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The Yakutats belong to the Thlinkit stock, but have never worn the
"little trough," the distinguishing mark of the true Thlinkit. They
inhabit the country between Mount Fairweather and Mount St. Elias,
and were the cause of much trouble and disaster to Baranoff,
Lisiansky, and other early Russians. They have never adopted the
totem; and may, therefore, eat the flesh and blubber of the whale,
which the Thlinkits respect, because it figures on their totems. The
graveyards of the Yakutats are very picturesque and interesting.
The tribes of the Tinneh, or interior Indians, will be considered in
another chapter.
Behm Canal is narrow, abruptly shored, and offers many charming
vistas that unfold unexpectedly before the tourist's eyes. Alaskan
steamers do not enter it and, therefore, New Eddystone Rock is
missed by many. This is a rocky pillar that rises straight from the
water, with a circumference of about one hundred feet at the base and
a height of from two to three hundred feet. It is draped gracefully with
mosses, ferns, and vines. Vancouver breakfasted here, and named it
for the famous Eddystone Light of England. Unuk River empties its
foaming, glacial waters into Behm Canal.
CHAPTER VI
Leaving Ketchikan, Clarence Strait is entered. This was named by
Vancouver for the Duke of Clarence, and extends in a northwesterly
direction for a hundred miles. The celebrated Stikine River empties
into it. On Wrangell Island, near the mouth of the Stikine, is Fort
Wrangell, where the steamer makes a stop of several hours.
Fort Wrangell was the first settlement made in southeastern Alaska,
after Sitka. It was established in 1834, by Lieutenant Zarembo, who
acted under the orders of Baron Wrangell, Governor of the Colonies at
that time.
A grave situation had arisen over a dispute between the Russian
American Company and the equally powerful Hudson Bay Company,
the latter having pressed its operations over the Northwest and
seriously undermined the trade of the former. In 1825, the Hudson
Bay Company had taken advantage of the clause in the Anglo-Russian
treaty of that year,—which provided for the free navigation of streams
crossing Russian territory in their course from the British possessions
to the sea,—and had pushed its trading operations to the upper
waters of the Stikine, and in 1833 had outfitted the brig Dryad with
colonists, cattle, and arms for the establishing of trading posts on the
Stikine.
Lieutenant Zarembo, with two armed vessels, the Chichagoff and the
Chilkaht, established a fort on a small peninsula, on the site of an
Indian village, and named it Redoubt St. Dionysius. All unaware of
these significant movements, the Dryad, approaching the mouth of
the Stikine, was received by shots from the shore, as well as from a
vessel in the harbor. She at once put back until out of range, and
anchored. Lieutenant Zarembo went out in a boat, and, in the name of
the Governor and the Emperor, forbade the entrance of a British vessel
into the river. Representations from the agents of the Hudson Bay
Company were unavailing; they were warned to at once remove
themselves and their vessel from the vicinity—which they accordingly
did.
This affair was the cause of serious trouble between the two nations,
which was not settled until 1839, when a commission met in London
and solved the difficulties by deciding that Russia should pay an
indemnity of twenty thousand pounds, and lease to the Hudson Bay
Company the now celebrated lisière, or thirty-mile strip from Dixon
Entrance to Yakutat.
In 1840 the Hudson Bay Company raised the British flag and changed
the name from Redoubt St. Dionysius to Fort Stikine. Sir George
Simpson's men are said to have passed several years of most exciting
and adventurous life there, owing to the attacks and besiegements of
the neighboring Indians. An attempt to scale the stockade resulted in
failure and defeat. The following year the fort's supply of water was
cut off and the fort was besieged; but the Britishers saved themselves
by luckily seizing a chief as hostage.
