 Chapter 16 of A Woman Who Went to Alaska by May Kellogg Sullivan. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. This recording by Karen Cummins. Chapter 16 The Retired Sea Captain. Many years ago, close under the shadow of old Plymouth Rock, there was born one day a fair-skinned blue-eyed baby, whether from heredity or environment, or both. The reason of his spirit will perhaps never plainly appear, but as the child grew into manhood, he seemed filled with the same adventurous aspirations which had actuated his forefathers, causing them to leave their homes in Old England and come to foreign shores. Scarcely had he passed into his teens before he was devouring tales of pirates and kindred old sea-yarns, and his heart was fired with ambition to own a vessel and sail the high seas. Not that he thirsted for a pirate's life, but a seafaring man's adventures he longed for and decided he must have. Under these conditions, a close application at his desk in the village school was an unheard of consequence, and having repeatedly smarted under the schoolmaster's feral, not to mention his good mother's switches plucked from the big lilac bush by her door, he decided to run away to the Great Harbor and ship upon some vessel bound for a foreign land. This he did, then followed the usual hard, rough life of a boy among sailors in distant ports, the knotted rope's end, the lip-blackening language in curses, storms, shipwrecks and misfortunes. All followed as a part of the life so hastily chosen by the adventurous young lad until he acquired familiarity with all that appertained thereto, and he was a man. Years passed. To say that Fortune never came to him would not be true because she is always a fickle dame and cannot change her character for sailor men. So it came about that he finally stood on the captain's bridge of different sorts of craft and gave orders to those beneath him. And a typical sea-captain was he, gruff when occasion required, rollicking as any when it pleased him, he was generous to a fault and a man of naturally good impulses. If he drank, he was never tipsy. If he swore, he always had reason, and thus he excused himself when he thought of his good old mother's early Bible teaching. From Montevideo to Canton, from Gibraltar to San Francisco, from Cape of Good Hope to the Arctic Ocean, thus ran his itinerary year after year. Crossing Bering Strait from Siberia in the summer of 18-something, he landed, with his little crew, at Cape Prince of Wales, for the purpose of trading with the natives. The furs of the animals of this region were found to be exceptionally fine, thick and glossy, and the Eskimos easily parted with them. For flour, tobacco, and woolen cloth, they willingly gave their furs to the sailors, who looked admiringly upon the skins of the polar bear, sea otter, beaver, silver, black and white fox, as well as those of many other animals. These furs were sold in San Francisco, and other trips were made to the Arctic Northwest. Along the south coast of the Seward Peninsula, there are few bays or natural harbors. Golovan Bay is one of them. Here for many years, the Eskimos have subsisted upon the fine fish and game. The flesh and oils of the white whale, sea and walrus, being principally sought for, the natives came to this bay from all directions. After many years of wandering, and when the ambitions of the captain for a seafaring life had been satisfied, an incident occurred which changed the current of his life, and decided him to settle permanently at Golovan Bay. During his visits on the peninsula, his attention had been directed to a bright and intelligent young Eskimo woman, life and lively, a good swimmer, trapper and hunter. Like a typical Indian, she had a clear keen eye, steady nerves and common sense. She was a good gunner and Selva missed her mark. She was fearless on land or sea, loved her free outdoor life, and was a true child of nature. Her name was Molly. One day in the early springtime, nearly a dozen years ago, when the winter's ice was still imprisoned in the bays and sounds of Bering Sea, though the warm sun had for weeks been shining and already seems appeared upon the ice in many places, the captain attempted the trip by dog team from St. Michael to Golovan Bay. With him were four trusty natives and three dog teams, the animals being of the hardy Eskimo breed, and well-nigh impervious to cold, their long thick hair making an effective protection. His men were experienced, knowing the country perfectly, including a knowledge of winter trails and methods of traveling such as all Eskimos possess, and though the weather was not just what the captain might have wished, he decided to make the start and left St. Michael in good shape for the long trip. The strong sleds with high back handlebar and railed sides were firmly packed with freight, which was securely lashed down. The dogs were driven in pairs, eleven to a sled, the eleventh being in each case a fine leader and called such, besides having his own Eskimo name, as did also the four men who were warmly dressed in furs from head to foot. These natives were familiar with little English, but as the captain had made himself acquainted with their language, they had no difficulty in making each other understood. Early in the evening of that day, they reached the mission station of Yuna Leclic, on the mainland, about fifty miles northeast of the island, where they spent the night. In this settlement were white traders, as well as missionaries and numbers of Eskimos, it being an old port of considerable importance. In the cold gray morning light, Punichara and the men called to the Malamutes, patting their furry heads and talking kindly to them, for many a wary long mile of snow trail stretched northward for them that day, before they could rest and eat. Only at night, when their day's work was done, were these faithful creatures ever fed on seal, fish, whale, or walrus meat. For otherwise, they would be drowsy and not willing to travel. So they were called early from their snow beds in a drift or hollow, where they liked best to sleep and made ready for the start. Dressed in their squirrel skin parkies, with wide bordered hoods upon their heads, reindeer mucklucks on their feet, and mittens of skin upon their hands, stood a chugaruk, yungka a ruk, eam kaluk, and Punichara, long lashed whips in hand and waiting. On one of the sleds, dressed and enveloped in furs, sat the captain, before giving the order to start. At the word from him, the dog sprang to their collars, the little bells jingled, in a way they all dashed. Team after team, over the well trodden trail they went, keeping up a continuous and sprightly trot for hours, while behind at the handlebars ran the natives, and rocks, hills, and mountains were passed all unnoticed. That night, another Eskimo village was reached, and 60 miles of snow trail were left behind. Shaktulik lay on the shore, southeast of a portage, which would have to be made over a small point of land jutting out into Norton Bay. During the night, a storm came up, which would necessarily much impede their progress, being called in the western world a blizzard. This storm fiend, once met, is never forgotten. None but the man in the Arctic has seen him. None knows so well how to elude him. Like a peel, or a trembler, this Arctic king gathers his forces, more mighty than armies in battle, and sweeps all opponents before him. To resist means death. To crouch, cower, or bow down to this implacable lord of the polar world is the only way to evade his wrath when he rides abroad, and woe to the man who thinks otherwise. Not long had the wind and snow been blowing, when the little train prepared to move. Ahead they could see the sled tracks of other mushers, travelers by dog team, and the captain concluded to hurry along, notwithstanding that Ah Chugaruk shook his head and spat tobacco juice upon the ground, and Yunkaruk demured stoutly in few words. Punichara thought as the rest, but would go ahead if the captain so ordered, and they headed northwest for the portage. On the dogs trotted for hours. The snow and sleet were blinding, the wind had risen to a gale. The dogs traveled less rapidly now, and their faces were covered with frost, the moisture freezing as they breathed. By this time the natives wanted to camp where they were, or head about northeast for another Eskimo village called Yungalik-Talik, which would make the journey longer by twenty-five miles, but the captain decided to keep on as they were going. By the middle of the afternoon the gale had increased to fury, causing the thermometer to fail with great rapidity while the snow was blinding. The dogs were curling up in the wind like leaves before a blaze. Ah Chugaruk was ahead with his team, his leader suddenly halted. Mokomok! cried the Eskimo. Mok! echoed Punichara, running up alongside the look, and then back to the captain's sled where he shouted something loudly in order to be heard above the storm. An ice crack crossed their trail. There was no help for it. There it lay, dark and cold, the dreaded water. In the blinding blizzard they could not see the width of the chasm. It was too wide for them to bridge. It was death to remain where they were. They must turn back. And they did so. The wind was not now in their faces as before, which made traveling some easier, but they had not gone far when Mokomok from Puni this time, who was ahead. Again the dogs stopped. Then Punichara came back and reported. They were adrift on a cake of ice. Wind from the northeast was blowing a hurricane, carrying them on their ice cake directly out to sea. But the snow was drifting in hummocks, and in one of them the natives began digging a hole for a hut. When this was of sufficient size, they pitched a sled cover of canvas over it, made