The sudden knowledge of freedom; the smell of sun and air; the very sweet of life itself—all combined to make them almost frantic in the animal expression of their joy.
We put down the powerful glasses with which we had painfully watched every yard of their progress toward the land.
I looked at the pilot. There was a moisture in his eyes, which was not entirely a reflection of that in my own.
It is one hundred and seventy miles from Yakutat to Kayak. Off this stretch of coast, between Lituya and Cape Suckling, the soundings are moderate and by whalers have long been known as "Fairweather Grounds."
Just before reaching Kayak, Cape Suckling is passed.
The point of this cape is low. It runs up into a considerable hill, which, in turn, sinking to very low land has the appearance of an island. It was named by Cook.
Around this cape lies Comptroller Bay—the bay which should have been named Behring's Bay. It was on the two islands at its entrance that Behring landed in 1741. He named one St. Elias; and to this island Cook, in 1778, gave the name of Kaye, for the excellent reason that the "Reverend Doctor Kaye" gave him two silver two-penny pieces of the date of 1772, which he buried in a bottle on the island, together with the names of his ships and the date of discovery.
Unhappily this immortal island retains the name which Cook lightly bestowed upon it, instead of the name given it by the illustrious Dane. It is now, however, more frequently known as Wingham Island. The settlement of Kayak is upon it. The southern extremity of the larger island retains the name St. Elias for the splendid headland that plunges boldly and challengingly out into the sea. It is a magnificent sight in a storm, when sea-birds are shrieking over it and a powerful surf is breaking upon its base. At all times it is a striking landmark.
I have been to Kayak four times. Landings have always been made by passengers in dories or in tiny launches which come out from the settlement, and which bob up and down like corks.
It requires a cool head to descend a rope-ladder twenty or thirty feet from the deck to a dory that rolls away from the ship with every wave and which may only be entered as it rolls back. There is art in the little kick which one must give each rung against the side of the ship to steady the ladder. At the last comes an awful moment when a woman must hang alone on the last swaying rung and await the return of the dory. If the sea is rough, the ship will probably roll away from the boat. When the sailors, therefore, sing out, "Now! Jump!" she must close her eyes, put her trust in heaven and fore-ordination, and jump.