A year later occurred another attack, in which the fort would have
fallen had it not been for the happy arrival of two armed vessels in
charge of Sir George Simpson, who tells the story in this brief and
simple fashion:—
"By daybreak on Monday, the 25th of April (1842), we were in
Wrangell's Straits, and toward evening, as we approached Stikine, my
apprehensions were awakened by observing the two national flags,
the Russian and the English, hoisted half-mast high, while, on landing
about seven, my worst fears were realized by hearing of the tragical
end of Mr. John McLoughlin, Jr., the gentleman recently in charge. On
the night of the twentieth a dispute had arisen in the fort, while some
of the men, as I was grieved to hear, were in a state of intoxication;
and several shots were fired, by one of which Mr. McLoughlin fell. My
arrival at this critical juncture was most opportune, for otherwise the
fort might have fallen a sacrifice to the savages, who were assembled
round to the number of two thousand, justly thinking that the place
could make but a feeble resistance, deprived as it was of its head, and
garrisoned by men in a state of complete insubordination."
In 1867 a United States military post was established on a new site. A
large stockade was erected and garrisoned by two companies of the
Twenty-first Infantry. This post was abandoned in 1870, the buildings
being sold for six hundred dollars.
In the early eighties Lieutenant Schwatka found Wrangell "the most
tumble-down-looking company of cabins I ever saw." He found its
"Chinatown" housed in an old Stikine River steamboat on the beach,
which had descended to its low estate as gradually and almost as
imperceptibly as Becky Sharpe descended to the "soiled white
petticoat" condition of life. As Queen of the Stikine, the old steamer
had earned several fortunes for her owners in that river's heyday
times; then she was beached and used as a store; then, as a hotel;
and, last of all, as a Chinese mess- and lodging-house.
In 1838 another attempt had been made by the Hudson Bay Company
to establish a trading post at Dease Lake, about sixty miles from
Stikine River and a hundred and fifty from the sea. This attempt also
was a failure. The tortures of fear and starvation were vividly
described by Mr. Robert Campbell, who had charge of the party
making the attempt, which consisted of four men.
"We passed a winter of constant dread from the savage Russian
Indians, and of much suffering from starvation. We were dependent
for subsistence on what animals we could catch, and, failing that, on
tripe de roche (moss). We were at one time reduced to such dire
straits that we were obliged to eat our parchment windows, and our
last meal before abandoning Dease Lake, on the eighth of May, 1839,
consisted of the lacings of our snow-shoes."
Had it not been for the kindness and the hospitality of the female chief
of the Nahany tribe of Indians, who inhabited the region, the party
would have perished.
The Indians of the coast in early days made long trading excursions
into the interior, to obtain furs.
The discovery of the Cassiar mines, at the head of the Stikine, was
responsible for the revival of excitement and lawlessness in Fort
Wrangell, as it had been named at the time of its first military
occupation, and a company of the Fourth Artillery was placed in
charge until 1877, the date of the removal of troops from all posts in
Alaska.
The first post and the ground upon which it stood were sold to W. K.
Lear. The next company occupied it at a very small rental, contrary to
the wishes of the owner. In 1884 the Treasury Department took
possession, claiming that the first sale was illegal. A deputy collector
was placed in charge. The case was taken into the courts, but it was
not until 1890 that a decision was rendered in the Sitka court that, as
the first sale was unconstitutional, Mr. Lear was entitled to his six
hundred dollars with interest compounding for twenty years.
Wrangell gradually fell into a storied and picturesque decay. The
burnished halo of early romance has always clung to her. At the time
of the gold excitement and the rush to the Klondike, the town revived
suddenly with the reopening of navigation on the Stikine. This was, at
first, a favorite route to the Klondike. At White Horse may to-day be
seen steamers which were built on the Stikine in 1898, floated by
piecemeal up that river and across Lake Teslin, and down the
Hootalinqua River to the Yukon, having been packed by horses the
many intervening miles between rivers and lakes, at fifty cents a
pound. Reaching their destination at White Horse, they were put
together, and started on the Dawson run.
Looking at these historic steamers, now lying idle at White Horse, the
passenger and freight rates do not seem so exorbitant as they do
before one comes to understand the tremendous difficulties of
securing any transportation at all in these unknown and largely
unexplored regions in so short a time. Even a person who owns no
stock in steamship or railway corporations, if he be sensible and
reasonable, must be able to see the point of view of the men who
dauntlessly face such hardships and perils to furnish transportation in
these wild and inaccessible places. They take such desperate chances
neither for their health nor for sweet charity's sake.
