Gold Hunting in Alaska

by Joseph Grinnell

At noon yesterday there were six or eight Eskimo men and one woman sitting around in the cabin, and as usual at meal-time C. C. gave them something to eat. Among the other viands were some beans and a bowl of gravy. This gravy had been made from the juice of fried bear meat, but it did not have a shred of the meat in it. C. C. passed around this varied mess in bowls to the natives. They began to eat with relish, when one of the men suddenly demanded of C. C. in a stern voice whether there was any bear in the "cow-cow" (food).

C. C. said at first there was not, but the Indian tasted it again and looked suspiciously at C. C. who suddenly remembered the bear juice and admitted there was "a little." The woman at once threw down her food and the men fell to talking earnestly. They said that bear meat would kill a woman if she ate it, but it was perfectly safe for men. It is awful to think of; how we might have been held up for murder in that desolate land, and hung by a raw-hide rope to the dome of the Arctic Circle. It is a fact that this woman died two weeks afterward. The natives hold many superstitions as to when and what to eat. No Indian woman was allowed to do any sewing in the village yesterday because there was a man very sick in one of the igloos. Should they dare to sew it might cause his death.

It is half-past seven now, and C. C. has got up and is starting the breakfast. It is beginning to be quite light outside and I will go out and examine my traps before breakfast.

Entrance to Native Igloo.

Sunday. Nov. 13.—The wind has blown from the north constantly for two days and is increasing. The doctor and the boys are not back either, so they must have stopped at some camp on the way down. They are wise to do that. I went out on the river awhile this evening, and could scarcely stand up against the wind. And the sand was blowing in clouds across the ice from the opposite side of the river. It has been at even zero all day. In spite of the bad weather there was a large attendance at church this morning, there being thirty-two white men present. There were two from "Ambler City." thirty-six miles up the Kowak, and two or three from the Jesse Lou Camp twelve miles below us, while nearly all the Hanson boys came up. Those from up the river came down on skates yesterday and spent the night at the Guardian Camp, four miles above us. They had seen nothing of the doctor and his party. Services were held in the new chapel for the first time. And it was a great success; the chapel, I mean. The room was comfortably filled and was quite warm. A great blazing fire in the stone fireplace on one side made it cheerfully warm, and a great square opening in the roof, covered with an almost transparent walrus gut skin, admitted plenty of light. The service consisted mainly of familiar hymns, accompanied by the orchestra. The orchestra consists of the autoharp, played by C. C., the clarionet by Lyman of the Iowa Camp, the banjo by Harry Reynolds, and the violin by Normandin of the Hanson Camp. The music is fine, too. It alone is a big attraction for men up in this country, as very few thought of bringing musical instruments. C. C. made a short talk, and so did Mr. Dozier of the Hanson Camp. After the regular service a social hour was spent. This was the first religious meeting since leaving the States, for several of the men. It is very nice. I think, to have these Sunday meetings, if only for the social enjoyment. Rumor has come to us by way of the Yukon and Koyukuk that the Spanish war is at an end, and that the Philippines and Cuba are free. How we would like to know the details! But alas! by the time we do get them they will be as stale as last year's gingerbread.

Nine men accepted our invitation for dinner, and our house might be said to be full. C. C. had prepared for such an emergency, and a big roast of bear with stuffing, fried venison and pies without limit made a feast that everyone enjoyed. We are all "prodigal sons," the only difference being that we are having our "fatted calf" all the way along. Two of the men declared that this was the first time they had eaten pie since leaving home. There is nothing like pie to bring a fellow to his home senses.

Those who have visited all the camps on the Kowak, say that ours is the largest and most comfortable house on the river. I think this is the case but we are not the only ones who enjoy its comforts and hospitality.

I do not expect we shall have so large an attendance again at Sunday services, for to-morrow ten of the Iowa boys, our nearest neighbors, start with heavily loaded sleds to get as far as possible toward the Koyukuk before the snow comes. Others are talking of starting soon, and if more favorable news comes we may all skip out. I would not hesitate a moment to go now if we could be sure as to the snowfall. We have no snowshoes, and it would be disastrous to be snowed in for several months in some desolate place with limited provisions.

Yesterday I made a hood out of a canvas flour sack to be put on outside of my wool hood which mother knit, and it will keep out a good deal of wind. I also put a heavy canvas lining over my woolen mittens and darned several pairs of socks. That is the first time I have done any mending since leaving home. Perhaps there is no time in a fellow's life when affectionate remembrance of his human sisters so comes to him as when his garments need repairing. Bless them!—the sisters and mothers, not the garments.