Chapter III: Part 3

In again and settling down, when another cat--did not know there were two here--begins to mew and tries to force its way out under the door, which is about 2½ inches above the floor. Persists until I have to get up the second time. Throw that cat out and in bed once more.

In a minute, however, the dogs outside espied the cats and began a pandemonium of howls and yelps and barks. Try hard, but can not stand it. Moreover, the last cat got on the roof, where I hear him walking, and he seems in no hurry to get off. So finally have to get out, catch the cat on the edge of the roof, throw him back into the store, and to bed for another trial. But soon have to smear the body; the bites itch too much. The sleepiness is now quite gone. A mild amusement as to what next. It must be midnight or later now, and it has grown cold. One blanket is not sufficient. Doze off a little, wake up with cold, readjust blanket and flaps of bag, doze off a little again--the dogs commence to howl, just for a song this time, in two, three, then a unison. The bites itch bitterly, now here, now there. The sun has risen; it is real cold, probably no more than about 40° to 45° F. And so on until 5.30, when at last fall into a deep, dreamless sleep, regardless of light, cats, dogs, and everything and sleep until 8.30.

Wake up, can not believe my watch; but it goes, and so probably is right. But no one anywhere yet stirring.

Dress, wash a bit in the muddy river; head feels as if it had been knocked by something heavy. Make my "roll" of bedding and then work on notes, putting down faithfully what has transpired. About 9.30, at last, the storekeeper comes to say they overslept and that a cup of coffee will be ready before long.

Friday, July 2. "Ghost Creek" was named so because of many burials about the creek. The flat between the hills here is about three-fourths of a mile long by the water front, with rising slopes, and used to extend considerably farther out, but was "cut" or washed away by the river. It has been used for a village site and burial ground by the old Indians of the vicinity. As the banks tumble away, bone arrow points, barbed and not, stone scrapers, and other objects wash out. Graves are found in the ground as well as above it. Russian influence prevalent in the objects buried with the bodies, but site extends to pre-Russian time. Same type graves as at Bonasila, with slight local modifications.

At Bonasila the burials above ground were in boxes of hewn wood, joined somewhat as the logs in a log house, and without any base. The body inside was covered with birch bark (three or four pieces), then covered with the top planks, unfastened, and these in turn covered with about a foot of earth and sod. At Ghost Creek the same, but there is an undressed-stake base or platform on which the sides of the "coffin" rest and with somewhat less earth and sod on the top of the box. But graves differ here from underground and birch bark alone (no trace of wood, if any was ever there; but probably none used) to such aboveground as have iron nails and sawed planks. Here, as at Bonasila, a few simple articles are generally found buried at the head, and for these many of the graves were already despoiled and the skeletal remains scattered or reburied.

There appears to be no line of demarcation between the underground and aboveground graves; possibly the latter were winter burials, but this must be looked into further.

The bodies here, except the latest, are buried flexed. Exceptionally, both at Bonasila and here, the planks surrounding the grave were painted with some mineral pigments which resist decomposition better than the wood, and decorated in a very good native way with series of animals and men, caribou, bear, etc. Too faint to photograph, and too bulky and decayed to take away; but decoration much superior to ordinary Indian pictographs, and apparently connecting with the type of art of the northwest coast. It is of interest that practically the same decorated burials were seen by Dall among the Eskimo of Norton Sound (Unalaklik).[4] In this case it was probably the Indian habit that was adopted by the near-by Eskimo, for none of the more northern Eskimo practiced such burials. The habit was also known in southeastern Alaska. (Pl. 3, _b_.)

Jim Walker, the helpful local mix-breed trader, has dug out many of these graves (alone or with Harry Lawrence), and a good many of the objects are said to have been taken away by Father O'Hara, formerly of the Holy Cross Mission.

According to all indications the stone culture of Bonasila and of Ghost Creek (1½ miles upstream from Holy Cross) were related, both passing apparently into the Russian period, and that at Ghost Creek continuing down to our times, for there is still living here an old man who belongs to this place which once had a large village. Much could be done yet and saved in both places.

Saturday, July 3. At last slept, notwithstanding everything, and succeeded even in being warm.

Breakfast 8.30, for a wonder. Two soft-boiled Seattle eggs, two bits of toast with canned butter (not bad at all), some over-preserved raspberries, and a faded-looking nearly cold "flapjack" with sirup, also mediocre tea. But all goes here, and the stomach calls for no other attention than to fill it.

Finishing work, getting further information from the old Indian, writing, and waiting to go away with a trader to Paimute, the first all-Eskimo village, 25 miles farther down the river. Rains occasionally, but not very cold. Many gnats when wind moderates.

Lunch--canned sardines (in this land of fresh salmon!), a bit of toast, some canned fruit, and that unsavory tea.

