Gold Hunting in Alaska

by Joseph Grinnell

They say if they come in they will surely "mucky" (die). We are very glad they have taken this course, as heretofore they have been too numerous altogether. It would be to our advantage to keep one sick man with us. We have tried to induce a couple of young men to cut wood for Charley, but they declare that also is dangerous. Charley's wife dare not touch an axe for the same reason, so we have to chop their wood ourselves. Wonder if we will any of us be alive in the spring after such dangers. None of the Indians give them any food, so we are attending to that matter. We are doing our best to get them to overcome these inhuman and exasperating superstitions. They can plainly see that we do not hesitate to care for the sick or the dead.

A Funeral Cortege.

Tuesday night the patient was so sick the doctor thought he could not live without especial care, so we decided to watch with him. Rivers and I stayed with him from one to five o'clock in the early morning. And it was an odd experience. We had Charley bolstered up on two benches placed side by side near the stove. We kept a hot water bag on his chest and occasionally made him take ptarmigan broth with soaked hardtack. Poor fellow! had he been fed on such a diet while well and able to appreciate it, he might well have been surprised. But he was too near death to appreciate what we were doing. He would have spasms of coughing and loud groaning, catching his breath and rolling his eyes. Then he would fall back with his head lying limply over his shoulder, breathing short and with scarcely perceptible pulse. We thought he was about to die, but the climax passed and he revived. While we were taking care of him his wife slept, for she had probably been without rest for days. She now waits on him and is very attentive to his wants, and does the best she knows how, being generally more intelligent than most of the women. They all have little ingenuity in caring for the sick, and this is one reason why they die. Could these natives be persuaded to have a few of their women educated as nurses, how much less would be the winter mortality! Had we time we could do this, but it would take years, and women beside. We have no women. But here are, or will be, all the abandoned cabins on the Kowak by spring. What an opening for the mission-inclined! Free hospitals and free beds such as they are. And they are not mean. There are chairs, too, and carpeted floors.

In the meantime Charley's dead child, as we supposed, had been sole tenant of the igloo which had been vacated. This fact gave a sudden joy to C. C, the undertaker. As if by instinct he scented a resurrection of his neglected business, and it was with little difficulty that he persuaded Charley to let him give it a Christian burial. C. C. and Joe Jury went up to see about it, and found that the ceremonies had already been performed and the corpse was resting on one of the usual scaffolds near the igloo. This did not matter. They made a coffin of boards, sawed at our mill, and brought the corpse down to Penelope Camp, Jury as coroner and C. C. as funeral director. The hearse was a sled and the black horses a couple of dogs. Of course Charley was too sick to attend the funeral services, but his woman came and watched proceedings. She objected to nothing in any way when told that was the way white men buried their dead. But she insisted on putting some dishes and half a sack of flour in the grave before it was filled. The flour C. C. had brought down from the igloo, intending it for the family to eat. But they couldn't think of consigning a dead child to the unknown future without supplying it with sufficient means of support until it should reach its uncertain destination. So twenty-five pounds of good flour was interred with the coffin. C. C. intended this burial to teach the natives better methods than their own superstitious ways, but I for one doubt the propriety of burial in the ground in this country, as in summer the earth is saturated and covered with water, and in winter it is frozen to granite. As it turned out, the funeral was not a very extraordinary object lesson, for not a single Eskimo attended, save the woman mentioned, though they were especially asked to come. I am not sure that the funeral director was not guilty of making a "grave" mistake in the closing ceremonies. He had just been assuring the woman mourner that the dead would need no further food or clothing in the "beyond" where she had now gone, when it occurred to him that a single demonstration of sorrowful affection might be appropriate. Just before filling the grave he had all the by-standers (gold-hunters on the Kowak) throw in each a spruce bough, and the woman did likewise. I suppose he chose the spruce in place of impossible flowers, but the solitary mourner must have considered the act an inconsistent one after the remarks which had been made.

The doctor and I felt some uneasiness as to a special feature of the funeral and accordingly acted. Now I have no doubt my friend was no stranger to the scheme, but I was; nevertheless I went about my duty with the approval of my immature conscience. We went out as if to take a stroll, as was our frequent custom, and dug into the grave, removing the buried sack of flour. We very carefully filled in the grave and left all as it had been before. The snow which was falling at the time soon covered our footprints (whereupon might be written a poem), and no Eskimo will ever suspect our subtle deed. We put the flour into a new clean sack and presented it to Charley as a mutual gift. This was Kowak philanthropy, though, if the natives had found us out, we might have had to suffer. The doctor and I congratulate ourselves on doing a real good deed in a naughty world.

Yesterday Charley's father came down from the village to pay his son a visit, but he evidently did not intend to enter the cabin, carrying on his conversation from without, very much as white folks do in cases of scarlet fever or other infectious disease. Some of us happened to be near by chopping wood, and we tried to induce him to go in. Finally the woman came out and built a fire, putting on green spruce twigs to make a dense smoke. The old man then stooped over the smudge, spreading a blanket over and around himself, thus confining the smoke about his body for several minutes. He then apparently considered himself immune from any evil and went into the cabin without further hesitation. This process of disinfection is certainly reasonable, only it was applied at the wrong end of affairs. He is a very old man and of no help about the patient, so we have an added charge.

Dec, 12, Monday.—I shot three redpolls this morning over in the willows. I then tried to utilize our brief stint of daylight to skin them by, but was obliged to resort to the dim light of a candle after all. We get no more sunshine here in the valley. At noon only the snowy mountain peaks are illuminated by straggling rays from the truant sun. The landscape is often magnificent. I stood on the bank several minutes at noon admiring the views. The northern horizon was deep blue, and, contrasted with it, were the snow-covered ranges, which were tinged a rich pink. The sky above was slightly overcast, as if covered by a delicate pink veil. Dark purple shadows crossed the zenith, but toward the sun all was bright bellow and gold. The snow-covered river and meadows beyond were so white that they seemed to have a blue tint. Then the spruce forests with their ragged outlines looked dark and gloomy as they were sketched against the mountains or horizon. I never imagined such color effects as are displayed every day here. I do not think that the brightest colors on an artist's palette could exaggerate the brilliant hues of the sky during our short period of twilight. We are looking for a tenant for our cabin. Let some club of artists engage it for a season and they will be in ecstasy.

A change in the weather! This morning a southeast wind sprang up and sent the thermometer to twenty-three degrees above zero. At this hour yesterday it was thirty-four degrees below. Although nine degrees below freezing, the air feels balmy as it strikes our faces. This is the first day in two months that I have taken a walk across the river in an ordinary hat. I could not go far, as the snow is badly drifted now. I saw a few redpolls and one raven. Rivers and Uncle Jimmy dug a new water-hole to-day. The ice is three and one-half feet thick.

In the cabin all is quiet as I write. The only light is my little candle on the dining-table. Uncle Jimmy is asleep, with his head on his crossed hands, on the opposite side of the table. C. C. is sitting in an arm-chair at the further end of the room probably thinking of home. Brownie and Clyde went over to one of the Iowa camps a few hours ago. Some of the boys are restless and delight in visiting.