Ale? Hrdlicka

June 17. Nenana: This is a small town on the Tanana, mostly railroad buildings, with a hospital; there is one street of stores (three short blocks), most of them now empty. About half a mile off a small Indian settlement about an Episcopalian mission.

Country flat on both sides of the rather large river, except for some hills back of the right shore beyond the railroad bridge, for a short distance. The river flats seem scarcely 3 or 4 feet above water, overgrown with brush and a few scrubby trees, later spruce thickets. Purple flowers (fireweed) strike the eye.

No relics found at Nenana; no information concerning old sites or abandoned villages along the stream.

Physically, the Indians seen at Nenana were submedium brown, good many still full blood, pure Indian type, brachycephalic, faces (nose, etc.), however, of but medium prominence. Moderate to good stature.

They are all fairly "civilized," wear white men's clothing, to which on gala occasions are added bands or collars of beadwork, and speak more or less English. The younger men are evidently good workers.

The distance from Nenana to Tanana is given as about 190 miles by the river.

The government boat Jacobs, on which we shall go down the Tanana, is a moderate-sized, shallow-bottomed stern-wheeler, and, like all such boats on these rivers, will push a heavily laden freight barge before it. There are about a dozen passengers, the boat labor, a trader or two. All kindly, open. A few women—most of both sexes of the Scandinavian type. On barge some horses, a cow, pigs, chickens.

Leave after lunch—very good, generous, and pleasant meal in a local restaurant that would do credit to a large city; only the people are better, more human. Meals $1, the almost universal price in Alaska.

Some quaint expressions: When anyone has been away, especially to the States, they say he was "outside." I am an "outsider;" show it "by my collar." Underdone bacon is "easy." To assent they say "you bet." In a restaurant, to a decent, cheerful girl: "May I have a little hot coffee?" "You bet!" Which bright answer is heard so often that one finishes by being shy to ask.

Dogs, of course, do not pull, but "mush." This is from the Canadian French "marche." Dogs do not understand "go" or "go on," only "mush."

Extensive flats. Below Nenana these flats, plainly recent alluvial, are said to extend up to 60 miles to the left (southwestward) and to 20 miles to the right. As one passes nearer they are seen to range from 3 up to about 8 feet above the level of the river at this stage of water.

Cabins and fishing camps along the river, mostly flimsy structures, with a few tents. Indians in some. The Indians are said by the whites to be pretty lazy, living from day to day; yet they seem industrious enough in their own camps and in their own way.

Storage or caches, little houses on stilts. Dog houses in rows. Curious wheel fish traps, revolving like hay or wheat lifting machines, run by the current. They scoop out the fish and let them fall into a box, from which the fisherman collects them twice a day. It is the laziest fishing that could be devised. The contraption is said to come from the northwest coast, but has become one of the characteristic parts of the scenery along the Tanana and the Yukon. An Indian camp—stacks of cordwood—canoes.

The day is sunny, moderately warm and rather dry—about as a warm, dry, fall day with us. The river shows bars, with caught driftwood; also considerable floating wood. There are seagulls, said to destroy young ducks and geese and water birds' eggs. Shores now wooded, mainly poplar, not large. Farther back and farther down, spruce.

The river averages about 200 to 300 yards but differs much in places and there are numerous side channels (sloughs). It is crooked; many bends. The current is quite marked, stated to run 4 to 6 miles an hour. The water is charged with grayish-brown silt, part from glaciers higher above, part from banks that are being "cut." The banks are entirely silt, no trace of gravel or stone. Indian camps getting very scarce. Boat making good time, but now and then requires careful manipulation, with its big, heavy barge in front. Once driven to shore, but no damage, and after some effort gets away again. No trouble yet from mosquitoes, but there are some horseflies.

Pass a large camp—a Finn married to a squaw, and three or four Indian families—all snug in a clearing of the fresh-looking woods on the bank of the river.

Bend after bend in the stream, and boat has to follow them all, and more, for the current and deeper water are now near this bank and again at the opposite bank.

The water in many places is undermining the bank, exposing frozen strata of silt. The top often falls in without breaking, with trees and all, and it then looks like heavy, ragged mats hanging over the bank, with green trees or bushes dipping into the water, and perhaps a clump of wild roses projecting from the sward. There are many low bushes of wild roses in this country, pink and red kinds, now blooming. Also many small bushes of wild berries—cranberries (low and high), raspberries, dewberries or blueberries.

Meat is imported even to here from Seattle, and carried far down the Yukon. When received they place it in a "cellar" or hole dug down to the frozen ground and place the meat there—a natural and thoroughly efficient refrigerator.

Past Old Minto, a little Indian village, a few little log houses in a row facing the river, with a wheel fish trap in front (pl. 1, a). Later a few Indian houses and a "road house" with a store at Tolovana. Most Indians there (and elsewhere here) died of the "flu" in 1918, the bodies being left and later buried by the Government. A few isolated little Indian camps.

The boat ties to trees along the banks. No docks or anything of that nature. Not many mosquitoes yet, more horseflies, which, however, do not bother man very much.

After reaching Hot Springs (right bank), there is seen a long range of more or less forested, fairly steep-sloped hills along the right bank, coming right down to the water's edge for miles, with bush and forested flats opposite. At the end of one of the ravines with a little stream, right on the bank, remnants of a little glacier melting very slowly in the sun. Strange contrast, ice and green touching. Boat making good time along the hills.

June 18. Hardly any sleep. Sun set after 10 and rose about 2.30, with no more than dusk between. Then heat in the cabin, and above all the noises. The boat stuck five hours on a bar and there were all sorts of jerks and shudders and calls.

Flats again on both sides, but hills beyond, with just one little spot of snow. Will be warm day again.

ANCIENT MAN

Prospects of old remains of man all along the river are slight if any. Old silt flats have doubtless been mostly washed away (as now) and rebuilt. Only on the older parts, now often far from water, could anything remain and there it is all a jungle of forest with undergrowth, with all surface traces absent (no stone, no shell), and no one here to find things accidentally. As to the hills that approach the river, the slopes (shales, overlain by what looks like stratified mud and silt rock) are mostly of recent exposure, and have doubtless been receding slowly through erosion, so that the bank line along them is not old; and their valleys are few, narrow, and were higher formerly as well as more extended toward where the river flowed then. The only hopeful spot is about Hot Springs, where fossil animal remains are said to exist, but here nothing as yet has been noted suggesting ancient man.

June 18, 4 p. m. River getting broader. Some low dunes. In distance a range of bluish hills before us—the hills along the Yukon. Boat meandering from side to side. Every now and then a necessary steam blow-out of mud, or a short whistle, hurry of a man over the top of the barge and of two half-breeds along its side to the prow to test, with long pointed and graduated poles, the depth of the water, calling it out to the captain. The calls range from "no bottom" to "4 feet," at the latter of which the boat begins to touch and back water.

5 p. m. Arrived at Tanana, a cheerful looking town, extending over about half a mile along the right bank of the Yukon, here about 20 feet high; but now, with the gold rush over, rather "slack" on both business and population, as are all other Yukon towns. Somewhat disappointed with the Yukon—not as majestic here as expected. See storekeeper—introduced by captain. Hear good news. The Indians have a big potlatch at the mission, 2 miles above. Tanana Indians expected. And there will be many in attendance. Rumors of this potlatch were heard before, but this was the first definite information. Get on a little motor boat with Indians who were making some purchases, and go to the St. Thomas Episcopal Mission, Mr. Fullerton in charge.

THE INDIANS AT TANANA

The mission above Tanana is beautifully located on the elevated right Yukon bank, facing Nuklukhayet island and point, the latter, according to old reports, an old trading and meeting spot of the Kuchin tribes, and the confluence of the Tanana with the Yukon. The mission house, located on rising ground, the wooden church lower down, the cemetery a bit farther up, and the Indian village a bit farther downstream, with their colors and that of the luxuriant vegetation, form a picturesque cluster.

I am kindly received by Mr. Fullerton and his wife and given accommodation in their house. On the part of the good-sized Indian village everything is life and bustle and we soon are over. Motor launches owned and operated by the Indians in the river; dogs, scores of the big, half-wild, noisy sled dogs tied to stakes along the slope of the bank, fighting stray ones, barking in whole outbursts, feeding on smelly fish, or digging cooling holes into the bank in which they hide most of the body from the warm rays of the sun; and many Indians, about 400 in all, in whole families, in houses, large canvas tents, cooking, eating, visiting—a busy multitude, but with white man's clothes, utensils, etc., not nearly so interesting as a group of more primitive Indians would be.

Walk, visit, talk, and observe. Note many mix-bloods, especially among the younger ones and the children. Among the full bloods, many, about one-half, with features reminding more or less of Eskimoid; but a few typically Indian, i. e., like most of the States Indians.

Medium stature, substantial but not massive build, quite a few of the older women stout. Color of full bloods generally near medium brown, features regular Indian but not exaggerated, noses rather low especially in upper half, eyes and hair Indian. Epicanthus not excessive in children, absent in adults (traces in younger women), eyes not markedly oblique. Behavior, Indian.

The more pronounced Eskimoids have flatter and longer faces, more oblique eyes, and more marked epicanthus. They should come, it would seem, from Eskimo admixture. The Tanana Indians (Nenana) did not, so far as seen, show such physiognomies.

Toward evening, and especially after supper, natives sing and dance. Songs of Indian characteristics, and yet different from those in south; some more expressive. A song "for dead mother," very sad, affects some to crying aloud (a woman, a man). A wash song—a row of women and even some men imitating, standing in a row, the movements in washing, while others sing; humorous. A dance in a line, curving to a circle, of a more typical Indian character. Late at night, a war dance, with much supple contortion. Also other songs and dances up to 2.30 a. m.—heard in bed.

June 19. With dogs barking and whining and Indians singing, got little rest. All Indians sleep until afternoon. No chance of doing anything, so go down to town to get instruments and blanks. Find that storekeeper has an old stone ax—sells it to me for $1. Also tells of a farmer who has one—go there with the boat and obtain it as a gift; told of another one—a Finn—has two, sells them for $1. Come from the gravelly bank of the river or are dug out in gardening. There may well have been old settlements in this favorable location. After return, visit some tents to see sick. Much sickness—eyes, tuberculosis—now and then probably syphilis.

Indians relatively civilized, more than expected, and most speak tolerable English. Have flags, guns, sleep in some cases on iron beds and under mosquito netting, smoke cigarettes and cigars; and even play fiddles. Of course some have also learned the white man's cupidity and vices.

This day I met with something unexpected, due to perversity of mix-breed nature. Seeing so many Indians present, and after a good reception by them the evening preceding, I thought of utilizing the occasion for taking some measurements. I therefore mentioned the thing to some of the head men shortly after my arrival and receiving what seemed assent, went to-day to Tanana to get my instruments. On coming back and finding a few of the old men, who were quite friendly, I invited them into the "kashim" (community house) and began to question them on old sites, etc., when in came, probably somewhat under the influence of liquor, a mix-breed to whom I had been introduced the night before and who at that time acted quite civilly, but now coming forward began rather loudly and offensively to question about what I wanted here and about authority, giving me to understand at last quite plainly that he wanted to "be paid" if I was to take any measurements. He claimed to be one of the "chiefs," and I would not be allowed to do anything without his help. His harangue quite disturbed the other Indians, who evidently were both ashamed and afraid of the fellow. And as I would not be coerced into employing and paying him, and there being no one, as I learned, of supreme authority, the "chief" of these Indians being little more than a figurehead, it was decided to give up the attempt at measurements. The rest of the visit was therefore given to further observations and to the witnessing of the potlatch. Chief Joseph (pl. 14), nominally the head of these Yukon Indians, expressed his sorrow and tried to make amends by offering himself.

The potlatch was evidently in the main a social gathering of the Yukon Indians, with the Tanana natives as visitors. It consisted mainly of eating, singing, and dancing, to be terminated by a big "give-away." This latter was witnessed. It proved a disappointing and rather senseless affair. The whole transaction consists in the buying and gathering, and on this occasion giving away, of all sorts of objects, by some one, or several, who have lost a husband, wife, mother, etc., during the preceding year. The possessions of the deceased are included in this and doubtless often transmit disease. All the color of the observance is now gone. The goods—blankets, clothing, fabrics, guns, and many other objects, even pieces of furniture, trunks, or stoves—are gathered in the open and when the time comes are one after another selected by those dispensing and brought to this or that man or woman of those who have gathered around. No song, no ceremony, no talks, no thanking, no "wake" following. Just a poor shadow of something that formerly may have been a tragic, memorable, and meaning occasion.

Returned to Tanana near 10 p. m. and found lodging with a storekeeper who kept a "hotel." Got a big room, big bed, and when store closed was alone in the house, the storekeeper sleeping elsewhere.

June 20. But, Alaska was evidently not made for sleepers. Had not a wink until after 3 a. m.—daylight, people talking loud and walking on the board walk outside, and heard so clearly in my room—loud-laughing girls, the dogs, and at last another boat with its siren; and every now and then a singing mosquito trying to get at me through even the small opening left under the sheet for breathing—there being no netting. Finally doze off, to wake near 9 a. m., but everything closed, deadlike. However, go to a little frame house for breakfast, and in waiting until it is made find myself with two elderly men who go to-day down the river with their boats. One is a former store clerk, etc., and now an "optician"—peddles eyeglasses down the river; the other was a prospector, miner, and blacksmith, now an itinerant "jeweler" and a reputed "hootch" peddler. As the latter—otherwise a pretty good fellow—has a good-sized though old boat, arrange to go down with him. See the marshal, storekeeper, settle with my hotel man (had to go at 11 to awake him), and ready to start.

The outfit is largely homemade, not imposing, old, unpainted, and unfit for the rough—but it could be worse. It consists of a scow, a low, flat-bottomed boat, partly covered with canvas roof on birch hoops, in which Peake (the owner) carries fresh meat to some one, a stove, dishes, bedding, and many other things; and the motor boat proper, in which there is little room except for the machine and its tender. The latter sits on a soap box; I, on a seat extemporized from a cylindrical piece of firewood with a little board across it, with my two boxes and bedding within easy reach. Sit in front of the scow, except when driven back by spray. But our motor works and so we start quite well at some time after 11. The arrangement is to stop at every white man's camp or settlement down to Ruby. I could have gone on a better boat with its owner, but they charge here $15 a day, with "keep," and twice the amount for the return of the man and the boat, which is beyond my resources.

Tanana—Ruby. The river is clearer than the Tanana, and much broader. It is a great fine stream and its shores, while mostly still low on the left, on the right rise here and there into moderate loess bluffs, far beyond which are seen higher elevations and bluish forested mountains. All covered with poplar and spruce.

2.15 p. m. Wind has so increased that the scow bumps and squeaks and there is danger of opening its seams. Therefore side to the beach and make lunch—a roast of fat pork, over-salted, canned spinach, dry bread, and black coffee. All on a simple, old, but efficient little stove in the boat. Our companion, the oculist, rides not with us but in a nice little green canoe with a plaything of a gasoline motor fastened to the backboard, but we all eat and sleep together.

But a few small Indian camps seen, and no white man's house. Soon after lunch, however, approach "The Old Station," where there are a few Indian houses, and later a white man's place (Burchell's). Stop at the latter. Learn that we are 20 miles from Tanana and on a 5-mile-long channel. There are here 15 to 40 feet high loess-like (silt) bluffs with a flat on the top, which latter was from far back one of the most important sites of the Indians of these regions. Mr. Burchell and his partner kindly take me back, with their better boat, to the main old site. Many old graves there, a few still marked. Traces of dugouts (birch-bark lined), houses, caches, etc., from Burchell's place to old main site. Important place that deserves to be thoroughly excavated, though this will entail no little work. Site was of the choicest, dominant, healthy. Connects by a trail, still traceable, with the Koyukuk region.

There are said to be no traces of pottery in any of these parts. But average to very large stone axes are washed out occasionally from the banks, and other articles are dug out (long ivory spear, bone scraper, etc.). Promise of bones, etc., by Mr. Burchell.

One hundred miles more to Ruby. Near 8 p. m. start again—sun still high, little wind—endeavor to get to the "bone yard," a great bank bearing fossils. Fine clean scenery, flat on left, flat to elevated with grey-blue mountainous beyond on right. Water now calm and we make good progress. Very few camps—dogs on the beach, fish-drying racks a little farther, then a little log cabin and perhaps a tent, with somewhere near by in the river the inevitable fish wheel, turning slowly with the current.

Had supper at Burchell's; white fish, boiled potato, coffee, some canned greens.

Scenery in spots precious, virginal, flat at the river, elevated behind, foreground covered by the lighter green of poplars and birches, with upright, somber, dark spruce behind. Sun on the right, half moon on the left, and river like a big glassy lake, just rippling a little here and there. Cooler—need a coat. On right, getting gradually nearer the mountains.