Three years ago Wrangell was largely destroyed by fire. It is partially
rebuilt, but the visitor to-day is doomed to disappointment at first
sight of the modern frontier buildings. Ruins of the old fort, however,
remain, and several ancient totems are in the direction of the old
burial ground. One, standing in front of a modern cottage which has
been erected on the site of the old lodge, is all sprouted out in green.
Mosses, grasses, and ferns spring in April freshness out of the eyes of
children, the beaks of eagles, and the open mouths of frogs; while the
very crest of the totem is crowned a foot or more high with a green
growth. The effect is at once ludicrous and pathetic,—marking, as it
does, the vanishing of a picturesque and interesting race, its customs
and its superstitions.
The famous chief of the Stikine region was Shakes, a fierce, fighting,
bloodthirsty old autocrat, dreaded by all other tribes, and insulted with
impunity by none. He was at the height of his power in the forties, but
lived for many years afterward, resisting the advances of missionaries
and scorning their religion to the day of his death. In many respects
he was like the equally famous Skowl of Kasa-an, who went to the
trouble and the expense of erecting a totem-pole for the sole purpose
of perpetuating his scorn and derision of Christian advances to his
people. The totem is said to have been covered with the images of
priests, angels, and books.
Shakes was given one of the most brilliant funerals ever held in
Alaska; but whether as an expression of irreconcilable grief or of
uncontrollable joy in the escape of his people from his tyrannic and
overbearing sway, is not known. He belonged to the bear totem, and a
stuffed bear figured in the pageant and was left to guard his grave.
The climate of Wrangell is charming, owing to the high mountains on
the islands to the westward which shelter the town from the severity
of the ocean storms. The growing of vegetables and berries is a
profitable investment, both reaching enormous size, the latter being of
specially delicate flavor. Flowers bloom luxuriantly.
The Wrangell shops at present contain some very fine specimens of
basketry, and the prices were very reasonable, although most of the
tourists from our steamer were speechless when they heard them.
Some real Attu and Atka baskets were found here at prices ranging
from one hundred dollars up. At Wrangell, therefore, the tourist begins
to part with his money, and does not cease until he has reached
Skaguay to the northward, or Sitka and Yakutat to the westward; and
if he should journey out into the Aleutian Isles, he may borrow money
to get home. The weave displayed is mostly twined, but some fine
specimens of coiled and coiled imbricated were offered us in the dull,
fascinating colors used by the Thompson River Indians of British
Columbia, having probably been obtained in trade. These latter are
treasures, and always worth buying, especially as Indian baskets are
increasing in value with every year that passes. Baskets that I
purchased easily for three dollars or three and a half in 1905 were
held stubbornly at seven and a half or eight in 1907; while the
difference in prices of the more expensive ones was even greater.
Squaws sit picturesquely about the streets, clad in gay colors, with
their wares spread out on the sidewalk in front of them. They
invariably sit with their backs against buildings or fences, seeming to
have an aversion to permitting any one to stand or pass behind them.
They have grown very clever at bargaining; and the little trick, which
has been practised by tourists for years, of waiting until the gangway
is being hauled in and then making an offer for a coveted basket, has
apparently been worn threadbare, and is received with jeers and
derision,—which is rather discomfiting to the person making the offer
if he chances to be upon a crowded steamer. The squaws point their
fingers at him, to shame him, and chuckle and tee-hee among
themselves, with many guttural cluckings and side-glances so good-
naturedly contemptuous and derisive as to be embarrassing beyond
words,—particularly as some greatly desired basket disappears into a
filthy bag and is borne proudly away on a scornful dark shoulder.
Baskets are growing scarcer and more valuable, and the tourist who
sees one that he desires, will be wise to pay the price demanded for
it, as the conditions of trading with the Alaskan Indians are rapidly
changing. The younger Indians frequently speak and understand
English perfectly; while the older ones are adepts in reading a human
face; making a combination not easily imposed upon. Even the officers
of the ship, who, being acquainted with "Mollie" or "Sallie," "Mrs. Sam"
or "Pete's Wife," volunteer to buy a basket at a reduction for some
enthusiastic but thin-pursed passenger, do not at present meet with
any exhilarating success.
"S'pose she pay my price," "Mrs. Sam" replies, with smiling but
stubborn indifference, as she sets the basket away.
