Chapter IX: Through the Upper Ramparts (2)

Nearly opposite Fort Reliance was the Indian village of Noo-klak-o, or Nuclaco, numbering about one hundred and fifty people. Our approach was welcomed by a protracted salute of from fifty to seventy-five discharges of their old rusty muskets, to which we replied with a far less number. Despite the great value of powder and other ammunition to these poor isolated savages, who are often obliged to make journeys of many hundreds of miles in order to procure them, and must oftentimes be in sore need of them for hunting purposes, they do not hesitate in exciting times--and every visit of a stranger causes excitement--to waste their ammunition in foolish hangings and silly salutes that suggest the vicinity of a powder magazine. I suppose the expenditure on our visit, if judiciously employed in hunting, would have supplied their village with meat for probably a month; and yet we drifted by with hardly a response. This method of saluting is very common along the river from this point on, and is, I believe, an old Russian custom which has found its way thus far up the stream, which is much beyond where they had ever traded. It is a custom often mentioned in descriptions of travel further down the river. The permanent number of inhabitants, according to Mr. McQuestion, was about seventy-five or eighty; and therefore there must have been a great number of visitors among them at the time of our passing. They seemed very much disappointed that we did not visit their village, and the many who crowded around the drifting raft in their little fleet of canoes spoke only of tea and tobacco, for which they seemed ready to barter their very souls. Their principal diet in summer and early fall is furnished by the salmon of the Yukon, while during winter and spring, until the ice disappears, they feed on the flesh of moose and caribou. A trader on the upper river told me that the ice of the stream is removed from the upper ramparts and above principally by melting, while all that covers the Yukon below that part is washed out by the spring rise of the river, there being fully a month's difference in the matter between the two districts. Noo-klak-o' was a semi-permanent village, but a most squalid-looking affair,--somewhat resembling the Ayan town, but with a much greater preponderance of canvas. Most of the native visitors we saw were Tanana' Indians, and I was somewhat surprised to find them put the accent, in a broad way, on the second syllable, _Ta-nah'-nee_, differing radically from the pronunciation of the same name by the Indians at the mouth of the river, and by most white travelers of the Lower Yukon. From this point a trail leads south-westward over the mountains to a tributary of the Tanana, by means of which these Indians visit Noo-klak-o. The 19th was a most disagreeable day, with alternating rain showers and drifting fog, which had followed us since the day of our failure in securing astronomical observations, and to vary the discomfort, after making less than thirty miles we stuck so fast on the upper point of a long gravel bar that we had to carry our effects ashore on our backs, and there camp with only half a dozen water-logged sticks for a camp-fire. What in the world any mosquito wanted to do out on that desert of a sand-bar in a cold drifting fog I could never imagine, but before our beds were fairly made they put in an appearance in the usual unlimited numbers and made sleep, after a hard day's work, almost impossible.

Starting at 8:10 A.M., next morning, from Camp 33, at 11:30 we passed a good sized river coming in from the west, which I named the Cone-Hill River, from the fact that there is a prominent conical hill in the center of its broad valley, near the mouth.

Just beyond the mouth of the Cone-Hill River we suddenly came in sight of some four or five black and brown bears in an open or untimbered space of about an acre or two on the steep hillsides of the western slope. The raft was left to look after itself and we gave them a running volley of skirmish fire that sent them scampering up the steep hill into the dense brush and timber, their principal loss being loss of breath. By not attending to the navigation of our craft in the excitement of the short bear hunt we ran on a submerged rock in a current so swift that we swung around so rapidly as almost to throw a number of us overboard, stuck for a couple of minutes with the water boiling over the stern, and in general lost our faith in the ability of our vessel to navigate itself. In a previous chapter I have mentioned having been told by a person in southern Alaska, undoubtedly conscientious in his statement, and having considerable experience as a hunter, that the black and brown bear of his district never occupied the same localities, and although the sequence of these localities might be as promiscuous as the white and black squares on a checker-board, yet each species remained wholly on his own color, so to speak; and this led him to believe that the weaker of the two, the black bear, had good reason to be afraid of his more powerful neighbor. This day's observation of the two species living together, in one very small area, shows either an error of judgment on the part of the observer mentioned, or a difference of the ursine nature in different regions.