Near 10 p. m. Sun still above horizon. On left a long (several miles), mostly wooded, but here and there denuded, palisade-like bank, apparently 200-400 feet high—the "graveyard."

Monday, June 21. Just at sunset last night—after 10 o'clock—came to the "bone yard" bank—a long curving line of loess bluffs 100 to 300 feet high, steep right to water's edge, riven by many ravines. Lowest third (approximately) light compact loess; then a thick layer of river sand (stratified more or less) and small gravel, then from one-third to nearly two-fifths of darker loess. In spots quite dark, frozen, but on surface melting, "running," also tumbling in smaller or larger masses. Wherever darker there emanates from it and spreads far out over the river a decided mummy-like smell. Too late to photograph from boat, and no other place available. Also impracticable to explore with any detail—would take several days and be a difficult work. The bluffs become gradually lower downstream. No bones seen from boat, but mostly were not near enough to discern. A remarkable formation, in many ways, and in need of masterly study as well as description.

Night on a low gravelly and pebbly beach. Many mosquitoes. Mosquito netting found bad—sides too short (gave directions, but they were disregarded) and mesh not small enough. In a short time impossible to stay under. Supplemented by old netting of Mr. Peake, who will sleep under his canvas in the boat; but the old dirty net has holes in it and the mosquitoes keep on coming through the two. Fighting them until some time after midnight, then under all my things—netting, blanket, clothes—find some rest, sleeping until 4.30 a. m. After that—full day, of course—sleep impossible. The "optician," who slept well under proper Alaska netting, gets up, wakes my man; we both get up, shake, roll up bedding, have a cat-wash, then breakfast, and at 6.30 off once more along the beautiful but not hospitable river.

Inquiry at a local white man's cabin about fossils and Indian things negative—has paid no attention, and fossil bones that he sometimes comes across generally not in good state of preservation.

Right bank now hilly, with greater hills and then mountains behind. Warm, river smooth, just a light breeze. How puny we are in all this greatness.

A lot of trouble develops with the engine to-day—bad pump. Will not get to Ruby until evening. Meat, on which I must sit occasionally, begins to smell, and there are numerous horseflies, probably attracted by the smell.

Four p. m. Visit Kokrines, on a high bank, native village, cemetery. Photograph some natives, are good natured, talk pidgin English. Clearly considerable old Eskimo admixture, but the substratum and main portion is Indian. All kind and cheerful here, glad to have pictures taken. Only white man is a "road-house" keeper; i. e., storekeeper. Store, however, poorly stocked, probably in all not over $200 worth of goods. "Optician," who is hoggish, has headache, but eats and drinks all he can nevertheless. "Jeweler" repaired his pump, and so we are once more on the way—35 miles more to Ruby. No trace of any relics at Kokrines.

River now a mile wide, with many "slews" (side channels, sloughs), and many low, flat, forested islands. Mountains to right, higher, traces of snow. Smoke wall from forest fire advancing from the west—now also smell. Islands beautiful, fresh colors and clean—light grass on border, then green and grayish poplars, birches, and alder, from among which rise the blackish green spruces. Little native fishing camps a mile or two apart, right bank—on left wilderness of flats, as usual.

A few miles above Ruby conditions change—high bluffs (rocky) now on left, flat on right side. Ruby, from a distance and after the loneliness of the day, looks quite a little town on the left bank, at the base of the higher ground.

Ruby

June 22-23. Our approach to Ruby was very modest. With Mr. Peake paid off, we just sided against and tied to the bank, on which are the lowest houses of the village, and carried out my boxes and bedding on the bank. There two or three men were idly watching our arrival. I asked about the local marshal, to whom I had a note, and had my things carried to the combined post office and hotel. In almost no time I meet Mr. Thomas H. Long, the marshal, become acquainted with the people about, tell my mission, and begin to collect. It does not take long for one properly introduced to be thoroughly and warmly at home in Alaska. The first specimen I get is a fine fossilized mammoth molar. It is brought to me by Albert Verkinik, who was about to depart for some mines, but went back to get the tooth. And he asks no compensation.

The parts of two days spent at Ruby were quite profitable. Visiting, and in the jail, were several Indians who could be noted and photographed. At the old jail there were two skulls of Indians that were donated. The teacher had two of the characteristic Yukon two-grooved axes. The postmaster, Mr. H. E. Clarke, gave a collection of fresh animal skulls. Mr. Louis Pilback donated two mammoth molars, found 2 miles up the Yukon on Little Melozey Creek, about 8 feet deep, in the muck right over the gravel. Mrs. Monica Silas brought me a good old stone knife. Several of the men took me down to the beach to see a damaged fossil elephant skull, also to see some fossiliferous workings above the town. Another party took me a few miles up and across the river to see an Indian camp and near by some old burials. The collections were sent through parcel post; and the evening before departure I gave a lecture to an attentive and respectful audience.

The town itself, however, is now a mere damaged and crumbling shell of what it was in the heyday of its glory, during the gold rush. Many of the frame dwellings and stores are empty; the board sidewalks are rickety and with big holes; and in the air is a general lack of impetus.

June 23. Failing to find another suitable boat, I once more made an arrangement to go farther down the river with Mr. Peake and his friend. Peake's boat and scow were not much to look at, and the troubles with the engine, and with its owner's raw swearing at times, were somewhat trying; but for my purpose the outfit did well enough, and I was treated very well and given all needed opportunity to examine what was of importance on the banks. I was quite sorry when eventually we had to part company, and I know Mr. Peake has not forgotten my quest, for I heard of his talking about it to parties, with whom I was very glad to come in contact, on the Kuskokwim.

June 23. The sunny evening of my second busy day at Ruby, near 10 p. m., Peake unexpectedly comes to the hotel to tell me he will be ready to start to-night, on account of quiet water. His wash "is being ironed" and will be ready soon. The marshal comes in, calls the prisoners to take down my baggage, and at 10.15, after true, hearty good-byes, I am once more in the old scow. Then Peake goes for his wash, with an Indian woman, and does not come until near 11. River peaceful, sun shortly set, sky somewhat cloudy, forest fire on opposite shore below still smoking a great deal. Leaving good people at Ruby, who promise to help in the future. It is getting much cooler after a pretty warm day. Will lie on the hard boxes and try to get a little sleep.

Thursday, June 24. We went long into the night, then stopped at a lone cabin. Up timely, but slow start—it is 10.10 a. m. before we go. The time gained at night lost now—bad habits. Breeze up the river, occasionally strong, but not severe.

The cabin was the "Dutchman's," or Meyer's. He came out at 1 a. m. to meet us, at the bark of his big dogs, a good-hearted, weather-seared prospector, fisherman, and trapper of about 40, alone with his huskies. Asked me into his little log hut, prepared a place for my bedding on a frame, burned powder against the mosquitoes, brought out from cool "cellar" a bottle of root beer he brews, and then we went to sleep. But dogs kept waking us and Meyer went out several times to quiet them. Fall asleep at 3.20 and oblivious until near 7. Meyer forces on me six bottles of root beer, I leave him some prescriptions, and taking my bed roll we go down to the boat. My men still sleeping, as I expected. And then slow awakening, breakfast, and late starting.

Meyer never saw any Indian bones or stones, but promises cheerfully to watch for them hereafter and to make inquiries. Of course, he also, like so many in these lands, tells of a "prospect" of a gold find, and is quite confident he'll "make good." As usual, also, it is a "lead" that was "lost" and he believes he has found it. And all the time the gold is inside, not outside, of these hunters of the yellow star.

Hills on the right again; flat islands, banks, etc., on the left. Meyer's is 18 miles down from Ruby, right bank. About 5 miles farther down on the slopes of the right bank is a pretty little Indian graveyard (pl. 1, b), and a little lower down there are three now empty Indian huts.

Hills and mountains seen also now beyond the wide flats of the left bank. The hills on right, along which we pass, are more or less forested, but often just bushy and grassy. They rise to about 600 to 700 feet and the slopes are seldom steep. Along their base there are many elevated platforms, low swells, and nooks, that could have served of old—as they serve here and there now—for native habitation, though only few could have accommodated larger villages.

Pass an Indian camp—the inevitable staked dogs; a swimming boy—first being seen bathing in the open.

Whiskey Creek next. Sixty-two dogs, all along the bank, and each one-half or more in his own cooling hole; holes they dig down to near the frozen ground. A settler, and two Indians—a photograph. No relics or bones now, but will watch; promise also to save some animal skulls, etc.

Twelve o'clock. Off again. Day better now, less squally, warm.

Hills above and below lower and earthy—loess, at least much of it. The right shore is all along sunnier, higher, more beautiful, and more open to wind (less mosquitoes). These are the reasons, doubtless, why it was of old and is still the favored side for habitations by natives as well as whites.

Just before reaching "Old Lowden," overtaken by a rather crazily driven small motor boat with four young Indians, who hand us a crude message for the storekeeper at Galena, telling him that a baby in the camp is to die to-night. I offer to see the baby. Find a boy infant about one year or a little over, ill evidently with bronchitis. Father and mother, each about 30, sit over it brooding in dumb grief, each on one side. Respond not to my presence, and barely so to my questions. And when I begin to tell to the fellow who interprets and is some relative that the baby need not die, and what to do—I note that he is somewhat under the influence of liquor and a little flushed—to my dismay he begins to rant against me as a doctor and against the Government, and wants me perforce, seemingly, to say that the child is going to die and die to-night. There are two guns around and I almost anticipate his catching hold of one. The gist of the piecemeal talk is that they believe I am a Government doctor, who ought to stay four or five days with them and take over the child's treatment, and yet the fellow insists that the child will die before next morning. I do not know what they would say or do to the doctor if he undertook to stay and the child died—or if it recovered. It is dismal. They have the idea that the "Government" is obliged to do all sorts of things for them, without being clear just what, and that it does not do them. They believe, and try to say so, that I am sent and paid by the Government to treat them. Probably they have heard about the Government medical party that is to examine conditions along the river this summer, and think that I do not want to do or give what is necessary. I give all the possible advice, but there is plainly no inclination to follow it. I offer some medicine; they sneer at medicine. Even the father says he does not understand it or want it. They are all surly and in a dangerous, stupid mood. So there is nothing left but to go away as well as one may.

On way down the bank a woman is seen cleaning and cutting fish—knife steel, with wood or ivory handle, of the Chinese and Eskimo type. A porcupine, bloated, and with flies and maggots on it already about the nose, mouth, and eyes, lies next to the woman, and its turn will probably come next after the fish.

Have modest lunch—canned pears, a bit of cold bacon left from morning, a bit of cheese, and coffee; and start once more onward. So much beauty here, and such human discord.

3.30 p. m. Passing on right bank a line of bluffs, wholly of loess, about 200 feet high and approximately 4 miles long, and as if shaven with knife from top to water's edge. After that flats only on both sides, with but one hill far ahead of us.

Motor trouble again—same old pump; but not for long; in half an hour on again. A steamer upward passes us—like a stranger, and power.

Galena

A little town (village), on a flat promontory. An old consumptive storekeeper—no knowledge of any old implements or skeletal remains. Lowden village moved here due to mine opposite and better site. About 10 Indian houses here; inhabitants now mostly in fishing camps.

From Galena down, low shores and islands as on the Tanana, as far as can be seen, with mountains, grayish blue, in far distance (and only occasional glimpses). River never less than three-fourths of a mile and sometimes together with its sloughs and islands several miles broad. Some geese; occasional rabbit seen on land; otherwise but little life. First gulls.

The Indians at Ruby and Galena show here and there an Eskimoid type, with the younger nearly all mix bloods (with whites). Full bloods of same type as all along the river, brachycephalic, low to moderate high vault of head, moderate to medium (rarely above) stature, medium brown, noses not prominent, concavo-convex, moderately convex or nearly straight, Indian cast of the face, but quite a few more or less Eskimoid. Not very bright.

Sit in the bottom of the scow, in front, before the stove and make notes. When we stop, jump out to tie the boat; when leaving, push it off. Getting sunburnt dark. Forgetting once again that I have a stomach or any other organ. Only sleep, never fully, much less than ought to; but even that is somehow much more bearable here than it would be at home.

6.45 p. m. Suddenly, after a turn, confronted with a steep rocky promontory about 500 feet high—stratified mud rocks. On side, high above, a tall white cross; learn later an Indian murdered a bishop here. A little farther, on a flat below the slope, a small settlement. A remarkable landmark, known as the Bishop's Rock. Afterwards again flats, but some more elevated than before to the left. River like a great looking-glass. Same character of vegetation and colors as farther above, but details varied.

At Ruby had made a genuine, effective, Alaska mosquito netting, and so now feel quite independent of the pest; also have two bottles of mosquito oil, which helps. Fortunately on the water we are not bothered.

Toward night reach Koyukuk River, and later on, Koyukuk village, a pleasant row of houses, white and native, on a high bank. Here, at last, pass one good night, sleeping under good mosquito netting in the house and on the bed of an Italian trader. Also had good supper of salmon, and good breakfast of bacon and eggs, and so feel rested and strong.

Friday, June 25. But in the morning the sky is overcast and every now and then there is a loose shower. Of course my boon companions are not ready again until long after 9 o'clock, and then the engine will not go again, so a longer delay. They were inclined, in fact, to "lay over," but I urged them on. But they are determined if it rains a bit more to "tie to" somewhere. Fortunately there is no wind. About 3 miles below Koyukuk and its flats, the high bluffs with steep more or less shaved-like barren slopes recommence. A gloomy day.

About 7 miles down, after a large rocky promontory, a small graveyard on the side of a hill, with a little native camp about a third of a mile beyond.

10.45 a. m. Beautiful wooded great hills, 400 to 800 feet high, all along the right bank again, with large V-shaped valleys between. A fine, rounded, slightly more than usually elevated island ahead. Left banks flat.

Sun coming out a little; cool, but not unpleasant. No more showers, river smooth, boat making time. Blue hazy mountains far to the left front.

Hills to right rocky, strata horizontal to warped, mud rocks, broad banks of sandy, gravelly or mucky materials, not consolidated, between hard strata.

Now and then a small Indian camp, usually two or three tents, Indians, dogs, boats; some drying fish (not much).

11.00 a. m. Another isolated little graveyard, right slope, near an old camp.

There is no possibility now of excavating any of these graveyards, for the Indians are in unpleasant disposition toward the Government for various reasons. But such a place as that near Burchell's could be excavated as soon as conditions improve. Also that above Ruby and another opposite and just below Ruby. There are no longer any superstructures left at these (or but traces), and the graves, as seen above Ruby, are near (within 2 feet of) the surface.

No trace or indication of anything older than the double-grooved ax culture has thus far been seen anywhere in the valley; and large stretches of present banks are quite barren.

As we approach Nulato the horizon before us becomes hilly and mountainous. The sun is now fully out and its warmth is very pleasant. Pass an Indian woman paddling a canoe; later an Indian family going upstream in a motor boat. Most of these Indians possess a motor boat of some sort, and know how to run it, though it is not in their nature to be overcareful.

Nulato
(Pl. 1, b)

Arrive midday. Quite a village, as usual along the water front on a high bank. Large fancy modern surface burial ground with brightly painted boxes and flying flags on a hill to the right. Met by local marshal and doctor; my things are taken to a little hospital. Natives here have poor reputation, but now said to be better. Boys nearly all mix bloods. Several men and women show Eskimo type, but majority are Indian to somewhat Eskimoid. Soon find they are not very well disposed—want pay for everything, and much pay. Have a few specimens, but to obtain anything from them is difficult. Have been spoiled.

A visit with the marshal to the site of old Nulato on the proximate point; nothing there, just a rabbit's skull and a lot of mosquitoes. Photograph old graveyard (that of old Nulato), on the distal point beyond the creek.

Mr. Steinhauser, trader, of Czech descent, helpful and kind. But nothing further to do here. Steamer that was to be here to-night or to-morrow will not arrive, just learned, until Tuesday (this is Friday); and so must engage a little gasoline boat to the next station, Kaltag, 40 miles down the river.

Sleep under my new netting in the hospital. In the morning, after parting with doctor and marshal, start 8.30 a. m. Boat little, shaky, run by a half-breed boy of about 18. My old scow with Peake and his companion will stay a day longer. Partly cloudy, warm.

Pass flats, and come again to similar shaved-off bluffs like yesterday. We are now running close to the shore so that I can see everything. Flowers, but not many or many varieties.

9.50 a. m. Pass (about 8 miles from Nulato) a few burials (old boxes) on right slope. (Pl. 1, c.) Indian camp about one-half mile farther, and a few old abandoned huts and caches.