Have utilized this day in a profitable manner. Have learned that there was another burial ground about half a mile farther upstream, behind an elevation. So got a rowboat and with Jim Walker's young boy rowed over. Had to wade through high grass over a wet flat, and then up the rank grass and bush-covered slope, and there found a number of old burials. All rifled, but most of the bones still there. So send boy back, on the quiet--there is above the store the camp of the old man with an old Indian woman and sick girl--for some boxes, and meanwhile collect. It is an unceasing struggle with the mosquitoes and gnats in the tall grass and weeds; but one after another I find what remains of the usual old box burials. The bones are mostly in good condition. The boy arrives with several empty gasoline boxes, we gather drier grass and moss, and pack right on the spot, eventually get to the boat, strike off as far as possible from the shore so none could see what is carried, and proceed to Walker's storehouse. Old Indian and his old crony nevertheless stand on bank and look long at us. In storehouse boxes closed, later delivered by the boy to the mail boat, and so that much is saved; for were it not collected, in a few years the weather, vegetation, and animals, human and other, would destroy everything.

_a_, Midnight on the Yukon

_b_, Lower middle Yukon: Painted burial box of a Yukon Indian (before 1884) said to have been a hunter of Bielugas (white whales), which used to ascend far up the Yukon]

_a_, Eskimo camp below Paimute, Yukon River

_b_, Old "protolithic" site 12 miles down from Paimute, right bank, just beyond "12-mile hill." (skull, bones, stones)

_c_, "Old" site in bank seen in middle of picture, 12 miles down from Paimute, opposite that shown in preceding figure. (A. H., 1926)]

Moreover, the utmost care is taken always to leave everything in as good shape as found; and the remains taken will be treated so well and may give us so much that we need that there is no more hesitation in securing them than there would be on the part of a paleontologist in securing old bones for his purposes.

For supper, though it is still early, am invited by Simel, an elderly Jew mail carrier. Have fine meat-and-potato soup, lettuce-and-cucumber salad (even if the cucumbers from the Holy Cross hothouse are overripe and bitter), fresh (storage) meat, cooked dried apples, and poor but hot coffee--all seasoned with the best will and genuine, simple friendliness.

Max Simel, whose home is at Ophir, has been in this country 29 years, and "never needed to buy a quarter's worth of medicine." Has a wife in Seattle, also a daughter and a son; has not seen them for four years. Wants me to call on them and tell them I met him. With his companion, Paul Keating, of Holikachakat, gives me some interesting information. They tell me independently and then together of an occurrence that shows what may happen along this great river. A well-known white man and woman, prospectors on their mail route, have last year thawed and dug out a shaft, nearly 40 feet deep, through muck and silt, to the gravel, in which they hoped to get gold; and just before they reached the gravel they found a piece of calico, old and in bad condition, but still showing some of its design and color.

7 p. m. It rains, but wind has moderated, and so near 7 p. m. we start on our way farther down the river, stopping just long enough at Holy Cross to attend to my reservation for St. Michael. The agent has no idea when the boat will go--maybe the 11th, maybe not until the 14th or later.

Going on an old leaky scow with an elderly, faded, chewing, not very talkative but for all that very kindly and accommodating man, who with one hand holds the steering wheel and with the other most of the time keeps on bailing. He carries supplies for his store and I my outfit, camera, and umbrella. Sky has here and there cleared, even patches of sun appear on far-away clean-cut hills. Water not very rough; make fair time downstream. Banks flat now, river broad, some hills in distance.

8.00 p. m. Hills nearer ahead of us. Some of the flats look from distance like fine tree nurseries. Getting cool. Cloudy ahead. The banks flat and low, no good site for habitation. Not even fishing camps here--just long "cut-banks" (banks being cut by the river) and low beaches. Here and there new bars and islands that are being built by the river. No birds, no boats, just an occasional floating snag or a rare solitary gull.

FOOTNOTES:

[4] Alaska and Its Resources, p. 19: "Our attention was attracted by the numerous graves. These are well worth the careful attention of the ethnologist; many of them are very old. The usual fashion is to place the body, doubled up, on its side, in a box of plank hewed out of spruce logs and about 4 feet long; this is elevated several feet above the ground on four posts, which project above the coffin or box. The sides are often painted with red chalk, in figures of fur animals, birds, and fishes."

PAIMUTE

Paimute down river, I am told, has nothing but Eskimo; Holy Cross, but a few natives now, mainly Indian; above Holy Cross, Indian, Eskimo only as adapted or in admixture.

July 3, 8.30 p. m. Hills on right now right before us. Behind first a fish camp of the Holy Cross Mission natives. River narrows and bends. Two other fish camps become visible. Stop; damp, cold, smoke, fish smell, a few natives, Eskimo. River now like molten glass, but air damp and cold, and I must sit behind the engine and keep my hands over the hot exhaust pipe to keep somewhat comfortable.

Pass bulging bluffs on right--old stratified shales.

11.00 p. m. Arrive at our destination about 11 p. m. But a few log huts on the right side of the river, with few others and a primitive frame church in the back. A little store and a big storehouse (with skins, etc.), trader's house (log cabin) a few rods away. Open store, only to find that a pup had been forgotten there, made a lot of mess and dirt and ate most of one side of bacon.

12.00 p. m. Got to bed in the cabin at 12. Spread bed roll on two reindeer skins which, with fire in the stove, keep me fairly warm. Rain in night and several earth tremors--common in these parts; feel several light ones every night and a stronger one occasionally even in daytime (a big "fault" in the Alaskan range and a proximity to the Aleutian volcanic zone).