After leaving the Stewart River, which had been identified by a sort of _reductio ad absurdum_ reasoning, I found it absolutely impossible to identify any of the other streams from the descriptions and maps now in existence, even when aided by the imperfect information derived from the local tribes. Indianne, my Chilkat-Tahk-heesh interpreter, got along very well among the latter tribe. Among the Ayans were many who spoke Tahk-heesh, with whom they traded, and here we had but little trouble. Even lower down we managed to get along after a fashion, for one or two of the Ayan medicine-men who came as far as Fort Reliance with us, could occasionally be found, and they understood the lower languages pretty fairly, and although we struggled through four or five tongues we could still make out that tea and tobacco were the leading topics of conversation everywhere. Beyond Fort Reliance, and after bidding adieu to our four Ayans, we were almost at sea, but occasionally in the most roundabout way we managed to elicit information of a limited character.

(As we approached looking down the stream.)]

About the middle of the afternoon of that day, the 20th, we floated past a remarkable-looking rock, standing conspicuously in a flat level bottom of the river on the eastern side, and very prominent in its isolation. I could not but notice the strong resemblance between it and Castle Rock on the Columbia River, although I judge it to be only about one-half or two-thirds the size of the latter, but much more prominent, not being overshadowed by near and higher mountains. I called it the Roquette Rock, in honor of M. Alex. de la Roquette, of the Paris Geographical Society. The Indians have a legend connected with it, so it is said, that the Yukon River once flowed along the distant hills back of it, and that the rock formed part of the bluff seen in the illustration just below, overhanging the western shore of the river, both being about the same height and singularly alike in other respects. Here the bluff and rock lived many geological periods in wedded bliss as man and wife, but finally family dissensions invaded the rocky household and culminated in the stony-hearted husband kicking his wrangling wife into the center of the distant plain, and changing the course of the great river so that it flowed between them to emphasize the perpetual divorce. The bluff and the rock, so my informant told me, are still known among the Indians as "the old man" and "the old wife." Despite a most disagreeable day, on the 20th we showed a record of forty-five geographical miles, by way of compensation for the dark lowering clouds that hung over us like a pall. The scenery passed that day would have been picturesque enough when viewed through any other medium than that of a wretched drizzle of rain. Just before camping we saw high perpendicular bluffs of what appeared to be limestone, frowning over us from the eastern shore, which were perforated with huge caverns that would have made good dens for bears, but their situation was such that no bears not possessing wings could have reached them. On the map this bluff figures as Cave Rock.

