Mr. Young, My Companion, Was An
Adventurous Evangelist, And It Was The Opportunities The Trip Might
Afford To Meet The Indians Of The Different Tribes On Our Route With
Reference To Future Missionary Work, That Induced Him To Join Us.
When at last all were aboard and we were about to cast loose from the
wharf, Kadachan's mother, a woman of great natural dignity and force
of character, came down the steps alongside the canoe oppressed with
anxious fears for the safety of her son.
Standing silent for a few
moments, she held the missionary with her dark, bodeful eyes, and
with great solemnity of speech and gesture accused him of using undue
influence in gaining her son's consent to go on a dangerous voyage
among unfriendly tribes; and like an ancient sibyl foretold a long
train of bad luck from storms and enemies, and finished by saying,
"If my son comes not back, on you will be his blood, and you shall
pay. I say it."
Mr. Young tried in vain to calm her fears, promising Heaven's care as
well as his own for her precious son, assuring her that he would
faithfully share every danger that he encountered, and if need be die
in his defense.
"We shall see whether or not you die," she said, and turned away.
Toyatte also encountered domestic difficulties. When he stepped into
the canoe I noticed a cloud of anxiety on his grand old face, as if
his doom now drawing near was already beginning to overshadow him.
When he took leave of his wife, she refused to shake hands with him,
wept bitterly, and said that his enemies, the Chilcat chiefs, would
be sure to kill him in case he reached their village. But it was not
on this trip that the old hero was to meet his fate, and when we were
fairly free in the wilderness and a gentle breeze pressed us joyfully
over the shining waters these gloomy forebodings vanished.
We first pursued a westerly course, through Sumner Strait, between
Kupreanof and Prince of Wales Islands, then, turning northward,
sailed up the Kiku Strait through the midst of innumerable
picturesque islets, across Prince Frederick's Sound, up Chatham
Strait, thence northwestward through Icy Strait and around the then
uncharted Glacier Bay. Thence returning through Icy Strait, we sailed
up the beautiful Lynn Canal to the Davidson Glacier and the lower
village of the Chilcat tribe and returned to Wrangell along the coast
of the mainland, visiting the icy Sum Dum Bay and the Wrangell
Glacier on our route. Thus we made a journey more than eight hundred
miles long, and though hardships and perhaps dangers were
encountered, the great wonderland made compensation beyond our most
extravagant hopes. Neither rain nor snow stopped us, but when the
wind was too wild, Kadachan and the old captain stayed on guard in
the camp and John and Charley went into the woods deer-hunting, while
I examined the adjacent rocks and woods. Most of our camp-grounds
were in sheltered nooks where good firewood was abundant, and where
the precious canoe could be safely drawn up beyond reach of the
waves. After supper we sat long around the fire, listening to the
Indian's stories about the wild animals, their hunting-adventures,
wars, traditions, religion, and customs. Every Indian party we met we
interviewed, and visited every village we came to.
Our first camp was made at a place called the Island of the Standing
Stone, on the shore of a shallow bay. The weather was fine. The
mountains of the mainland were unclouded, excepting one, which had a
horizontal ruff of dull slate color, but its icy summit covered with
fresh snow towered above the cloud, flushed like its neighbors in the
alpenglow. All the large islands in sight were densely forested,
while many small rock islets in front of our camp were treeless or
nearly so. Some of them were distinctly glaciated even belong the
tide-line, the effects of wave washing and general weathering being
scarce appreciable as yet. Some of the larger islets had a few trees,
others only grass. One looked in the distance like a two-masted ship
flying before the wind under press of sail.
Next morning the mountains were arrayed in fresh snow that had fallen
during the night down to within a hundred feet of the sea-level. We
made a grand fire, and after an early breakfast pushed merrily on all
day along beautiful forested shores embroidered with autumn-colored
bushes. I noticed some pitchy trees that had been deeply hacked for
kindling-wood and torches, precious conveniences to belated voyagers
on stormy nights. Before sundown we camped in a beautiful nook of
Deer Bay, shut in from every wind by gray-bearded trees and fringed
with rose bushes, rubus, potentilla, asters, etc. Some of the lichen
tresses depending from the branches were six feet in length.
A dozen rods or so from our camp we discovered a family of Kake
Indians snugly sheltered in a portable bark hut, a stout middle-aged
man with his wife, son, and daughter, and his son's wife. After our
tent was set and fire made, the head of the family paid us a visit
and presented us with a fine salmon, a pair of mallard ducks, and a
mess of potatoes. We paid a return visit with gifts of rice and
tobacco, etc. Mr. Young spoke briefly on mission affairs and inquired
whether their tribe would be likely to welcome a teacher or
missionary. But they seemed unwilling to offer an opinion on so
important a subject. The following words from the head of the family
was the only reply: -
"We have not much to say to you fellows. We always do to Boston men
as we have done to you, give a little of whatever we have, treat
everybody well and never quarrel. This is all we have to say."
Our Kake neighbors set out for Fort Wrangell next morning, and we
pushed gladly on toward Chilcat.
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