Everything on and along the river about the same as yesterday, except in little details. Sky clouded; light clouds, however. The boy with me has had good schooling (for a native) and is a good informer. But there is little of archeological or anthropological interest hereabouts. (Pl. 2, a.)

12.10 p. m. Another rounded island ahead of us; far beyond it grayish-blue hills and mountains. Six miles more to Kaltag. But little life here—a few small birds, a lone robin, a lone gull.

Kaltag

1.00 p. m. Kaltag in view—a small modern village on right bank, less than half the size of Nulato; a nearly compact row of log and plank houses. Nothing of any special interest seen from distance, and but little after landing. The old village used to be somewhat higher up the river.

There is an old abandoned site also just opposite the present Kaltag. Another site, "Klenkakaiuh," is, I am told, in the Kaiuh slough south of Kaltag, in a straight line about 10 miles, but no one there; and several other old villages in that region along that slough—same Indians as those of Kaltag. All of Kaltag go there on occasions, but do not live there permanently any more.

BUREAU OF AMERICAN ETHNOLOGY FORTY-SIXTH ANNUAL REPORT PLATE 1

a, "Old Minto" on the Tanana. Indian village. (A. H., 1926)

b, Present Nulato and its cemetery (on hill to right of village) from some distance up the river. (A. H., 1926)

c, The Greyling River site, right bank, 22 miles above Anvik; site and graveyard (male skeleton) from top of knoll. (A. H., 1926)

BUREAU OF AMERICAN ETHNOLOGY FORTY-SIXTH ANNUAL REPORT PLATE 2

a, View on the Yukon from above Kaltag. (A. H., 1926)

b, Indian burial ground, Middle Yukon. (A. H., 1926)

c, Anvik, from the mission. (A. H., 1926)

At Kaltag Eskimoid features already predominate and some of those seen are fully like Eskimo.

There is a tradition of an Asiatic (Chukchee) attempt at Kaltag once.

Later in the afternoon photograph some natives and go with Mr. MÜller, the storekeeper, and Mr. McLeod, the intelligent local teacher, on the latter's boat, "hunting" along the banks up the stream. Meet an old Indian (Eskimo type) paddling a birch-bark canoe, said to be the only canoe of that sort now on the Yukon. About three-fourths of a mile above the village see caved bank and find a skull and bones—"split" old burial of a woman.

A canoe coming, so we all go farther up the beach, pretending to examine stones. It is only the boy who brought me, however, going home with some planks, and he grins knowingly.

After that we locate three exposed coffins, two undisturbed and covered with sod. These two, for fear of irritating the natives, are left. But the third is wrapped only in birch bark. It was a powerful woman. With her a bone tool and a white man's spoon. With the burial that had tumbled out of the bank there were large blue and gray beads and three iron bracelets—reserved by the teacher.

I gather all the larger bones and we put them temporarily in a piece of canvas. It is hard to collect all—the men are apprehensive—it might be dangerous for them if detected. Everything smoothed as much as possible, and we go across the river to examine two fish nets belonging to the trader. One of these is found empty; but the other contains five large king salmon, 15 to 20 pounds each, three drowned, two still alive. The latter are hooked, hoisted to the edge of the boat, killed with a club, and, full of blood, thrown into the boat—great, stout, fine fish. To secrete our other findings from the natives the storekeeper gets a large bundle of grass and ties it to my package. We shall be bringing "medicine."

Arrive home, only to learn that against our information the river boat has left Tanana on schedule time, is now above Koyukuk, and is expected to arrive at Kaltag before 8 p. m. Hurriedly pack, a few more photographs, supper, and the smoke of the steamer begins to be visible. In a little while she is at the bank, my boxes are brought down, a greeting with old friends on the boat—the same boat (Jacobs) on which I went from Nenana to Tanana—and we start off for Anvik.

Mr. MÜller, the trader at Kaltag, German by birth, has a young, fairly educated Eskimo wife, a good cook, housekeeper, and mother of one child. The child is an interesting white-Eskimo blend.

In his store Mr. MÜller showed me a good-sized heavy bowl of red stone with a figure seated in a characteristic way near one end. The specimen was said to have come from an old site on the Kaiuh and is of the same type as that at the museum in Juneau and the two in the east, one at the Museum of the American Indian, New York, and the other at the University Museum, Philadelphia. Regrettably Mr. MÜller would not part with the specimen. (See also p. 34.)

The natives of Kaltag, so far as seen, are more Eskimoid than those of any of the other settlements farther up the river.

Fine evening; sit with a passenger going to Nome, until late. Learn that the boat to St. Michael is waiting for this boat and will go right on—not suitable for my work. Also we are to stop but a few minutes at Anvik, where I am to meet Doctor Chapman, the missionary.

Sunday, June 27. About 5 a. m. arrive in the pretty cove of Anvik. Received on the bank by Doctor Chapman, the head of the local Episcopalian mission and school, and also the Anvik postmaster. The doctor for the present is alone, his wife and daughter having gone to Fairbanks, and so he is also the cook and everything. In a few minutes, with the help of some native boys, I am with my boxes in Doctor Chapman's house, and after the boat has left and the necessities connected with what she left attended to we have breakfast. I am soon made to feel as much as possible "at home," and we have a long conversation. Then see a number of chronic patients and incurables; attend a bit lengthy service in Doctor Chapman's near-by little church; have a lunch with the ladies at the school; visit the hill graveyard. They have reburied all the older remains and there is nothing left. Attend an afternoon service and give a talk to the congregation of about half a dozen whites and two dozen more or less Eskimoid Indians on the Indians and our endeavors; and then do some writing, ending the day by going out for about a mile and a half along the banks of the Anvik River, looking in vain for signs of something older, human or animal. (Pl. 2, c.)

There are many and bad gnats here just now—how bad I only learned later, when I found my whole body covered with patches of their bites; and also many mosquitoes, which proved particularly obnoxious during the lunch. As the doctor is alone, the three excellent white ladies of the school, matron and teachers, invited us, as already mentioned, to lunch with them. We had vegetable soup, a bit of cheese, two crackers each, a piece of cake, and tea. But I chose an outlandish chair the seat of which was made of strips of hide with spaces between; and from the beginning of the lunch to its end there was a struggle between the proprieties of the occasion and the mosquitoes that kept on biting me through the spaces in the seat. Chairs of this type, and I finally told that to the ladies to explain my seeming restlessness during the meal, should be outlawed in Alaska.

The Anvik People

The Anvik people, it will be recalled, were the first Yukon natives seen by a white man. They were discovered in 1834 by Glazunof, and since then have occupied the same site, located favorably on a point between the Anvik and the Yukon Rivers. They belonged to the Inkalik tribe, a name given to them, according to Zagoskin, by the coast people and signifying "lousy," from the fact that they never cut their hair, which in consequence, presumably, harbored some parasites. Their village was the lowest larger settlement of the Indians on the Yukon, the Eskimo commencing soon after.

The Anviks to-day are clearly seen to be a hybrid lot. There are unmistakable signs of a prevalent old Eskimo mixture. The men are nearly all more or less Eskimoid, and even the head is not infrequently narrower, fairly long, jaws much developed. The women, however, show the Eskimo type less, and the children in a still smaller measure—they are much more Indian. Yet even some women and an occasional child are Eskimoid—face flat, long, lower jaw high, cheek bones prominent forward (like welts on each side of the nose), whole physiognomy recalling the Eskimo. The more Indianlike types resemble closely those of the upper Yukon. There is perceptible, too, some mixture with whites, particularly in the young.

To bed about 11. Attic warm and window can not be opened because of the insects. Sleep not very good; some mosquitoes in room anyway. Wake up after 3 and just begin to doze off again when the doctor gets up. About 4 he puts his shoes on—one can hear every sound throughout the frame house, even every yawn—and then goes to the kitchen where there soon comes the rattling of pots. At 4.30 comes up to bid me good morning and ask me if I am ready to get up and have breakfast. A man with a boat is to be ready at 6 to take me to some old site. So a little after 5 I get up, shave, dress and go down. Another night to make up for sometime, somewhere.

We finish breakfast and the doctor goes to look for the man, but everything deadlike, no one stirring anywhere. So I pack my stone specimens from the river above and the bones from Kaltag, etc. It is 8 a. m. and then at last Harry Lawrence, our man, appears—having understood to come about that time—and before long we start, in a good-sized boat, up the Yukon.

Day mostly cloudy but fairly good; no wind. Must use mosquito mixture all the time, even after I get on boat, but they quit later. Am standing on the back of the boat against and over the "house" over it—inside things shake too much and I can not see enough.

Passing by fish wheels—heaps of fish in their boxes—some just being caught and dumped in. Picturesque bluffs passed yesterday seen to be of volcanic stone, near basalt, not granite, with indication of minerals. Passing close to vertical cliffs of fissured and fragmented rocks 200 to 500 feet high—dangerous. Consolidated volcanic ashes with inclosure of many bowlders—fine lessons in geology. Slides of soil and vegetation here and there. Large spruces and altogether a richer vegetation since this particular rock region was reached. There was in fact a plain line of demarcation in the vegetation where the rocks changed.

Sleepy. Afraid to doze and fall off, so go inside. But there the motor thumps and shakes too much for a nap to be possible.

About 12 miles upstream from Anvik, on the north bank, the mineralized rocks and tufa suddenly cease, to be superseded by a line, several miles long, of sheared-off loess bluffs about 200 feet high. Here the vegetation changes very perceptibly. Two mammoth jaws obtained from these deposits have a few years ago been given to Mr. Gilmore, of the United States National Museum.

22 to 23 miles up the river, north bank, a fine large platform and an old native site. Many signs still of pit and tunnel houses. A little farther upstream a hill with abandoned burials. Excavate a grave on a promontory over the river—not very old—wet and not much left of soft parts, but succeed in getting the skeleton. Fine middle-aged adult, somewhat Eskimoid, about typical for this region. Carry down in a bag, dry on the beach gravel. Lunch on beach; cheese, bread, coffee. The site is known as that of the Greyling River. (Pl. 2, b.)

Start back a little after 3. Very warm day. River smooth. Sky looks like there might be a storm later.

Hear of pottery—40 years ago it was still made at Anvik. Was black, of poor quality. The women used to put feathers in the clay "to make the pots stronger." When buried it soon rotted and fell to pieces. In shapes and otherwise it was much like the Eskimo pottery. Its decorations consisted of nail or other impressions, in simple geometrical designs, particularly about the rim. It was rather gross, but better pieces did occur, though rarely.

It is becoming plain that there are no known traces of any really old settlements along the present banks of the Yukon; nothing beyond a few hundred years at most. If there was anything older no external signs of it have been noted, and no objects of it have ever been found. It seems certain that the stone implements thus far seen were used and made by the pre-Russian and probably even later Indians. They all belong to the polished-stone variety. No "paleolithic" type of instrument has yet been seen.

It is also evident that the Eskimo admixture and doubtless also cultural influence extended far up the river. The farther down the river, particularly from Ruby, the more the Eskimoid physical characteristics become marked and the Indian diluted, until at Anvik most, or at least much, physical and cultural, is clearly Eskimo.

Have further learned quite definitely that native villages on the Yukon were seldom if ever stable. Have been known (as at Kaltag and elsewhere) to have changed location as much as three times within the last few scores of years, though in general they keep to the same locality in a larger sense of the word. Anvik alone seems to have remained on the old site since the advent of the whites.

Anvik, Tuesday, June 29. Last night gave talk on evolution to white teachers, etc. Quite appreciated, regardless of previous state of mentality.

Caught up with some sleep, even though my attic room was so hot that the gum from the spruce boards was dropping down on me. Good breakfast with the doctor—canned grapefruit, corn flakes with canned milk, bread toasted in the oven, and coffee.

Pack up my Greyling skeleton—much drier to-day—and dispatch by parcel post, through the doctor as postmaster.

Photograph school children and village. Gnats bad and have to wear substantial underclothing (limbs are already full of dark red itching blotches where bitten by them) though it is a hot day again.

The full-blood and especially the slightly mixed children would be fine, not seldom lovely, were they fully healthy; but their lungs are often weak or there is some other tubercular trouble.

The color of the full-bloods, juvenile and others, on the body, is invariably submedium to near medium brown, the exposed parts darker; and the chest test (mine) for full-bloodedness holds true. The young are often good looking; the old rather ugly.

All adults fishing now, the fish running much since a day or two; all busy at the fish camps, not many, in the daytime especially, about the mission.

At noon air fills with haze—soon recognized as smoke from a fire which is located at only about a mile, and that with the wind, from the mission. We all hasten to some of the houses in the brush—find enough clearing about them for safety. The school here burned two years ago and so all are apprehensive. Natives from across the river hasten to their caches. Luckily not much wind.

After lunch children come running in saying they hear thunder; one girl saying in their usual choppy, picturesque way, "Outside is thunder"; another smaller one says, "It hollers above." Before long a sprinkle and then gradually more and more rain until there is a downpour followed by several thunderclaps (as with us) and then some more rain. That, of course, stops the fire from approaching closer and all is safe. Such storms are rare occurrences hereabouts.

My limbs are a sight from the gnats. Must apply Aseptinol. Worse than any mosquitoes; like the worst chiggers. Poisonous—some hemolytic substance, which causes also much itching, especially at night.

Arrange to leave to-morrow. Good people these, unpretentious, but white through and through.

Mr. Lawrence, the local trader, who with his boy was with me yesterday, is going to take me to an old site down the river and then to Holy Cross. Donates a fine old ivory arrow point from the site mentioned. Doctor Chapman gives three old dishes and two stone axes—haft on one of recent manufacture. The natives seem to have nothing of this nature, and no old site is near. The nearest is Bonasila, where we go to-morrow.

This is truly a fish country. Along the placid Anvik River fish smell everywhere—dead fish on shore here and there, or fish eggs, or offal.

Wednesday, June 30. Hazy and cool, 52° F. Take leave with friend, Doctor Chapman, then at school, and leave 8 a. m. for Bonasila.

The gnat pest was bad this morning—could hardly load my baggage; had to apply the smear again, but this helps only where put and for a time only.

Bonasila

Close to 10 a. m. arrive at the Bonasila site. Not much—just a low bank of the big river, not over 4 feet high in front, and a higher rank grass-covered flat with a little stream on the left and a hill on the right. But the flat is full of fossae of old barabras (pit and tunnel dwellings), all wood on surface gone; and there is a cemetery to the right and behind, on a slope.

Examine beach and banks minutely until 12. Modest lunch—two sandwiches, a bit of cake and tea—and then begin to examine the shore again. Soon after arrival finding bones of animals, some partly fossilized; beaver, deer, caribou, bear, fox, dog, etc., all species still living in Alaska, as found later, though no more in the immediate neighborhood.

Mosquitoes and gnats bad—use lot of oil. Begin soon to find remarkably primitive looking stone tools, knockers, scrapers, etc. Crawl through washed-down trees and brush. Many stones on the beach show signs of chipping or use. Very crude—a protolithic industry; but a few pieces better and showing polished edge. Also plenty of fragments of pottery, not seldom decorated (indented). Make quite a collection. And then, to cap it, find parts of human skeleton, doubtless washed out from the bank. Much missing, but a good bit recovered, and that bit is very striking. (See p. 156.) Also a cut bone (clean cut, as if by a sharp knife) in situ in the mud of the bank, and a little birch-bark basket still filled with mud from the bank, with later a larger basket of same nature in situ; could save but a piece. Conditions puzzling. Was there an older site under one more recent?

2 p. m. About 2 p. m. go to the cemetery. About a dozen burials recognizable. A pest of mosquitoes and gnats—Lawrence soon bleeds over face and neck, while I keep them off only by frequent smearing. He soon has to smear, too. Open five graves—placed above ground, wooden (split and no nails) boxes covered with earth and sod. Skeletons all in contracted position, head to the east and lying on right side. Some in poor condition. Three women, one man, one child. Gnats swarm in the moss and the graves, and with the smears, here and there a trickle of blood, the killed pests and the dust, we soon look lovely. But there is enough of interest. With each burial appears something—with the man two large blue Russian beads; first woman—a pottery lamp (or dish), iron knife; with the second two fire sticks, stone objects (sharpeners), partly decayed clay dish; with the third, a Russian bead and a birch-bark snuffbox; with the child a "killed" (?) glass bottle of old form and an iron flask; in the grave of an infant (bones gone) a Russian bead. A grave of a child—bones burned.

6.15 p. m. Rest must be left. Lawrence may be enabled to do some work in the fall. Leave 6.15; carry quite a lot—in sacks, gasoline cans, lard cans. Wonder how I shall be able to send things from Holy Cross, and what next. Cool, sky overcast whole day.