the slays fast outside, and crawled underneath. Once inside their temporary igloo, they made a fire of white drilling and bacon, taken from the sled loads of merchandise, melted snow for water, and boiled coffee, being nearly famished. Then for hours they all slept heavily, the dogs being huddled together in the snow, as is their habit. But the blizzard raged frightfully, and drove the dogs nearer the men in the hut. Crawling upon the canvas for more warmth, the poor freezing creatures, struggling for shelter, with the weight of their bodies caused the hut to collapse, and all fell in one writhing heap upon the heads of the unfortunates below. Howling, barking, struggling to free themselves from the tangle, the pack of brutes added torment to the lot of the men. But the storm raged with such terrific force, that all lay as they fell, until morning, under the snow. None now disputed the storm king's sway. All were laid low before him. With the united fury of fiends of Hades, he laughed in demoniacal glee at the desperation of the arctic travelers under his heel. The whole world was now his. Far from the icy and unknown waste of the interior, around the great circle and Rockies, riding above the heads of rivers and mountains, he came from the Koyuk and Kayakuk. Like a child at play, as if weary of so long holding them in his cold embrace, he drove the massive ice flows out into ocean, only perhaps in childish fitfulness, to bring them back directly by gales quite contrary. When morning dawned, the captain and his men crawled out of the crushed snow hut. And with hard work, made a new cave in the snowdrift, burying the slays in the old one. The dogs were starving, and to appease their appetites were perloining bacon from the sled's stores. But Providence, for once, was kind to them. And a large fat seal of several hundred pounds weight was shot that day on the edge of the ice cake upon which they were camped. And this gave them food and fuel. Dogs and natives were then well fed on the fresh seal meat and blubber, their natural and favorite vines. From 10 dishes upon the sleds, the natives made little stoves, or lamps, using drilling for wicks, seal oil for fuel, and their coffee was made. Among the stores on the sleds were canned goods, beans, sausages, flour and other things. And on these the captain subsisted. Day after day passed, the storm gradually died away, and the sun came out. Then watches were set to keep a lookout, and the captain took his turn with his men. Walking about in the cold morning air, he could see the mainland to the northwest, many miles away, and his heart sank within him. Would he ever put his foot upon that shore again? How long could they live on the ice cake if they floated far out in the Bering Sea? To him the outlook was growing darker each day, though the natives seemed not to be troubled. Nearly two weeks passed. One night the captain was awakened by a hand on his shoulder. It was Yunkaruk, the wind he said was blowing steadily from the southwest. And if it continued, they might be able to reach the shore ice in the mainland. Anxiously together then they watched and waited for long weary hours, getting the sleds loaded and in readiness for a start. Then with bitterest disappointment, they found the wind again changed to the southwest, which would carry them out to sea as before. What were they to do? This might be their best and only chance to escape. The shore ice lay near them, but as yet, beyond their reach, this treacherous wind might continue for days and even weeks. From experience, they knew that the wind blew where he listed, regardless of the forlorn creatures under him. And with a thermometer at 40 degrees below zero, as it was, swimming was out of the question. The crack appeared a dozen or so feet in width, and escape was only possible by reaching the other side. There straight was a desperate one. The captain decided to make the leap. Removing his furs, he rolled them tightly and threw them across the chasm. It was now a positive dash for life, as without his furs he would soon perish with the cold. He made the run and leaped. At that instant, one of the natives from intense interest, or from a desire to assist, gave a loud Eskimo whoop, which startled the captain, and he missed his footing, falling forward upon the ice, but with his lower limbs in the water. The natives now disturbed themselves and threw to the captain a large hunting knife and rifle attached to their long sled lashings. With a good deal of exertion, the captain crawled upon the ice. And with the knife, he chopped a hole and inserted the rifle barrel, fastening the lashings to it and holding it firmly in place. The natives then pulled with united strength on the line, bringing the ice cake slowly up toward the captain until within a few feet of the shore ice. When using a sled for a bridge, they and the dogs crossed safely over without so much as wetting their feet. To all, this was a matter for great rejoicing. And no regretful farewells were given to the ice flow, which had been their prison house so long. They were not yet out of danger, however, for the shore ice upon which they stood might in the gale at any moment, be loosened and carry them, like the other, out into the ocean. So with all haste possible, they proceeded to get away. Punichara brought the captain's fur sleeping bag and robes in which he was stowed away in one of the sleds, though his wet clothing was now frozen. There was no time nor place to make a change, with a thermometer nearly 40 degrees below zero. Hours afterward, they reached the mainland. How good once more to step foot on terra firma. The dogs barked, and the natives hallowed cheerfully to each other, for they were now going home. A deserted native village was soon entered, an igloo and passable condition taken possession of, and the dogs tied up for the night. The natives now worked rapidly and cheerfully, two putting up their camp stove, another bringing snow for water with which to make the coffee, and Punichara looking after the captain, who tried to remove his clothing, but to no purpose. Mucklucks and trousers were frozen together, and as fast as the ice melted sufficiently, they were cut away. Contrary to his expectations, he was not severely frozen. A white patch, the size of his hand appearing upon each limb above the knee. With these they did the best they could, and dry clothing from the sleds was put on. Their supper that night was a feast of rejoicing. They were now on the home trail, and would soon be among friends. One more day of travel and their long, hazardous and eventful trip of 200 miles over an arctic waste would be successfully accomplished. As they rolled themselves in their furs at midnight for a few hours of needed rest and sleep, they could almost fancy themselves at home again and happy. The dogs huddled in the snow outside, now and then barking in their usual way, but the tired men in the igloo did not hear them, for their sleep was oblivion after the strain of the last two weeks. Next morning, after traveling for several hours, a halt was made, and a lunch was taken in an Eskimo camp. But the captain, by this time, was suffering from exposure and frosted limbs. The trail was bad, and he concluded to hurry on ahead of the teams. The way was familiar, and only one low mountain, called the Portage, was to be crossed. It was early in the day, and his teams would follow immediately. So on his snowshoes the captain hastened toward home. God helped the man who travels alone in the Arctic in winter. Little matters it if the sun shines brightly at starting, and the sky appears clear as a summer pool. In one short hour, the aspect of all may be changed. Heavens overcast, snow flying, and wind rapidly driving. Under the gathering darkness and whirling snowflakes, the narrow trail is soon obscured, or entirely obliterated. The icy wind congeals the traveler's breath and courage simultaneously. He becomes confused and goes round and round in a circle, until, benumbed by the frost, he sinks down to die. This was what now happened to the captain. Another storm was upon him when he reached the hill Portage, and as he expected his natives momentarily, and beyond this point the trail was good so that he could ride behind the dogs, he waited until they should come up to him. Hour after hour he waited. Night came on, and the blizzard increased in severity. Hungry, cold, and already frost bitten, he must spend the night on the mountain alone. Still he listened for the bells of the Malamutes, and the calls of his Eskimo drivers. They did not come. Nothing but snow, and the shriek of that storm king whose rage he had so recently encountered while drifting to sea on the ice flow, and from whom only cruelty was ever expected, now whistled in his ears. He knew he must keep on walking, so removing his snowshoes he stuck one in the snowdrift, and fastened a seal rope at the top. Taking the end of this in his hand he circled round and round for hours to keep himself moving. At last he grew weary, and closed his eyes, still walking as before. It was more pleasant to keep his eyes closed, for then he saw visions of bright, warm rooms, blazing fires, and cozy couches, and smelled the odors of appetizing foods. There were flowers, sweet music, and children, and he was again in far-off sunny lands. He grew drowsy. He would only rest a little in a soft white drift, and then go on again. Making a place in the bank with the snowshoe, while the wind whistled horribly, and the whirling snow bewildered him, he lay down to... Some men, one night, drove their dog teams into Chinook. They had come from St. Michael, two hundred miles over the trail. They said the captain and his party left there many days before them, and by this they were surely dead, unless