Awake before 8, but as it still rains nothing can be done, while my man within a few feet of me still snores; stay in blanket till 9. Modest breakfast at 10 a. m.

10.00 a. m. A little house cleaning--watch kitten clean windows of the many flies, which it eats; and then my man, a Swede by birth, sailor, self-taught painter (of ships and sea scenes), and musician (accordion), goes to bail out the boat. Still full of bites that itch and need a lot of Aseptinol, which in turn makes underwear look dreadful. And no bath possible.

Last night met some of the local Eskimo, full bloods, mostly from the Kuskokwim River. Strong, kinder than the Yukon Indians. But they differ but little in some cases from the latter. They are medium brown in color, hair exactly like the Indian, beard also--only the rather flat (not prominent) mid parts of the face, with rather long and narrow (upper two-thirds) nose, and the cheek bones protruding more or less forward, with face long (often), due to the vertical development of the jaws, helps to distinguish them as Eskimo. There is no clear line of demarcation between the Indian farther up the river and the Eskimo down here, yet in some here the Eskimo type is unmistakable. They have more epicanthus, flatter, longer, and stronger (more massive) face, stronger frame, rather submedium length of legs, and less brachycephalic (or more oblong) head, but not the characteristic, narrow and high, keel-shaped dome that one is used to associate with the Eskimo.

1 p. m. A little lunch--just a cup of coffee and a few crackers. Photograph two natives.

1.30 p. m. Start toward Russian Mission. Trader carries sugar in bags and tea for camps.

Near 2. Stop at an Eskimo camp, see sick baby, photograph a few individuals. Get an ax for a pocketbook--old man happy as a child at the exchange. Made another one happy this morning in payment for information with one of my steamer caps. (Pl. 4, _a_.)

Pass along the still continuing bulging hills on the right. They are forested over lower parts, barren, though mostly greenish, above. As usual flats on left, devoid of man. Occasionally a fish camp on right, or a small village, somewhat different, though in essentials like the Indian (more gregariousness noticeable--up river mostly individual or at most two or three families). Every favorable higher flat or low saddle among the hills on the right and facing the river (or a slough) is utilized by the natives, but such places are scarce.

The ax obtained looks as if it had been broken after found, to make of it a single-edge tool. Tumbled out of a bank. Old Eskimo knew not who made it. Found some miles below Paimute by the old man. Others found, but lost. Ivory arrow and spear points also known to natives, but no one now has any.

A mountain ahead of us. Sky clouded mostly, high diffuse vapors and low, heavy but separated cumuli in the east; one would expect soon a heavy rain. Visibility exceptionally good, horizons far away, uncommonly clear. Mountains sharply outlined against the sky.

About 12 miles below Paimute, on left, some higher banks (old silts and dunes). The ax from the old man had been found here. Stop. Find pottery 12 feet, charcoal 15 feet from surface. Also polished and worked stones. But most of bank has already been cut off and what remains shows no signs of man on the top. (Pl. 4, _b_.)

Cross river obliquely to right bank, just beyond last ("12-mile") hill. Find at once numerous evidences of stone work along the stony beach. In an hour have a fair collection, mainly rejects, but interesting. On top of bank find several mounds and ridges, doubtless dunes, though the one farthest up the river looks very much like a large oval man-made mound. Parts of two much-weathered skulls and one bone lay on the top of this. No definite marks of graves excepting perhaps in one instance. A sign of old clearing farther down, but no "barabras." A spot well worthy of exploration. It was, I learned a little later from Nick Williams, a native who used to act as a pilot on the river, the old mountain village or "Ingrega-miut," and the site is 12 miles downstream from Paimute. (Pl. 4, _c_.)

Beyond are flats and cut banks, both sides, but with hills (old water front) behind on the right and mountains in front. River here very wide.

Many of the worked stones, and occasionally, according to native information, skulls and bones, are washed out from the banks and deposited (rolling, etc.) lower on the beach in something like strata, and in that way evidence is being perverted. Some day a new bank or even a dune may be formed over these secondary deposits and a great source of possible future error be completed.

All the natives along the river (to here) like to bury on the lower slopes of near-by hills.

To bed on floor of kitchen tent at the fine, clean little place of Tucker's, at 10.30. At 1.30 the 20 dogs start a fine, sustained, unison howl song, and I seem to hear an approaching boat. As the Governor of Alaska is expected, slip on shoes and necktie, brush hair, and run out. There is a little boat at the little "dock" (the only one seen so far on the Yukon). Tucker and his son are already there, and I soon hear that the governor is on the boat, which is that of Mr. Townsend, of the Fish Commission. In a few minutes we meet, both in shirt sleeves. And I learn the _Matanuska_, the boat that was to take me from the Russian Mission to St. Michael, has broken down and is not coming. In her place, but no telling as to time, will be sent the _Agnes_, a smaller and slower boat, on which three people have already this season been "gassed" (overcome by the exhaust gases), one of them jumping into the river. She has accommodation for four persons at most, and that of the most primitive, they say. The governor fortunately gives me some hope that I may be picked up and taken down by the same boat which is taking him to Holy Cross. He also tells me of a skull for me at one of the stopping places, Old Hamilton. A frank, good, strong man.