We got a late start on the 21st, the wretched weather being good for late sleeping if for nothing else, the middle of the forenoon finding us just pulling out. At noon we passed a good-sized river coming in from the east, but if it had been mapped we were unable to identify it. A few minutes afterward we swung around a sharp bend in the river and saw a confused mass of brush or logs that denoted an Indian village in the distance, a supposition confirmed by the number of canoes afloat in its front and by a motley crowd of natives on the bank, well mingled with the inevitable troop of dogs that to the eye of the experienced traveler is as sure a sign of an Indian village as both Indians and houses together. This was the first Indian village we had encountered on the river deserving the name of permanent, and even here the logs of which the cabins, six in number, were built, seemed to be mere poles, and by no means as substantially built as it might have been with the material at hand. It was perched up on a high flat bank on the western side of the river, the gable ends of the house fronting the stream, and all of them very close together, there being only one or two places wide enough for a path to allow the inmates to pass. The fronts of the houses are nearly on the same line, and this row is so close to the scarp of the bank that the "street" in front is a very narrow path, where two persons can hardly pass unless one of them steps indoors or down the hill; and when I visited the village the road was so monopolized by scratching dogs that I could hardly force my way through them. This street may have been much wider in times of yore--for it seemed to be quite an old village--and the encroachments of the eroding river during freshets may have reduced it to its present narrowness. If so, it will not be long before the present village must be abandoned or set back some distance. Further up the river we saw a single pole house projecting over the bank about a fourth or a third of its length, and deserted by its occupants. The body of the houses is of a very inferior construction, in which ventilation seems to be the predominating idea (although even this is not developed to a sufficient degree, as judged by one's nose upon entering), and the large door in front is roughly closed by a well-riddled moose or caribou skin, or occasionally by a piece of canvas so dirty that at the distance of a few feet it might be taken for an animal's skin. The roofs are of skins battened down by spruce poles, which, projecting beyond the comb in irregular lengths, often six and eight feet, gave the whole village a most bristling appearance. A fire is built on the dirt-floor, in the center of the habitation, and the smoke left to get out the best way it can. As the occupants are generally sitting flat on the floor, or stretched out at full length on their backs or stomachs in the dirt, they are in a stratum of air comparatively clear; or, at least, endurable to Indian lungs. The ascending smoke finds ample air-holes among the upper cracks of the walls, while that dense mass of it which is retained under the skins of the roof, making it almost impossible to stand upright, is utilized for smoking the salmon which are hung up in this space. The Indian name of the village is Klat-ol-klin', but it is generally known on the Middle River as Johnny's Village, after the chief's Americanized name. That dignitary was absent on a journey of several days down the river, at the time of our arrival.

A number of long leaning poles, braced on their downhill ends by cross uprights, were noticed on the gravel beach in front of the village; these serve as scaffoldings upon which to dry salmon in the sun, and to keep them from the many dogs while undergoing this process. While taking a photograph of the town, two or three salmon fell from the poles; and in a twinkling fully sixty or seventy dogs were huddled together about them in a writhing mass, each one trying to get his share,--and that of several others. The camera was sighted toward them, a hurried guess made as to the proper focus, and an instantaneous view attempted, but the negative looked more like a representation of an approaching thunder shower, and I never afterward printed from it. Occasionally in these rushes a row of scaffolding will be knocked down, and if it happens to be loaded with salmon the consequent feast will be of a more extensive nature. These dogs were of a smaller breed, and noticeably of a darker color, than the Eskimo dogs of the lower river. They are employed by these Indians for the same purposes, but to a more limited extent.