drifted out to sea, which really meant the same thing as no man could live upon the ice during the recent great Blizzard. An Eskimo woman heard what they said. She was a cousin to Punichara, but she said nothing. An hour later the woman and two men with dogs and sleds left Chinook for the portage, going east. It was storming, but it was not dark, and they knew each foot of the way. At first, on the level, the woman rode in one of the sleds, but when it grew hilly, she trudged behind. Her sharp eyes now keenly searched every dark or obscure spot along the hillside trail. The wind lessened somewhat, and the moon came out behind the clouds. The dogs finally stopped, throwing back their heads and howling. Then, in more excitement, gave the short, quick bark of the chase. The natives began poking about with sticks in the drifts, and Molly, for it was she, soon found the unconscious man in the snow. Quick work then they made of the return trip. They were only a few miles from home now, and the Malamutes seemed to comprehend. Every nerve in their bodies tingled. Every tiny bell on their harnesses jingled, and the fleet-footed natives sped rapidly behind. The dogs needed no guidance for they were going home and well knew it. The voice of Big E. took as he gave out his Eskimo calls. The sleigh bells and the creak of the sled runners over the frosty snow were the only sounds heard on the clear morning air. The life of the Captain was saved. The sequel of his story is not long. With the best care known to a native woman, brought up near and inside a mission station, the Captain was tended and brought back to life, though weeks passed before he was well. In fact, he was never strong again, and needing a lifelong nurse, decided, with Molly's consent, to take her for his wife. And so the missionary married them. Then they settled permanently at Galovan Bay, where a trading post was already established, and where they are living happily to this day. End of Chapter 16 Chapter 17 of A Woman Who Went to Alaska by May Kellogg Sullivan. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. This recording by Karen Cummins. Chapter 17 How the Long Days Passed On Saturday, November 3, began a great sowing of fur caps, children's clothes, and also garments for the teacher. For the caps, a pattern had to be made before beginning, but Alma, and not I, did it. About four in the afternoon, Mr. H., Mr. G., and Mr. B., came in from the home, having worked all day at collecting driftwood as they came along, piling it upon end so it will not be buried in the snow. For that is the only fuel we will have this winter, and it must be gathered and hauled by the boys. While in the sitting-room after supper, three gentlemen and the wife of one of them called to spend the evening from the AE company's establishment. One was the manager and head of the company's store here, another was his clerk, and the man and his wife were neighbors. We soon found out that the young clerk had been up the Coyote River prospecting and wanted to go again. The boys want to go there themselves, and we gathered considerable information from our collars regarding the country, manner of getting there, the best route, etc., and spent a pleasant evening as they seemed also to do. Sunday, November 4th, was marked as the first time of holding church service in the schoolhouse since our arrival, and a good number were present. Twenty-two Eskimos and ten white people made a cozy little audience for Mr. H. and his interpreter Ivan. I played the organ, and they all sang from gospel songs. For some reason a lump would come up in my throat when I played the old home songs that I had so many times played under widely differing circumstances thousands of miles away, but under the current of sadness there was also one of thanksgiving for protection and guidance all the way. It was a motley crowd listening to the preacher that day from various and widely separated countries, Sweden, Norway, Finland, United States, Alaska, and possibly some others, were represented at this service as well as at the one of the evening held in the mission house, which needed no extra lights nor warming. A few more natives came in at this time, and Molly, the captain's wife, was there with her mother. Again I played the instrument while the rest sang. The little sitting room and hall were crowded, seats having been brought in from the kitchen, and some were standing at the doors. One old Eskimo woman seemed in deep trouble, for she wiped her eyes a great deal, and she, with some others, were very dirty, at least if odors tell stories without lying. Monday, November 5th, this has been a fine day and brought with it a new lot of experiences. I took a few Kodak views of a dog team and fur-dressed people in front of the mission. After supper, four neighbors came, the same who called on us the other evening, with their horse to take us out for a moonlight ride, and improved a very novel one. Big gray horse with long legs supporting his great hulk, and carrying him away up above us as we sat on the sled. The conveyance, a homemade bobsled upon which had been placed rough boards piled with hay and fur robes for the comfort of passengers, and the harness homemade, like the rig, was ingeniously constructed of odds and ends of old rope of different colors, which the men assured us, when interrogated upon the point, were perfectly strong and secure. In it were knots, loops, twists, and coils, with traces spliced at great length in order to keep us clear of the horse's heels, but which frequently got him entangled, so that he had to be released by the footmen, the clerk. When this occurred, the latter, with an Indian war-woop, leaped off the sledge, flourished and cracked his big black snake whip in air to encourage the animal to run faster, and I, sitting with the driver on the front seat, gripped for dear life the board upon which I sat. No jee-hugh, I feel sure, ever drove as did our driver tonight, assisted by the whooping footmen with his black snake. Through drifts and over the pond, which was frozen, down steep banks to the beach, through snow deep and still deeper, helter-skelter they drove, scurrying, shouting, urging the poor beast on until he was wild of eye, short of breath, weary in limb, and reeking. Overhead the air was clear as crystal, stars bright, and a perfect full moon shining with brilliant whiteness over all. Only the jingle of the bells upon the horse, the shrieks of our footmen and driver, and the laughter of the passengers on the bob, broke the stillness of the quiet, frosty air, which, in its intense purity and lightness, seemed fairly to vibrate with electricity as we breathed. November 6th. I have spent the day at making a warm winter hood for myself. Finding that Mr. H. had gray squirrel skins, I bought six of him for twenty-five cents apiece, for aligning for hood and mittens. The hood I made pretty large every way, sewing two red foxtails around the face for a border to keep the wind off my face, as is the Eskimo fashion. During the day, G. and B. went out over the beach to collect driftwood for winter, and G. came home finally without his companion. It was thought that B. went on to the home, as he found himself not so far from that as from the mission, where he would probably remain all night and come over next day. Two natives, with as many reindeer and sleds, came for flour and other things, taking Mr. H's trunk of clothing with them for the missionary. The little Eskimos were delighted to see the deer and ran out to them, petting and talking to them. Then they rattled on among themselves about the animals, inspecting and feeling of their horns, patting their fat sides, calling their names, and showing their pleasure at seeing the pretty creatures in various ways. I did not know which were of most interest, the deer with long branching antlers, sleek spotted sides, and funny heads, or the group of odd little Eskimo children with their plump dark faces dressed in furry parkies and boots, tumbling gleefully around in the snow. Wednesday, November 7th, the weather is beautifully clear and sunny today, with charming sky effects at sunrise and sunset. Red, yellow, and crimson lines stretched far along the eastern horizon, cut by vertical ones of lighter tints, until a big golden ball climbed up higher and by his increased strength warmed the whole snowy landscape. A few hours later, this great yellow ball, looking bright and clear cut, like copper, sank gently beneath the long banks of purple red clouds masked in artistic and majestic confusion. Everything at this time was enveloped in the cooler, quieter tints of purple and blue, and hills, peaks, and icy bay all lay bathed in exquisite color. The two Eskimos brought the reindeer back from the home today, stopped for lunch, and then went on their way to the herd again. Rika, Alma, and Miss J went out as far as the cliff for a ride on the sleds behind the deer, but I felt safer indoors. Rika says when the animals dashed over the big bank, out upon the ice near the cliff, she thought her last hour had come. At first the deer trotted steadily along the trail, but going faster and faster they rushed headlong through the drifts, dragging the sleds on one runner and tearing up the snow like a blizzard as they went until it seemed to the two girls, unused to such riding as they were, that the animals were running away and they would be certainly killed. Miss J was quite used to this kind of traveling and made no outcry, but Alma and Rika finally got the natives to stop the deer and let them get off and walk home, saying it might be great fun when one was accustomed to it. The sleds used by the natives are called reindeer sleds, because made especially for use when driving deer. They are close to the ground and very strongly