CHAPTER VII
Indian basketry is poetry, music, art, and life itself woven exquisitely
together out of dreams, and sent out into a thoughtless world in
appealing messages which will one day be farewells, when the poor
lonely dark women who wove them are no more.
At its best, the basketry of the islands of Atka and Attu in the Aleutian
chain is the most beautiful in the world. Most of the basketry now sold
as Attu is woven by the women of Atka, we were told at Unalaska,
which is the nearest market for these baskets. Only one old woman
remains on Attu who understands this delicate and priceless work; and
she is so poorly paid that she was recently reported to be in a starving
condition, although the velvety creations of her old hands and brain
bring fabulous prices to some one. The saying that an Attu basket
increases a dollar for every mile as it travels toward civilization, is not
such an exaggeration as it seems. I saw a trader from the little
steamer Dora—the only one regularly plying those far waters—buy a
small basket, no larger than a pint bowl, for five dollars in Unalaska;
and a month later, on another steamer, between Valdez and Seattle,
an enthusiastic young man from New York brought the same basket
out of his stateroom and proudly displayed it.
"I got this one at a great bargain," he bragged, with shining eyes. "I
bought it in Valdez for twenty-five dollars, just what it cost at
Unalaska. The man needed the money worse than the basket. I don't
know how it is, but I'm always stumbling on bargains like that!" he
concluded, beginning to strut.
Then I was heartless enough to laugh, and to keep on laughing. I had
greatly desired that basket myself!
He had the satisfaction of knowing, however, that his little twined
bowl, with the coloring of a Behring Sea sunset woven into it, would
be worth fifty dollars by the time he reached Seattle, and at least a
hundred in New York; and it was so soft and flexible that he could fold
it up meantime and carry it in his pocket, if he chose,—to say nothing
of the fact that Elizabeth Propokoffono, the young and famed dark-
eyed weaver of Atka, may have woven it herself. Like the renowned
"Sally-bags," made by Sally, a Wasco squaw, the baskets woven by
Elizabeth have a special and sentimental value. If she would weave
her initials into them, she might ask, and receive, any price she
fancied. Sally, of the Wascos, on the other hand, is very old; no one
weaves her special bag, and they are becoming rare and valuable.
They are of plain, twined weaving, and are very coarse. A small one in
the writer's possession is adorned with twelve fishes, six eagles, three
dogs, and two and a half men. Sally is apparently a woman-suffragist
of the old school, and did not consider that men counted for much in
the scheme of Indian baskets; yet, being a philosopher, as well as a
suffragist, concluded that half a man was better than none at all.
At Yakutat "Mrs. Pete" is the best-known basket weaver. Young,
handsome, dark-eyed, and clean, with a chubby baby in her arms, she
willingly, and with great gravity, posed against the pilot-house of the
old Santa Ana for her picture. Asked for an address to which I might
send one of the pictures, she proudly replied, "Just Mrs. Pete,
Yakutat." Her courtesy was in marked contrast to the exceeding
rudeness with which the Sitkan women treat even the most
considerate and deferential photographers; glaring at them, turning
their backs, covering their heads, hissing, and even spitting at them.
However, the Yakutats do not often see tourists, who, heaven knows,
are not one of the novelties of the Sitkans' lives.
According to Lieutenant G. T. Emmons, who is the highest authority on
Thlinkit Indians, not only so far as their basketry is concerned, but
their history, habits, and customs, as well, nine-tenths of all their
basketwork is of the open, cylindrical type which throws the chief
wear and strain upon the borders. These are, therefore, of greater
variety than those of any other Indians, except possibly the Haidahs.
As I have elsewhere stated, nearly all Thlinkit baskets are of the
twined weave, which is clearly described by Otis Tufton Mason in his
precious and exquisite work, "Aboriginal American Basketry"; a work
which every student of basketry should own. If anything could be as
fascinating as the basketry itself, it would be this charmingly written
and charmingly illustrated book.
Basketry is either hand-woven or sewed. Hand-woven work is divided
into checker work, twilled work, wicker work, wrapped work, and
twined work. Sewed work is called coiled basketry.
