Dr. Coffin got word from Dr Gleaves to go down to the Hanson Camp. A man on his way up the river from one of the lower camps has frozen his toes, and they are in such a condition that amputation is necessary. Dr. Coffin wanted me to go with him to assist, thinking: me cool and nervy, but I declined. If they were nice, fresh, sound members, nothing would delight me better than to render assistance, but I have a repugnance to dead, decaying flesh. For this and other reasons I never would skin a bird that had died of itself, though I saw it fly against a telegraph wire.
I am studying hard. I am at work on my physiology, and also committing to memory a "Glossary of Scientific Terms." The boys ridicule me for reading the dictionary so much, saying that the subject is changed too often to make it profitable reading. I am also teaching German to Rivers and Brownie. They are a very willing class. Other times I am studying bacteriology with the doctor. We are a literary and scientific crowd. Our latest argument last night was "How to Dispose of the City Slums." The doctor reads portions of Josiah Strong's "New Era" to us and then we discuss it. The Literary Society of the Kowak met Wednesday evening with a good attendance. "The Practical Value of Art" was thoroughly expounded by Solsbury of the Hanson Camp, though he required two hours to do it and some of the art-less ones grew sleepy.
Native Family at Home.
Indian Charley is nearly well now, and, like a white man in such circumstances, is appreciative of all we have done for him. He assures us that his woman shall sew for us, and that he himself will bring us fish when the spring opens. We hope he will continue in a thankful frame of mind. Another native died at the Hanson Camp of pneumonia. Dr. Gleaves kept him in his own cabin for days but failed to restore him, as the man was too far gone when he saw him. The relatives of the dead man had heard how C. C. buried Charley's little girl in a box, and insisted that they, too, have a "cabloona" (white man's burial). Again was our undertaker alert and in his "native element," so to speak, and superintended the making of a coffin, and the various other incidentals of the funeral. The friends of the deceased brought a large number of articles, including a new gun, spy-glasses, parkas, skins, etc., to be interred with the body, but were finally dissuaded from thus destroying everything, save the dead man's pipe and tobacco pouch. These they believed he could by no means get along without in the next world. Before the Indian died he begged several times of Dr. Gleaves to kill him with a knife, and thus aid him in parting from his own misery. We are assured that the native medicine men sometimes do this, and at first glance there seems a humane side to the argument. On second thought, however, it is clear that the duty of a physician is to allay suffering, while life is naturally prolonged, leaving it to some other One to name the date of release. We hear of a woman sick at the village. Surely the Eskimos will soon be a race of the past unless civilization comes to their aid.
Dec. 19.—It has blown a gale for six days and we have scarcely been out of the house in that time. The bright, warm cabin is preferable. We only hear the roar of the wind outside, and occasionally from the corners comes a cold draught of air dumbly whistling through the moss-crowded chinks. The two Harrys got back Wednesday night after a very hard trip. They only got twenty miles beyond Ambler City before they were caught by the snow, which shortly was more than a foot in depth and they could not travel. Harry R. induced a severe attack of rheumatism and could walk only with difficulty. He came near freezing to death. He wanted to lie down and sleep, and Cox had all he could do to force him on until they reached a cabin. Harry R. must have suffered terribly, for he is as thin and pale as any ghost I ever met. Although they went only about fifty miles up the river, they heard rumors from beyond which knock all the props from under our recent hopes. Our boys of the upper camp who started for the Allashook have returned, not being able to get over the pass on account of the deep snow. Moreover it is rumored that the golden reports from the Allashook were invented by a couple of men, one of whom has eight hundred pounds of provisions over there to sell, and the other wants to be recorder of claims.
There are other reports of strikes up the river, but I for one shall pay no heed, nor will I write about them. Several people have been up from camps below, trying to get loads of provisions. They are having a hard time. Several have returned and two are waiting for better weather. It is really dangerous traveling now. More than one man has nearly lost his life. One came to our cabin with his face frozen, and did not know it until we told him. It is useless to think of traveling in this biting cold. And here comes a pounding on our woodshed door. Half a dozen of us run to open it, glad that we have shelter for any wanderer.
CHAPTER XII.
D
DEC. 20.—A man has just come up from the Orphans' Home with bad news. Poor Uncle S. is lost and probably frozen to death. He left the Orphans' Home to walk to the Mission a month ago and has not been seen since, although several parties have come up from the Sound. His tracks were seen by the "Flying Dutchman" on one of the forks of the Kowak in the delta. Uncle S. had our letters, so these will never reach their destination and the home folks will be disappointed. Possibly a whole year with no news from the gold-hunters of the Arctics. I suppose the body will be found when the snow melts in the spring. Uncle S. was a nice old Quaker, speaking "thee" and "thou" habitually. He spent the night with us on his way down and was very entertaining. He played a game of whist with us in the evening, and it was very odd and amusing to hear such expressions as, "Now, Joseph, play thy hand properly." "Is this my trick or thine?" "Did thee play thy ace?" etc. Uncle Jimmy, who doesn't believe in card games, tried to start an argument with Uncle S., but the latter only said very quietly, "One can play music with good or evil intentions; so I think with a simple game of whist." I never saw Mr. S. before, and it is a strange incident up here in the Arctics, to hear him tell me about my father, who, in his youth, paid some considerable devotion to a relative of his, giving me many pleasant reminiscences of both my father's and mother's families. These old-time memories, told in the dim candlelight of the peopled cabin, interested our whole company, and we all took to calling our guest "Uncle S.", as much out of respect to the man as to a possible relationship which might have existed between himself and me. But he is gone now and we shall look forward to paying him suitable ceremonies in the spring. Our undertaker is preparing to embalm the body when discovered. He was a Friend of Some note from Ohio, who drifted up here, like the rest of us "world's people," after gold.