Sailing Northward.—Chinese Labor.—Unexplored Islands.—The Alexander Archipelago.—Rich Virgin Soil.—Fish Canning.—Myriads of Salmon.—Native Villages.—Reckless Habits.—Awkward Fashions and their Origin.—Tattooing Young Girls.—Peculiar Effect of Inland Passages.—Mountain Echoes.—Moonlight and Midnight on the Sea.

Let us observe more order in these notes, and resume the course of our experiences in consecutive form.

As we speed on our sinuous course northward, inhaling with delight the pure and balmy atmosphere, bearing always a little westerly, winding through narrow channels which divide the richly wooded wilderness of islands, avoiding here and there the ambuscaded reefs, the pleasurable sensation is intense. The scenery, while in some respects similar to that of the St. Lawrence River and the Hudson of New York, is yet infinitely superior to either. After having reached latitude 54° 40' we come upon Dixon Entrance, a reach of the sea which separates Alaska from British Columbia, and from this point we are sailing exclusively in the purple shadow of our own shore, and in the waters of the United States. At times we pass islands as large as the State of Massachusetts, whose picturesque and irregular mountainous surfaces are covered with immemorial trees, and whose unknown interiors are believed to be rich in coal, iron, silver, and other metals. The axe has never echoed in the deep shade of these dense plantations of nature; they form a pathless wilderness, solemn and silent, save for the stealthy tread of wild beasts, the mournful music of waving pines, and the occasional notes of wandering seabirds. The migratory flocks of the tropics as a rule go farther north to raise their broods, but a few, weary of wing, shorten their aerial journey and build nests on these islands. For many centuries past the great columnar trees have grown to mammoth size, and have then fallen only by the weight of years, enriching the ground with their decayed substance and giving place to another similar growth, which, in its turn, has also flourished and passed away. How like the course of human races! This process has been going on perhaps for twice ten thousand years. “Nature alone is antique,” says Carlyle. The past history of Alaska, except for a comparatively short period, is a blank to the people of the nineteenth century.

Day after day there is a continuous and unbroken chain of mountain scenery. On the right of our course is a broad strip of the mainland, an Alpine region, thirty miles in width, which forms a part of southern Alaska, bounded on the east by British Columbia, and on the west by the many spacious islands, which create so perfect a breakwater that the constant swell of the contiguous ocean is not felt. Some of these islands lie within a quarter of a mile of each other, on either side of our way, and yet the water is far too deep to admit of anchoring, the peaks rising abruptly from unknown depths to thousands of feet above the sea. The channels seem still more narrow from the great height of the mountains which line the course. The eye catches with delight the bright ribbons of waterfalls tumbling down their sides, in gleeful uproar, foaming and sparkling towards the depths below. These are fed by melting snow and hidden lakes far up in the cloud-screened summits. Some of these waterfalls, narrow and swift, leap from point to point, now forming small cascades, and now continuing in a perpendicular form like a column of crystal. Others, so abrupt and precipitous are the heights from which they are launched, fall in an unbroken stream, clinging to the cliffs at first, but quickly expanding into a thin sheet rivaling the Bridal Veil of the Yosemite, and reaching the base in a constant gauzelike spray.

The wide, open tracks seen now and then on the steep, thickly-wooded mountain sides, reaching from high up to the snow-line down to the very surface of the water, are the pathways swept by giant avalanches. What immense power and lightning-like speed are suggested by the broad, clean swath that is left! The wind caused by the rushing avalanches is almost equally resistless, the trees on either side of the track being torn into splinters by it.

Now and again, above the tops of the giant pines, one can see moving objects on the exposed peaks and cliffs, almost too far away and too small for identification, but we know them to be wild mountain goats,—the Alaskan chamois,—quite safe from the hunters in these perilous heights, never trod by the foot of man. The tender glow of twilight enshrouding mountain peaks, emerald isles, and the gently throbbing bosom of the sea, added daily a witching charm to a scene which already seemed perfect in beauty.

The principal island group lying off the shore of southwestern Alaska is named the Alexander Archipelago, in honor of the Tzar of Russia. It extends about three hundred miles north and south, and is seventy-five miles from east to west, embracing over eleven hundred islands, scarcely one of which has been explored. The group reaches from Dixon Entrance to Cross Sound, in latitude 58° 25' north. Upon landing at one of these islands it was found to be covered by an impervious forest; the mass of timber and undergrowth was so compact as to defy our progress. The tangle of bushes, roots, vines, and branches formed almost as impenetrable a wall as though built of masonry. The wildest jungles of India are not more dense. Where not covered and hidden by trees, the earth was flecked here and there by the sun, being carpeted with moss and ferns so thickly spread as to form a spongy surface, upon which only the velvety feet of small wild animals could be sustained. A human pedestrian, were he to attempt to pass over it, would sink in this vegetable compound knee-deep at every step. There are no paths in these jungles; the natives have no occasion to penetrate them, their living comes from the sea, and the river courses are their hunting grounds.

