This evening I traded three pounds of raisins for a sailor bag. I have more clothes now than when I left San Francisco, enough to last me five years. Dr. Coffin is a real convert. He is himself a "bird fiend" now, after starting that nickname for me in the beginning, he thinks of stopping this summer at Dutch Harbor. If it keeps on I shall have the whole crew. I think we shall pull out from the company entirely and so escape the turmoil of the ultimate disbandment. There is little hope of realizing from the trip, even on the "Penelope." She cost us enough in the first place, but who knows where she is now?
I just now thought I heard the whistle of the "Helen." There is nothing in sight. That "Helen" haunts me. She it is who will bear me away from this fascinating region. By the way, she has a fine whistle. A better one than any other boat on the river. Perhaps we can trade that whistle for something, even if nobody will accept the gift of the boat and engines. Oh. I forgot; there's Cape Nome. The boys there may have staked out rich claims for us by this time. However. I would be willing to trade all my stock in the L. B. A. M. & T. Co. for some plaster-of-paris, cotton batting and some arsenic.
June 6.—My Last date on the Kowak. The "Helen" arrived on the evening of the 2d. She is O. K. and the eight boys well. They brought down with them a man who is afflicted with black-leg, too helpless to leave. We shall take him to the Mission, so we are now quite a large family. Nearly everyone above has already passed down the river in all sorts of boats and rafts. We have persuaded the rest to remain here a few days, as it will be impossible to get into the Sound so early. We are having a little more time for game. I have taken several sets of rare eggs, and have a number of nests "spotted." But the boys are getting restless and I fear we will have to pull out to-morrow or next day. We are living "high." A varied assortment was served up in the fricassee yesterday—ten old-squaws (ducks), a curlew, two ptarmigan, one loon and a blackbird. Indian Charley brought us twenty fish, so we have plenty of fresh meat, a welcome change of diet for the boys of the upper winter camp, as they have not been afflicted with a bird fiend in their crowd.
Some Friends We Left Behind.
The steamer "Agnes Boyd" was saved from the ice, but is now high and dry on a sand-bar and the river is still falling. The Hanson boys are having a peck of trouble and the prospects are now that they will not get out until the August rains come. I was out collecting until one a. m. night before last, and the pink sunlight never left the mountain peaks. The trees are nearly full foliaged to a beautiful fresh green, and several varieties of flowers are in bloom. It is too bad to be compelled to leave here just at this season. I certainly can never regret leaving a place or home so much. But such is life. We hesitate moving always. And yet who knows but there may be better prospects further on? It is with something of a lump in my throat and heart that I turn my back on what has been the scene of such wonderful experiences to me. Still I must say it, "Good-by, old Kowak, good-by!" Good-by, mice, little redbacks; good-by, sand-dunes and tundras, winter, spruces, birches, cabin, all. Good-by, Eskimos, funny people, who have a kind heart in a little, brown, superstitious body. Here's the deserted village for missionary souls, houses, woodpiles, pictures yet pinned on the walls, echoes of Sunday services and literary societies—and voices of gold hunters.
CHAPTER XXI.
J
JUNE 12.—We are steaming down one of the numerous channels of the Kowak delta, and I am sitting on the upper deck of the "Helen." The channel is narrow but deep and very tortuous. Half an hour ago we were going in an exactly opposite direction. The banks are low and are lined continuously with willows whose branches have not even budded out, although up the river we left the trees in full foliage, thus indicating the season to be much later along the coast than in the interior. We have met no ice in the stream, but there is plenty stranded on the bars. Some Indians told us to-day there will be plenty of ice in the inlet for many sleeps yet, but our boys want to see for themselves. I think it a great mistake to have left the timber so early. We left our winter home on the 8th of June and traveled three days. Yesterday we tied up all day at the last timber and I put in the time collecting. I obtained eight sets of eggs, a little brown crane skin put up, greasy as a duck, besides several small birds. I put in every minute on shore and am getting some good things,—sets of varied thrush, gray-cheeked thrush, etc.
We got a good deal of game yesterday. Everything that has meat on it goes into the pot. The fricassee to-day consisted of a crane, two ducks and a loon, all cut up and boiled together. Jesse Farrar is cook; Stevenson is fireman; Casey, engineer; Wilson and Foote, pilots; Shafer, Shaul, Uncle Jimmy and I, deck hands; the doctor and Colclough comprise the fire department.