built, as they could not otherwise stand the wear and tear of such rapid transit. Side rails are put on, but no high handlebar at the back, and when a load is placed upon the sled it is lashed securely on with ropes or thongs made of seal or walrus hide. Otherwise, there would be no load before the journey was completed. Mr. H says he has long experience with them, but never feels quite sure that an animal will do what is wanted of him, though when driven by natives who are well used to their tricks and antics, especially if the animals have reached mature age, they make good travelers and get over the ground very fast. A hundred miles a day is nothing to them if the snow is not too deep and their load reasonable. Men and dog teams are coming into camp from Nome each day now and say that the trails are in first class condition. We hope for mail soon from Nome. Mr. H came bringing with him a Swedish preacher who was wintering here, though not officially connected with the mission. He is a sweet singer, liking well to accompany his Swedish songs upon the guitar or organ, for he plays both instruments. Mr. L left at six in the morning for the home, walked there and back, and arrived at six in the evening. He went to ask Mr. H if he and the others could have reindeer with which to go to Koyak River on a prospecting trip. He gave his consent and they think of starting next week. They think there may be some good creek up there that would do to stake and the clerk is going with them. We have jolly times each evening singing, visiting and knitting. My black stocking grows under my needles a few inches each day and will be warm and comfortable footwear under my mucklucks surely. November eighth some tarmigan were brought in today which are the first birds of the kind I have seen and they are beautiful. They look like snow white doves only larger with silky feathers and lovely wings. They are soon to be cooked for they are the Arctic winter birds and make good eating. We are all blessed with ravenous appetites. A man was killed with a club last night in a drunken brawl in a hotel nearby. He only lived a few hours after getting hurt, but it is said that the other killed him in self-defense. Both the United States Marshal and the Commissioner were away at the time. It is a pity they were not at home for the affair perhaps would then have been prevented. There are probably not more than one hundred white persons in the camp altogether, but there must be fully half as many Eskimos and they are always coming and going. There are several saloons one kept by a woman, a large hotel and one or two smaller ones besides two or three companies stores and a few log cabins and native huts besides the mission. The boys want to get off as soon as possible for Koyak, but fear they will have to go to Nome for camp stoves and pipe as there are none to buy here. They brought wood from the beach today on the sleds and there is no lack of fuel here nor of strong willing arms to gather it. It seems a long long time to wait without hearing from the home folks. I wonder how it seems to them. I only wish they could see how comfortably and happily we are situated and what jolly times we have for it would do their hearts good. Few are so favored in all Alaska of that I am certain. Saturday, November 10th. I have sewed all day on a canvas coat for Mr. B. Alma helping with the cutting. He wants it to put on over his fur parky to keep the snow and rain off it and has himself made the loops and fastenings. He whittled out the buttons from small pieces of wood twisted cord to loop over them and put them all firmly on the coat so that it looks well and will be serviceable. I put a good sized hood of the same with a fur border around the face on the coat and it will be a good garment to hunt Tarmigan in for it is the color of snow and the birds cannot see him. The visiting preacher has had an experience in being in the water and from it has contracted rheumatism in one limb which he is nursing so he sits by the fire and plays and sings for us while we sew. He is very pleasant and all seem to like him. The weather is not cold and Miss J and Mr. H started out with reindeer for the home at seven in the morning. It was a singular sight to see them when leaving. All the little natives and fur parkies stood around watching. The two sleds were loaded with baggage and Miss J sat on the top of one of them holding the rope that went under the body of the deer and around his head and horns for a harness. This deer was tied to the back of the sled in front of him and Mr. H went ahead having hold of the rope that was fastened to the first deer. Sunday, November 11th, we are having a heavy and wet snowstorm. All stayed in until three in the afternoon when we attended church service in the schoolhouse. I played the organ. The Swedish preacher read the scriptures and Ivan interpreted. We sang hymns and songs and the hour was enjoyed by all though the preacher did not feel quite well enough acquainted with the English to preach in that tongue and Mr. H was away. There were about twenty natives present and ten or twelve white people missy remaining at home to get the dinner. I went in thought over the great waters to my southern home where today the churches are decorated with palms and floral beauties and I saw the friends in their accustomed seats but I was not there. Thousands of miles away to the frozen north we have come and little do we know if we shall ever see home again. Tears came to my eyes but I kept them hidden for none shall say I am homesick. I am glad to be here. I have faith to believe that the father's loving watch care will be still further extended and I shall reach my homeland and friends sometime in the future. November 13th, weather is warm, wet and sunny. Water is running in the bay and snow is soft underfoot. I worked this afternoon on a mitten pattern for myself assisted by Alma. Evidently pattern making was intended for others to do for though my spirit is as willing as possible the flesh is very weak in that direction but I did finally get a mitten thumb and all that looks not half bad. This was banner day for my laundry work and my handkerchiefs have been ironed for the first time since I sailed from San Francisco. Here before I was in luck to get a time and place in which to wash them. It half past four o'clock in the afternoon when it was too dark to sew longer Alma, Rika and I went out upon the beach to meet the boys who had been gathering wood and we walked a half mile over the rough trail of ice blocks drifts and hummocks. We floundered on through all until we saw them coming and then sat resting on some logs until they came up. Two of Mr. H's dogs Fido and Mukuleta had followed us and ran at our heels playing in the snow which was more than one foot deep in places. The boys had found a long ladder on the beach probably from some wreck and they had brought it on the sled with the wood. It was most difficult work hauling the sled over the uneven trail and all were puffing and perspiring when they reached home. A little prayer meeting was afterwards held in the kitchen during which Mr. H and Ms. J came in from the home with reindeer tired and hungry. We spent a pleasant evening visiting singing and knitting. A man has come from Nome and says that the steamer bringing mission supplies from San Francisco was obliged during the last hard storm to throw some of its cargo overboard and part of the mission stores were thus lost. All are sorry to hear this as it means a shortage of necessary things like furniture for the home where much is needed. November 14th Ms. J has taken in two more little Eskimos a girl and a boy. First of all she cuts their hair close to their heads then each has a good bath in the tub and they are dressed in clean clothing from head to foot and fed plentifully. This was their program and they looked very happy after it and evidently feel as well and look better. This boy seems to be about 10 years old and the girl a little older but it is not customary among the Eskimos to keep a count of their ages and so nobody really knows how old anyone is. Alma has cut over a big reindeer skin parki for the visiting preacher and a first sleeping bag for Ms. J while Rikka has made a fine camp for Mr. H of dog skin lined with cloth. This morning when the men went out to the hills where their two reindeer had been tied in the moss the animals were gone and Ivan returned fearing that they had been stolen but when Mr. H, G and B went to look they found no men's footprints and concluded that they had broken away and gone back to the herd as their tracks went in that direction. Mr. H went on after them and the two boys came home wet with perspiration from floundering about in the deep soft snow and wearing their heavy rubber boots. I gave them coffee when they got back. I have sewed on my new mittens and done some knitting besides tending the baby who runs quickly from one thing to another like any other mischievous child getting into first one thing and then some other which must be coaxed away from her by management. I usually do this by giving her some new play thing if I can possibly find any article she has never yet had a box of needles buttons and thread she likes best of anything I have yet found and a grand reckoning day will come before long when Alma finds the little Eskimo has been amusing herself with her property. Mr. G found a part of somebody's outfit consisting of clothing and 10 dishes on the beach today. Ms. J held a little meeting again in the kitchen for the natives after supper and is very happy over having the two new little Eskimos. This is our fourth week in the mission and pleasant and happy ones they have been at least if there have been vexations to some they have succeeded admirably in keeping