Holy Cross

Thursday, July 1. Slept on the floor of a little store last night at Ghost Creek. The Catholic mission at Holy Cross, with all sorts of room, about 1½ miles down, and where, though late and tired, I visited Father Jules JettÉ, a renowned student of the dialects of the Yukon Indians, did not offer to accommodate me, and the trader in their village could only offer me a "bunk" in one little room with three other people. So after 10 p. m. we went down to the "Ghost Creek," where I was gladly given a little corner in the store of Alec Richardson. Of course there were whining dogs outside, right next to the store on both sides, and they sang at times (or howled) like wolves, whose blood they seem to carry. And a cat got closed in with me and was pulling dried fish about, which she chewed, most of the night it seemed. So there was not much sleep until from about 5 a. m. to 8.30, after the cat was chased out and the dogs got weary. Then no breakfast till near 9.30.

Went to mission again to see Father JettÉ—he is not of the mission—a fine old Frenchman and scholar. He was not responsible for last night and anyway I was spoiled farther up the river. His meritorious work deserves to be known and published.

After a very simple lunch packed yesterday's collections from the Bonasila site—five boxes. The parcel post here alone will cost $20.40. How odd that the transportation of the collections of a Government institution must be paid for from the little appropriation received for scientific work to another department of the same Government.

It is cloudy, drizzly, cold. Am endeavoring to leave to-morrow, but they want $35 to the next station, and the boat does not leave for St. Michael until the 11th. Fortunately I am able to send away the collections, and there will surely be some way down the river.

Ghost Creek

July 1-2, 10.30 p. m. A night on the Yukon. (Pl. 3, a,) They have lit a powder against the mosquitoes. Smear the many gnat bites with Mentholatum—helps but for a while—and having now my fine meshed netting, my own bedding, and a clean pillow, I feel fine, safe from all the pests, and ready for a quiet night, all alone.

Commenced dozing off when a he-cat, who hid in the store at closing, begins to make all kinds of unnamable noises. Stand it for a while, but he does not stop and one could never sleep—so crawl out from the bed, catch the beast, and throw him out.

In again and settling down, when another cat—did not know there were two here—begins to mew and tries to force its way out under the door, which is about 2½ inches above the floor. Persists until I have to get up the second time. Throw that cat out and in bed once more.

In a minute, however, the dogs outside espied the cats and began a pandemonium of howls and yelps and barks. Try hard, but can not stand it. Moreover, the last cat got on the roof, where I hear him walking, and he seems in no hurry to get off. So finally have to get out, catch the cat on the edge of the roof, throw him back into the store, and to bed for another trial. But soon have to smear the body; the bites itch too much. The sleepiness is now quite gone. A mild amusement as to what next. It must be midnight or later now, and it has grown cold. One blanket is not sufficient. Doze off a little, wake up with cold, readjust blanket and flaps of bag, doze off a little again—the dogs commence to howl, just for a song this time, in two, three, then a unison. The bites itch bitterly, now here, now there. The sun has risen; it is real cold, probably no more than about 40° to 45° F. And so on until 5.30, when at last fall into a deep, dreamless sleep, regardless of light, cats, dogs, and everything and sleep until 8.30.

Wake up, can not believe my watch; but it goes, and so probably is right. But no one anywhere yet stirring.

Dress, wash a bit in the muddy river; head feels as if it had been knocked by something heavy. Make my "roll" of bedding and then work on notes, putting down faithfully what has transpired. About 9.30, at last, the storekeeper comes to say they overslept and that a cup of coffee will be ready before long.

Friday, July 2. "Ghost Creek" was named so because of many burials about the creek. The flat between the hills here is about three-fourths of a mile long by the water front, with rising slopes, and used to extend considerably farther out, but was "cut" or washed away by the river. It has been used for a village site and burial ground by the old Indians of the vicinity. As the banks tumble away, bone arrow points, barbed and not, stone scrapers, and other objects wash out. Graves are found in the ground as well as above it. Russian influence prevalent in the objects buried with the bodies, but site extends to pre-Russian time. Same type graves as at Bonasila, with slight local modifications.

At Bonasila the burials above ground were in boxes of hewn wood, joined somewhat as the logs in a log house, and without any base. The body inside was covered with birch bark (three or four pieces), then covered with the top planks, unfastened, and these in turn covered with about a foot of earth and sod. At Ghost Creek the same, but there is an undressed-stake base or platform on which the sides of the "coffin" rest and with somewhat less earth and sod on the top of the box. But graves differ here from underground and birch bark alone (no trace of wood, if any was ever there; but probably none used) to such aboveground as have iron nails and sawed planks. Here, as at Bonasila, a few simple articles are generally found buried at the head, and for these many of the graves were already despoiled and the skeletal remains scattered or reburied.

There appears to be no line of demarcation between the underground and aboveground graves; possibly the latter were winter burials, but this must be looked into further.

The bodies here, except the latest, are buried flexed. Exceptionally, both at Bonasila and here, the planks surrounding the grave were painted with some mineral pigments which resist decomposition better than the wood, and decorated in a very good native way with series of animals and men, caribou, bear, etc. Too faint to photograph, and too bulky and decayed to take away; but decoration much superior to ordinary Indian pictographs, and apparently connecting with the type of art of the northwest coast. It is of interest that practically the same decorated burials were seen by Dall among the Eskimo of Norton Sound (Unalaklik).[4] In this case it was probably the Indian habit that was adopted by the near-by Eskimo, for none of the more northern Eskimo practiced such burials. The habit was also known in southeastern Alaska. (Pl. 3, b.)

Jim Walker, the helpful local mix-breed trader, has dug out many of these graves (alone or with Harry Lawrence), and a good many of the objects are said to have been taken away by Father O'Hara, formerly of the Holy Cross Mission.

According to all indications the stone culture of Bonasila and of Ghost Creek (1½ miles upstream from Holy Cross) were related, both passing apparently into the Russian period, and that at Ghost Creek continuing down to our times, for there is still living here an old man who belongs to this place which once had a large village. Much could be done yet and saved in both places.

Saturday, July 3. At last slept, notwithstanding everything, and succeeded even in being warm.

Breakfast 8.30, for a wonder. Two soft-boiled Seattle eggs, two bits of toast with canned butter (not bad at all), some over-preserved raspberries, and a faded-looking nearly cold "flapjack" with sirup, also mediocre tea. But all goes here, and the stomach calls for no other attention than to fill it.

Finishing work, getting further information from the old Indian, writing, and waiting to go away with a trader to Paimute, the first all-Eskimo village, 25 miles farther down the river. Rains occasionally, but not very cold. Many gnats when wind moderates.

Lunch—canned sardines (in this land of fresh salmon!), a bit of toast, some canned fruit, and that unsavory tea.

Have utilized this day in a profitable manner. Have learned that there was another burial ground about half a mile farther upstream, behind an elevation. So got a rowboat and with Jim Walker's young boy rowed over. Had to wade through high grass over a wet flat, and then up the rank grass and bush-covered slope, and there found a number of old burials. All rifled, but most of the bones still there. So send boy back, on the quiet—there is above the store the camp of the old man with an old Indian woman and sick girl—for some boxes, and meanwhile collect. It is an unceasing struggle with the mosquitoes and gnats in the tall grass and weeds; but one after another I find what remains of the usual old box burials. The bones are mostly in good condition. The boy arrives with several empty gasoline boxes, we gather drier grass and moss, and pack right on the spot, eventually get to the boat, strike off as far as possible from the shore so none could see what is carried, and proceed to Walker's storehouse. Old Indian and his old crony nevertheless stand on bank and look long at us. In storehouse boxes closed, later delivered by the boy to the mail boat, and so that much is saved; for were it not collected, in a few years the weather, vegetation, and animals, human and other, would destroy everything.

BUREAU OF AMERICAN ETHNOLOGY FORTY-SIXTH ANNUAL REPORT PLATE 3

a, Midnight on the Yukon

b, Lower middle Yukon: Painted burial box of a Yukon Indian (before 1884) said to have been a hunter of Bielugas (white whales), which used to ascend far up the Yukon

Moreover, the utmost care is taken always to leave everything in as good shape as found; and the remains taken will be treated so well and may give us so much that we need that there is no more hesitation in securing them than there would be on the part of a paleontologist in securing old bones for his purposes.

For supper, though it is still early, am invited by Simel, an elderly Jew mail carrier. Have fine meat-and-potato soup, lettuce-and-cucumber salad (even if the cucumbers from the Holy Cross hothouse are overripe and bitter), fresh (storage) meat, cooked dried apples, and poor but hot coffee—all seasoned with the best will and genuine, simple friendliness.

Max Simel, whose home is at Ophir, has been in this country 29 years, and "never needed to buy a quarter's worth of medicine." Has a wife in Seattle, also a daughter and a son; has not seen them for four years. Wants me to call on them and tell them I met him. With his companion, Paul Keating, of Holikachakat, gives me some interesting information. They tell me independently and then together of an occurrence that shows what may happen along this great river. A well-known white man and woman, prospectors on their mail route, have last year thawed and dug out a shaft, nearly 40 feet deep, through muck and silt, to the gravel, in which they hoped to get gold; and just before they reached the gravel they found a piece of calico, old and in bad condition, but still showing some of its design and color.

7 p. m. It rains, but wind has moderated, and so near 7 p. m. we start on our way farther down the river, stopping just long enough at Holy Cross to attend to my reservation for St. Michael. The agent has no idea when the boat will go—maybe the 11th, maybe not until the 14th or later.

Going on an old leaky scow with an elderly, faded, chewing, not very talkative but for all that very kindly and accommodating man, who with one hand holds the steering wheel and with the other most of the time keeps on bailing. He carries supplies for his store and I my outfit, camera, and umbrella. Sky has here and there cleared, even patches of sun appear on far-away clean-cut hills. Water not very rough; make fair time downstream. Banks flat now, river broad, some hills in distance.

8.00 p. m. Hills nearer ahead of us. Some of the flats look from distance like fine tree nurseries. Getting cool. Cloudy ahead. The banks flat and low, no good site for habitation. Not even fishing camps here—just long "cut-banks" (banks being cut by the river) and low beaches. Here and there new bars and islands that are being built by the river. No birds, no boats, just an occasional floating snag or a rare solitary gull.

Paimute

Paimute down river, I am told, has nothing but Eskimo; Holy Cross, but a few natives now, mainly Indian; above Holy Cross, Indian, Eskimo only as adapted or in admixture.

July 3, 8.30 p. m. Hills on right now right before us. Behind first a fish camp of the Holy Cross Mission natives. River narrows and bends. Two other fish camps become visible. Stop; damp, cold, smoke, fish smell, a few natives, Eskimo. River now like molten glass, but air damp and cold, and I must sit behind the engine and keep my hands over the hot exhaust pipe to keep somewhat comfortable.

Pass bulging bluffs on right—old stratified shales.

11.00 p. m. Arrive at our destination about 11 p. m. But a few log huts on the right side of the river, with few others and a primitive frame church in the back. A little store and a big storehouse (with skins, etc.), trader's house (log cabin) a few rods away. Open store, only to find that a pup had been forgotten there, made a lot of mess and dirt and ate most of one side of bacon.

12.00 p. m. Got to bed in the cabin at 12. Spread bed roll on two reindeer skins which, with fire in the stove, keep me fairly warm. Rain in night and several earth tremors—common in these parts; feel several light ones every night and a stronger one occasionally even in daytime (a big "fault" in the Alaskan range and a proximity to the Aleutian volcanic zone).

Awake before 8, but as it still rains nothing can be done, while my man within a few feet of me still snores; stay in blanket till 9. Modest breakfast at 10 a. m.

10.00 a. m. A little house cleaning—watch kitten clean windows of the many flies, which it eats; and then my man, a Swede by birth, sailor, self-taught painter (of ships and sea scenes), and musician (accordion), goes to bail out the boat. Still full of bites that itch and need a lot of Aseptinol, which in turn makes underwear look dreadful. And no bath possible.

Last night met some of the local Eskimo, full bloods, mostly from the Kuskokwim River. Strong, kinder than the Yukon Indians. But they differ but little in some cases from the latter. They are medium brown in color, hair exactly like the Indian, beard also—only the rather flat (not prominent) mid parts of the face, with rather long and narrow (upper two-thirds) nose, and the cheek bones protruding more or less forward, with face long (often), due to the vertical development of the jaws, helps to distinguish them as Eskimo. There is no clear line of demarcation between the Indian farther up the river and the Eskimo down here, yet in some here the Eskimo type is unmistakable. They have more epicanthus, flatter, longer, and stronger (more massive) face, stronger frame, rather submedium length of legs, and less brachycephalic (or more oblong) head, but not the characteristic, narrow and high, keel-shaped dome that one is used to associate with the Eskimo.

1 p. m. A little lunch—just a cup of coffee and a few crackers. Photograph two natives.

1.30 p. m. Start toward Russian Mission. Trader carries sugar in bags and tea for camps.

Near 2. Stop at an Eskimo camp, see sick baby, photograph a few individuals. Get an ax for a pocketbook—old man happy as a child at the exchange. Made another one happy this morning in payment for information with one of my steamer caps. (Pl. 4, a.)

Pass along the still continuing bulging hills on the right. They are forested over lower parts, barren, though mostly greenish, above. As usual flats on left, devoid of man. Occasionally a fish camp on right, or a small village, somewhat different, though in essentials like the Indian (more gregariousness noticeable—up river mostly individual or at most two or three families). Every favorable higher flat or low saddle among the hills on the right and facing the river (or a slough) is utilized by the natives, but such places are scarce.

The ax obtained looks as if it had been broken after found, to make of it a single-edge tool. Tumbled out of a bank. Old Eskimo knew not who made it. Found some miles below Paimute by the old man. Others found, but lost. Ivory arrow and spear points also known to natives, but no one now has any.

A mountain ahead of us. Sky clouded mostly, high diffuse vapors and low, heavy but separated cumuli in the east; one would expect soon a heavy rain. Visibility exceptionally good, horizons far away, uncommonly clear. Mountains sharply outlined against the sky.

About 12 miles below Paimute, on left, some higher banks (old silts and dunes). The ax from the old man had been found here. Stop. Find pottery 12 feet, charcoal 15 feet from surface. Also polished and worked stones. But most of bank has already been cut off and what remains shows no signs of man on the top. (Pl. 4, b.)

Cross river obliquely to right bank, just beyond last ("12-mile") hill. Find at once numerous evidences of stone work along the stony beach. In an hour have a fair collection, mainly rejects, but interesting. On top of bank find several mounds and ridges, doubtless dunes, though the one farthest up the river looks very much like a large oval man-made mound. Parts of two much-weathered skulls and one bone lay on the top of this. No definite marks of graves excepting perhaps in one instance. A sign of old clearing farther down, but no "barabras." A spot well worthy of exploration. It was, I learned a little later from Nick Williams, a native who used to act as a pilot on the river, the old mountain village or "Ingrega-miut," and the site is 12 miles downstream from Paimute. (Pl. 4, c.)

Beyond are flats and cut banks, both sides, but with hills (old water front) behind on the right and mountains in front. River here very wide.

Many of the worked stones, and occasionally, according to native information, skulls and bones, are washed out from the banks and deposited (rolling, etc.) lower on the beach in something like strata, and in that way evidence is being perverted. Some day a new bank or even a dune may be formed over these secondary deposits and a great source of possible future error be completed.

All the natives along the river (to here) like to bury on the lower slopes of near-by hills.

To bed on floor of kitchen tent at the fine, clean little place of Tucker's, at 10.30. At 1.30 the 20 dogs start a fine, sustained, unison howl song, and I seem to hear an approaching boat. As the Governor of Alaska is expected, slip on shoes and necktie, brush hair, and run out. There is a little boat at the little "dock" (the only one seen so far on the Yukon). Tucker and his son are already there, and I soon hear that the governor is on the boat, which is that of Mr. Townsend, of the Fish Commission. In a few minutes we meet, both in shirt sleeves. And I learn the Matanuska, the boat that was to take me from the Russian Mission to St. Michael, has broken down and is not coming. In her place, but no telling as to time, will be sent the Agnes, a smaller and slower boat, on which three people have already this season been "gassed" (overcome by the exhaust gases), one of them jumping into the river. She has accommodation for four persons at most, and that of the most primitive, they say. The governor fortunately gives me some hope that I may be picked up and taken down by the same boat which is taking him to Holy Cross. He also tells me of a skull for me at one of the stopping places, Old Hamilton. A frank, good, strong man.

