbit seen on land; otherwise but little life. First gulls.
The Indians at Ruby and Galena show here and there an Eskimoid type, with the younger nearly all mix bloods (with whites). Full bloods of same type as all along the river, brachycephalic, low to moderate high vault of head, moderate to medium (rarely above) stature, medium brown, noses not prominent, concavo-convex, moderately convex or nearly straight, Indian cast of the face, but quite a few more or less Eskimoid. Not very bright.