On the contrary, every feature showed grave force and
decision; while the childish audacity displayed in the designs,
combined with manly strength in their execution, was truly wonderful.
The colored lichens and mosses gave them a venerable air, while the
larger vegetation often found on such as were most decayed produced a
picturesque effect. Here, for example, is a bear five or six feet
long, reposing on top of his lichen-clad pillar, with paws
comfortably folded, a tuft of grass growing in each ear and rubus
bushes along his back. And yonder is an old chief poised on a taller
pillar, apparently gazing out over the landscape in contemplative
mood, a tuft of bushes leaning back with a jaunty air from the top of
his weatherbeaten hat, and downy mosses about his massive lips. But
no rudeness or grotesqueness that may appear, however combined with
the decorations that nature has added, may possibly provoke mirth.
The whole work is serious in aspect and brave and true in execution.
Similar monuments are made by other Thlinkit tribes. The erection of
a totem pole is made a grand affair, and is often talked of for a
year or two beforehand. A feast, to which many are invited, is held,
and the joyous occasion is spent in eating, dancing, and the
distribution of gifts. Some of the larger specimens cost a thousand
dollars or more. From one to two hundred blankets, worth three
dollars apiece, are paid to the genius who carves them, while the
presents and feast usually cost twice as much, so that only the
wealthy families can afford them. I talked with an old Indian who
pointed out one of the carvings he had made in the Wrangell village,
for which he told me he had received forty blankets, a gun, a canoe,
and other articles, all together worth about $170. Mr. Swan, who has
contributed much information concerning the British Columbian and
Alaskan tribes, describes a totem pole that cost $2500. They are
always planted firmly in the ground and stand fast, showing the
sturdy erectness of their builders.
While I was busy with my pencil, I heard chopping going on at the
north end of the village, followed by a heavy thud, as if a tree had
fallen. It appeared that after digging about the old hearth in the
first dwelling visited without finding anything of consequence, the
archaeological doctor called the steamer deck hands to one of the most
interesting of the totems and directed them to cut it down, saw off
the principal figure, - a woman measuring three feet three inches
across the shoulders, - and convey it aboard the steamer, with a view
to taking it on East to enrich some museum or other. This sacrilege
came near causing trouble and would have cost us dear had the totem
not chanced to belong to the Kadachan family, the representative of
which is a member of the newly organized Wrangell Presbyterian
Church. Kadachan looked very seriously into the face of the reverend
doctor and pushed home the pertinent question: "How would you like
to have an Indian go to a graveyard and break down and carry away a
monument belonging to your family?"
However, the religious relations of the parties and a few trifling
presents embedded in apologies served to hush and mend the matter.
Some time in the afternoon the steam whistle called us together to
finish our memorable trip. There was no trace of decay in the sky; a
glorious sunset gilded the water and cleared away the shadows of our
meditations among the ruins. We landed at the Wrangell wharf at dusk,
pushed our way through a group of inquisitive Indians, across the two
crooked streets, and up to our homes in the fort. We had been away
only three days, but they were so full of novel scenes and
impressions the time seemed indefinitely long, and our broken Chilcat
excursion, far from being a failure as it seemed to some, was one of
the most memorable of my life.
Chapter VI
The Cassiar Trail
I made a second trip up the Stickeen in August and from the head of
navigation pushed inland for general views over dry grassy hills and
plains on the Cassiar trail.
Soon after leaving Telegraph Creek I met a merry trader who
encouragingly assured me that I was going into the most wonderful
region in the world, that "the scenery up the river was full of the
very wildest freaks of nature, surpassing all other sceneries either
natural or artificial, on paper or in nature. And give yourself no
bothering care about provisions, for wild food grows in prodigious
abundance everywhere. A man was lost four days up there, but he
feasted on vegetables and berries and got back to camp in good
condition. A mess of wild parsnips and pepper, for example, will
actually do you good. And here's my advice - go slow and take the
pleasures and sceneries as you go."
At the confluence of the first North Fork of the Stickeen I found a
band of Toltan or Stick Indians catching their winter supply of
salmon in willow traps, set where the fish are struggling in swift
rapids on their way to the spawning-grounds. A large supply had
already been secured, and of course the Indians were well fed and
merry. They were camping in large booths made of poles set on end in
the ground, with many binding cross-pieces on which tons of salmon
were being dried. The heads were strung on separate poles and the
roes packed in willow baskets, all being well smoked from fires in
the middle of the floor.
