As soon as Tom had finished his story, he was showered with questions, and it was an hour longer before the party, having taken breakfast, assembled on deck to witness the approach to the wharf. Another boat from the south, much smaller and dirtier, headed for her moorings at the same time.
The Queen, like a true King’s Daughter, permitted the other to pass her and make fast to the wharf. In stately wise, Her Majesty then moved quietly up beside her companion, and the Percivals landed over the latter’s decks.
I will not try to describe Sitka for you; in the first place, because other people have written and printed a great deal about it, which you can find for yourselves in the books on Alaska on the third shelf of the fourth alcove of your Public Library; and secondly, because Rossiter Selborne gave his mother so concise an account of his impressions of the place, that I shall put a part of his letter into this chapter, as I did at Banff.
After describing the buildings about the wharf, he told how he and one or two others walked directly up the main street to the famous church of Sitka; continuing as follows:
“The little church, long ago built by the Russians (from whom, you know, the United States bought Alaska for about seven million dollars in 1867), was a quaint building, with a solemn guardian, who demanded a small fee before he permitted us to enter. There was an altar arranged after the requirements and ceremonies of the Eastern Catholic church; some fine priestly robes, and a really beautiful painting of Mary, the mother of Jesus. Services are still held in the church every Sunday.
THE GREEK CHURCH AT SITKA.
“Coming out of the church we walked along the narrow streets, looking at the houses built of squared logs by the Russians many years ago. The building on the hill was of logs like the rest, and proved to be the castle of stern old Governor Baranov. I found pieces of bear’s fur still sticking to the walls, where the great hides had once been nailed up, to keep out the bitter cold of winter.
“Such funny times we had buying trinkets of the Indians, squatting in a long row on the broad sidewalk! All the English the Indian squaws seemed to know was, ‘One tollar!’ ‘Two tollar!’
“I must not forget to tell you about the Mission School. You walk to it along the curving, sandy beach, near which the school buildings stand, about half a mile from the wharf. Such fine, intelligent faces the boys and girls have, compared with the natives outside! It is beautiful to see the human, the divine, driving the animal look out of the dark faces, the eyes kindling with light, the whole, God-given soul waking up before your very eyes. The old fairy story of the fair princess, Sleeping Beauty, brought to life by the kiss of a prince, is pretty; but it will hardly move one, after seeing the wonderful awakening of a poor, Sitkan woman-child, at the touch of loving hands—at the sound of her Father’s voice, speaking through the noble men and women who are doing his work in these desolate Northern lands.