them out of sight. November 15th the weather is still warm wet and slippery underfoot. This morning a young man called from Gnome with a letter from Mary saying she is coming by dog team as soon as the trails are good. The commissioner called today to get the preacher to officiate at the funeral of the man who was killed but it was postponed until tomorrow because the grave could not be finished before dark. The commissioner sat for half an hour and chatted in the sitting room. November 16th all hands are at work now for the children and overalls, waists and shirts for the little boys as well as garments for the girls are on the docket. The big boys fished and got smelt and tomcod. B. sewed at Mittens for himself and G. took the church organ to pieces to clean and repair it. Mr. M. who has been at work on the home has come here to spin the winner. I wish he would set to work and catch some of the mice which infest the house and run over me when I am asleep in the nighttime. A meeting for the natives in the house again tonight and the doors had to be left open on account of the pungent seal oil perfume from the garments of the Eskimos. The man who was killed was buried today in the edge of the little graveyard on the hillside. The Swedish preacher was asked to go to the grave and he did so reading a psalm and offering a prayer. Only four or five men were present. It is a stony, lonely place without a tree in sight. The few scattering graves having only wooden slabs for headboards. Being just above the beach the spot commands a view of the bay in front but it is now all a snow and ice desert and the most dreary place imaginable. Very little was known of the murdered man and no good could be said of him but it is supposed that he has a wife and children somewhere. What a dreadful ending. Will his family ever know what has become of him and is his mother still living? If so I hope they may never learn of his horrid death and worthless life in Alaska. He was never conscious for a moment after being hurt so they know nothing as to where to write to his relatives. Makes one shudder to think of it. He may have been a good and bright child, beloved by parents and brothers but the drink curse claimed him for its own. The weather is clear with sunshine and frost. The visiting preacher has been making himself useful for a few days by helping us in cutting out overalls and blouses for the Eskimo boys. Down on his knees upon the floor with shears rolls of denim and a pair of small trousers to pattern by. He has wielded the little steel instrument to good purpose and encouraged and assisted us greatly. With their new clothes the children are all quite well pleased for they are fresh and sweet. The missionaries are trying very hard to teach them cleanliness among other things and they sometimes come and stand in the doorway and look at us sewing. Their face is always good natured and showing more or less curiosity. When told to run away to play they obey quickly and little Pete and the others like to keep the wood boxes filled to help us. The older girls, being from ten to twelve years of age, are often caring for and amusing Bessie and she is fond of them until, like any other child, she cannot have her own way and then she disapproves of them by kicking and screaming till Miss J comes to settle the business. End of Chapter 17 Chapter 18 In A Woman Who Went to Alaska by May Kellogg Sullivan. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. This recording by Karen Cummins. Chapter 18 Swarming Arctic explorers have always found it a difficult matter to keep pleasantly and profitably employed during the long winter months and I have often wondered how it would be with ourselves. So far there seems to be no scarcity of employment for all hands. Neither is there any prospect of it. For the men there is always the beachwood to collect, haul and saw up into firewood. Not to mention the splitting with an axe, which is, I believe, as hard work as any of it. And there is water to bring in barrels each day or two from Chena Creek, a mile away, for drinking and cooking purposes. The barrels are put upon sleds and hauled by the men themselves or by the dogs if they happen to be here and are not at work. As to the reindeer, of course there can be no such thing as making them haul either wood or water, for none could be found steady enough. And should the experiment be tried, there are ten chances to one that not a stick of wood would remain upon the sleds, nor a drop of water in the barrels, while the distance between creek and mission was being made. Of course there is always enough for women to do if they are housekeeping, and with sowing, knitting and what recreation we take out of doors, we fill in the time very well. It is much better and pleasanter to be employed, and the time passes much more rapidly than when one is idle. And I for one enjoy the change of work and the winner's outlook immensely. Compared to what we have done in Gnome during the summer, this is child's play, and the boys who have worked at real mining say the same thing. November 17th. We have had our first lady visitor today, who came from White Mountain about 15 miles away. She is the lady doctor who brought Miss Jay through typhoid fever last fall, and is much at home here. She was sent for by a sick woman in the hotel, and will spend the night with Miss Jay, who is very kind to her. The visiting preacher left for the home this morning very early, going with a native and reindeer. Mr. L and B were called into the jury trial of the murderer who killed the man in the hotel the other night, and they got home late. The girls were out upon the ice in the evening for exercise, getting tired of being indoors all day long, and needing fresh air. When all were in at half past eleven in the evening, coffee and crackers were taken by all but me, but I have had to leave off drinking coffee, taking hot water with cream and sugar instead. B says he thinks the latter too stimulating. This has been a bright and cold Sunday for November 18th. Mr. H walked in to nine o'clock breakfast from the home, coming by dog team, and looked well dressed and smiling. No service was held until evening, so we went out for a walk upon the hill behind the house. B and L left us to go and examine some wood that natives were hauling away from the beach, thinking it was some of theirs, for each stick is marked, so they know their own. But it proved not to be their wood, and the two then came home another way. While out, we walked through the small burial ground, and saw the new-made grave of the murdered man. Oh, how desolate was that spot! A few mounds, stones, snow, and bleak winds forever blowing. Here we read a headboard, upon which was the name and age of good old Dr. Bingham of New England, who died here years ago, and whose wife planted wild roses upon the grave. I wonder if we will see them in bloom next summer, or will we be under the snow ourselves, like these others? For our dinner today, we ate fried tom cod, baked potatoes, tomatoes, pickles, bread and butter, and rice pudding. I feel positive that nothing could have tasted better to our home folks in the States, who have more fruit and vegetables, than did this plain and homely meal to us, eaten with the hardiest appetites gotten out of doors while walking in the snow. The ice in the bay is getting firmer, and will continue to grow thicker all winter, being in the spring at breaking up time many feet through, no doubt, as it was in Minnesota, in the Red River of the North when I lived there. I am glad that I am a cold climate creature, and was born in winter in a wintry state, for I will be sure to endure Alaska weather better than I otherwise would. This evening we had service again in the church, or schoolhouse, and the room was quite filled. The woman doctor was there, also the storekeeper, and the United States Marshal, besides our own family, and a good many natives. Mr. H. preached, and was interpreted in Eskimo as usual. I wish some of my fastidious friends on the outside could have seen the cosmopolitan company of tonight. The refined and serious face of the storekeeper, the black-eyed doctor, woman, the fair-faced Swedes, and the square-jawed determined official made a striking contrast to the Eskimos dressed in fur parkies, and smelling of seal oil. Many of the latter continually carry small children on their backs underneath their parkies, a heavy belt or girdle of some sort keeping the youngster from falling to the ground, but the smaller ones are seldom brought out in the evening. These women squat upon the floor as often as they sit upon a chair, and when a baby cries from hunger, he is promptly fed on Amamuk, mother's milk, regardless of the assembled company. With an Eskimo mother, nothing comes before the child's wishes, and if the latter only succeeds in making his desires known to her, she will obey them to the letter. That there are unruly Eskimo youngsters, goes without saying, as a child does not need a white skin to help him understand this and arrange his tactics accordingly. The mission is crowded to its utmost, but I believe the hearts of the good missionaries are made of elastic. When we reached the house after service this evening, we heard that a male was expected and would leave for Dawson tomorrow, so we set to work to write letters, and then found it all a mistake, for it is only going to gnome from Unola Click, and we were all disappointed. The weather today, November 17th, is a great surprise to us. It is raining, and so I see underfoot as to be positively dangerous to life and limb. I had occasion to go out for a while this forenoon, and knew no better than to wear my mucklucks, which are smooth as glass on the bottoms. To make things more lively, the wind blew a gale from