Twined work is found on the Pacific Coast from Attu to Chile, and is
the most delicate and difficult of all woven work. It has a set of warp
rods, and the weft elements are worked in by two-strand or three-
strand methods. Passing from warp to warp, these weft elements are
twisted in half-turns on each other, so as to form a two-strand or
three-strand twine or braid, and usually with a deftness that keeps the
glossy side of the weft outward.
"The Thlinkit, weaving," says Lieutenant Emmons, "sits with knees
updrawn to the chin, feet close to the body, bent-shouldered, with the
arms around the knees, the work held in front. Sometimes the knees
fall slightly apart, the work held between them, the weft frequently
held in the mouth, the feet easily crossed. The basket is held bottom
down. In all kinds of weave, the strands are constantly dampened by
dipping the fingers in water." The finest work of Attu and Atka is
woven entirely under water. A rude awl, a bear's claw or tooth, are the
only implements used. The Attu weaver has her basket inverted and
suspended by a string, working from the bottom down toward the top.
Almost every part of plants is used—roots, stems, bark, leaves, fruit,
and seeds. The following are the plants chiefly used by the Thlinkits:
The black shining stems of the maidenhair fern, which are easily
distinguished and which add a rich touch; the split stems of the
brome-grass as an overlaying material for the white patterns of
spruce-root baskets; for the same purpose, the split stem of bluejoint;
the stem of wood reed-grass; the stem of tufted hair-grass; the stem
of beech-rye; the root of horsetail, which works in a rich purple; wolf
moss, boiled for canary-yellow dye; manna-grass; root of the Sitka
spruce tree; juice of the blueberry for a purple dye.
The Attu weaver uses the stems and leaves of grass, having no trees
and few plants. When she wants the grass white, it is cut in November
and hung, points down, out-doors to dry; if yellow be desired, as it
usually is, it is cut in July and the two youngest full-grown blades are
cut out and split into three pieces, the middle one being rejected and
the others hung up to dry out-doors; if green is wanted, the grass is
prepared as for yellow, except that the first two weeks of curing is
carried on in the heavy shade of thick grasses, then it is taken into the
house and dried. Curing requires about a month, during which time
the sun is never permitted to touch the grass.
Ornamentation by means of color is wrought by the use of materials
which are naturally of a different color; by the use of dyed materials;
by overlaying the weft and warp with strips of attractive material
before weaving; by embroidering on the texture during the process of
manufacture, this being termed "false" embroidery; by covering the
texture with plaiting, called imbrication; by the addition of feathers,
beads, shells, and objects of like nature.
Some otherwise fine specimens of Atkan basketry are rendered
valueless, in my judgment, by the present custom of introducing flecks
of gaily dyed wool, the matchless beauty of these baskets lying in
their delicate, even weaving, and in their exquisite natural coloring—
the faintest old rose, lavender, green, yellow and purple being woven
together in one ravishing mist of elusive splendor. So enchanting to
the real lover of basketry are the creations of those far lonely women's
hands and brains, that they seem fairly to breathe out their loveliness
upon the air, as a rose.
This basketry was first introduced to the world in 1874, by William H.
Dall, to whom Alaska and those who love Alaska owe so much. Warp
and weft are both of beach grass or wild rye. One who has never seen
a fine specimen of these baskets has missed one of the joys of this
world.
The Aleuts perpetuate no story or myth in their ornamentation. With
them it is art for art's sake; and this is, doubtless, one reason why
their work draws the beholder spellbound.
The symbolism of the Thlinkit is charming. It is found not alone in
their basketry, but in their carvings in stone, horn, and wood, and in
Chilkaht blankets. The favorite designs are: shadow of a tree, water
drops, salmon berry cut in half, the Arctic tern's tail, flaking of the
flesh of a fish, shark's tooth, leaves of the fireweed, an eye, raven's
tail, and the crossing. It must be confessed that only a wild
imagination could find the faintest resemblance of the symbols woven
into the baskets to the objects they represent. The symbol called
"shadow of a tree" really resembles sunlight in moving water.
With the Haidah hats and Chilkaht blankets, it is very different. The
head, feet, wings, and tail of the raven, for instance, are easily traced.