Boat leaves in a few minutes. Back to bed, but now almost full daylight--also cold, and so no more than a doze until 6.15, at which time the boy comes to the kitchen where I was kindly accommodated to start fire and breakfast. So up with a drowsy head. At 7 breakfast--coffee, oatmeal, flapjacks, and good company. Everything about this place is neat, fresh, pleasing--the best individual place on the river. Cloudy, blustery, cool; can not start, so go 1½ miles down to Dogfish village, or I-ka-thloy-gia-miut--probably the same as Zagoskin's I-ka-lig-vig-miut. Only three or four families there now; nearly all the inhabitants died of influenza in 1900. But already before reaching the village, in examining the stones along the beach, I find some chipped ones, and they represent the same industry evidently as those at the two sites yesterday. Later find numerous chipped scrapers, pointed hammers, crude cutters and chisels, and a few axes. Make quite a collection, including a few objects found in possession of natives.

This is a good site, above high water. Must be old. Pottery also encountered occasionally by present occupants, but not one bead; little if any river cutting here for a long period. Worth exploration. Photograph another Indianlike Eskimo. Want to buy an old dish from an Eskimo, border inlaid with six white stones, shaped like an oblong lozenge with rounded corners, but he wants $20. Lunch all together, some Eskimo included, at Tucker's, and then as the wind moderates and the sun comes out, start for the Russian Mission. Mostly still clouds and cool, with some rain in the mountains to the right.

Finds and inquiries made at Dogfish village make it positive that the stone culture there is Eskimo, i. e., of the Eskimo of this region who are probably not a little mixed with Indians. Their head is but moderately oblong, not keel shaped. The majority, however, have Eskimo features.

But the cupid-bow (double-grooved) axes are not known to have been made by these people, and when used after being found or brought down from farther up the river they apparently were broken. One such example was seen already at Ruby--another one at Anvik--secured; and one found yesterday at Mountain village. The axes here are most often oblong, quadrilateral, without groove, or approaching the single-grooved axes of the Indians in the States.

July 6. Proceed down the river toward Russian Mission, examining the banks as closely as possible. Toward evening stop at "Gurtler's," a short distance above the mission.

Mr. Gurtler is a German by birth; his wife is half Indian, of Ruby. She, as well as her 14-year-old daughter, are neat, apt, and very industrious, quiet and nice mannered. With an Eskimo woman, she cleans and cuts up--a whole art of its own--on the average over 200 good-sized salmon a day. Clean place, very good smoking house--much superior to those up the river, except Tucker's.

Sleep in a clean bed of theirs; would much prefer my own and the hard floor, but fear to offend.

RUSSIAN MISSION

Pack my stones and bones collected between here and Holy Cross, and after lunch go to Russian Mission. Meet Mr. Cris Betsch, the trader, and find him both friendly and anxious to help. Teacher and her mother invite me to supper. Before that Mr. Betsch calls in a number of the older men, and we have a talk about ancient things, but they know nothing worth while beyond a few score of years at most; they give me, however, some data and names of old villages.

A few years ago some human bones and skulls were dug up here and reburied. Eskimo readily agree to help us find them and to let me take them. Moreover, they are quite eager to dig up an old medicine man supposed to be buried under a good-sized (for this country) blue spruce. They get shovels, soon find some of the old bones and a damaged skull, and later on, with the help of information given by an elderly woman, uncover also a female skull. Uncover further the end of two birch-bark-covered coffins, from Russian time, and would readily dig them out did I not restrain them; as also with the medicine man. We shall probably get some such specimens from this locality later, so there is no need of disturbing the burials.

Mrs. Barrick, the teacher, gives us a "civilized" supper, at which I am introduced for the first time to a great and fine Yukon specialty, namely, smoked raw strips of king salmon, and find them excellent. Then a good talk with all, after which pack specimens--still somewhat damp, but it would be difficult to wait--deliver to the post, and am sent to my place around the hill at a little past 10 p. m. with an invitation by Mr. Betsch to go to-morrow to "the slough of the 32 kashims (council or communal house)," about 10 miles down the river. But I have already been promised by Gurtler to take me down to this place, and so I can not accept. Just now I need sleep.

July 7. After breakfast examine banks and beach along Gurtler's place and find two stone implements, two pieces of decorated pottery, and a bone of some animal. Wash, dry, and pack, then a cup of coffee--the Gurtler's have a habit of drinking a second cup at about 10 a. m. each day--and then, after some of the seemingly inevitable trouble with motor, start down the river. It rained yesterday; the clouds show low pressure; it is not warm and the water is somewhat rough.

Stop a bit at the mission to give Mrs. Barrick a fish and get a bag or two from Mr. Betsch, and then proceed. From the river the Russian Mission settlement is seen to be very favorably situated at the foot of the southern slope of a big hill. But the recency of the flat below and in front of the church and schoolhouse is clearly seen again. The site about where the church and school are may--in fact must, it is so favored--be a very old one, and doubtless a thorough excavation of the slope from the back of the houses upward would be both easy and very instructive. The place should by all means receive attention.