Boat leaves in a few minutes. Back to bed, but now almost full daylight—also cold, and so no more than a doze until 6.15, at which time the boy comes to the kitchen where I was kindly accommodated to start fire and breakfast. So up with a drowsy head. At 7 breakfast—coffee, oatmeal, flapjacks, and good company. Everything about this place is neat, fresh, pleasing—the best individual place on the river. Cloudy, blustery, cool; can not start, so go 1½ miles down to Dogfish village, or I-ka-thloy-gia-miut—probably the same as Zagoskin's I-ka-lig-vig-miut. Only three or four families there now; nearly all the inhabitants died of influenza in 1900. But already before reaching the village, in examining the stones along the beach, I find some chipped ones, and they represent the same industry evidently as those at the two sites yesterday. Later find numerous chipped scrapers, pointed hammers, crude cutters and chisels, and a few axes. Make quite a collection, including a few objects found in possession of natives.

This is a good site, above high water. Must be old. Pottery also encountered occasionally by present occupants, but not one bead; little if any river cutting here for a long period. Worth exploration. Photograph another Indianlike Eskimo. Want to buy an old dish from an Eskimo, border inlaid with six white stones, shaped like an oblong lozenge with rounded corners, but he wants $20. Lunch all together, some Eskimo included, at Tucker's, and then as the wind moderates and the sun comes out, start for the Russian Mission. Mostly still clouds and cool, with some rain in the mountains to the right.

Finds and inquiries made at Dogfish village make it positive that the stone culture there is Eskimo, i. e., of the Eskimo of this region who are probably not a little mixed with Indians. Their head is but moderately oblong, not keel shaped. The majority, however, have Eskimo features.

But the cupid-bow (double-grooved) axes are not known to have been made by these people, and when used after being found or brought down from farther up the river they apparently were broken. One such example was seen already at Ruby—another one at Anvik—secured; and one found yesterday at Mountain village. The axes here are most often oblong, quadrilateral, without groove, or approaching the single-grooved axes of the Indians in the States.

July 6. Proceed down the river toward Russian Mission, examining the banks as closely as possible. Toward evening stop at "Gurtler's," a short distance above the mission.

Mr. Gurtler is a German by birth; his wife is half Indian, of Ruby. She, as well as her 14-year-old daughter, are neat, apt, and very industrious, quiet and nice mannered. With an Eskimo woman, she cleans and cuts up—a whole art of its own—on the average over 200 good-sized salmon a day. Clean place, very good smoking house—much superior to those up the river, except Tucker's.

Sleep in a clean bed of theirs; would much prefer my own and the hard floor, but fear to offend.

Russian Mission

Pack my stones and bones collected between here and Holy Cross, and after lunch go to Russian Mission. Meet Mr. Cris Betsch, the trader, and find him both friendly and anxious to help. Teacher and her mother invite me to supper. Before that Mr. Betsch calls in a number of the older men, and we have a talk about ancient things, but they know nothing worth while beyond a few score of years at most; they give me, however, some data and names of old villages.

A few years ago some human bones and skulls were dug up here and reburied. Eskimo readily agree to help us find them and to let me take them. Moreover, they are quite eager to dig up an old medicine man supposed to be buried under a good-sized (for this country) blue spruce. They get shovels, soon find some of the old bones and a damaged skull, and later on, with the help of information given by an elderly woman, uncover also a female skull. Uncover further the end of two birch-bark-covered coffins, from Russian time, and would readily dig them out did I not restrain them; as also with the medicine man. We shall probably get some such specimens from this locality later, so there is no need of disturbing the burials.

Mrs. Barrick, the teacher, gives us a "civilized" supper, at which I am introduced for the first time to a great and fine Yukon specialty, namely, smoked raw strips of king salmon, and find them excellent. Then a good talk with all, after which pack specimens—still somewhat damp, but it would be difficult to wait—deliver to the post, and am sent to my place around the hill at a little past 10 p. m. with an invitation by Mr. Betsch to go to-morrow to "the slough of the 32 kashims (council or communal house)," about 10 miles down the river. But I have already been promised by Gurtler to take me down to this place, and so I can not accept. Just now I need sleep.

July 7. After breakfast examine banks and beach along Gurtler's place and find two stone implements, two pieces of decorated pottery, and a bone of some animal. Wash, dry, and pack, then a cup of coffee—the Gurtler's have a habit of drinking a second cup at about 10 a. m. each day—and then, after some of the seemingly inevitable trouble with motor, start down the river. It rained yesterday; the clouds show low pressure; it is not warm and the water is somewhat rough.

Stop a bit at the mission to give Mrs. Barrick a fish and get a bag or two from Mr. Betsch, and then proceed. From the river the Russian Mission settlement is seen to be very favorably situated at the foot of the southern slope of a big hill. But the recency of the flat below and in front of the church and schoolhouse is clearly seen again. The site about where the church and school are may—in fact must, it is so favored—be a very old one, and doubtless a thorough excavation of the slope from the back of the houses upward would be both easy and very instructive. The place should by all means receive attention.

Reach and examine the "32 kashim slough," a beautiful side channel about 7 miles long; reach about 1½ miles from its entrance, examine banks and pass through jungle, find tracks of foxes and of a bear, also see one big beautiful red fox trotting ahead of us on the other beach—but not a trace of man. Examine also the "mounds" on Grand Island, but find them to be only dunes.

Lunch on the beach; remarkably few mosquitoes and no gnats; smoked raw salmon strips again, and coffee; and at 5 leave for home, it being impossible so late to go down to the end of the channel.

On return all going nicely until 5. Then, in a slough 3½ miles from the Russian Mission, after an examination of another likely site, breakdown of the motor. Do everything possible to make it go until about 8, but in vain. Then I take the crazy little rowboat that luckily we took with us, bail out the water with our shovel, and row to the mission for help. Get there about 9, send back a launch with some natives, have a little supper with the teacher, and row home around the hill, reaching Gurtler's near 11. In a few minutes the launch is towed in and all is well once more. Mr. Betsch got for us two good native "kantÁgs" or wooden dishes. Also we fix to go down to the "32 kashims" to-morrow once more with Mr. Betsch and the teacher.

July 8. Up a little after 6; breakfast; and then comes in a native from the mission with two letters and information that the Agnes, the little mail-carrier boat, has arrived during the night and is waiting for me to take me to Marshall and to Old Hamilton, whence another boat will take me in a day or two to St. Michael. So get ready in a minute, put my baggage on a native's boat, pay my bill, leave another lot of good friends, and row to the mission. There is the little dinghy Agnes with its "accommodation" for three passengers already two-thirds filled up, and towing two big logs as a freight. Put my things partly in a "bunk," partly on the roof, give good-byes to Betsch and the teacher, help to push off the boat which is stuck in the mud, and we are off for another Yukon chapter.

We pass by the lower end of the "32 kashim" slough—no sign of any site—all recently made flats. If there is anything left of the old sites it must be at the foot of the hills, or has been covered with silt. The site is so favorable that in all probability there was once there a good-sized settlement, but due to river action and the jungle it could not be located. Mr. Betsch visited the place that day, and again with some old natives on another occasion, without being more fortunate.

Cloudy, slightly drizzly day, no trace of sun, mists over the tops of the hills. Could not stand it in the boat, so sitting on my box on the roof of the boat, wrapped, due to the cold, in a blanket.

A little below the "32 kashim" slough a small stream enters from inland—a place to be examined; but this boat can not stop for such a purpose.

A half mile or so farther down a few graves and crosses, with remnants of a native habitation.

Over 3 miles down, just beyond first bluff, fine site, with low hills stretching far beyond it—now but a few empty, half-ruined native houses. Should be explored.

South of second rocky bluff a live camp, and farther down another.

The left side of the river is still all flats as far as one can see, but about 17 miles below Russian Mission human bones came out of a bank there (on a slough).

Marshall

At 3 p. m. reach Marshall, a little cheerful-looking mining town, high on a bank. See the place, identify the skeleton from the above-mentioned bank as that of a missing white man, see telegraph operator, postmaster, teacher, commissioner. Sun comes out, is warm. Almost no mosquitoes here and no gnats. Hills above and beyond town belong already to the coast range and are barren of trees, even largely bare of shrubs and bushes. Leave 4.30.

Soon after Marshall—after passing by an Eskimo village (white man's style of buildings)—leave the hills and enter flats on both sides. This is the beginning of the delta region. River like glass, and it is warm in the sun but very perceptibly cooler when sun is hidden.

The boat has only three bunks, and there are five of us with the two pilots. But on the last trip up, there were, fortunately only for about eight hours, seven, including two women and a child, and that without any privacy or conveniences whatsoever. It is almost criminal, and they charge a very steep fare. However, for me it will soon be over—only about 36 hours. Still it is hard to believe this is yet in the United States and presumably under some sort of supervision.

Which brings me to a realization that the first half of my journey—the preliminary survey of the Yukon—is slowly closing; a little, and it will be the sea and other conditions, which also brings the realization that I have seen much but learned not greatly. What should be done would be to own a suitable fast boat; to locate on each of the more important old sites a party for careful, prolonged excavation; and to try to locate, in the rear of or on the higher places on the present river flats, more ancient sites than are known to date. These steps, together with the enlisting of the interest in these matters of every prospector, miner, and trader, would before many years lead to much substantial knowledge.

Friday, July 9. Must keep up these notes, for they alone keep me posted on the day and date; even then I am not always sure. There are no Sundays in nature.

Slept in my bag on the roof of the Agnes. Her namesake must have been one of these goodly but insufficient and but indifferently clean native women, plodding, doing not a little work, but wanting in many a thing. It was cold and dreary, but I found an additional blanket, and so, with mosquito netting about my head—one or two got in anyway—would have slept quite well had it not been for a dog. At about 1 a. m. we stopped in front of a little place called also "Mountain Village." And almost at once we began to hear a most piteous and insistent wail of a dog who either had colic or thirst or hunger, and he kept it up with but little stops for what seemed like two hours, making my sleep, at least, impossible.

Saturday, July 9. Morning. Cold, cloudy, rough—head almost beginning to feel uncomfortable, the boat is tossing so much. A teacher comes aboard with an inflamed hand which I fix; a few questions, the mail bag, and we are off again. Enter a slough where it is less rough and warmer. Later the sun will probably come out again. This evening we shall be at Old Hamilton and then a new anxiety—how to get to St. Michael.

Just had a little walk over the roof—my roof, for the other two passengers prefer to sleep in the gassy, dingy room below, though how they can stand it is beyond my medical ken. It is four short steps long, or five half steps in an oblique direction.

Every object in distance appears magnified all along the river for many days now. An old snag will look like a boat or a man, hills look higher, a boat looks much more pretentious than she proves to be on meeting.

Firs and spruce have now completely disappeared, also forests of birch, etc., are reduced to brush both on flats and lower parts of hills. Very large portion of the hills in distance just greenish with grass and lichens, not even a brush.

9.45 a. m. Meet the Matanuska bound upward. Looked from distance like an ocean steamer; from near, just a lumbering, moderate-sized river boat with a barge in front. But a whole lot better than ours.

The scenery has become monotonous. The gray river, although only one of the "mouths," is broad, and the country is all low. Nothing but bushy or grassy cut banks on the right, and mud flats, "smoking" under the wind, to low banks on left. It is a little warmer and the warm sun shows itself occasionally, but I still need the wrapping of a double blanket. The wind luckily is with us and the waves not too bad.

Noon. Passing "Fish village"; a few huts and tents.

No "camps" here outside the few villages; just an endless dreary waste and water.

New Hamilton—a few native huts only now—no whites.

Reach Old Hamilton—about a dozen houses with a warehouse, a store of the Northern Commercial Co., and a nice looking but now unoccupied school.

Here the governor told me there was somewhere a skull waiting for me, and the storekeeper would tell me of it. But when we arrive there are only two or three natives to meet us. The storekeeper, who is also postmaster, is said to be sick in bed. He is supposed to have an ulcer or some other bad thing of the stomach. So we go to his house and find him in bed, with a lot of medicine bottles on a table next to him. Is alone; no wife. Shows no enthusiasm in seeing me, though heard of my coming. Reads letters—no attention to me. Gets up—I ask him about his illness—answers like a man carrying a chip on his shoulder. Goes to store to attend to mail, and barely asks me to follow. I wait in store; he finishes mail and goes out—orders the Eskimo present out gruffly, and to me says, "You may stay in the store; I'll be back." But I wait and wait, and finally decide the man for some reason is unwilling to help me. Asked him before he went out about the Matanuska, but he told me she might not be back from Holy Cross in a month, trying doubtless to discourage me to stay. On going toward the Agnes I find him sitting on a log and talking to a couple of men from a tugboat that has arrived—just talk, no business, judging from their laughing. So I go on the boat, write a few words to Mr. Townsend of the Bureau of Fisheries, who makes this place his headquarters, and with some feeling hand this to the man, telling him at the same time that plainly he does not wish to assist me in any way. This, of course, rouses him; he gets red and says a few lame words, ending with, "Do you think I would touch any of them dam things or that I would let any of my men (natives) touch them? Not on your life!" So I leave Old Hamilton, for he is the only white man there now. But the place had other distinctions. Until recently, I am told, they have had a teacher, a young girl, who in her zeal had the natives collect all the burial boxes with their contents and had them all thrown into the river. Not long after she accomplished that she left. The storekeeper told me that "If I want them so bad I could pick them up (skulls and bones) along the river where the water washed them out after the teacher threw them in." Luckily there were not many "Old Hamiltons."

We met here a boat from St. Michael with Mr. Frank P. Williams, the well-known postmaster and trader of St. Michael, who comes for the two men, my fellow passengers. We get acquainted and, to escape the gases of the Agnes, I go with them. The boat is heavier and free from fumes, though without accommodation. At about 7 p. m. we arrive at Kotlik, at the mouth of the river—an abandoned wireless station, a store, and four tents of natives. But the old wireless building, now the storekeeper's house, is the dwelling place of a clean white man, Mr. Backlund, who is now "outside," but with whom Mr. Williams is in some partnership; so we occupy the building. Outside the wind has risen to half a gale and there are squalls of rain and drizzle. The Agnes has to "tie to," as she would be swamped in the open. My boxes and bedding, which were on the roof of the Agnes, are soaked, though the contents will be dry. So both boats are fastened to a little "dock," and we soon have fire in the stove, supper, and then—it is 11 p. m.—a bed, not overclean, somewhat smelly, but a bed and free from mosquitoes, rain, wind, and cold.

July 10. Up at 6.30. Outside a storm and rain—just like one of the three-day northeasters with us, and cool. Both boats were to leave, but are unable to do so. I find that Mr. Williams's tug will come back here and go to St. Michael on the 13th, so arrange with Mr. Williams to take me and leave the Agnes for good. This partly because I learn of two graveyards near, one 1½, the other 4½ miles distant.

After lunch, rain for a while ceasing, I set out for the nearer burial place. This is already a tundra country—treeless and bush-less flats overgrown with a thick coat of moss, into which feet bury themselves as in a cushion, and dotted with innumerable swampy depressions with high swamp grass. Walking over all this is very difficult—lucky I have rubber boots. Even so, it is no easy matter, except where a little native trail is encountered.

The graveyard, belonging to the now abandoned little village above Kotlik, consists of only about half a dozen adult graves. These consist of boxes of heavy lumber laid on a base raised above the ground level, and covered with other heavy boards. Some of the burials are quite recent. Open three older ones. In two the remains are too fresh yet, but from one secure a good female skeleton, which I pack in a practically new heavy pail, thrown out probably on the occasion of the last funeral. Then back, farther out, to avoid notice, through swamps and over moss, and with a recurring wind-driven drizzle against which my umbrella is but a weak protection.

Reach home quite wet and a bit tired. Have to undress and, wrapped in a blanket, dry my clothes and underwear about the stove.

Nothing further this day and evening—just wind and heavy low clouds and rain.

July 11. Up at 4.40. Weather has moderated. The Agnes left at 4 and Mr. Williams's boat, due to favorable tide, must soon go also. Breakfast, and all leave me before 6.

Yesterday we brought up my needs—i. e., collection of skeletal material—to the few natives here, explaining to them everything, and they do not object in the least. One of them, in fact, is to take me to-day to the more distant cemetery in a rowboat and help me in my work.

My man, after being sent for, comes at a little after 7. He is a good-looking and well-behaving Eskimo of about 35. He brings a good-sized tin rowboat—a whaling or navy boat probably; but "he leaks a whole lot." The oarlocks are not fastened to the boat, the plate of one is loose, and the oars are crudely homemade of driftwood and pieces of lumber fastened on with nails; in one the shaft is crooked, while the other is much heavier. But we start, with the sky still leaden and gray but no wind and calm water. I row and he paddles; then he rows and I paddle. We carry but the camera, a little lunch, a heavier coat each, and a box and two bags for the specimens. We pass a number of broods of little ducks, the mother prancing before us until the young are in safety, and there are several species of new kinds (to me) of water birds, some of which fly right above us, examining us. In the distance we see a big abandoned dredge, then a few empty log houses and "barabras" on the bank of a stream and the edge of the tundra. This is Pastolik, our destination. There is no one anywhere near, an ideal condition for work, if work there'll be. And there will be—for almost immediately upon landing I see, beginning at a few rods distance on the tundra, a series (about 50) of old graves, in all grades of mossiness and preservation. A few are, we later find, quite late, but the majority are old—60 years and over according to information given by the natives of Kotlik. They do not, except perhaps the few late ones, seem to belong to anyone still living. Yet "Pashtolik," as they wrote it then, used to be a place of some importance in the Russian times, and even later.

