A Fine Breeze Was Blowing Next Morning From The South, Which Would
Take Us To Chilcat In A Few Hours, But Unluckily The Day Was Sunday
And The Good Wind Was Refused.
Sunday, it seemed to me, could be kept
as well by sitting in the canoe and letting the Lord's wind waft us
quietly on our way.
The day was rainy and the clouds hung low. The
trees here are remarkably well developed, tall and straight. I
observed three or four hemlocks which had been struck by
lightning, - the first I noticed in Alaska. Some of the species on
windy outjutting rocks become very picturesque, almost as much so as
old oaks, the foliage becoming dense and the branchlets tufted in
heavy plume-shaped horizontal masses.
Monday was a fine clear day, but the wind was dead ahead, making
hard, dull work with paddles and oars. We passed a long stretch of
beautiful marble cliffs enlivened with small merry waterfalls, and
toward noon came in sight of the front of the famous Chilcat or
Davidson Glacier, a broad white flood reaching out two or three
miles into the canal with wonderful effect. I wanted to camp beside
it but the head wind tired us out before we got within six or eight
miles of it. We camped on the west side of a small rocky island in a
narrow cove. When I was looking among the rocks and bushes for a
smooth spot for a bed, I found a human skeleton. My Indians seemed
not in the least shocked or surprised, explaining that it was only
the remains of a Chilcat slave. Indians never bury or burn the bodies
of slaves, but just cast them away anywhere. Kind Nature was covering
the poor bones with moss and leaves, and I helped in the pitiful work.
The wind was fair and joyful in the morning, and away we glided to
the famous glacier. In an hour or so we were directly in front of it
and beheld it in all its crystal glory descending from its white
mountain fountains and spreading out in an immense fan three or four
miles wide against its tree-fringed terminal moraine. But, large as
it is, it long ago ceased to discharge bergs.
The Chilcats are the most influential of all the Thlinkit tribes.
Whenever on our journey I spoke of the interesting characteristics of
other tribes we had visited, my crew would invariably say, "Oh, yes,
these are pretty good Indians, but wait till you have seen the
Chilcats." We were now only five or six miles distant from their
lower village, and my crew requested time to prepare themselves to
meet their great rivals. Going ashore on the moraine with their boxes
that had not been opened since we left Fort Wrangell, they sat on
boulders and cut each other's hair, carefully washed and perfumed
themselves and made a complete change in their clothing, even to
white shirts, new boots, new hats, and bright neckties.
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