Reach and examine the "32 kashim slough," a beautiful side channel about 7 miles long; reach about 1½ miles from its entrance, examine banks and pass through jungle, find tracks of foxes and of a bear, also see one big beautiful red fox trotting ahead of us on the other beach--but not a trace of man. Examine also the "mounds" on Grand Island, but find them to be only dunes.

Lunch on the beach; remarkably few mosquitoes and no gnats; smoked raw salmon strips again, and coffee; and at 5 leave for home, it being impossible so late to go down to the end of the channel.

On return all going nicely until 5. Then, in a slough 3½ miles from the Russian Mission, after an examination of another likely site, breakdown of the motor. Do everything possible to make it go until about 8, but in vain. Then I take the crazy little rowboat that luckily we took with us, bail out the water with our shovel, and row to the mission for help. Get there about 9, send back a launch with some natives, have a little supper with the teacher, and row home around the hill, reaching Gurtler's near 11. In a few minutes the launch is towed in and all is well once more. Mr. Betsch got for us two good native "kantágs" or wooden dishes. Also we fix to go down to the "32 kashims" to-morrow once more with Mr. Betsch and the teacher.

July 8. Up a little after 6; breakfast; and then comes in a native from the mission with two letters and information that the _Agnes_, the little mail-carrier boat, has arrived during the night and is waiting for me to take me to Marshall and to Old Hamilton, whence another boat will take me in a day or two to St. Michael. So get ready in a minute, put my baggage on a native's boat, pay my bill, leave another lot of good friends, and row to the mission. There is the little dinghy _Agnes_ with its "accommodation" for three passengers already two-thirds filled up, and towing two big logs as a freight. Put my things partly in a "bunk," partly on the roof, give good-byes to Betsch and the teacher, help to push off the boat which is stuck in the mud, and we are off for another Yukon chapter.

We pass by the lower end of the "32 kashim" slough--no sign of any site--all recently made flats. If there is anything left of the old sites it must be at the foot of the hills, or has been covered with silt. The site is so favorable that in all probability there was once there a good-sized settlement, but due to river action and the jungle it could not be located. Mr. Betsch visited the place that day, and again with some old natives on another occasion, without being more fortunate.

Cloudy, slightly drizzly day, no trace of sun, mists over the tops of the hills. Could not stand it in the boat, so sitting on my box on the roof of the boat, wrapped, due to the cold, in a blanket.

A little below the "32 kashim" slough a small stream enters from inland--a place to be examined; but this boat can not stop for such a purpose.

A half mile or so farther down a few graves and crosses, with remnants of a native habitation.

Over 3 miles down, just beyond first bluff, fine site, with low hills stretching far beyond it--now but a few empty, half-ruined native houses. Should be explored.

South of second rocky bluff a live camp, and farther down another.

The left side of the river is still all flats as far as one can see, but about 17 miles below Russian Mission human bones came out of a bank there (on a slough).

MARSHALL

At 3 p. m. reach Marshall, a little cheerful-looking mining town, high on a bank. See the place, identify the skeleton from the above-mentioned bank as that of a missing white man, see telegraph operator, postmaster, teacher, commissioner. Sun comes out, is warm. Almost no mosquitoes here and no gnats. Hills above and beyond town belong already to the coast range and are barren of trees, even largely bare of shrubs and bushes. Leave 4.30.

Soon after Marshall--after passing by an Eskimo village (white man's style of buildings)--leave the hills and enter flats on both sides. This is the beginning of the delta region. River like glass, and it is warm in the sun but very perceptibly cooler when sun is hidden.

The boat has only three bunks, and there are five of us with the two pilots. But on the last trip up, there were, fortunately only for about eight hours, seven, including two women and a child, and that without any privacy or conveniences whatsoever. It is almost criminal, and they charge a very steep fare. However, for me it will soon be over--only about 36 hours. Still it is hard to believe this is yet in the United States and presumably under some sort of supervision.

Which brings me to a realization that the first half of my journey--the preliminary survey of the Yukon--is slowly closing; a little, and it will be the sea and other conditions, which also brings the realization that I have seen much but learned not greatly. What should be done would be to own a suitable fast boat; to locate on each of the more important old sites a party for careful, prolonged excavation; and to try to locate, in the rear of or on the higher places on the present river flats, more ancient sites than are known to date. These steps, together with the enlisting of the interest in these matters of every prospector, miner, and trader, would before many years lead to much substantial knowledge.

Friday, July 9. Must keep up these notes, for they alone keep me posted on the day and date; even then I am not always sure. There are no Sundays in nature.

Slept in my bag on the roof of the _Agnes_. Her namesake must have been one of these goodly but insufficient and but indifferently clean native women, plodding, doing not a little work, but wanting in many a thing. It was cold and dreary, but I found an additional blanket, and so, with mosquito netting about my head--one or two got in anyway--would have slept quite well had it not been for a dog. At about 1 a. m. we stopped in front of a little place called also "Mountain Village." And almost at once we began to hear a most piteous and insistent wail of a dog who either had colic or thirst or hunger, and he kept it up with but little stops for what seemed like two hours, making my sleep, at least, impossible.

