A gunboat sent to punish them burned the village. I saw the
anchor of the ill-fated vessel lying near the shore.
Though all the Thlinkit tribes believe in witchcraft, they are less
superstitious in some respects than many of the lower classes of
whites. Chief Yana Taowk seemed to take pleasure in kicking the Sitka
bones that lay in his way, and neither old nor young showed the
slightest trace of superstitious fear of the dead at any time.
It was at the northmost of the Kupreanof Kake villages that Mr. Young
held his first missionary meeting, singing hymns, praying, and
preaching, and trying to learn the number of the inhabitants and
their readiness to receive instruction. Neither here nor in any of
the other villages of the different tribes that we visited was there
anything like a distinct refusal to receive school-teachers or
ministers. On the contrary, with but one or two exceptions, all with
apparent good faith declared their willingness to receive them, and
many seemed heartily delighted at the prospect of gaining light on
subjects so important and so dark to them. All had heard ere this of
the wonderful work of the Reverend Mr. Duncan at Metlakatla, and even
those chiefs who were not at all inclined to anything like piety were
yet anxious to procure schools and churches that their people should
not miss the temporal advantages of knowledge, which with their
natural shrewdness they were not slow to recognize. "We are all
children," they said, "groping in the dark. Give us this light and we
will do as you bid us."
The chief of the first Kupreanof Kake village we came to was a
venerable-looking man, perhaps seventy years old, with massive head
and strongly marked features, a bold Roman nose, deep, tranquil eyes,
shaggy eyebrows, a strong face set in a halo of long gray hair. He
seemed delighted at the prospect of receiving a teacher for his
people. "This is just what I want," he said. "I am ready to bid him
welcome."
"This," said Yana Taowk, chief of the larger north village, "is a
good word you bring us. We will be glad to come out of our darkness
into your light. You Boston men must be favorites of the Great
Father. You know all about God, and ships and guns and the growing of
things to eat. We will sit quiet and listen to the words of any
teacher you send us."
While Mr. Young was preaching, some of the congregation smoked,
talked to each other, and answered the shouts of their companions
outside, greatly to the disgust of Toyatte and Kadachan, who regarded
the Kakes as mannerless barbarians. A little girl, frightened at the
strange exercises, began to cry and was turned out of doors. She
cried in a strange, low, wild tone, quite unlike the screech crying
of the children of civilization.
The following morning we crossed Prince Frederick Sound to the west
coast of Admiralty Island. Our frail shell of a canoe was tossed like
a bubble on the swells coming in from the ocean. Still, I suppose,
the danger was not so great as it seemed. In a good canoe, skillfully
handled, you may safely sail from Victoria to Chilcat, a
thousand-mile voyage frequently made by Indians in their trading
operations before the coming of the whites. Our Indians, however,
dreaded this crossing so late in the season. They spoke of it
repeatedly before we reached it as the one great danger of our voyage.
John said to me just as we left the shore, "You and Mr. Young will be
scared to death on this broad water."
"Never mind us, John," we merrily replied, "perhaps some of you brave
Indian sailors may be the first to show fear."
Toyatte said he had not slept well a single night thinking of it, and
after we rounded Cape Gardner and entered the comparatively smooth
Chatham Strait, they all rejoiced, laughing and chatting like
frolicsome children.
We arrived at the first of the Hootsenoo villages on Admiralty Island
shortly after noon and were welcomed by everybody. Men, women, and
children made haste to the beach to meet us, the children staring as
if they had never before seen a Boston man. The chief, a remarkably
good-looking and intelligent fellow, stepped forward, shook hands
with us Boston fashion, and invited us to his house. Some of the
curious children crowded in after us and stood around the fire
staring like half-frightened wild animals. Two old women drove them
out of the house, making hideous gestures, but taking good care not
to hurt them. The merry throng poured through the round door,
laughing and enjoying the harsh gestures and threats of the women as
all a joke, indicating mild parental government in general. Indeed,
in all my travels I never saw a child, old or young, receive a blow
or even a harsh word. When our cook began to prepare luncheon our
host said through his interpreter that he was sorry we could not eat
Indian food, as he was anxious to entertain us. We thanked him, of
course, and expressed our sense of his kindness. His brother, in the
mean time, brought a dozen turnips, which he peeled and sliced and
served in a clean dish. These we ate raw as dessert, reminding me of
turnip-field feasts when I was a boy in Scotland. Then a box was
brought from some corner and opened. It seemed to be full of tallow
or butter. A sharp stick was thrust into it, and a lump of something
five or six inches long, three or four wide, and an inch thick was
dug up, which proved to be a section of the back fat of a deer,
preserved in fish oil and seasoned with boiled spruce and other spicy
roots.