This virgin soil, were it to be drained and cleared of trees, would be rich beyond calculation, while the climate is such as to warrant the growth and ripening of any vegetation which will thrive on the Atlantic coast north of Chesapeake Bay. One who has not seen it in Alaska knows not what rank and luxuriant forest undergrowth is. No tropical islands can surpass the Alexander Archipelago in this respect. Thus far no one has come to this region with the idea of testing its availability for agricultural purposes; it is other business which has attracted them. Nothing of any account has ever been done in the way of stock-raising, though the winters of southern Alaska, of Kodiak, and the Aleutian Islands are much milder than are those of Wyoming or northern Dakota, and there is plenty of food for innumerable herds all the year round. If government will but give the Territory of Alaska proper land laws, this region will promptly invite emigration, and be rapidly peopled by thrifty stock-growers.

As we increase our northern latitude forests of tall cedars, spruce, and hemlock still line the shore of the mainland, and cover the countless islands with a mantle of softest green. It is not surprising that artists become enthusiastic over the infinite variety of shades found in these verdant woods, an effect which we have never seen excelled even in equatorial regions. Gliding over the still, deep, pellucid surface of the ocean, we behold these cliffs, forests, and mountains, with coronets of snow reflected therein, as though there was another world below, like that above the rose-tinted sea. One finds almost exactly repeated here the bold, towering peaks, and low-lying rocky isles of the Lofoden group in the far North Sea of the opposite hemisphere, whose sharp, jagged pinnacles have been aptly compared to shark’s teeth.

Near Cape Fox, on the mainland, there are two large fish-canning establishments, where salmon are packed in one pound tin cases for shipment to distant markets, and in which a few Chinamen are employed. Some Indian women also find occupation in the establishment, while their husbands capture and bring in the fish in large quantities. This is a rapidly growing and profitable business in this region, there being already forty or fifty such factories along the coast and among the islands north of Cape Fox.

Kasa-an Bay makes into Prince of Wales Island twenty miles, more or less, from Clarence Strait. Here there are several villages of Kasa-an Indians. No spot on the coast is more famous for the abundance and excellence of its salmon; at certain seasons the waters of the bay swarm with them. Here is a large cannery, or fish-packing station, where native women do most of the indoor work. Two thousand barrels of salted salmon were shipped from this bay last year. This was independent of those used in canning. There would seem to be no limit to the expansion of an industry that can furnish such desirable, every way wholesome, and nutritious food to be sold in all parts of the world.

The North Pacific Trading and Packing Company of San Francisco has been doing a profitable business on the coast for many years. In spite of government neglect, commerce is steadily increasing and developing Alaska; it invades all zones, proving the greatest of civilizing agencies. Not only is it the equalizer of the wealth, but also of the intelligence, of nations, and this one branch alone is gradually populating whole districts. When the active packing season is over there is still profitable employment for all. Some are occupied in making the tin cans to hold one pound each; others are taught to become coopers, furnishing the casks for shipping such fish as are split, salted, and exported in that form; while others are occupied in making pine-wood boxes to contain two dozen each of the filled cans. Thus a well-conducted fish-packing establishment employs many people, and presents a busy scene all the year round.

The salmon are so plenty in the regular season that an Indian will sometimes deliver at the canning factory three or four canoe-loads in a single day. They are mostly caught by net or seine, but often during the height of the season the natives absolutely shovel the salmon out of the water and on to the shore with their paddle blades. We were told that as many as three thousand salmon, and even more, are sometimes taken at a single haul of the seine; also that fish of this species weighing from twenty to thirty pounds were common here. Great numbers are discarded at the factories because they do not prove to be of the high pink color which is required by the purchasers and consumers. It seems that the bears know very well when the run of salmon commences, and that there are certain quiet inlets where the fish are sure to get crowded and jammed, so that Bruin has only to reach out his paws and draw one after another on to the shore and eat until he has his fill. The bear-paths leading to these spots are strongly marked, and the animals are thus easily tracked and shot by the hunters. It is the white men who capture them most generally, as the natives have some mysterious reverence and fear combined regarding this animal. They do hunt them, however, but shrive themselves of all sense of wrong by going through some mystic rites. Mr. Charles Hallock says: “There are bears enough in Alaska, grizzly, cinnamon, and black, to furnish every man on the Pacific with a cap and overcoat, and leave breeding stock enough for next year’s supply.” The grizzly bear is a dangerous animal to encounter single-handed. A bullet seems to have no more effect upon him, unless it strikes a vital spot, than it does upon an elephant. It is necessary to use guns of large calibre when hunting the animal, and the whites rarely seek them unless several tried men band together for the purpose.