Saturday, July 9. Morning. Cold, cloudy, rough--head almost beginning to feel uncomfortable, the boat is tossing so much. A teacher comes aboard with an inflamed hand which I fix; a few questions, the mail bag, and we are off again. Enter a slough where it is less rough and warmer. Later the sun will probably come out again. This evening we shall be at Old Hamilton and then a new anxiety--how to get to St. Michael.

Just had a little walk over the roof--my roof, for the other two passengers prefer to sleep in the gassy, dingy room below, though how they can stand it is beyond my medical ken. It is four short steps long, or five half steps in an oblique direction.

Every object in distance appears magnified all along the river for many days now. An old snag will look like a boat or a man, hills look higher, a boat looks much more pretentious than she proves to be on meeting.

Firs and spruce have now completely disappeared, also forests of birch, etc., are reduced to brush both on flats and lower parts of hills. Very large portion of the hills in distance just greenish with grass and lichens, not even a brush.

9.45 a. m. Meet the _Matanuska_ bound upward. Looked from distance like an ocean steamer; from near, just a lumbering, moderate-sized river boat with a barge in front. But a whole lot better than ours.

The scenery has become monotonous. The gray river, although only one of the "mouths," is broad, and the country is all low. Nothing but bushy or grassy cut banks on the right, and mud flats, "smoking" under the wind, to low banks on left. It is a little warmer and the warm sun shows itself occasionally, but I still need the wrapping of a double blanket. The wind luckily is with us and the waves not too bad.

Noon. Passing "Fish village"; a few huts and tents.

No "camps" here outside the few villages; just an endless dreary waste and water.

New Hamilton--a few native huts only now--no whites.

Reach Old Hamilton--about a dozen houses with a warehouse, a store of the Northern Commercial Co., and a nice looking but now unoccupied school.

Here the governor told me there was somewhere a skull waiting for me, and the storekeeper would tell me of it. But when we arrive there are only two or three natives to meet us. The storekeeper, who is also postmaster, is said to be sick in bed. He is supposed to have an ulcer or some other bad thing of the stomach. So we go to his house and find him in bed, with a lot of medicine bottles on a table next to him. Is alone; no wife. Shows no enthusiasm in seeing me, though heard of my coming. Reads letters--no attention to me. Gets up--I ask him about his illness--answers like a man carrying a chip on his shoulder. Goes to store to attend to mail, and barely asks me to follow. I wait in store; he finishes mail and goes out--orders the Eskimo present out gruffly, and to me says, "You may stay in the store; I'll be back." But I wait and wait, and finally decide the man for some reason is unwilling to help me. Asked him before he went out about the _Matanuska_, but he told me she might not be back from Holy Cross in a month, trying doubtless to discourage me to stay. On going toward the _Agnes_ I find him sitting on a log and talking to a couple of men from a tugboat that has arrived--just talk, no business, judging from their laughing. So I go on the boat, write a few words to Mr. Townsend of the Bureau of Fisheries, who makes this place his headquarters, and with some feeling hand this to the man, telling him at the same time that plainly he does not wish to assist me in any way. This, of course, rouses him; he gets red and says a few lame words, ending with, "Do you think I would touch any of them dam things or that I would let any of my men (natives) touch them? Not on your life!" So I leave Old Hamilton, for he is the only white man there now. But the place had other distinctions. Until recently, I am told, they have had a teacher, a young girl, who in her zeal had the natives collect all the burial boxes with their contents and had them all thrown into the river. Not long after she accomplished that she left. The storekeeper told me that "If I want them so bad I could pick them up (skulls and bones) along the river where the water washed them out after the teacher threw them in." Luckily there were not many "Old Hamiltons."

We met here a boat from St. Michael with Mr. Frank P. Williams, the well-known postmaster and trader of St. Michael, who comes for the two men, my fellow passengers. We get acquainted and, to escape the gases of the _Agnes_, I go with them. The boat is heavier and free from fumes, though without accommodation. At about 7 p. m. we arrive at Kotlik, at the mouth of the river--an abandoned wireless station, a store, and four tents of natives. But the old wireless building, now the storekeeper's house, is the dwelling place of a clean white man, Mr. Backlund, who is now "outside," but with whom Mr. Williams is in some partnership; so we occupy the building. Outside the wind has risen to half a gale and there are squalls of rain and drizzle. The _Agnes_ has to "tie to," as she would be swamped in the open. My boxes and bedding, which were on the roof of the _Agnes_, are soaked, though the contents will be dry. So both boats are fastened to a little "dock," and we soon have fire in the stove, supper, and then--it is 11 p. m.--a bed, not overclean, somewhat smelly, but a bed and free from mosquitoes, rain, wind, and cold.

July 10. Up at 6.30. Outside a storm and rain--just like one of the three-day northeasters with us, and cool. Both boats were to leave, but are unable to do so. I find that Mr. Williams's tug will come back here and go to St. Michael on the 13th, so arrange with Mr. Williams to take me and leave the _Agnes_ for good. This partly because I learn of two graveyards near, one 1½, the other 4½ miles distant.

After lunch, rain for a while ceasing, I set out for the nearer burial place. This is already a tundra country--treeless and bush-less flats overgrown with a thick coat of moss, into which feet bury themselves as in a cushion, and dotted with innumerable swampy depressions with high swamp grass. Walking over all this is very difficult--lucky I have rubber boots. Even so, it is no easy matter, except where a little native trail is encountered.