We settle in an empty native house, and I start investigation. The older graves are found widely spread in several clusters, but a few are isolated at a distance.

The graves are all aboveground and resemble in substance those along the lower Yukon (Bonasila and downward). They consist of a base of small logs or splits; a rude box about 3 feet long by about 2 feet wide, of heavy, unpainted, unnailed, split boards; four posts near the four corners; a cover, unjoined, of two to three heavy split boards; two crosspieces over this, at head and base, perforated and sliding over the upright posts, and a few half splits (smaller drift logs split in two) laid over the top of the crosspieces.

On the first cover lies as a rule a stone—generally a piece of a slab or a good-sized pebble—unworked, though now and then showing some trace of use. The pebble is generally broken.

When the grave is opened there is usually over the body, as a canopy on a light frame, a large (probably caribou) skin—rarely birch bark. Neither covers or envelops the body but simply forms a covering over it, with some space between it and the body. The body lies flexed, on left or (rarely) right side, with the head toward (or near) the east (same as at Bonasila). It is often covered with or enveloped in a native matting. There are but few traces of clothing on women; none on men. And very seldom is there anything else in the coffin.

Some of the oldest graves were found tumbled down and could not be examined. The moss and roots envelop the bones, and it is a tough job to get them out; also they eat the bones and destroy them. Even in the older boxes, however, the downward part of the skeleton—generally the left—is, due to moisture, usually in much worse state of preservation than the upper.

Children have been buried in large native wooden dishes and these were in some cases placed on the top of adult graves, but more generally about these, or even apart.

Many household articles, from matches and pails to dishes, alarm clocks, lamps, etc., are placed upon the ground near the more recent dead. Excavation would probably recover here many older objects, though wood decays.

The wind has died down and the flat is as full of mosquitoes as a Jersey salt meadow, and there is an occasional gnat. They bite, and, having been almost free of the pest at Kotlik, I failed to take my "juice" along, so just have to do the best possible. The gnats enter even the eyes, however.

Work as never before. Decide to utilize the rare opportunity to the limit, and to take the whole skeletons, not merely the skulls, leaving only the few fresher ones and those that are badly damaged. A great Sunday; burial after burial; opening the wooden grave—taking out and marking on the spot bone after bone—fighting mosquitoes all the while—and packing temporarily in any convenient receptacle. Fortunately there are quite a few boxes and pails and oil cans on the spot, left by the dredge people and the few natives who evidently sometimes come to the place. At about 2 eat lunch—coffee (the Eskimo put what was for three cups into about two quarts of water, so there is but a suggestion of coffee), raw smoked fish for me and eggs with bacon (left over from breakfast) for my companion, and on again until about 5 p. m. or a little later. Last two or three hours, however, work with some difficulty. A gnat bit me in an eyelid, or got into my eye, and that has now swollen so that I can hardly see with it. My Eskimo, however, is about all I could wish. He just looks at me working in a matter-of-fact way, and carries the filled boxes, or looks around for something I could take with me, and even helps on a few occasions with the bones, finding evidently the whole proceeding quite right and natural. Brings me, among other things, an old copper teakettle, but to his wonder I do not want it and leave it. I find a fine large walrus-ivory doll and a handsome decorated "kantÁg" (wooden bowl), besides smaller objects, and also a large piece of a poor quality clay pot (no pottery now), with a fragment of a decorated border as on the lower Yukon.

Pack up, we load on the boat—lucky now she is so spacious—get into the shallow river—the tide has run out—push the boat out and start for home.

Thus far we had but slight drizzles. But the clouds now grow heavier, and as we have much farther to row than this morning, due to the low water, we are caught by showers. The last mile or so we have to hurry, see a big rain approaching. My man pushes her with a pole while I row all I can, with both hands, with the heavy oar. Of course the whole population of Kotlik has to see our arrival. And more, too, for in our absence a schooner came in with wood and a number of the natives. They talk, but no one is either angry or excited. We two carry the boxes, pails, etc.—grass covered—into the house; how lucky I am now alone. Inside I remove the wet grass from them—the bones, too, are somewhat wet—then pay my Eskimo $5, which again is taken as a matter-of-fact thing, without thanks, but he well deserved the amount, even if I rowed a full half.

It is 9 p. m. My man comes again, we have a modest supper, he some left-over meat and I again the smoked fish, which I feel is strengthening me as well as agreeing with my stomach, and then to rest, quite earned to-day. Seldom have done as much in a day. Thirty-three graves collected, with over twenty nearly complete skeletons, and all restored so that I had to take considerable care not to go again into some already emptied. But this place should be dug over. The tundra in a few years swallows up everything on the surface. It literally buries or assimilates bones and all other objects, the moss and other vegetation with probably blown dust covering them very effectively. Finding anything below the surface and that even a foot or more, as was actually experienced, means something quite different under these conditions than it might elsewhere.

Monday, July 12. Slept fairly well and feel refreshed, but the eye still badly swollen. The Eskimo believe, I think, I got it from the bones. Yet they are quite sensible—a marked mental difference between them and the Yukon Indians.

Breakfast before 7—cereal, raw smoked fish, and coffee. Then pack. At the store buy empty gasoline boxes, but no nails to be had, and no packing. Lunch at 1—macaroni, raw smoked fish, sauerkraut, coffee; then pack again, fix boxes, break old ones to get nails, even pull a few unnecessary ones from the boards of the house, go see my man's wife, a hopeless consumptive, and at 6 through with all except cleaning. Another fair work-day, 12 tightly packed boxes. Then clean up, burn rubbish, and ready for departure early to-morrow.

Supper—macaroni, raw smoked fish, greengage plums, a little sauerkraut, and coffee. Then a little walk outside, watch Eskimo women and children jump the rope (hilariously, but awkwardly), and go in to catch up with my notes. Nobody scowls at me, so that although they probably fear me as a "medicine man" they are not at all resentful for what I did yesterday. They are grown-up children, much more tractable than the Indians. But otherwise they show so much in common with the Indian that the more one sees of them the more he grows drawn to the belief of the original (and that not so far distant) identity of their parentage. It seems the Eskimo and the Indian are after all no more than two diverging fingers of one and the same hand; or they were so a bit farther back. Mental differences there are, yet these are no more than may be found in different tribes of the Indians or different groups of other races.

Tuesday, July 13. Rise a little after 6. Eye still sore after Sunday's gnat and sweat and dirt; must use boric acid frequently. An Eskimo actually said yesterday it was a sickness from touching the bones. A little breakfast—have no more salmon strips, so just cereal, canned plums, and coffee. And then with the help of two young Eskimo carry my spoils and baggage on to the tug, which has come for me. By about 7 start. Good-by Kotlik, what little there is of it.

At 9 arrive at Mr. Williams's reindeer camp farther up the coast. There are five tents and two small log houses of natives—the herders with their families, dogs, and fish racks; and three whites, Mr. Williams, owner of the boat and of most of the herd of about 8,000 animals; Mr. Palmer, of the United States Biological Survey; and a Dane, Mr. Posielt, here for the Biological Survey of Canada. All are already at the corral some distance over the hill, branding, counting, etc., the great reindeer herd, which belong to several owners.

A short walk along the shore brings me in sight of the herd. The animals can be heard grunting a good distance off. The herd is so large and so compact that it looks like a forest of horns. The animals keep on moving in streams, but remain in the herd. They go to the shore to drink some of the salty water, instead of salt. All is of interest, even though the branding, the cutting off of big slices from the ears, and castration, is rather cruel.

At lunch, for the first time, reindeer meat, a select steak. It is tender and decidedly good. Has no special flavor and is poor in fat, but tender and good.

Afternoon, once more to the corral, and then various things, including a photograph of a little impromptu native group.

Supper once more on reindeer meat. This time prepared as a sort of a stew with onions—again very good. But we were to leave after supper for St. Michael and I see no intention to that effect. Instead they all go once more to the corral to continue the work until about 11 p. m. So I have to settle for the night, with some hope that we may leave in the morning. We sleep four side by side in a tent 10 feet wide. Luckily they had a spare clean blanket or two, and but one of the three snores, and he like a lady; also the weather has cleared and is warmer, so the night is fairly good.

Wednesday, July 14. Morning bright, calm. Breakfast, and all hurry off to corral without even any explanation—just a few casual words, from which I understand that we shall not go. So I write whole forenoon, though feeling none too good about the delay. Had I my own boat, as one should have in this country, all would be different. As it is I am utterly helpless. At lunch speak to Mr. Williams; and though not much willing, he half promises that we may go to St. Michael to-night.

Afternoon. Walk 8 miles along the beach, to a cape and back, looking in vain for traces of human habitation and collecting along the beach what this offers, which outside of some odd, flat, polished stones is but little. Come back near 6—soon after supper—and hear with much satisfaction that, after all, we will go to-night to St. Michael.

RÉSUMÉ

So ends the Yukon and its immediate vicinity. What has been learned?

1. The great and easily navigable river, extending for many hundreds of miles from west to east, could not but have played a material part in the peopling of Alaska, and quite probably in that of the continent, and all human movements along it must have left some material remains. It seems, therefore, a justified inference that the valley of the Yukon harbors human remains of much scientific value.

2. Such remains, judging from the present conditions, were left exclusively along the banks of the river, on the flood-safe elevated platforms of the banks, and especially about the mouths of the tributaries of the Yukon of those times.

3. But the banks and mouths of the past are seldom, if ever, those of to-day. The river, with its currents, storms, and ice pack every spring, is changing from year to year. It is ever cutting and eroding in places, and building bars and islands or covering with flood silts in others. In many stretches no one can be sure where the banks were 500 or 1,000 years ago, not to speak of earlier periods.

4. The banks and islands of to-day, therefore, are for the most part recent formations, in which it would be useless to expect anything very ancient. And there is nothing like the successive ocean beaches at Nome and elsewhere, which would guide exploration.

5. The right hilly side of the river alone seems to offer some hope of locating some more ancient sites and remains; yet it is quite certain that the river ran once far to the left, for all the vast flats on that side are of its construction; so that the more ancient remains of man may lie in that direction. But there everything is, from the point of view of archeology, a practically unexplorable jungle and wilderness, and there is no one there who might make accidental discoveries.

6. It would seem that the best hope for the archeologist along the Yukon, so far as the more ancient remains are concerned, lies along the tributaries of the stream, and that particularly at the old limits of the more recently made lands.

7. Nevertheless the banks of the Yukon as they are now are not wholly barren. Up from Tanana, at the Old Station, probably about Ruby and Nulato, about Kaltag and the Greyling River, at Bonasila, Holy Cross and Ghost Creek, and at the Mountain village, Dog village, Russian Mission, and doubtless a number of other sites, they contain both cultural and skeletal remains that, if recovered, will be invaluable to the anthropological history of these regions.

8. The line of demarcation between the Indians of the Yukon and the Eskimo, outside of language, is indefinite. Traces of old Eskimo admixture are perceptible among the Indians far up the river, and the cultures of the two peoples in many respects merge into each other; while among the Eskimo of the lower river and farther on there are physiognomies that it would be hard to separate from the Indian. Whether all this means simply extensive past mixture, or whether, as would seem, the Alaska Indians as a whole are nearer physically to the Eskimo than are the tribes in the States, remains to be determined. Among the Athapascan Mescalero Apache, who have reached as far south as New Mexico, a somewhat Eskimoid tinge to the face, especially in young women, was by no means very unusual 25 years ago when I studied this tribe. This problem will be touched upon again in this volume.

9. All along the Yukon, from near Tanana (Old Station) to the mouth of the river, in the Indian and in the Eskimo region, there prevailed the same type of winter house, namely, a largely subterranean room with a subterranean tunnel or corridor entrance; and also a similar type of summer dwelling, formerly a skin, now a canvas, tent. The winter dwellings were built within of stout posts and covered with birch bark and sod, looking from outside much like the present-day Navaho hogan; while the pits left by them remind one of the southwestern "pit dwellings," the kashims of the Pueblo kivas. As a hogan, so these largely subterranean dwellings along the Yukon had a smoke-air-and-light hole in the center of the top, a fireplace in the middle of the floor, and benches (of heavy hewn planks in the north) along the sides. Each village, furthermore, had at least one larger structure of similar nature, the "kashim," or communal house. All this may still be traced more or less plainly on the dead sites along the Yukon, and houses as well as a kashim of this type were seen at Kotlik and Pastolik, at the mouth of the river.

10. The native industry of the river presents also much similarity, though there are differences.

Pottery, of much the same type and decoration, was made at least as far as the lower middle Yukon.

Stone implements were made and used all along the river, and were much alike. But the double-grooved, cupid-bow ax of the Yukon Indian, hafted in the center and used for chipping rather than cutting, is lower down replaced by the same ax, in which one end has been broken off (or has not been finished), and which is hafted as an adze; or by oblong quadrilateral flat axes which have not been found up the river.

The peculiar and apparently very primitive stone industry of Bonasila is, it seems, just a development of local conditions—nature of most available stone, and essentially hunting habit of the people that resulted in many skins which called for numerous scrapers. Nevertheless the site deserves a thorough further exploration.

There was apparently not much basketry along the river, the place of the baskets being taken by the birch-bark dishes of the Indian and the kantÁg or ingeniously made wooden dish of the Eskimo part of the river.

Canoes among the Yukon Indians were mainly of birch bark, while the Eskimo had mainly skin canoes.

11. Neither the Indians nor the Eskimo of the Yukon practiced deformation of the head or of any other part of the body, or dental mutilation. The Indians as well as the Eskimo occasionally pierced the septum of the nose, for nose pieces, while the Eskimo cut on each side a slit in the lower lip for the introduction of labrets. The Eskimo cut their hair short in a characteristic way, reminding strongly of certain monks; the Indians left their hair long. But at Anvik the Indians both cut their hair and wore labrets. They also used the wooden dish.

12. From all the preceding it appears that there must have been long and intensive contacts between the Yukon Eskimo and Indians; that, through war or in peace, they became mutually admixed; and that there were mutual cultural transmissions.

13. No further light for the present could be gained on the origin, antiquity, or early migrations of the Yukon Indian. It was determined, however, that he represents but one main physical type, and that this type is the same as that of the Indians of the Tanana and most other Alaskan Indians of the present time.

14. Exceptional skeletal remains were washed out from the bank at Bonasila. They are of Indians (?), but appear to be not those of the Yukon Indian of to-day. They present a problem which is to be solved by further exploration of the site.

15. The Eskimo of the lower parts of the river are in general better preserved and more coherent than the Indians. They are more tractable people and are taking more readily to work and civilization.

16. These Eskimo show, in the majority of cases, fairly typical Eskimo physiognomies. But their heads are not as those of the northern and eastern members of the race. The head is less narrow, less high, and has but now and then a suggestion of the scaphoid form that is so characteristic of the Greenland, Labrador, or northern Eskimo cranium; also, the angles of the jaws are less bulging and the lower jaws themselves do not appear so heavy.

17. The Yukon Eskimo burials are in all essentials much like those of the Indians up the river. Here again a cultural connection is very evident, in this case there having in all probability been an adaptation of methods by the Eskimo from the Indians.

18. Archeological prospects along the delta flats occupied by the Eskimo appear very limited.

St. Michael

Thursday, July 15. In the morning, after a good trip, reach St. Michael—quite a town from a distance, with many boats on the shore in front of it; but soon find that it is largely a dead city and ships' graveyard, not harbor. With the gold rush over, and the Government railroad from Seward to the Tanana, men and business have departed. Before the summer is over most of the large buildings and the fine large boats are to be demolished, and there will be left but a lonely village.

Unload my collections on the old dock. The postman kindly comes down from his place, which, with Mr. Williams's store, is far up on the hill above the harbor, the boxes are weighed and stamped for the parcel post, and relieved of them I go to the hotel and spend the day in visiting the teacher, the marshal, Mr. Williams's store, where I see a whole lot of recent Eskimo ceremonial masks decorated with colors and feathers, and the wireless station to send a message to the Institution. All native (Eskimo) character is almost gone from the place, what remains being mainly civilized mix bloods; and also little, if anything, remains to be collected, particularly now when all vacant land is thickly overgrown with grass and weeds. An occasional skull appears, one having been seen recently on the beach and one on Whale Island, but there is little besides, though things could be found doubtless by excavation.