It was at this village that what to me was the most wonderful and striking performance given by any natives we encountered on the whole trip was displayed. I refer to their method of fishing for salmon. I have already spoken of the extreme muddiness of the Yukon below the mouth of the White River; and this spot, of course, is no exception. I believe I do not exaggerate in the least when I say, that, if an ordinary pint tin-cup were filled with it, nothing could be seen at the bottom until the sediment had settled. The water is about nine or ten feet deep on the fishing banks in front of the houses, where they fish with their nets; or at least that is about the length of the poles to which the nets are attached. The salmon I saw them take were caught about two hundred or two hundred and fifty yards directly out from the shore in front of the houses. Standing in front of this row of cabins, some person, generally an old man, squaw or child, possibly on duty for that purpose, would announce, in a loud voice, that a salmon was coming up the river, perhaps from a quarter to a third of a mile away. This news would stir up some young man from the cabins, who from his elevated position in front of them would identify the salmon's position, and then run down to the beach, pick up his canoe, paddle and net, launch the former and start rapidly out into the river; the net lying on the canoe's birch deck in front of him, his movements being guided by his own sight and that of a half dozen others on the high bank, all shouting advice to him at the same time. Evidently, in the canoe he could not judge well of the fish's position, especially at a distance; for he seemed to rely on the advice from the shore to direct his movements until the fish was near him, when with two or three dexterous and powerful strokes with both hands, he shot the little canoe to a point near the position he wished to take up, regulating its finer movements by the paddle used as a sculling oar in his left hand, while with his right he grasped the net at the end of its handle and plunged it into the water the whole length of its pole to the bottom of the river (some nine or ten feet); often leaning far over and thrusting the arm deep into the water, so as to adjust the mouth of the net, covering about two square feet, directly over the course of the salmon so as to entrap him. Of seven attempts, at intervals covering three hours, two were successful (and in two others salmon were caught but escaped while the nets were being raised), salmon being taken that weighed from fifteen to twenty pounds. How these Indians can see at this distance the coming of a single salmon along the bottom of a river eight or ten feet deep, and determine their course or position near enough to catch them in the narrow mouth of a small net, when immediately under the eye a vessel holding that number of inches of water from the muddy river completely obscures an object at its bottom, is a problem that I will not attempt to solve. Their success depends of course in some way on the motion of the fish. In vain they attempted to show members of my party the coming fish. I feel perfectly satisfied that none of the white men could see the slightest trace of the movements to which their attention was called. Under the skin roofs of their log-cabins and on the scaffoldings upon the gravel beach were many hundred salmon that had been caught in this curious way. The only plausible theory which I could evolve within the limits of the non-marvelous, was, that the salmon came along near the top of the water, so as to show or indicate the dorsal fin, and that as it approached the canoe, the sight of it, or more likely some slight noise, made with that intention, drove the fish to the bottom without any considerable lateral deviation, whereupon they were inclosed by the net. But my interpreters told me (and I think their interpretation was correct in this case, roundabout as it was), that this superficial swimming did not take place, but that the motion of the fish was communicated from the deep water to the surface, often when the fish was quite at the bottom.

Scale, 1-30.]

The nets used have already been partially described. The mouth is held open by a light wooden frame of a reniform shape, as shown in the figure on this page, and as one may readily see, this is of great advantage in securing the handle firmly by side braces to the rim of the net's mouth as shown, that being undoubtedly the object sought. Further down the river (that is, in the "lower ramparts"), the reniform rim becomes circular; thus of course increasing the chances of catching the fish; all the other dimensions, too, are greatly increased. When the salmon is netted, a turn is immediately given to the handle, thus effectually trapping the fish below the mouth of the net, and upon the dexterity thus displayed no little of the fisherman's success depends. Two salmon were lost upon this occasion after they had actually passed into the net, owing to lack of agility in this operation. When fully entrapped and brought alongside, a fish-club, as shown, is used to kill the salmon immediately by a hard blow over the head, for the struggles of so large a fish might easily upset a frail canoe.

Up to this time the birch-bark canoes on the river had been so fragile and "cranky" that my Chilkat Indians, who were used to the heavy wooden canoes of their country, felt unsafe in employing them for all purposes, but these were so much larger and stronger in build, and our old Tahk-heesh "dug-out" so thoroughly worthless, that we felt safe in buying one at this village, but for a number of days "Billy" and "Indianne" paddled very gingerly when making excursions in it.

A few Hudson Bay toboggan sledges were seen on scaffolds at and near the village; they seem to be the principal sledges of this part of the country. The snow shoes of this tribe differed from those of the Chilkats by trifling modifications only, being a sort of compromise between the hunting and packing snow shoes of the latter.

About a mile or a mile and a quarter below Klat-ol-klin', and on the same side of the river, is a fairly constructed white man's log cabin, which had once been used as a trading store, but was now deserted. We afterward learned that this trading station was called Belle Isle, and had only been built two years before, having been abandoned the preceding year as not paying. The Indians evidently must have surmised that the trader would return, as they respected the condition in which he left the building, in a manner most creditable to their honesty, no one having entered or disturbed it since he left. They evidently care very little for beads as ornaments, for I saw none of them wearing that much coveted Indian adornment, while great quantities were scattered around by the trader's store, having been trampled into the ground. At no place on the river did I find such an eagerness for beads as characterizes the American Indians of milder climes, but nowhere did I see such total disregard for them as was shown here.