The graveyard, belonging to the now abandoned little village above Kotlik, consists of only about half a dozen adult graves. These consist of boxes of heavy lumber laid on a base raised above the ground level, and covered with other heavy boards. Some of the burials are quite recent. Open three older ones. In two the remains are too fresh yet, but from one secure a good female skeleton, which I pack in a practically new heavy pail, thrown out probably on the occasion of the last funeral. Then back, farther out, to avoid notice, through swamps and over moss, and with a recurring wind-driven drizzle against which my umbrella is but a weak protection.

Reach home quite wet and a bit tired. Have to undress and, wrapped in a blanket, dry my clothes and underwear about the stove.

Nothing further this day and evening--just wind and heavy low clouds and rain.

July 11. Up at 4.40. Weather has moderated. The _Agnes_ left at 4 and Mr. Williams's boat, due to favorable tide, must soon go also. Breakfast, and all leave me before 6.

Yesterday we brought up my needs--i. e., collection of skeletal material--to the few natives here, explaining to them everything, and they do not object in the least. One of them, in fact, is to take me to-day to the more distant cemetery in a rowboat and help me in my work.

My man, after being sent for, comes at a little after 7. He is a good-looking and well-behaving Eskimo of about 35. He brings a good-sized tin rowboat--a whaling or navy boat probably; but "he leaks a whole lot." The oarlocks are not fastened to the boat, the plate of one is loose, and the oars are crudely homemade of driftwood and pieces of lumber fastened on with nails; in one the shaft is crooked, while the other is much heavier. But we start, with the sky still leaden and gray but no wind and calm water. I row and he paddles; then he rows and I paddle. We carry but the camera, a little lunch, a heavier coat each, and a box and two bags for the specimens. We pass a number of broods of little ducks, the mother prancing before us until the young are in safety, and there are several species of new kinds (to me) of water birds, some of which fly right above us, examining us. In the distance we see a big abandoned dredge, then a few empty log houses and "barabras" on the bank of a stream and the edge of the tundra. This is Pastolik, our destination. There is no one anywhere near, an ideal condition for work, if work there'll be. And there will be--for almost immediately upon landing I see, beginning at a few rods distance on the tundra, a series (about 50) of old graves, in all grades of mossiness and preservation. A few are, we later find, quite late, but the majority are old--60 years and over according to information given by the natives of Kotlik. They do not, except perhaps the few late ones, seem to belong to anyone still living. Yet "Pashtolik," as they wrote it then, used to be a place of some importance in the Russian times, and even later.

We settle in an empty native house, and I start investigation. The older graves are found widely spread in several clusters, but a few are isolated at a distance.

The graves are all aboveground and resemble in substance those along the lower Yukon (Bonasila and downward). They consist of a base of small logs or splits; a rude box about 3 feet long by about 2 feet wide, of heavy, unpainted, unnailed, split boards; four posts near the four corners; a cover, unjoined, of two to three heavy split boards; two crosspieces over this, at head and base, perforated and sliding over the upright posts, and a few half splits (smaller drift logs split in two) laid over the top of the crosspieces.

On the first cover lies as a rule a stone--generally a piece of a slab or a good-sized pebble--unworked, though now and then showing some trace of use. The pebble is generally broken.

When the grave is opened there is usually over the body, as a canopy on a light frame, a large (probably caribou) skin--rarely birch bark. Neither covers or envelops the body but simply forms a covering over it, with some space between it and the body. The body lies flexed, on left or (rarely) right side, with the head toward (or near) the east (same as at Bonasila). It is often covered with or enveloped in a native matting. There are but few traces of clothing on women; none on men. And very seldom is there anything else in the coffin.

Some of the oldest graves were found tumbled down and could not be examined. The moss and roots envelop the bones, and it is a tough job to get them out; also they eat the bones and destroy them. Even in the older boxes, however, the downward part of the skeleton--generally the left--is, due to moisture, usually in much worse state of preservation than the upper.

Children have been buried in large native wooden dishes and these were in some cases placed on the top of adult graves, but more generally about these, or even apart.

Many household articles, from matches and pails to dishes, alarm clocks, lamps, etc., are placed upon the ground near the more recent dead. Excavation would probably recover here many older objects, though wood decays.

The wind has died down and the flat is as full of mosquitoes as a Jersey salt meadow, and there is an occasional gnat. They bite, and, having been almost free of the pest at Kotlik, I failed to take my "juice" along, so just have to do the best possible. The gnats enter even the eyes, however.

