Adventures in Alaska

by Samuel Hall Young

"Little man with the wild, wild eye,
Man with the long, long hair,
Why do you dance about the floor?
Why do you beat the air?
Why do you howl and mutter so?
Why do you shake your fist?"
Said the little man, in a deep, deep voice,
"I'm an el-o-cu-tion-ist!"

But the Indians saw nothing funny in Sam's oratory—it thrilled them through and through. Even old Snook, the hero of the story, ceased his carving, fixing his eyes intently on the speaker, and rewarding him with a fervent "Kluh-yukeh!" To exactly translate that exclamation will require a paraphrase—"My, but that was good!"

But Tilly thought only of the glory of her granduncle. Her eyes shone with pride, and she whispered to me, "Isn't my gran'fader, Snook, just the bravest man you ever heard of? Why, he isn't afraid of anything."

The other Indians also yielded Snook the palm for courage and strength. They looked upon him as a sort of Indian superman, lauding him in their speeches, and being careful not to offend him. He was the hero of the Stickeens.

And, indeed, I was much of the same opinion. Certainly a man who would stand up, single-handed, to a grizzly and kill him with a spear, must have unqualified nerve and courage. Surely nothing on earth could frighten a mighty bear-hunter like that.

Well, listen. A few days after this visit to Snook's house I was sitting in my house, which was within the stockade of the old fort. The posts of this stockade, some twelve feet high and firmly spiked together, had been put in place about sixteen years before, when the fort was first established. Although many of the posts were rotting, the circle enclosing the parade ground, barracks, hospital and officers' quarters was still unbroken. Our house was one of the old officers' dwellings and not far from the gateway which led "up the beach" towards the Indian village of temporary houses in which the "foreign Indians"—those from distant tribes—encamped. On the other side of the fort another gateway led "down the beach," through the town with its stores and white man's houses, to the large community houses of the Stickeens. To go from one Indian town to the other you had to pass through the fort.

It was a lovely, sunny day in midsummer. Everything was peaceful about the old fort. School was in session in the old hospital, our little children were playing on the grass, and our old cow, "Spot," was feeding in the gateway.

This cow was a little black and white Holstein which the ladies of Pennsylvania had purchased for Mrs. Young's training-school, and to supply our babies and the native babies with fresh milk. She was the first cow which had been brought to Fort Wrangell, and was a great curiosity and wonder to the Indians. The Thlingets had no name for cattle, because these animals were not known in Alaska; so they adopted the Chinook name—moosmoos—and, owing to the Thlingets' inability to pronounce any consonant that brings the lips together, they called it "wusoos."

Our little "wusoos" was gentle and tame as a kitten. Our children used to hang onto her tail, and feed her bunches of grass and leaves of cabbage. Once I came upon a group that made me laugh. "Spot" was lying down and placidly chewing her cud; Abby, aged five, was seated between the cow's horns; while Alaska (Lassie), who was three, with her little dog, Jettie, in her arms, was sprawling on Spot's back.

This peaceful summer's morning the cow was cropping the grass by the gate. Suddenly the silence was shattered by a strong Indian voice, pitched high through fear, calling to me: "Uh-eedydashee; uh-eedydashee, uh-Ankow; uh-eedydashee!" (Help me; help me, my chief; help me!)