In more recent basketry the swastika is a familiar design. Many
Thlinkit baskets have "rattly" covers. Seeds found in the crops of quail
are woven into these covers. They are "good spirits" which can never
escape; and will insure good fortune to the owner. Woe be to him,
however, should he permit his curiosity to tempt him to investigate;
they will then escape and work him evil instead of good, all the days
of his life.
In Central Alaska, the basketry is usually of the coiled variety, coarsely
and very indifferently executed. Both spruce and willow are used.
From Dawson to St. Michael, in the summer of 1907, stopping at every
trading post and Indian village, I did not see a single piece of basketry
that I would carry home. Coarse, unclean, and of slovenly
workmanship, one could but turn away in pity and disgust for the
wasted effort.
The Innuit in the Behring Sea vicinity make both coiled and twined
basketry from dried grasses; but it is even worse than the Yukon
basketry, being carelessly done,—the Innuit infinitely preferring the
carving and decorating of walrus ivory to basket weaving. It is
delicious to find an Innuit who never saw a glacier decorating a paper-
knife with something that looks like a pond lily, and labelling it Taku
Glacier, which is three thousand miles to the southeastward. I saw no
attempt on the Yukon, nor on Behring Sea, at what Mr. Mason calls
imbrication,—the beautiful ornamentation which the Indians of
Columbia, Frazer, and Thompson rivers and of many Salish tribes of
Northwestern Washington use to distinguish their coiled work. It
resembles knife-plaiting before it is pressed flat. This imbrication is
frequently of an exquisite, dull, reddish brown over an old soft yellow.
Baskets adorned with it often have handles and flat covers; but
papoose baskets and covered long baskets, almost as large as trunks,
are common.
There was once a tide in my affairs which, not being taken at the
flood, led on to everlasting regret.
One August evening several years ago I landed on an island in Puget
Sound where some Indians were camped for the fishing season. It
was Sunday; the men were playing the fascinating gambling game of
slahal, the children were shouting at play, the women were gathered
in front of their tents, gossiping.
In one of the tents I found a coiled, imbricated Thompson River
basket in old red-browns and yellows. It was three and a half feet
long, two and a half feet high, and two and a half wide, with a thick,
close-fitting cover. It was offered to me for ten dollars, and—that I
should live to chronicle it!—not knowing the worth of such a basket, I
closed my eyes to its appealing and unforgettable beauty, and passed
it by.
But it had, it has, and it always will have its silent revenge. It is as
bright in my memory to-day as it was in my vision that August Sunday
ten years ago, and more enchanting. My longing to see it again, to
possess it, increases as the years go by. Never have I seen its equal,
never shall I. Yet am I ever looking for that basket, in every Indian
tent or hovel I may stumble upon—in villages, in camps, in out-of-the-
way places. Sure am I that I should know it from all other baskets, at
but a glance.
I knew nothing of the value of baskets, and I fancied the woman was
taking advantage of my ignorance. While I hesitated, the steamer
whistled. It was all over in a moment; my chance was gone. I did not
even dream how greatly I desired that basket until I stood in the bow
of the steamer and saw the little white camp fade from view across
the sunset sea.
The original chaste designs and symbols of Thlinkit, Haidah, and
Aleutian basketry are gradually yielding, before the coarse taste of
traders and tourists, to the more modern and conventional designs. I
have lived to see a cannery etched upon an exquisitely carved paper-
knife; while the things produced at infinite labor and care and called
cribbage-boards are in such bad taste that tourists buying them
become curios themselves.
The serpent has no place in Alaskan basketry for the very good reason
that there is not a snake in all Alaska, and the Indians and Innuit
probably never saw one. A woman may wade through the swampiest
place or the tallest grass without one shivery glance at her pathway
for that little sinuous ripple which sends terror to most women's hearts
in warmer climes. Indeed, it is claimed that no poisonous thing exists
in Alaska.
The tourist must not expect to buy baskets farther north than
Skaguay, where fine ones may be obtained at very reasonable prices.
Having visited several times every place where basketry is sold, I
would name first Dundas, then Yakutat, and then Sitka as the most
desirable places for "shopping," so far as southeastern Alaska is
concerned; out "to Westward," first Unalaska and Dutch Harbor, then
Kodiak and Seldovia.