Feb. 20. 12 o'clock noon.—Cox and Rivers and I are the only ones in the room. The rest are cutting wood. The sunshine is flooding the cabin with light, although the thermometer shows forty degrees below zero. One of our Eskimo neighbors, "Poth-luk," is visiting us, probably more for the benefit he derives from the stove than from a particularly friendly feeling. His little girl is with him, and is romping around the room like any white child. "Kop-puk" is the prettiest native child I have seen. She is "four snows old," so Poth-luk tells me. Her costume is typically Eskimo—a heavy deerskin parka with a big hood, lined with wolverine, strips of minkskin hanging from her shoulders and waist, and deerskin commuks. Her hood lies back from her head exposing her black hair, cut bang-wise in front. Her face is round and fat and her mouth really very pretty. She has shining dark brown eyes and perfectly white teeth. At this moment she is playing "peek-a-boo" with me from behind a chair. Her laughing face, surrounded by the broad fringe of wolverine fur, and her chubby figure, make a pretty picture. I would like to take her home with me. But what could I do with her? If taken from her native climate she would probably soon die.
Our Artist Snowed In.
We have a new lounge, which invites indigence in an already lazy crowd. I have read over and over the six letters I received in the New Year's mail. It will be six months yet before we get any more. We heard from an Indian that Harry K. and Samms had reached the Orphans' Home safely, though they have had hard traveling. Saturday night Brownie, Clyde, two of the Iowa boys and one Hansonite returned, having given up the trip. They only went fifteen miles up the river. The snow is so deep they had to carry the sled in some places, and those who are continuing with it have to double up with the loads; that is, go over the road twice in order to get the entire load up. They will have a rough time. Brownie came near freezing to death and had to return. This gave the other boys who came with him an excuse for returning. Brownie has been around home all winter, not exercising much, and was not sufficiently hardened for such a trip. The first day, after they had been out but a few hours, he sat down exhausted and said he would come on as soon as he had rested a few minutes (the old story). The boys had presence of mind to know what the real matter was and tried to get him to walk on, but he completely collapsed and became unconscious. They quickly unloaded the sled and several went on ahead to prepare the tent and get a fire going, while the rest got Brownie on the sled and hauled him to camp. He was finally restored, but a few minutes more and another would have been added to the Kowak silent ones. It was thirty-five degrees below zero, not so very cold, but his feet and face were frozen. The boys plied the art of thawing him out so well that he will lose nothing but some skin. He makes a pretty picture with a black nose. His toes are sore, too. Nothing will induce him to leave the cabin again. It is no use making light of it, it is dangerous traveling unless one is in the best physical condition and with proper clothes and outfit. The rest of the party are used to it, and we have no fear for their safety. So many together can take care of each other. Brownie says that when he sat down to rest he only felt tired and a little numb. This numbness crept on him with little pain until he gradually lost perception. He says he "felt good" and didn't like to be disturbed. He lost all power of movement and speech until he was warmed up and rubbed for two or three hours. Death by freezing must be very easy and pleasant. Perhaps it is easier to die almost any death than we suspect. I must have an argument with the doctor about that.
Saturday brought me a new experience—that of writing a sick man's will. B., who lives alone in a little cabin near the first Iowa Camp, is very sick and will probably die. He dictated his will to me, in the presence of Uncle Jimmy as witness. It apportions all his goods and possessions here, which are all he has in the world, among the residents of this community, naming in particular several who have waited upon him. Dr. Coffin is willed his dory. B. is a queer character. He is more or less insane, evidently from drink. The way he begs for hypodermic injections of cocaine and morphine indicates that he may have been a "dope fiend." He has been here since last summer. For some time previous his record was not sustaining, but his people thought he might be benefited by a change of climate. He says his folks are well off and he doesn't want any of his things sent home. The different camps are sharing in his care now, and he may live indefinitely. His legs are affected very much like the scurvy victim's, though the doctors do not call it that. Several of the people have frost-bitten cheeks, but otherwise this is a healthy neighborhood. What little sickness we have had tends to make the well ones kind and charitable and helpful. They chop wood for one another and in many ways give evidence of having sprung from a long line of Christian ancestors. I have heard that, this is the case always and everywhere at mining camps. And ours is a mining camp.
CHAPTER XVII.
F
FEB. 24. Friday. 9 p. m.—I went hunting for the first time on snowshoes. I got along famously until I struck a soft snowdrift, and the shoes turned on edge and I fell headlong. Otherwise I received no casualties and got over the ground rapidly, skirting the brushy margins of lakes back on the tundra and following up the creeks. I shot three rock ptarmigan, and learned many interesting items about their notes and habits, which are duly set down in my special bird notes. The weather is calm and clear and cold, ranging from fifteen to fifty-one degrees in the twenty-four hours.
Wednesday afternoon the literary was again well attended, as we had a very interesting programme. Dr. Coffin had arranged the east end of the room in a patriotic manner, the designs being his own. A large flag made of a red blanket with parallel stripes of white cheese cloth folded across it, and in the corner a square of blue mosquito netting with paper stars pinned on it, formed the background. On a platform in front of this were stacked three guns, one an old rusted muzzle-loader which C. C. found out in the woods, one an old-fashioned breech-loader, and the third a modern nitro-repeater, to represent the three great wars—the Revolutionary, the Civil, and the Spanish. On the wall were magazine cuts of Schley, Sampson, Dewey, Hobson, and other heroes, while in the center of the blanket flag was a large picture of George and Martha Washington.
Mr. Legg, of the Jesse Lou Camp, gave a talk on Honduras, where he was a banana grower some years ago. Several George Washington speeches followed, by Solsbury, Jury, Thees, C. C. and others. Just at the close of the meeting Uncle S. came blustering in from up the river. He brought a lot of news that kept the people here until late in the night. Two or three more men have been frozen to death. Several have scurvy. Our boys were at Ambler City waiting for the weather to moderate before going on up. There has been absolutely no gold heard from. There are thousands of men in the lower Yukon regions, one hundred and fifty steamers and various kinds of launches along the Koyukuk alone, and no encouraging prospects. Hundreds of men haven't a cent to pay their passage back to the States. One good thing makes affairs better than they might be—there is plenty to eat in the country. It is said that a good many have signed a petition to the government to come and get them out of their trouble.