the northeast. When I left the house, I was going in the same direction as the wind, and though I nearly fell many times, I kept stubbornly on, determined not to be vanquished. On my return, then came the tug-of-war. Near the warehouse a gust of wind took me out of wares and whisked. In a minute I was sprawling flat upon the ice. I had gone out with my Indian blanket over my head and shoulders, and this blew out like a sail, upsetting my tall and slippery-footed craft, and bumping me ignominiously. I now tried to rise, but could not. Turn as I would, using my hands to steady me. I only made a vain effort to get upon my feet, as I slipped each time quite flat again. Thinking to turn first and get upon my knees, I tried that, but rolled like a fuzzy caterpillar in a ball upon the ice. Then, alas, I regret to relate it, but I really began to feel a little vexed. I began calling loudly, supposing that someone in the house would hear me, and come to my assistance. But the wind carried my voice away faster than I could throw it, and that availed me nothing. At no other time since my arrival at the mission, I felt certain had there been so long a lull between the passing of its inmates through its doors. But now, because of my present strait, they all remained indoors. In the meantime, I had thrown my hands out suddenly into water, which stood in little pools and depressions of the ice around me, and I lay there getting more vexed than ever. Again, I tried to rise, but failed. A stranger would suppose me tipsy, to be sure, and I glanced around to make certain no one saw me. Finally, the door opened, and Miss L came out. What is the matter? And she began laughing at my predicament. Matter enough, I shouted. Can't you see? I can't get up to save my life. Do come and help me. And I began struggling upon my slippery bed again to convince her. Still, she only laughed, standing in the wind with her hands upon her hips in order to keep her balance. Do come and help me, I begged, or go in and send one of the boys, for I shall stay here all day if you do not. When she had her laugh out, she came forward and assisted me to my feet and into the house, where I finally smoothed my ruffled feathers and recovered my equanimity, telling Miss L I would pay her back in her own coin when I got the opportunity. A native has come with reindeer to carry a load of goods to the home, but cannot leave on account of the icy trail until tomorrow, or whenever it freezes again. Today is November 21st, and the weather is still soft and bad underfoot, so the family cannot move to the home until the trail is in better condition. B shot more ptarmigan, and we had a dinner of them which was excellent. They almost seemed too pretty to kill, but fresh meat is scarce nowadays, and we must take it when we can get it. November 22nd has come, and with it colder weather. It is five degrees below zero, and the sun shines. The doctor from White Mountain has been helping Miss J pack her large medicine chest, ready for moving, as many of these supplies will be left in this house. Since the days are colder, we have most beautiful skies at sunrise, though we now keep the lamps burning until half past eight in the morning. We have heard that the no mail is in, but it brought nothing to me. We are writing letters to send out the first chance we get whenever that will be, but nobody knows so far. The commissioner called today and told us of a new strike at the headwaters of Fish River, a man and woman coming down to record a bunch of twenty claims having given the information. The woman runs a roadhouse on the New Clark River and wants to take an Eskimo boy to raise, and teach to work. Probably it is mostly the latter, though she seemed a kindly person. Miss J told her that she had no boy to give away. The marshal and the man in the old schoolhouse started with dogs to Norton Bay today for a short trip, so we hear. The wife of the man went with small Eskimo boys to the bay to fish for Tomcod. Alma is making a first sleeping bag of reindeer skins for the teacher, so when she travels she can have it to sleep in nights. It is very heavy to hold and handle while sewing. Two men called who have been shipwrecked in Norton Bay and told of the H family, consisting of the father, mother, and little daughter whom I have seen in Gnome. They lost all their clothing, but saved part of their grub, and we have made up a package of clothing to send to the woman and child by the men who are going back there. In the darkness one night they say the schooner, Lady George, went aground on the mud flats of Norton Bay, the tide rising soon after, and all having to flee for their lives to nearby ice, from which they went ashore to a log hut long ago deserted. The child who is about 12 years old is now without clothing and winter is coming on. The fates are hard on some people, surely, and this little girl lately from San Francisco, the public school and piano lessons, is left with her parents in an arctic wilderness in winter without clothing or shelter, except a poor broken hut and a few men's garments generously donated. The men say that her mother is almost wild over it, and they thought at first that she would go insane, but the brave little child does all she can do to comfort her mother, and the men beg to send them some things. Among the clothing we sent, I put in a few school books, a slate, some pencils, and a Bible, which may be of use in lonely hours. They may read the good book now if they never have before. They are Swedish people. It is three degrees below zero today, November 25th, clear, bright, and cold. Mr. H came with a man and his dog teams to move the whole family tomorrow to the home. All are delighted to go there, as we are to remain here. The shipwrecked men called again to tell us more fully about their experiences and are now going back to their camp. They certainly had an awful time, but they are glad and thankful to have come out alive, and we are also glad for their sakes. Two of the commissioners have been here, one from 50 miles away, wanting to buy a reindeer for his Thanksgiving dinner, but Mr. H would not sell one. He has been very urgent and called a number of times, but Mr. H is firm in refusing. Our good dinner today was made up of mutton stew with onions, baked potatoes, tomatoes, fruit soup, bread, butter, and coffee. I have taken a few Kodak views today of Ms. J and the Eskimo baby, Bessie, and hope they will be good. November 26th, it is 10 degrees below zero, but the whole household was up early this morning to move over the ice to the new home. Four big dog sleds were piled high with household things. The baby was tucked into a fur sleeping bag with only her head out, in which she howled lustily. Ms. J running beside the team to comfort her, while Mr. H, his assistant and Ivan, with Mr. G of our party, ran ahead of the dogs. Breakfast was eaten at eight o'clock in the morning, and all was hurly burly and excitement till they had gone. Rika, Alma, and I ran out to the beach to see them off upon the ice, as then they would have fair traveling. But we were afraid they would tip everything over at the bank where the drifts are high and blocks of ice piled in places. Everything was lashed tightly down, however, and no accident occurred. All the children but Bessie ran alongside the sleds to keep warm, and they had lunches with them to eat when they were hungry. When the smaller ones grew tired, I suppose they rode for a while on the sleds. It was eleven o'clock in the morning, and the bright sun shone directly in our faces as we stood waving goodbye to them. Really sorry to see them leave us. The hills, almost bare of snow, lay pink and lovely under the sunshine. After lunch, M went out, slipped on the ice, and fractured his collarbone. The Dawson man in the old school house, who claims to be a doctor, brought him indoors, but poor M was pretty pale. The man with G's help attended to his hurt, put his arm in a sling, and he is lying on the lounge looking serious but not discontented, nor suffering severely. We were not to have so small a family many hours, as we found at about five o'clock in the afternoon today, when there was a great commotion at the door. There were men's voices, a woman's jolly laughter, and the quick barking of dogs glad to reach their journey's end, and when we opened the door to those knocking, there were Mary and two friends from Gnome with their dog teams. In they came, laughing, talking, and brushing the frost off their parkies, glad to get here, and hungry from traveling, so we gave them a warm welcome and good hot coffee and supper. Then Mary, real viking that she is, and from Tromsø in Norway, related the story of her journey by dog team. 85 miles, they call it, from Gnome by water to Chienic, but overland it is probably farther. Nights were spent in the roadhouses, she said, but there was little sleep to be had in them, for they were crowded and noisy, and she was thankful the trip was now ended, and she had safely arrived. The two young men who came with her seemed nice, honest fellows, and I'm acquainted with one of them from seeing him at the star many times, where he often ground coffee to help evenings, or chatted in the kitchen when we worked. From Gnome they had brought two sled loads, on one of them a cook stove for the winter, as the big range in use here now will go later to the home, besides which they had food supplies and stove pipes. At night Mr. L came back from the reindeer station, saying that they can have four reindeer for their prospecting trip to the Koyak River, and they are making up their party to go there. November 27th, I was washing the dishes this morning in the kitchen when Mr. L came quietly to say he will take my attorney paper and stake a gold claim for me. He will do his best, he says, for me as well as the others, for which I cordially thanked him, and flew on wings to get the desired paper made out, as the others were also doing. At half past three o'clock in the afternoon today, the lamps were lighted, and at four o'clock in the afternoon, a mail got in from Nome, but brought no letters for me, as all steamers have long since stopped running, and I am not corresponding with anyone at Nome. I wonder when I will hear from my home folks. Our legal documents cost us each two dollars and fifty cents. November 28th, this has been a fine day out of doors, and a busy one indoors. Mr. H, with a man and two natives, came with the dog teams to take what household stuff they could carry, and they took the organ with the rest. I hated to see it go, but we are to have the one in the church, which G has just cleaned and brought into the house, as the frost in that building is bad for it. They loaded their sleds, then ate a lunch at half past eleven o'clock in the morning, and started. The two boys from Nome also left for that place, they being quite rested, as well as their dogs. Drilling parkies they wore to mush in, their furs and other traps being lashed to the sleds, and bidding us goodbye, one ran ahead, and the other behind the dogs. End of Chapter 18 Chapter 19 of A Woman Who Went to Alaska by May Kellogg Sullivan. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. This recording by Karen Cummins. Chapter 19 New Quarters After thinking for some time of doing so, I finally decided to call at the hotel, and asked the captain and his wife if I might not teach their little black-eyed girl English, as Miss Jaye's leaving deprives her of a teacher. The woman was not in when I called, but the child's father seemed to think favorably of my plan, and said he would consult with his wife, so I hope to get the child for a pupil. B and G have moved all their things into the house from the school room, and Rika hung the clothes she has been all day washing out there to dry. There is a small stove in which a fire is often made to dry them more quickly. It is most convenient to have such a place for drying clothes, as it is impossible to get them dry outside on the lines in the frost and snow. We spent the evening pleasantly together in the sitting room, listening to bees jokes, and merry stories of gnome and the trail. For our Thanksgiving dinner, we had canned turkey, potatoes, tomatoes, pickles, fruit, soup, bread, butter, and coffee, trying hard not to think of our home friends and their roast turkeys and cranberries. However, the dinner was a good one for Alaska, eaten with relish, and all were jolly and very thankful, even M with his sore collar bone, laughing with the rest. November 30th, Mr. H came with a man, two natives, seven reindeer, and four sleds to take more furniture away. They all ate dinner here, and I took some Kodak views of the animals with Alma, Rika, Mary, G, and a native driver in the sunshine in front of the mission. Mary goes up to the animals and pets them, as does Rika, but I keep a good way off from their horns, as they look ugly, and one old deer has lost his antlers, with the exception of one bear, straight one, a yard long, which, with an angry beast behind it, would, however, be strong enough to toss a person in mid-air if the creature was so minded. There has been some hitch in the arrangements of the men going to the Koyuk River, and there is a delay, but they will get off someday, because El never gives up anything he attempts to do, and I like him for that. If more people were like this, they being always certain that they were started in the right direction, the world would be the better for it. December 1st, Mr. B is making bunks in two rooms upstairs, as the house is so full all the time. This will give quite a little more lodging room, for cuts cannot be provided for all. Neither is there room for so many, but with bunks, one above another, it will furnish lodgings for all who come. Our two fisherwomen went out again this afternoon, and got Tom Cod through the ice by the cliff, near the snow-buried river steamers. About four o'clock in the afternoon, I called on the captain's wife, and found her sowing furs. For her helper, she had her cousin Alice, the Koy Plump Eskimo Girl, who traveled to San Francisco with her last year. Both women sat upon fur rugs on the floor, as is their custom when sowing, and they were sorting bright beads, and cutting mousse hide into moccasins and gauntlet gloves, to be decorated with beads in the fashion of the Yukon River Indians. I had no difficulty in arranging for lessons with the captain's wife, who would also study with her little girl, she said, and she showed me school books, slates, etc., they had already been using. If their piano were only here, the child, who is a pretty little thing, with a sweet smile, might take music lessons, but it cannot be brought over the winter trail. We had snow today, but no church service. We rested, sang, read, ate, and slept. A fine dinner of reindeer roast, with good gravy, mashed potatoes, etc., for our two o'clock meal, was eaten and well relished. But in spite of all, the day seemed a long one for some reason. We wonder how things are going on the outside, and if the friends we love, but cannot hear from, are well, happy, and think sometimes of us. The commissioner came to say that he would bring the recorder, or commissioner, from the Koyuk district with him to call this evening, and he did so. The latter is a middle-aged man, whose family lives in Minneapolis, Minnesota. He himself, being a native born Norwegian, but having lived in the States for twenty years. They brought two United States marshals with them, and one of them played on the guitar quite well, though I thought I detected a scent of the bottle when he sang his songs. He has a good voice, but untrained. Yesterday it was fifteen degrees below zero, but grew warmer toward night, and began snowing. Today it snowed quite hard until dark. Along the shore, huge blocks of ice lay heaped promiscuously, and deep drifts rolled smoothly everywhere. When I grew tired walking, I stopped a moment and listened. There was no sound, but the beating of my own heart. This then was our new arctic world. How wonderfully beautiful it was in its purity and stillness! Look whichever way I would! All was perfect whiteness and silence. When I walked, the snow scarcely creaked under my feet. Above, beneath, around, it was everywhere the same. It was a solemn stillness, but ineffably sweet and tender. It was good to live. A feeling of sweetest peace and happiness swept over me, and tears sprang to my eyes. Was this heaven? It almost seemed like it, but glancing toward the grave of the murdered man on the hillside, I remembered that this could not be. Farther down the shoreline, when I started to go home, I saw the smoke of the cabins through the veil of the snowflakes. While giving Ginny her lessons this afternoon, the commissioner came in to say that he would like me to do some copying for him, for as yet he has no clerk and needs one. I told him I would do the work if I might take it home, and could get a quiet corner by myself. I hardly see how I am to manage that while there are so many people in the house, but I shall try it, for I would like to earn the money. This morning it was three degrees above zero. Yesterday it was fifteen below. A full moon hung high in the sky this morning until nine o'clock, weather is warm and beautiful, with rosy clouds at sunrise, but it grew colder by noon. Among other things Mary has brought from Nome is her little hand sewing machine, which is an old-fashioned thing to be fastened to a table and the wheel turned by hand. It was brought from the old country and looks quite well worn, but is still useful and far better than no machine if it does have a chain stitch which is liable to rip easily. We have a lot of amusement with this machine, for when Alma is sewing and one of the boys happens to be idle about her, she makes him turn the wheel while she guides the cloth and watches the needle. Others besides myself are wearing mucklucks by this time, though not all have come to them, the felt shoes being worn in the house by some of the girls until severe cold forces them into the native boots of reindeer skin. In her rooms at the hotel, Molly sits with Alice each day on the fur rugs, cutting, sewing, and beading moccasins and moose hide gloves. A regular workshop it is, boxes of thread, beads, scraps of fur, whole otter skins, paper patterns, shears, bits of hair and fur scattered upon the floor, and the walls covered with hanging fur garments. This is the sewing room of the captain's wife as it is now each day when I go there. The room contains two large windows, one on the north side and one on the west, at which hang calico curtains tied back with blue ribbons in daytime. These women work very rapidly, with the thimble upon the first finger, and by pushing the three-cornered skin needle deathly through skins they are sewing. The thread they use for this work is made by them from the sinews of reindeer, and takes hours of patient picking and rolling between fingers and palms to get spliced and properly twisted. But when finished is very strong and lasting. Their sewing and beadwork is quite pretty and unique, and is done with exceeding neatness and care, though not much attention is bestowed upon colors. Friday, December 7th, has been a busy day all round. L and B started off early after breakfast on a prospecting trip, and the girls kept at their sewing. Mr. H came from the home to get the sewing machine and some lumber, and was packing up nearly all day, so that we are still quite unsettled. But it is much pleasanter for him to come to a warm house, and where he gets hot meals