From time to time small native villages are seen on the islands and the mainland, all typical of the people, and quite picturesque in their dirtiness and peculiar construction. Some of their cabins are built of boards, but mostly they are rude, bark-covered logs. In front of these dwellings stand totem-poles, presenting hideous faces carved upon them in bold relief, together with uncouth figures of birds, beasts, and fishes. A portion of these tall posts are weather-beaten and neglected, significantly tottering on their foundations, green with mould, unconsciously foreshadowing the fate of the aboriginal race. Groups of natives in bright-colored blankets, with scarlet and yellow handkerchiefs on their heads, come into view, watching us curiously as we glide over the smooth water, while bevies of half-naked children are seen shifting hither and thither in clamorous excitement. What wonderfully bright, black eyes these children have! Some of the women are gathering kelp, for the shores are lined with edible algÆ, possessing not only fine nutritious qualities, but being also a recognized tonic, with excellent medicinal properties. This sea-product is collected in the most favorable season of the year, and after being pressed into convenient sized and esculent cakes is stored for future use. The native hamlets are always built near to the shore, accessibility to the water being the first consideration, because from that source comes nine tenths of their subsistence. To clear the forest and secure open fields presupposes more thrift and application than these natives possess; but it would unveil some of the richest soil in the world. These Alaskans have no idea of sewerage, or the proper disposal of domestic refuse. All accumulations of this sort are thrown just outside the doors of their dwellings, to the right and left, anywhere in fact which is handiest. The stench which surrounds their cabins, under these circumstances, is almost unbearable by civilized people, and must be very unwholesome. These natives have broad faces, small, pig-like eyes, and high cheek bones, not very nice to look upon, yet not without a certain expression of real intelligence gleaming through the accumulated dirt.

“What is needed here,” said a humorous observer to us, “is the mission teacher with his Bible, spelling-book, and—soap!”

The women cut their hair short on the forehead, nearly even with the eyebrows, causing one to surmise that these Thlinkits—a generic name given to the tribes in this vicinity—must have set the fashion of “banging” the hair, which is so popular among civilized belles. Just so the Japanese women originated the hideous fashion of the “bustle.” The author saw this awkward and unbecoming appendage worn upon the backs of the women of Yokohama, Tokio, and Nagasaki three years before it appeared upon the streets of Boston and New York. And now we hear of the “clinging” style of drapery, in which underskirts even are discarded, called the Grecian or classic style. Alas! will nothing but extremes satisfy the importunate demands of fashion? Heaven send that we do not import another fashion from Alaska or the South Seas, namely tattooing. It is quite common here, among young girls of about twelve years of age, whose cheeks and chins are often thus disfigured by irregular lines. The more the natives associate with the whites, however, the more rarely this tattooing is resorted to, and it may be said, as a fashion, to be going out in Alaska, though it is undoubtedly one of the most widely diffused practices of savage life, from the Arctic to the Antarctic circle.

The Alaskans have an original way of producing this indelible marking, the color being fixed by drawing a thread under the skin, whereas the usual mode among various savages is by pricking it in with a needle. The favorite colors are red and blue. We were told that common women were permitted to adorn their chins with but one vertical line in the centre, and one parallel to it on either side, while a woman of the better or wealthier class is allowed two vertical lines from each corner of the mouth. The New Zealand Maori women tattoo their chins in a very similar manner, keeping the rest of the face in a natural condition.

We had threaded the intricate labyrinth of islands, bays, and channels, guarded by miles upon miles of sentinel peaks, nearly all day, on one occasion, under a depressing fog and rain, when suddenly a bold headland was rounded, which had seemed for hours to completely bar our way, and we passed out from under the shadow of the frowning cliffs and the gloom of the dark fathomless waters just as the sun burst forth, warm, bright, and resistless, while the view expanded before us nearly to the horizon. The mist, like shrouded ghosts, stole silently away, vanishing behind the rocks and cliffs. Every dewy drop of moisture, on ship and shore, glittered like diamonds in the dazzling rays of the new-born light, changing the verdant islands into a glory of color, and the whole view to one of majestic loveliness, through which we glided as smoothly as though in a gondola upon the Grand Canal at Venice.

When approaching a landing or anchorage, a signal gun is fired from the forecastle of the ship, creating a series of echoes deep, sonorous, and startling, but especially remarkable for the number of times the sound is repeated. One single gun becomes multiplied to a whole broadside. The report is taken up again and again by other localities, and thus is conveyed for miles away, finally sinking to a whisper, as it were, among the foot-hills of the giant elevations.

The most impressive scenes realized by the traveler are those of moonlight and midnight. How a love of the stars and the sea grows upon one, and life has so few moments of perfect contentment! What melody and magic permeate the pure, placid atmosphere, bounded by the sapphire sea and the azure sky! How tender and beautiful is the utter stillness of the hour! Such scenes of gladness make the heart almost afraid,—afraid lest there should be some keen sorrow lurking in ambush to awaken us from pleasant dreams to the stern, disenchanting experiences of real life.