A Woman who went to Alaska

by May Kellogg Sullivan

Alma is making a fur sleeping bag of reindeer skins for the teacher, so when she travels she can have it to sleep in nights. It is very heavy to hold and handle while sewing.

Two men called who have been shipwrecked in Norton Bay, and told of the H. family, consisting of the father, mother, and little daughter whom I have seen in Nome. They lost all their clothing, but saved part of their "grub," and we have made up a package of clothing to send to the woman and child by the men who are going back there. In the darkness, one night, they say the schooner "Lady George" went aground on the mud flats of Norton Bay, the tide rising soon after, and all having to flee for their lives to nearby ice, from which they went ashore to a log hut long ago deserted. The child, who is about twelve years old, is now without clothing, and winter is coming on.

The fates are hard on some people, surely, and this little girl lately from San Francisco, the public school, and piano lessons, is left with her parents in an Arctic wilderness in winter without clothing or shelter, except a poor broken hut, and a few men's garments generously donated. The men say that her mother is almost wild over it, and they thought at first that she would go insane, but the brave little child does all she can do to comfort her mother, and the men begged us to send them some things. Among the clothing we sent I put in a few school books, a slate, some pencils, and a Bible, which may be of use in lonely hours. They may read the good book now if they never have before. They are Swedish people.

It is three degrees below zero today, November twenty-fifth, clear, bright and cold. Mr. H. came with a man and his dog-teams to move the whole family tomorrow to the Home. All are delighted to go there, as we are to remain here. The shipwrecked men called again to tell us more fully about their experiences, and are now going back to their camp. They certainly had an awful time, but they are glad and thankful to have come out alive, and we are also glad for their sakes.

Two of the Commissioners have been here, one from fifty miles away, wanting to buy a reindeer for his Thanksgiving dinner, but Mr. H. would not sell one. He has been very urgent, and called a number of times, but Mr. H. is firm in refusing. Our good dinner today was made up of mutton stew with onions, baked potatoes, tomatoes, fruit soup, bread, butter and coffee. I have taken a few kodak views today of Miss J. and the Eskimo baby, Bessie, and hope they will be good.

November twenty-sixth: It is ten degrees below zero, but the whole household was up early this morning to move over the ice to the new Home. Four big dog sleds were piled high with household things, the baby was tucked into a fur sleeping-bag with only her head out, at which she howled lustily, Miss J. running beside the team to comfort her, while Mr. H., his assistant and Ivan, with Mr. G. of our party, ran ahead of the dogs. Breakfast was eaten at eight o'clock in the morning, and all was hurly burly and excitement till they had gone. Ricka, Alma and I ran out to the beach to see them off upon the ice, as then they would have fair traveling, but we were afraid they would tip everything over at the bank where the drifts are high, and blocks of ice piled in places. Everything was lashed tightly down, however, and no accident occurred. All the children but Bessie ran alongside the sleds to keep warm, and they had lunches with them to eat when they were hungry. When the smaller ones grew tired, I suppose they rode for a while on the sleds. It was eleven o'clock in the morning, and the bright sun shone directly in our faces as we stood waving good-bye to them, really sorry to see them leave us. The hills, almost bare of snow, lay pink and lovely under the sunshine.

After lunch M. went out, slipped on the ice and fractured his collar bone. The Dawson man in the old schoolhouse, (who claims to be a doctor), brought him indoors, but poor M. was pretty pale. The man, with G.'s help, attended to his hurt, put his arm in a sling, and he is lying on the lounge looking serious, but not discontented nor suffering severely.

We were not to have so small a family many hours, as we found at about five o'clock in the afternoon today, when there was a great commotion at the door. There were men's voices, a woman's jolly laughter, and the quick barking of dogs, glad to reach their journey's end, and when we opened the door to those knocking, there were Mary and two friends from Nome with their dog-teams. In they came, laughing, talking and brushing the frost off their parkies, glad to get here, and hungry from traveling, so we gave them a warm welcome, and good hot coffee and supper.

Then Mary, (real Viking that she is, and from Tromso, in Norway,) related the story of her journey by dog-team. Eighty-five miles, they call it, from Nome by water to Chinik, but overland it is probably farther. Nights were spent in the roadhouses, she said, but there was little sleep to be had in them, for they were crowded and noisy, and she was thankful the trip was now ended, and she had safely arrived.

The two young men who came with her seem nice, honest fellows, and I am acquainted with one of them from seeing him at the "Star" many times, where he often ground coffee to help evenings, or chatted in the kitchen when we worked.