Items of interest in Mr. Williams's store, and also in that of the N. C. Co., are various articles cut handsomely by the Eskimo from walrus ivory, both fresh and "fossil" (old and nicely discolored). There are beads, napkin rings, hairpins, cigar and cigarette holders, and other objects, generally exceedingly well made and decorated. It is, of course, well known that the Eskimo are very apt in this work; it is not, however, so well known that every island or village has certain specialties and types of decoration. This is so true that an observer before long can tell in many instances just where a given article has been made.

The fossil ivory industry is, it was soon learned, becoming a serious detriment to archeological work in these regions; of which, however, more later.

During the day I find that a small boat, the Silver Wave, belonging to Lomen Bros., will leave St. Michael for Nome that same evening. As this suits me very well I engage a berth on the boat, help to get my baggage on deck over a broken landing place, and get ready to depart.

At 6 leave St. Michael. The Silver Wave is a tub—too short—am told if it were of proper length they would have to have more help. Result—very unsteady. Fortunately the weather is fair, and the captain gives me a berth in his cabin. I had originally a stateroom, right in the back, with three bunks or beds, so small that one could barely get into the beds; but there came two mix-breed women with a girl and so they turned me out and put me in the "hole"—seven bunks in an ill-ventilated cabin under the deck in the stern of the ship. She is only about 60 feet long by about 15 broad. As it is I have a bunk in what would have been a well-ventilated little cabin, had it not been for rough weather which came on later in the night and which necessitated the closing of the window.

Friday, July 16. The rougher weather came and the boat began to pitch and roll. Luckily I slept for the most part. At about 6.30 the captain called me to breakfast with him. I got up rather groggy from the sea, but managed to wash my face and get to the little messroom, where the cook started to bring eggs, bacon, coffee, etc.—and then I had enough and had all I could do to reach my bunk again without getting seasick. I was kept on the verge of it until after 10, when we arrived off Nome.

This, however, meant no relief. There was no bay, no dock, no shelter for even such a small boat, and so we anchored a few hundred yards off the shore along which stretch the long line of unpainted (mostly), weather-beaten frame dwellings of this northern capital.

By this time I barely keep my feet, but they lowered a heavy rowboat, and several of us—there were four other men passengers—are helped to tumble in. I get back, and to steady myself catch hold of the borders of the boat, only for this the next moment to be dashed against the larger boat with my hand between. It was almost too much, the seasickness and added to it the very painful hurt. Fortunately the fingers were not crushed, just bruised badly—they might easily have been mashed to a pulp.

They row us in and we tumble out on the sand, and there is no one to receive anybody or take any notice. However, after a while there comes accidentally an old two-seated Ford. Three of us crowd in, leave the few bulkier things we brought along on the beach unguarded, and are driven to the other end of the town, to the Golden Gate Hotel.

This is a big old frame building, out of plumb in several directions. There is no one in the spacious lobby. However, after a time some one, not looking much like a proprietor—more like a groom at work—comes out from somewhere and without much ado shows us each to a room. Mine smells musty, old sweat and blankets and mould, and looks out on a dilapidated tin roof—must ask for another. Finally get one "front" for $3—the other was only $2.50. Musty too, but fairly large, and with a double bed with, at last again, clean covers.

Unshaven—in the khaki worse for rain and work—with fingers so sore they can not bear a touch, feverish, and head still dizzy—I go to lunch. On my way stop at Coast Guard building—no one there; at the Roads Commission—office empty; at the Customs—not a soul. But at the courthouse they tell me where Judge Lomen sometimes lunches, and so I go there. It is near by—nothing here is far distant—and so I soon sit at Mrs. Niebeling's, a justly famed Nome's "for everybody," at a clean table and to a big civilized dinner. Order reindeer roast—find it this time, in my condition, not much to boast of—one could hardly tell it from similarly done beef—and begin on the coffee when in comes a young man, asks me if I am the doctor, and introduces himself as Mr. Alfred Lomen, the judge's son; and in a minute or two in comes the judge himself, a kindly man of something over 70. It all makes me feel a lot better, though still weak. Have rest of lunch together and talk, but do not get very far in anything that interests me; but the judge takes me to the Catholic Fathers here, who have an orphanage somewhere near where I want next to go, and leaves me with Father Post. The father is kindly, but himself does not know much, and so makes arrangements for me to meet next day Father Lafortune, who works among the Eskimo.

Then I go once more to the Coast Guard building and meet Captain Ross, in charge. The Bear, I learn, has just arrived here, and is soon going north. She is my godsend, evidently. So Captain Ross sends me over to see Captain Cochran. The meeting is good, and I have a promise to be taken to the cape and some other stations. But the Bear goes first to coal at St. Michael, and then will make a visit to St. Lawrence Island. So I propose to go to Teller first, see what I can of the Chukchee-Eskimo "battle field" near there, and be taken from there by the Bear. The priests give me some hope for getting there over an inland route, but later on tell me one of the boats of the orphanage which is located in that region is away and the other has broken down, so that there will be no possibility of making the trip through the Salt Lake and to Teller. But the Victoria (the Seattle boat to come to-night) will go to Teller. Unfortunately, if weather is rough or there are no passengers she will not stop at Nome, so all is again uncertain. The Silver Wave goes northward next Monday, but I have a dread of her. All of which is put down merely to show slightly what an explorer without a boat of his own may expect in these regions.

Nome, Saturday, July 17. Poor night again—it surely seems to be the fashion in Alaska. The Victoria came at night (or what should be night). The ramshackle big frame hotel, with partitions so thin that they transmit every sound, got about 40 guests, and next room to mine came to be occupied by two women who had visitors, female and male, were taken out for a ride after 12 and returned about 2 a. m. One of them, or their visitor, had a perpetual vocal gush, the others chimed in now and then, and a strong male voice added the bass from time to time, with old Fords noisily coming and going outside, and people going up and down the stairs. So sleep for some hours was out of the question. And there was nothing to do about it.

After breakfast went to meet Father Lafortune, a Catholic missionary priest to the Eskimo, who speaks their language well and who promised to accompany me to their habitations; and together we spent the forenoon on one side of the town, among the natives of the Diomedes, and most of the afternoon on the other end among the people from King Island. It was a good experience, resulting in seeing a good many of the Eskimo and getting some information, a few photographs, and quite a few old specimens. Then we went to the parsonage, where I got a few good photos from Father Lafortune's collection. He is a matter-of-fact, always ready to help, natural he-man, rather than a priest and teacher, and a great practical helper to the natives, who all are his friends.

Also saw Judge Lomen, arranged for lecture to-morrow, saw Captain Ross about the Bear, and various other people; but there is not much to be obtained here about old sites and specimens. Telegraphed Institution, and also to the Russian consul at Montreal for permission to visit the Great Diomede Island. Evening packing. Natives bring walrus ivory, some excellent pieces. Weather whole day cloudy, threatening, occasional showers, cool but not cold.

Sunday, July 18. Heavy sleep 10 p. m. to 7 a. m., regardless of a typewriter going in the next room and the women (now quieter, however) on the other side.

Forenoon spent in talking with people and attending a little service, for the natives mainly, at the Catholic Church of Fathers Post and Lafortune. Poor, simple, but sincere and interesting.

After lunch more consultations, then a visit to bank where they smelt gold dust (even to-day), and then a lecture on "The Peopling of America," at the courthouse. Well attended, and many came to shake hands after. Then a dinner, with examination of a number of interesting and valuable specimens, at Judge Lomen's. Among other objects there is a duplicate, in ivory, of the broken double ax from the Yukon, the two grooves and even the break being well represented. Evening—examination of specimens at Reverend Baldwin's. Cloudy, cool, threatening, but stormy weather abating.

About Nome

Due to the delay with the Bear, the next few days until July 23 were spent at and about Nome. They proved more profitable than was expected. Numbers of interesting specimens were found in the possession of some of the dealers, and more of those of scientific value were secured either through gift or by purchase for the National Museum. These collections consisted of objects of stone—i. e., spear points, knives, axes, etc.—but above all of utensils, spear points, effigies, etc., some of them of remarkable artistry and decoration, were made of walrus ivory that through age has turned "fossil."

Among the stone objects were several axes made of the greenish, hard nephrite which came from the "Jade Mountain" on the Kobuk River. The objects from fossil ivory came principally from the St. Lawrence Island, the Diomede Islands, Cape Wales, unknown parts of the nearer Asiatic coast, and here and there from the Seward Peninsula.

A large majority of these objects are now collected by the natives themselves, who assiduously excavate the old sites, and are sold at so much per pound as "fossil ivory" to crews of visiting boats or to merchants at Nome and elsewhere, to be worked up into beads, pendants, and other objects of semi-jewelry that find ready sale among the whites.

In addition a certain part of these objects is reserved by the natives, especially those of the Diomede Islands, and worked up by themselves. The more striking the coloration of the ivory, the more desirable it is for the beads, etc., and the less chance of the object, regardless of its archeological or artistic value, to be preserved. The most artistic pieces, nevertheless, are usually disposed of separately, bringing higher prices than could be obtained for beads.

In this way hundreds of pounds collectively of ancient implements, statuettes, etc., are recovered each year from the old sites on both the Asiatic and the American side of the Bering Sea, and are cut up, their scientific value being lost. Most of the fossil ivory, fortunately, consists of objects which, though showing man's workmanship, are of relatively little scientific value; nevertheless it was seen repeatedly that specimens of real archeological value and artistic interest would be destroyed if their color and texture made them suitable for some of the higher-priced jewelry.

The Eskimo, as repeatedly found later, have not the slightest hesitation about excavating the old sites, and whatever they can not use, which as a rule includes animal and human bones, and in fact everything else except stone tools and ivory, is left in the excavated soil and lost. The amount of destruction thus accomplished by the women, children, and even men each year is large and promises to grow from year to year as long as the supply lasts. This means that unless scientific exploration of these old sites is hastened there will be little left before long to study.

The fossil ivory trade has become such that many of the officers and the crews even of the visiting vessels, including the revenue cutters, engage in buying the ivory from the natives and cutting it up in their spare time into beads and other ornaments. A captain of a well-known boat who with his crew visited in the summer of 1926 a small island on which there is an extensive frozen refuse heap containing many bones and tools of the natives who once occupied the place, exclaimed, "Gad, there's $50,000 of ivory in sight."

The boat crew took away about "2 bushels" of it, or all that could be removed from the extensive frozen pile. I saw some of this ivory later, all cut up, but with a number of the pieces still showing old human handiwork, and some beads made of other parts of the lot were brought later to my office in Washington.

If American archeology and ethnology are to learn what they need in these regions it is absolutely essential that they take early steps for a proper exploration of the old sites, besides which every effort should be made by the intelligent traders, missionaries, teachers, and officials to save the more artistic and characteristic pieces of human workmanship in the old ivory, and bring them with such data as may be available to the attention of scientific men or institutions. It would in fact be of much value, and the writer has suggested this to the Governor of Alaska, to establish a local museum at Nome, where such objects could be gathered and saved to science.

ABORIGINAL REMAINS

The coast of which Nome is now the human center, up to Cape Wales, together with the nearer islands, was occupied by the Maiglemiut (Zagoskin), or Mahlemut (Dall et al.) subdivision of the Eskimo. They were a strong group, and great traders. During the Russian times the Aziags, from what is now the Sledge Island, with probably others from the coast, visited yearly for trading purposes as far as St. Michael and the Yukon, while the Wales people were known to trade up to fairly recently as far as Kotzebue, both at the same time having trading connections with Asia.

Of these natives, with the exception of those at Wales, there remains but little. On Sledge Island there are only two dead villages, and on the coast from Port Clarence to far east of Nome there is not a single existing native settlement. A few remnants of the people live in Nome, but they have lost all individuality.

Dead sites are known to exist from west to east, at Cape Wooley; at the mouth of the Sonora or Quartz Creek; at the mouth of the Penny River—some natives are said to still go to fish there in summer; at the mouth of a small river 3 miles east of Nome; both west (a larger village) and east (a small site) of Cape Nome; and 18 miles east of Nome (the "Nook" village).

Most of these sites have been peopled within the memory of the oldest inhabitants.

Thanks to the kind aid of the Reverend Doctor Baldwin, I was able to visit several of the sites east of Nome, more particularly the Nook village, and it was still possible to find two skeletons and a skull on these sites.

The Nook site must have been one of considerable importance. It was an especially large village, or rather two near-by villages, in one of which I counted upward of 30 depressions, remnants of the semisubterranean houses with vestibules, such as are elsewhere described from the Yukon.

Here a clear illustration was had of what changes on sites of this nature may be wrought in a short time by the elements.

Fifteen years ago, I was assured, there were still many burials and skeletal remains scattered along the coast near the Nook village. Then in 1913 came a great southwestern storm, which at Nome ripped up the cemetery and carried away some coffins with bodies, scattering them over the plains in the vicinity. Since that storm not a vestige remains of any of the burials or bones near the large Nook village. On prolonged examination I found nothing but sands overgrown with the usual coast vegetation. Everything had been carried away or buried and the pits of the houses were evidently themselves largely filled in.

The burials on this coast west of Golovnin Bay were evidently all of a simpler nature than those on Norton Sound and the Yukon. There is plenty of driftwood, but for some reason this was not hewn into boards with which to make burial boxes. The dead were merely laid upon and covered with the driftwood, though this was done, as later seen on Golovnin Bay, rather ingeniously. One of the two skeletons found near Cape Nome, an adult male, lay simply among the rocks on the lower part of the slope of the hill.

Old sites, though often small, may be confidently looked for along all these coasts in the shelter of every promontory, at the mouth of each stream, and on the spits which separate the ocean from inland lagoons (as in the case of the Nook village).

Friday, July 23. Received word to be on the Bear, which arrived yesterday, before 10 o'clock this morning. Due to the shallowness of the water the boat, though drawing only 18 feet, stands far out from the shore and makes a pretty sight, looks also quite large in these waters where there is nothing above a few hundred tons.

Am soon at home. The captain's cabin, with three beds, is nicely furnished, but has the disadvantage of being situated at the very rear of the vessel, above and beyond the screw. There is another passenger, a teacher-nurse for Barrow. I take the isolated bunk on the right, and this becomes my corner for the next six weeks. Toward 11 a. m. the wind begins to freshen, soon after which we leave for St. Lawrence Island. After midday the wind increases considerably, waves rise, and the Bear begins to plunge. Before the afternoon is over the wind blows a half gale and we are being tossed about a great deal. Have to take to bed. The boat is being tossed up and down and in all directions. Resist in vain, then at last become ill, and this passes into a long spell of about the worst seasickness I have ever endured. There were a good many sick on the Bear that evening and night.

Saturday, July 24. Wind and water slowly quieting down, and the boat is approaching Cape Chibukak off St. Lawrence Island, where is located the main of the two villages of the island, known as Gambell. The Bear gradually approaches to within about a half mile of the shore, where we anchor. The water here is quieter, and before long a large baidar (native skin boat) is shoved off from the land and approaches our boat. This is the usual procedure when the sea permits. There are no docks, and closer in there is danger from rocks and shallows. There are a number of natives in the boat, together with the local teacher, and each one, including the teacher, carries a smaller or larger bag of fossil ivory, various articles made of fresh ivory, and some other objects, for sale to the officers and crew of the boat. They climb on our deck, where they evidently feel quite at home, and in a few minutes carry on a busy trade and barter with everyone. I succeed in getting a fine fossil ivory pick; but the main supply had evidently been preempted and I only see it later in the possession of the officers, who kindly let me have what is of less value to them and more to science.

Some of the Eskimo bring, in addition to the ivory, other articles for sale—fish, birds, and the meat of the reindeer, which are for the ship's messes and constitute very welcome additions to the diet. Besides all this the natives also frequently bring skins of foxes and even bear, which also find buyers. In return the boats carry off the mail and such supplies as they have obtained by barter or purchase. These visits are mutually enjoyable as well as profitable occasions, and afford one the opportunity of seeing many of the natives, even if prevented, as in this case, from visiting their village.

The Eskimo impress one here as in every further locality as a lively, cheerful, and intelligent lot, good traders, and advancing in many ways in civilization. The latter is perhaps especially true of the St. Lawrence Eskimo, who from what was seen now and later must have had especially good missionaries and teachers as well as a considerable freedom from bad influences from the outside.

