Accordingly, We
Pushed Eagerly On Across Chatham Strait To The North End Of Icy
Strait, Toward The New And Promising Ice-Field.
On the south side of Icy Strait we ran into a picturesque bay to
visit the main village of the Hoona tribe.
Rounding a point on the
north shore of the bay, the charmingly located village came in sight,
with a group of the inhabitants gazing at us as we approached. They
evidently recognized us as strangers or visitors from the shape and
style of our canoe, and perhaps even determining that white men were
aboard, for these Indians have wonderful eyes. While we were yet half
a mile off, we saw a flag unfurled on a tall mast in front of the
chief's house. Toyatte hoisted his United States flag in reply, and
thus arrayed we made for the landing. Here we were met and received
by the chief, Kashoto, who stood close to the water's edge,
barefooted and bareheaded, but wearing so fine a robe and standing so
grave, erect, and serene, his dignity was complete. No white man
could have maintained sound dignity under circumstances so
disadvantageous. After the usual formal salutations, the chief, still
standing as erect and motionless as a tree, said that he was not much
acquainted with our people and feared that his house was too mean for
visitors so distinguished as we were. We hastened of course to assure
him that we were not proud of heart, and would be glad to have the
honor of his hospitality and friendship.
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