after his 12 miles over the ice with the deer or dogs. He left here at four in the afternoon, and had been gone only an hour, when Mr. F and another man came from Gnome, on the way to the Koyuk. Getting well warmed and eating a hearty supper, which was much enjoyed after some days on the trail, they started with two reindeer and as many sleds for the home, which is on the way to Koyuk. Another hour passed, and two women and their guide from White Mountain came in, these belonging to the same party as the last men going to the Koyuk, and these three had to remain overnight as it was too late to push on further. The men brought their fur robes and blankets from their sleds, threw them into the bunks into the west room, and called it a good lodging place, compared to the cramped and disorderly roadhouses upon the trails. December 8th, we had a fire fright this morning, which was not enjoyed by anyone in the mission. Mary had gotten up early, and two fires were already going, one in the kitchen range and one in the sitting room heater near my bed. It was still dark at half past seven, and I was awake, thinking seriously of dressing myself, though there was no hurry, for Mary was the only one yet up, when I saw a shower of large sparks of fire or burning cinders falling to the ground outside the window. I rushed into the kitchen telling Mary what I had seen, and she ran outside and looked up toward the chimney. Fire, smoke, and cinders poured out in a stream, but she satisfied herself it was soot burning in the sitting room chimney. Coming in she pulled most of the wood from the heater, scattered salt upon the coals, and by this time all in the house were downstairs, asking what had happened. M says he will also take my attorney paper, and stake a claim for me, as he has decided to go to the Koyuk with the men who came last night from Noam. They have a horse, but as it is almost worn to the bone and nearly starved, they hardly think he can travel much farther. M wants me to get him some location notices from the commissioner when I see him. When coming home from Ginny's lesson this afternoon, I was turning the corner of the hotel when the wind took me backward toward the bay for 30 feet or more, and deposited me against an old wheelbarrow turned bottom upwards in the snow. To this I clung desperately, keeping my presence of mind enough to realize my danger, if blown out upon the ice 50 feet away and below me, where I would be unable to make myself either seen or heard in the blinding storm, and would soon be buried in the snow drifts and frozen. In my right hand I carried my small leather handbag containing a dozen or more deeds and other documents to be recorded for the commissioner, and if the wind blew this from my hand for an instant I was surely undone, for it would never be recovered. I now clung to the barrow until I had regained my breath, and then made a quick dash for the lee or south side of the hotel, out of the gale, and into the living room again. Here I sat down to rest, trembling and breathless, to consider the best way to get home. It was now dark, the snow blinding, and the gale from the northeast fearful. A stout young Eskimo sat near me, and I finally asked him to take me home to which he consented. The mission was only a few hundred feet away, but to reach it we had to go directly into the teeth of the storm, which was coming from the northeast. Not six feet ahead of us could we see, but I trusted to the sense of my Eskimo guide to lead me safely home, and he did it. Motioning me to follow him, he proceeded to pass through the building and out the east end entrance, notwithstanding that he led me directly through the bar room of the hotel, where the idlers stared wonderingly at me. Once outside the door, he grasped my right arm firmly and we started, but he kept his body a little ahead of me, and with the side turned from the blizzard instead of facing it. In this side-long way we struggled on with all our strength through snow drifts against the elements in the darkness, with breath blown from our bodies and eyes blinded by whirling snow. Now and again I was forced to stop to gain breath for a fresh struggle, and when we reached the mission we staggered into the door as if drunken. I now found that all my clothing was blown so full of fine snow that the latter seemed fairly a part of the cloth, would not be shaken out, and only a thorough drying would answer. A good hot cup of coffee was handed to each of us, and my Eskimo guide sat until rested, but I think I shall take Alma's sage advice and in the future remain at home during blizzards. Of course M and the other men could not leave for the koiuk as they intended, but they do not appear to be discontented at having to remain under our roof longer as they seem to be enjoying themselves very well, and say it is all really home-like here in the mission. I am working on the recorder's books and like the work fairly well. This is a stormy Sunday, December 9th, but the weather is not so bad as yesterday, and B and L came back from the home. We have eight men here today, including the two young fellows who have been at work on the home building, and who came over from Nome weeks before the rest of us. This is the first time they have been here since we arrived. They too are Swedes, as are all these men but M, who has a thin lender. For dinner we had reindeer roast with flour gravy, potatoes, plum butter, rye and white bread and butter, coffee, and tapioca pudding. The potatoes taste pretty sweet from being frozen, but are better than none. We have had music from the guitar, mandolin, and organ, besides vocal exercise without limit, and with all this I found time to do some Sunday reading in Drummond's yearbook, and have well enjoyed the day. The thermometer registers 13 degrees below zero, and at half past eight in the evening, the wind was not blowing much, enough blizzard for this time certainly. While talking with one of the men from Nome, I asked if he supposed there was gold in the Koyuk country, and he thought there was. As he was up there all last summer, he ought to know the prospects. It appears that there is a split in his party, or a disagreement of some kind, as is quite the fashion in Alaska, and some of the men are to remain behind. As soon as the weather clears sufficiently, they will go to the home, and from there leave for Koyuk River. Monday, December 10th, the commissioner, the marshal, and three of their friends came in to spend the evening with us, and one of the strangers sang well, accompanying himself on the organ. He also belongs to a party made up to go to Koyuk, but failed to reach that point, and they are staying in Chinook. I bought two red fox skins today for ten dollars, but will have to pay five dollars more for their cleaning by a native woman, to whom I have given them for that purpose. It is the only kind of fur I can find of which to make a coat, and I must have one of the skins, as the wind goes straight through cloth, no matter how thick it is. Six of our household went out today to get wood with the old horse and sled, but the poor creature would not go, probably because it could not. They had to unload a good many times, and were gone five hours. Alma and Rika went with the four boys for an outing, but all came home tired, and voting the horse a great failure. This morning our house was a stir very early, and the men were getting ready to mush on towards the Koyuk. Mr. L goes with the marshal, the clerk, and two others, taking seven dogs and sleds loaded with provisions. It is a sight to see the preparations. There are sacks of frozen tom cod for the dogs, tents, Yukon stoves, tin dishes, snowshoes, sleeping bags and robes, coffee pots, axes, picks, gold pans and boxes, cans and bags of grub, and infant item. G and B stay behind to make another camp stove, but will leave soon for Nome. B cleaned his gun today and looked after his ammunition. Wednesday, December 12th. Our sunset was very lovely today at one in the afternoon, and at three o'clock, when I began with little Ginny's lessons, we had to light the lamp. I usually go into the sewing room for a little while, either before or after the lesson, to watch the women sew furs. Alice, the younger, is as quiet as a mouse, but the captain's wife is a little more talkative, though not particularly given to conversation. Now and then, while she sews, something is said with which she does not agree, and she bites her thread off with a snap, with some terse remark offsetting the other, or with a bit of cynicism, which, with a quick glance of her black eyes and curl of the lip, is well calculated to settle forever the offender. For the captain's wife is as keen as a briar, and reads human nature quickly. I should say she is gifted with wonderful intuitive powers, and these have been sharpened by her constant effort to understand the words and lives of those around her, these being to such an extent English speaking people, while she is an Eskimo. Let none flatter themselves that they can deceive Molly, for they would better abandon that idea before they begin. She impresses me as a thoroughly good and honest woman, and I am getting to respect her greatly. Two of the boys from the home spent the night in the mission, and helped with sawing wood all forenoon today. They went from Nome to assist at building the home, and came over here for the first time yesterday. They are jolly fellows, and used often to assist us in the star at Nome, one always lightening our load of work by his cheery voice and pleasant hopeful smile. He too is a sweet singer, and a great favorite with all. After a lunch, they started to mush back to the home over the ice, promising to come again at Christmas. B and G finally got started on their long cold trip to Nome on business.