Near Belle Isle is a prominent hill called by the Indians _Ta-tot'-lee_, its conspicuousness heightened by the comparative flatness of the country which lies between two entering rivers and a great bend of the Yukon. As our survey showed it to be just within Alaska, bordering on the boundary between it and the British North-west Territory, I gave it the additional name of Boundary Butte.

The country was now noticeably more open, and it was evident that we had already passed the most mountainous portion of the chain, the intersection of which by the river forms the upper ramparts.

The next day we made thirty-six miles, and as the whole day had been a most disagreeable one when at six o'clock we got drawn into an eddy, near which was a fair place to camp, I ordered the raft made fast and the tents pitched.

That day--the 22d--while under way, we saw a large dead king-salmon, floating belly upwards with the current, and we kept near it for some time. This spectacle became more familiar as we descended, while everywhere we met with the rough coarse dog-salmon strewn upon the beach, frequently in such numbers, and tainting the air so strongly with the odor of their decay, that an otherwise good camp would be spoiled by their presence.

(Also showing Middle Yukon River Indians' methods of killing swimming moose.)]

The river rose ten inches that night--a fact easily accounted for by the protracted and often heavy rains. The forenoon of the 23d was very gloomy, but shortly after noon the weather surprised us by clearing up.

At 3:30 that day we came upon another Indian town called Charley's Village; but the current was so swift that we could not get the raft up to the bank so as to camp alongside, but we were successful in making a sand-bar about half a mile below. Charley's Village was an exact counterpart of Johnny's, even as to the number of houses--six--and the side of the river--the western; and considering this and the trouble to reach it, I did not attempt to photograph it. When attempting to reach it with the raft, so anxious were the Indians for our success, that as many as could do so put the bows of their canoes on the outer log of the raft, and paddled forward with as much vehemence as if their very lives depended upon the result. In three or four minutes they had worked themselves into a streaming perspiration, and had probably shoved the huge raft as many inches toward the bank. We found a Canadian voyageur among them of the name of Jo. Ladue, who, as a partner of one of the traders on the lower river, had drifted here in prospecting the stream for precious mineral. "Jo," as he is familiarly known, speaks of the natives of both these villages as Tadoosh, and says they are the best-natured Indians from here till the Eskimo are met with. Ladue had a fairly-made scow over twenty feet long, about half a dozen wide, and three deep, which he wanted to hire us, but as it would not hold all the party and effects we had to decline the tender, despite his emphatic assurances that we could not safely go much further with our raft. It was with Ladue that I first noticed particularly the pronunciation of the name of the great river, on whose waters we were drifting, a pronunciation which is universal among the few whites along its borders, and that sounded strangely at first; that is with the accent on the first syllable, and not on the second, as I had so usually heard it pronounced in the United States. That night, the 23d, the mosquitoes were perfectly unbearable in their assaults, and if the weather had not turned bitterly cold toward morning I doubt if we could have obtained any sleep at all, for the mosquito-bars seemed to be no protection whatever.

I think I established one mosquito theory of a practical bearing, on a pretty firm basis, while upon this trip "in the land of the mosquito's paradise;" and that was, if the insects are so thick that they constantly touch each other on the mosquito-bar when crawling over it, it will be no protection whatever, if the meshes are of the usual size, and they will come in so fast that comfort is out of the question, but otherwise there is some chance which increases as their numbers diminish. Even if there are two or three to the square inch of your bar of many square yards, it surprises you how few get through, but the minute they begin crawling over each other they seem to become furious, and make efforts to squeeze through the meshes which are often rewarded with success, until a sharp slap on the face sounds their death knell. The doctor, in a fit of exasperation, said he believed that two of them would hold the legs and wings of another flat against its body, while a third shoved it through; but I doubt the existence of co-operation among them. I think they are too mean to help one another.