Work as never before. Decide to utilize the rare opportunity to the limit, and to take the whole skeletons, not merely the skulls, leaving only the few fresher ones and those that are badly damaged. A great Sunday; burial after burial; opening the wooden grave--taking out and marking on the spot bone after bone--fighting mosquitoes all the while--and packing temporarily in any convenient receptacle. Fortunately there are quite a few boxes and pails and oil cans on the spot, left by the dredge people and the few natives who evidently sometimes come to the place. At about 2 eat lunch--coffee (the Eskimo put what was for three cups into about two quarts of water, so there is but a suggestion of coffee), raw smoked fish for me and eggs with bacon (left over from breakfast) for my companion, and on again until about 5 p. m. or a little later. Last two or three hours, however, work with some difficulty. A gnat bit me in an eyelid, or got into my eye, and that has now swollen so that I can hardly see with it. My Eskimo, however, is about all I could wish. He just looks at me working in a matter-of-fact way, and carries the filled boxes, or looks around for something I could take with me, and even helps on a few occasions with the bones, finding evidently the whole proceeding quite right and natural. Brings me, among other things, an old copper teakettle, but to his wonder I do not want it and leave it. I find a fine large walrus-ivory doll and a handsome decorated "kantág" (wooden bowl), besides smaller objects, and also a large piece of a poor quality clay pot (no pottery now), with a fragment of a decorated border as on the lower Yukon.

Pack up, we load on the boat--lucky now she is so spacious--get into the shallow river--the tide has run out--push the boat out and start for home.

Thus far we had but slight drizzles. But the clouds now grow heavier, and as we have much farther to row than this morning, due to the low water, we are caught by showers. The last mile or so we have to hurry, see a big rain approaching. My man pushes her with a pole while I row all I can, with both hands, with the heavy oar. Of course the whole population of Kotlik has to see our arrival. And more, too, for in our absence a schooner came in with wood and a number of the natives. They talk, but no one is either angry or excited. We two carry the boxes, pails, etc.--grass covered--into the house; how lucky I am now alone. Inside I remove the wet grass from them--the bones, too, are somewhat wet--then pay my Eskimo $5, which again is taken as a matter-of-fact thing, without thanks, but he well deserved the amount, even if I rowed a full half.

It is 9 p. m. My man comes again, we have a modest supper, he some left-over meat and I again the smoked fish, which I feel is strengthening me as well as agreeing with my stomach, and then to rest, quite earned to-day. Seldom have done as much in a day. Thirty-three graves collected, with over twenty nearly complete skeletons, and all restored so that I had to take considerable care not to go again into some already emptied. But this place should be dug over. The tundra in a few years swallows up everything on the surface. It literally buries or assimilates bones and all other objects, the moss and other vegetation with probably blown dust covering them very effectively. Finding anything below the surface and that even a foot or more, as was actually experienced, means something quite different under these conditions than it might elsewhere.

Monday, July 12. Slept fairly well and feel refreshed, but the eye still badly swollen. The Eskimo believe, I think, I got it from the bones. Yet they are quite sensible--a marked mental difference between them and the Yukon Indians.

Breakfast before 7--cereal, raw smoked fish, and coffee. Then pack. At the store buy empty gasoline boxes, but no nails to be had, and no packing. Lunch at 1--macaroni, raw smoked fish, sauerkraut, coffee; then pack again, fix boxes, break old ones to get nails, even pull a few unnecessary ones from the boards of the house, go see my man's wife, a hopeless consumptive, and at 6 through with all except cleaning. Another fair work-day, 12 tightly packed boxes. Then clean up, burn rubbish, and ready for departure early to-morrow.

Supper--macaroni, raw smoked fish, greengage plums, a little sauerkraut, and coffee. Then a little walk outside, watch Eskimo women and children jump the rope (hilariously, but awkwardly), and go in to catch up with my notes. Nobody scowls at me, so that although they probably fear me as a "medicine man" they are not at all resentful for what I did yesterday. They are grown-up children, much more tractable than the Indians. But otherwise they show so much in common with the Indian that the more one sees of them the more he grows drawn to the belief of the original (and that not so far distant) identity of their parentage. It seems the Eskimo and the Indian are after all no more than two diverging fingers of one and the same hand; or they were so a bit farther back. Mental differences there are, yet these are no more than may be found in different tribes of the Indians or different groups of other races.

Tuesday, July 13. Rise a little after 6. Eye still sore after Sunday's gnat and sweat and dirt; must use boric acid frequently. An Eskimo actually said yesterday it was a sickness from touching the bones. A little breakfast--have no more salmon strips, so just cereal, canned plums, and coffee. And then with the help of two young Eskimo carry my spoils and baggage on to the tug, which has come for me. By about 7 start. Good-by Kotlik, what little there is of it.

At 9 arrive at Mr. Williams's reindeer camp farther up the coast. There are five tents and two small log houses of natives--the herders with their families, dogs, and fish racks; and three whites, Mr. Williams, owner of the boat and of most of the herd of about 8,000 animals; Mr. Palmer, of the United States Biological Survey; and a Dane, Mr. Posielt, here for the Biological Survey of Canada. All are already at the corral some distance over the hill, branding, counting, etc., the great reindeer herd, which belong to several owners.

A short walk along the shore brings me in sight of the herd. The animals can be heard grunting a good distance off. The herd is so large and so compact that it looks like a forest of horns. The animals keep on moving in streams, but remain in the herd. They go to the shore to drink some of the salty water, instead of salt. All is of interest, even though the branding, the cutting off of big slices from the ears, and castration, is rather cruel.

At lunch, for the first time, reindeer meat, a select steak. It is tender and decidedly good. Has no special flavor and is poor in fat, but tender and good.

Afternoon, once more to the corral, and then various things, including a photograph of a little impromptu native group.