A Woman who went to Alaska

by May Kellogg Sullivan

January tenth: This was a cold and windy morning, so the men at the hotel could not start out for the Kuskokquim as they intended. Some men came to the Mission to see if they could rent the old schoolhouse to live in, the doctor and his plucky little wife having left some weeks ago for a camp many miles east of Chinik. After looking it over, the men have concluded to take it, and move in soon. There are no buildings to buy or rent in this camp, nor anything with which to build, so it is hard lines for strangers coming to Chinik. This afternoon Alma went over with me to the hotel to stitch on Mollie's sewing machine, and I carried the deerskin for my new footgear which Alice will make acceptably, no doubt, as she is very expert.

Mr. H., two natives and two white men, were here to supper tonight on their way to Nome by dog-team, and are wishing to start at three in the morning in order to make the trip in two days. M. and L. are also here, so we had seven men to supper. We had fried ham, beans, stewed prunes, tea, and bread and butter.

This morning it was two degrees below zero, with a strong, cold wind; tonight it is fourteen degrees below zero with no wind, and is warmer now than then. No moonlight till nearly morning, but the stars shine brightly.

January eleventh: Mary sat up all night baking bread, and starting the men off for Nome between three and four in the morning. I got up at nine o'clock and enjoyed the magnificent sunrise. I went out with Ricka while she tried at the three stores to find a lining for her fur coat, but one clerk told us that no provision for women was made by the companies, and they had nothing on their shelves she wanted. At the hotel store she found some dark green calico at twenty-five cents a yard, which she was obliged to take for her lining.

While I gave Jennie her lesson her mother came from her hunting, and had shot six ptarmigan, having hurt her finger on the trigger of the gun. Mollie studies a little while each day, when Jennie has finished her lesson.

There is a sick Eskimo woman here now who was brought in from the reindeer camp yesterday, and Mollie has her upstairs in the sewing room on a cot. Mary, the nurse, went over with me to see her, and says she has rheumatic fever. She seems to be suffering very much, and cannot move her hands or limbs.

January twelfth: At eight o'clock today the thermometer stood at forty-one degrees below zero, but registered thirty-two degrees during the middle of the day, and the houses are not so warm as they have been.

When I called for Jennie at the hotel today I found her crying with pain in her leg, so she could not take a lesson, but I sent out for little Charlie who came running to me with outstretched arms. He is a dear little child, and I am getting very fond of him. It is some weeks since Jennie first began crying occasionally with pain, and her parents cannot understand it, unless it is caused by a fall she had on the steamer coming from San Francisco last summer, and of which they thought nothing at the time. I sincerely hope she is not going to be very ill, with no doctor nearer than White Mountain. The sick woman still suffers, though they are doing what they can for her. The captain requested me to bring our medical books over, or send them, that he can look up remedies and treatment of rheumatic fever, for that is what she no doubt has.

While seated at the organ an hour later, in came the storekeeper and his clerk, followed soon after by the captain and musician. Then we had music and solos by the last named gentleman, and the knitting needles kept rapidly flying. At eleven o'clock they went out into the intense cold, which sparkled like diamonds, but which pinched like nippers the exposed faces and hands.

Here is another cold, quiet day, with the thermometer at thirty-five degrees below zero, and it is a first class one to spend by the fire. We have read, slept, eaten, and fed the fires; with only one man, three girls and myself in the house. At ten in the evening G. and B. came in from a five days "mushing" trip on the trails, being nearly starved and frozen. They were covered with snow and icicles, their shirts and coats stiff with frost from steam of their bodies, as they ran behind the sled to keep warm. A hot supper of chicken (canned), coffee, and bread and butter was prepared in haste for them, and they toasted themselves until bedtime.