At the first fire Toyatte fell, shot through the breast. Thus died
for his people the noblest old Roman of them all.
On this first Alaska excursion I saw Toyatte under all
circumstances, - in rain and snow, landing at night in dark storms,
making fires, building shelters, exposed to all kinds of discomfort,
but never under any circumstances did I ever see him do anything, or
make a single gesture, that was not dignified, or hear him say a word
that might not be uttered anywhere. He often deplored the fact that
he had no son to take his name at his death, and expressed himself as
very grateful when I told him that his name would not be
forgotten, - that I had named one of the Stickeen glaciers for him.
Part II
The Trip of 1880
Chapter XIV
Sum Dum Bay
I arrived early on the morning of the eighth of August on the steamer
California to continue my explorations of the fiords to the northward
which were closed by winter the previous November. The noise of our
cannon and whistle was barely sufficient to awaken the sleepy town.
The morning shout of one good rooster was the only evidence of life
and health in all the place. Everything seemed kindly and
familiar - the glassy water; evergreen islands; the Indians with their
canoes and baskets and blankets and berries; the jet ravens, prying
and flying about the streets and spruce trees; and the bland, hushed
atmosphere brooding tenderly over all.
How delightful it is, and how it makes one's pulses bound to get back
into this reviving northland wilderness! How truly wild it is, and
how joyously one's heart responds to the welcome it gives, its waters
and mountains shining and glowing like enthusiastic human faces!
Gliding along the shores of its network of channels, we may travel
thousands of miles without seeing any mark of man, save at long
intervals some little Indian village or the faint smoke of a
camp-fire. Even these are confined to the shore. Back a few yards
from the beach the forests are as trackless as the sky, while the
mountains, wrapped in their snow and ice and clouds, seem never
before to have been even looked at.
For those who really care to get into hearty contact with the coast
region, travel by canoe is by far the better way. The larger canoes
carry from one to three tons, rise lightly over any waves likely to
be met on the inland channels, go well under sail, and are easily
paddled alongshore in calm weather or against moderate winds, while
snug harbors where they may ride at anchor or be pulled up on a
smooth beach are to be found almost everywhere. With plenty of
provisions packed in boxes, and blankets and warm clothing in rubber
or canvas bags, you may be truly independent, and enter into
partnership with Nature; to be carried with the winds and currents,
accept the noble invitations offered all along your way to enter the
mountain fiords, the homes of the waterfalls and glaciers, and encamp
almost every night beneath hospitable trees.
I left Fort Wrangell the 16th of August, accompanied by Mr. Young, in
a canoe about twenty-five feet long and five wide, carrying two small
square sails and manned by two Stickeen Indians - Captain Tyeen and
Hunter Joe - and a half-breed named Smart Billy. The day was calm, and
bright, fleecy, clouds hung about the lowest of the mountain-brows,
while far above the clouds the peaks were seen stretching grandly
away to the northward with their ice and snow shining in as calm a
light as that which was falling on the glassy waters. Our Indians
welcomed the work that lay before them, dipping their oars in exact
time with hearty good will as we glided past island after island
across the delta of the Stickeen into Soutchoi Channel.
By noon we came in sight of a fleet of icebergs from Hutli Bay. The
Indian name of this icy fiord is Hutli, or Thunder Bay, from the
sound made by the bergs in falling and rising from the front of the
inflowing glacier.
As we floated happily on over the shining waters, the beautiful
islands, in ever-changing pictures, were an unfailing source of
enjoyment; but chiefly our attention was turned upon the mountains.
Bold granite headlands with their feet in the channel, or some
broad-shouldered peak of surpassing grandeur, would fix the eye, or
some one of the larger glaciers, with far-reaching tributaries
clasping entire groups of peaks and its great crystal river pouring
down through the forest between gray ridges and domes. In these grand
picture lessons the day was spent, and we spread our blankets beneath
a Menzies spruce on moss two feet deep.
Next morning we sailed around an outcurving bank of boulders and sand
ten miles long, the terminal moraine of a grand old glacier on which
last November we met a perilous adventure. It is located just
opposite three large converging glaciers which formerly united to
form the vanished trunk of the glacier to which the submerged moraine
belonged. A few centuries ago it must have been the grandest feature
of this part of the coast, and, so well preserved are the monuments
of its greatness, the noble old ice-river may be seen again in
imagination about as vividly as if present in the flesh, with
snow-clouds crawling about its fountains, sunshine sparkling on its
broad flood, and its ten-mile ice-wall planted in the deep waters of
the channel and sending off its bergs with loud resounding thunder.
About noon we rounded Cape Fanshawe, scudding swiftly before a fine
breeze, to the delight of our Indians, who had now only to steer and
chat. Here we overtook two Hoona Indians and their families on their
way home from Fort Wrangell.
