At our final view of Sitka, the quaint capital of Alaska was lying quiet and peacefully at the feet of Vestova, while enshrouded in a voluptuous sheen of afternoon sunlight. A rose-glow rested on everything, beautifying the simplest objects. Lofty, thickly-wooded hills formed the background, while the Greek church and the old castle dominated all the humbler buildings. The waters of the island-dotted bay were as still as an inland lake, and flooded with golden reflections. Now and again an eagle sailed gracefully from one wooded height to another, and the hoarse croak of many ravens, held sacred by the Indians, greeted the ear. A few United States soldiers lounged about their barracks, and a few cannon were arranged upon the broad common. These were light fieldpieces, more for show than for use. Groups of natives clad in bright-colored blankets were seen here and there before their simple dwellings which line the beach. A broad, intensely green plateau forms the centre of the settlement, about which the better houses of the whites are situated. A little to the left, nearer to the hills, is the curiously arranged burial-ground of the aborigines, with a few totem-poles, and many boxes reared above ground in which are deposited the remains of former chiefs. On a slight rise of ground stands the ancient blockhouse, built of logs, from which the Russians once made a desperate fight with the natives. Behind us Mount Edgecombe loomed far up among the clouds, where its apex was half hidden, and in the same direction, not far away, was the open Pacific. It was nearly ten o’clock P. M. before the sun set behind the distant western hills in a blaze of scarlet, yellow, and purple, reflected by soft, butterfly clouds and mountain tops in the east. After that came the luminous moonlight, making a regal glory of the darkness, and flashing in opal gleams from the sea.
While watching the rippling lustre of the water, tremulous with starlight and the languid breath of the night air, one was fain to ask if it was all quite real, if this was not a fancy picture from the land of dreams. Could these be the far-away shores of Alaska? The pathos and tenderness of the scene, the glow, and fire, and throbbing loveliness, were indescribable. Even the few fleecy clouds which sailed between us and the planets seemed as if they came to waft our hymn of praise to Heaven. Is not such surpassing beauty of nature an image of the Infinite One?
CHAPTER XXIII.
The Return Voyage.—Prince of Wales Island.—Peculiar Effects.—Island and Ocean Voyages contrasted.—Labyrinth of Verdant Islands.—Flora of the North.—Political Condition of Alaska.—Return to Victoria.—What Clothing to wear on the Journey North.—City of Vancouver.—Scenes in British Columbia.—Through the Mountain Ranges.
The return voyage from Sitka by the inland course takes us first through Peril Straits, so named on account of its many submerged rocks and reefs. It is, however, a wonderfully picturesque passage between the two lofty islands of Chichagoff and Baranoff, strewn as it is with impediments to navigation. We pass the Indian village of Kootznahoo, occupied by a tribe of the same name, people who have always proved to be restless and aggressive, requiring a strong hand to control them. They are peaceable enough now, having been taught some severe lessons by way of discipline. This tribe as a body still adheres to many of the revolting practices of their ancestors, which other Alaskans, who are brought into more intimate relations with the whites, have discarded. They are also said to be more under the influence of their medicine-men, who foster all sorts of vile rites and superstitions, without the prevalence of which their occupation and importance would vanish.
We make our way through the winding channels of the Alexander Archipelago, of which the Prince of Wales Island is one of the largest and most mountainous. It is about a hundred and seventy-five miles long by fifty miles in width; that is to say, it is as large as the State of New Jersey, and in fact contains more square miles. It is mostly covered with dense forests of Alaska cedar, the best of ship-timber. The shores are indented on all sides by fjords extending a considerable distance into the land. Salmon abound in and about this island, which has led to the establishment of several large fish-canning factories, two new ones being added during the past season. The principal native tribe upon the island is known as the Haidas, whose villages are scattered along the coast. The interior of the island is not only uninhabited, but it is unexplored. The shore hamlets are called “rancheries.” Each sub-tribe has a special one representing its capital, where the head chiefs live. Their laws seem to be simply a series of conventionalities. The houses of these Haidas are better structures than those of most natives of the Territory, and they surround themselves, as a rule, with more domestic comforts. Woolen blankets appear to be the investment in which all the spare means of the members of this, as well as most other tribes, are placed, and by the number they possess they estimate their wealth. Woolen blankets, in fact, averaging in value from two dollars and a half to three and a half, are the native currency or circulating medium, being received as such when in good condition; and also given out at the trading stations as payment to natives for furs or for any service, unless specie is preferred.
The meandering course of the steamer brings us now before one Indian hamlet and island, and now another; but these villages are very few in number, hours, and even a whole day, being sometimes passed, while on our course, without meeting a solitary canoe or seeing a human being outside the vessel’s bulwarks. These islands, as a rule, have no gravelly or sandy beach, but spring abruptly from out the almost bottomless sea, in their proportions ranging from an acre to the size of a European principality.
Now and again we come upon a reach of the shore where it is shelving, and for a mile or more it is bastioned by a course of stones, of such uniform height and even surface as to seem like the work of clever stone-masons. Skilled workers with plummet and line could produce nothing more regular.
In some places, as we quietly glide close in to the shadow of the land, shut in by the morning fog and mist wreaths, the effects are very curious and even startling. It not being possible to see very far up the shrouded cliffs, down whose sides there rush narrow, silvery cascades, with a merry, laughing sound, they often have the appearance of coming directly out of the sky. It seems as though some peak had punctured one of the over-charged clouds, and it was pouring out its liquid contents through the big aperture.