Savonga

About 40 miles east-southeast of Gambell is the second and smaller village of the St. Lawrence Island, known as Savonga, which was the object of our next visit. It was here that we were to buy two or three reindeer carcasses, the animals being killed and dressed for us by the natives in an astonishingly short time. The little village is prettily situated on the green flat of the elevated beach. It consists of less than a dozen modern small frame dwellings. One of these, that of the headman, Sapilla (who regrettably died during the following winter), is of two stories—a unique feature for an Eskimo dwelling in these waters. Here we were visited by three boats and the previous scenes were repeated, only, due to the proximity of a rich old site, there were more objects of old ivory.

The captain made me acquainted with Sapilla, whom I found remarkably white-man-like in behavior. Then the ship doctor, not feeling very well after yesterday's storm, filled my pockets with tooth forceps and I was taken to the shore, to see the women and children who would not venture out and to attend to any tooth extraction that might be needed.

We were considerably farther from the shore than even at Gambell, but I was sent on one of our motor boats and so it did not take long to land. Upon landing we came to bright and clean and smiling little groups of women and children, full of color in their cotton dresses, and I was soon in one of their houses. All these dwellings were built by the Eskimo themselves, and it was a most gratifying surprise to find them as clean and wholesome as any similar dwelling of whites could be. Moreover, these houses were furnished with stoves, chairs, tables, crockery and other utensils exactly as if they were those of a good class of whites, with the smell of the seal, which as a rule is so clinging to and characteristic of the Eskimo house, barely perceptible.

It was a busy and interesting hour that I spent at Savonga. I saw probably all the inhabitants that were at home; pulled five teeth—the teeth of these quite civilized people are no more as sound and solid as were those of their fathers and mothers—and found and purchased cheaply many smaller objects of fossil ivory, which they excavate from a near-by old site.

These objects are obtained from an old village located on the coast about 4 miles farther east, on or near the North Cape, visible from our boat. The natives excavate in this site as far as it thaws every summer, and find many objects. They, moreover, make an occasional trip to the two little rocky Punuk islands located about 12 miles south of the East Cape of the St. Lawrence, which, though accurately charted by the Russians as early as 1849, yet until the summer of 1926 remained practically unknown. On one of these islands there is now known to exist an extensive frozen refuse heap, containing large quantities of old ivory implements as well as other objects of scientific interest.

The land visit was a great tonic after the wild and mean preceding night, and I did not relish at all the Bear's whistle calling us away. What a great thing it would be if a revenue cutter could for just one season be given to science!

Sunday, July 25. Left St. Lawrence 9.30 last night, sea quieting. We are now passing, on our right, King Island, isolated rocky mass. Day fair, cool, water getting smooth.

About 50 miles north one can now see plainly Cape Prince of Wales (pl. 5, a), and to the left, hazy, the two Diomedes. We are now 95 miles from St. Lawrence. On really clear days one could see from here even the Asiatic heights. Therefore, from the latter on a clear day one sees the Diomedes, the Cape, the highlands beyond, and King Island, while a little farther south there is on such a day a good view from Asia of the St. Lawrence Island. All this was in good weather easily reached from Asia and must have been utilized from the earliest time in passing onward from one continent to the other.

We can now see also much of the coast in the direction of Teller and the York Mountains behind.

From hour to hour there is growing on one a profound appreciation that the Bering Sea was a most favorable amphitheater of migration, particularly from the less hospitable Asia eastward into America. And practically the whole trend of native movements to this day is from Asia toward America.

Later in the day, now a fine, bright summer day, arrive off Wales. Here again anchor far out. Last year the Bear grounded here and our captain is apprehensive. Wales is a straggly village—or two villages—located on a large, flat sandy spit, dotted with water pools, and projecting from the Seward Peninsula toward Asia. Near by are old sites, probably of much archeological value, and in these for some weeks now excavations have been carried on by Dr. D. Jenness, of the Victoria Memorial Museum of Ottawa. Here also is located an exceptionally educated and observant teacher, Mr. Clark M. Garber.

A big umiak comes to us with many natives bringing the usual trade, and on it, much to my pleasure, are both Doctor Jenness and Mr. Garber. Doctor Jenness asks to go with us to the Little Diomede to do some work there. He has had encouraging experience here, finding evidences of occupation dating many centuries back, and has collected some valuable specimens, including a few with the fine old curved-line decoration. Mr. Garber gives me some valuable information about the skeletal remains of this place and engages to collect for me, who can not leave the boat, a few boxes of these specimens, which promise is fulfilled later.

The natives are a jolly and sturdy lot, even though they bear, and that since their earliest contacts with whites, a rather bad reputation. That this is founded in some fact, at least, is told us in the annals of the Russians, and is also shown by the little structure on the hillside off which we are anchored. This has a tragic and at the same time quaint history. It is the grave of a missionary Doctor Thornton, who was killed, we are told, by two local young fellows. These were apprehended, sentenced to die, and were to be shot by their relatives, which all evidently found quite just. On the appointed day they were taken out to the burial ground, helped to prepare their burials, one asked yet to be allowed to go to the village to get a drink, went and returned, and then both were shot. The executioner of the boy who went to get the drink is said to have been his uncle.

The Diomedes

Late that night we leave slowly for the Diomede Islands, the nearer of which is only about 18 miles distant. The two islands lie, as is well known, just about in the middle of the Bering Strait. One is known as the larger or Russian, the other as the smaller or American Diomede. The boundary line between Russia and the United States passes between the two. Both islands have been occupied since far back by the Eskimo. To-day there is one small village on the American and two small settlements on the Russian island.

July 26. Up at 5.40, breakfast 6, and off in one of our staunch motor boats, with Jenness, for the Little Diomede. Countless birds flying in streams about the island.

The island is just a big rock, with barren flat top and steep sides, covered where inclination permits with great numbers of larger and smaller granite bowlders. There is neither tree nor brush here. The village, if it deserves that name, with a school, occupies an easier slope, facing the larger island across a strait seemingly about a mile broad. There are but a few dwellings, due to local necessities and conditions built above ground and outside of stone. One that was entered showed a dark fore-room, a storage attic, and a cozy somewhat lighted living and sleeping back room, entered through a low and narrow entrance. The houses seem to be built on old dÉbris of habitations, and there are refuse heaps, one of which was eventually worked in by Doctor Jenness, though without much profit.

The bowlder-covered slope above the village was the burial ground of the natives. (Pl. 5, b.) Unfortunately most of the skeletal remains have been collected by a former teacher and then left and lost. With Doctor Jenness and the present teacher, himself an Eskimo, we climb from bowlder to bowlder and collect what remains. The work is both risky to the limbs and difficult in other respects. The large bowlders are piled up many deep; and there being little or no soil, there are all sorts of holes and crevices between and underneath the stones. Deep in these crevices, completely out of sight or reach, nest innumerable birds (the little auk), and their chatter is heard everywhere. But into these impenetrable crevices also have fallen many of the bones and skulls of the bodies that have been "buried" among the bowlders, and also doubtless many of the smaller articles laid by the bodies.

The burials here were made in any suitable space among the rocks. The body was laid in this space, without any coffin and evidently not much clothing. About it and on the rocks above were placed various articles. We found clay lamps, remnants of various wooden objects, the bone end pieces of lances, and finally one or two pieces of driftwood to mark the place. Here the bodies decayed and what was left had either tumbled or was washed by rain into the crevices. It was suggested, however, that much may have been taken by dogs and foxes. Some of the skulls and here and there one of the larger bones remained, to eventually be covered by moss and eroded. With the help of Doctor Jenness and the teacher I was able to find five male and seven female crania in fair condition, which will be of much value in the study of this interesting contingent of the Eskimo.

No evidence in the graveyard among the rocks of any great antiquity, nothing more than perhaps a few scores of years. But traces of older burials would surely be completely lost among the rocks, though they may lie in the deep crevices and holes where they can not be reached.

Upon return am treated to a cup of good hot coffee—never can get a real hot cup of coffee on the boat—and excellent bread, made by the Eskimo wife of the teacher; and see his family of fine chubby children. Can not help but kiss his girl of about 10—she is so fresh and innocent and pretty. Obtain also from the wife of the teacher a good old hafted "jade" ax, though she hesitates much to part with it—it used to belong to her grandmother; and from the teacher himself a number of interesting articles in old ivory. Leave Doctor Jenness. Have learned to like him much, both for his careful work and personally, in our short association; and at 11 a. m. return to the boat.

Cold, but calm and sunny. Sit on boxes at the very end of the good old Bear. See Asia, the two Diomedes, and Seward Peninsula, all in easy reach, all like so many features of a big lake. Pass around Greater Diomede.

There never could have been any large settlement on the Diomede Islands—they are not fit for it. The Great Diomede has just two mediocre sites, which are occupied now each by about half a dozen dwellings. A small old settlement, a few stone houses, has also once existed, I am told, on the elevated top of the larger island opposite the Little Diomede. On the latter only the one visited—everywhere else the steep slopes or walls come right down into the water, and there is even no landing possible (or only a precarious one at best) except where we landed. The old natives of the Little Diomede are said to have believed that another village had once existed farther out from the present site and that it has become submerged. The evidence cited (told by the native teacher) is not conclusive, and no indication of such a settlement could be seen from the beach. But in front and possibly beneath the native houses, in the old refuse, there may be remnants of older dwellings.

Just passed from Monday to Tuesday, and then back to Monday, all in a few hours—the day boundary. We are now just north of the Bering Strait and see all beautifully, in moderate bluish haze.

A grand panorama of utmost anthropological interest. A big lake, scene of one of the main migrational episodes of mankind. Sea just wrinkling some, day calm, mostly sunny, mildly pleasant, with an undertone of cold.

How trivial feel here the contentions about the possibilities of Asiatic migrations into America. There can be no such problem with those who have seen what we now are witnessing. Here is a great open pond which on such days as this could be traversed by anyone having as much as a decent canoe. As a matter of fact it has always been and is still thus traversed. (Pl. 6, a.) The Chukchee carried on a large trade with America, so much so that we find the Russians complaining of their interfering with their trade. (Pl. 6, b, c.) The Diomede people stand in connection on one hand with the northeastern Asiatics and on the other hand with the whites as far as Nome, where most of them go every summer to sell their ivory and its products and bring back all sorts of provisions. And in the same way the King Islanders come every summer to Nome, on the east end of which, as the Diomedes on the west, they have their summer habitations. (Pl. 7, a, b.) Only a year or two ago, the natives tell, an Eskimo woman of St. Lawrence Island set out alone in a canoe with her child to visit a cousin on the Asiatic coast, 50 miles distant, and returned safe and sound after the visit was over.

To bed dressed—the captain tells me we shall soon be at Shishmaref, on the north shore of the Seward Peninsula, and that he will have me called, if I want to visit the village.

Awake 11.30 p. m. At 11.45 word comes that we have arrived and a boat is getting ready. On deck in five minutes. Of course it is still light—there is no real night any more in these regions.

Have a cinnamon roll—the night specialty for the crew on the Bear—and a bowl of coffee. The natives, two boats full, already coming, and a fine full-blooded lot they show themselves to be. They are accompanied by Mr. Wegner, a big, pleasant young teacher.

Leave natives trading and set off in ship's boat. The Bear is anchored about 1? miles off. Fortunately fairly quiet or we should not be able to go ashore. Teacher and a young English-speaking native go with us. We have the launch and the skin whaleboat. Anchor first off shallow beach and transfer into the skin boat for the landing.

Tuesday, July 27. It is about 12.30 a. m. Many native women, youngsters, and some men gather about us at the school. Talk to them—explain what I want, which is mainly skulls and bones—all quite agreed. Take two young natives, some bags, and proceed to where they lead me.

Find, about half a mile from the present village, a big and important old site, which existed up to the white man's time. But dunes on which burials were made and house sites have been largely graded by a fox-farm keeper and trader, Mr. Goshaw. He had gathered many skulls—shows me a photo of two rows, at least 40—will not tell what he did with them. Says he sent "many things to the Smithsonian," but can give no details, "and to the universities," but will not mention which. Also "buried a lot." Bad business.

Gathering what is possible from the dÉbris thrown out by the Eskimo working for the fox farm, we proceed rapidly from mound (dune) to mound. Find burials still on the surface in situ—i. e., nearly buried by the rising carpet of the vegetation—but skulls gone. Many of those on remaining heaps imperfect, but at least something can be saved. Collect all that is worth collecting. See Mr. Goshaw—get but little out of him. Donates a few archeological specimens of no great value—has no more.

We hurry on to the other village and burial ground, almost a mile west of the present settlement. Find only a small pile of bones, with one whole male skeleton of fairly recent date.

Then back, as fast as possible, the Indians carrying the bags with bones, and load on boat. My shoes and feet have long since become thoroughly wet, after which Mr. Wegner loaned me wool socks and native shoes that protected my feet. But now these must be left behind and I have to get into my wet, cold shoes—socks too wet. Officers in a hurry to get back. It is now 3.00 a. m.; the sun rose about 1.30. Pay my men, change shoes, photograph women (pl. 8) and then men—all pleasant and willing. See a few poor articles of archeological nature—not worth getting; and after a hearty handshake with the teacher we take off through the somewhat rougher water to the whaleboat, then on to the motor boat and the ship. Arrive with six bags of specimens, reaching boat just a little after 4. Sleepy captain meets us, but luckily shows no grudge, though this stop and his loss of sleep were essentially for me. Though it would seem they could have readily waited for our going ashore until morning, or have given me a little more time at the Diomedes, which would have brought us here later. Am too much awake now and worked up to sleep. Lie down a while but fully awake. Total sleep last night 2½ hours. But it was worth it, except for the vandalism.

Pack—inadequate boxes—until 3.30 p. m. Whole collection made last night put in order. But back and knees stiff. Weather two-thirds fair (my own estimate), some wind, sea choppy. Lie down but can not sleep.

At 5.30 off Kotzebue. Due to shallowness of water must anchor far out of sight. At 6 go to land in ship's larger launch. Waves rather bad, much tossing about and spray, have to get behind the canvas canopy that is raised over one seat. It is 15 miles from where the Bear is anchored to the Kotzebue village—over two hours of (at times) rather violent tossing up and down and sidewise. Run for a part of the time not far from beach—a number of isolated, orderly fish camps—lots of fish drying. Wonder at not getting seasick again—it must be the open air or difference of movement.

Kotzebue village lies around a point on a not very high, flat bank, facing the bay of three rivers (Selavik, Kobuk, Noatak). As we approach I count over 50 clean tents of Eskimos, about 15 frame houses and stores, and many skin and other boats on beach or in water. Many natives hurry to meet us.

Go ashore. Thomas Berryman, the trader, with the local judge and two or three other whites come also to meet us. After getting acquainted inquire about possibility of exploring the Kobuk and reaching the Koyukuk and Yukon. But all that I learn is uncertain and discouraging. There are but few native villages on the river, all Eskimo; and higher up the water is rapid, necessitating much hauling of the boat by the natives, which is costly; upon which follow three or four days' portage. The trip would cost much, and no loads over 40 pounds to a man could be carried.

Only a few old sites hereabouts are known by those whom I have a chance to ask. Say there is a somewhat important one at Cape Krusenstern. Mr. Berryman has from there a big stone (slate) lance. He also has a huge piece of serpentine, over 80 pounds in weight, with a moderate depression in top and some cutting (old native work), said to have been used as a lamp. Wants to keep this and spearhead, but donates an old rusty tin box full of smaller things and promises to obtain skulls for us; and I get a similar promise from a man (probably one of Mr. Berryman's storekeepers) from farther up the country.

Later meet here Mr. Chance, the school superintendent of these parts; a young and not prepossessing man, but one who steadily improves on closer acquaintance. Learn from him of a skeleton recently dug out from the ground under the schoolhouse.

See many natives, all Eskimo, good looking, clean, and kind. Some mix bloods, but the majority pure. Good to moderate stature, well proportioned though not fat body, medium to somewhat lighter brown color, physiognomies less typical Eskimo than hitherto and often strongly like Indian. Too late and dusky to photograph.

Go to see the teacher and find that the skeleton he dug out was placed by him in an open box, pushed as far as possible under the rafters of the floor of the schoolhouse and covered with gravel and earth. There are four of us—start hurriedly digging for it, remove with shovel, hoe and arms about a ton of the "filling"—and can not reach the box. It is 10 p. m., the wind rising, officer comes and urges me to get back to the boat. So must leave with promise that the box will be gotten out and await me on our return from the north. Have by this time decided the best policy will be to go with the Bear as far as she may go. Load empty boxes, some packing—and one of the young white men who have been digging with us runs up from the distant schoolhouse announcing that they "struck" the box. Urge him to run back as fast as he can and get it. Luckily the postmaster and a good many others who came to see us off delay us; also the transfer of the mail and boxes to the larger boat. Finally, after a good many anxious looks, I see at last the two young men appear, one with a wheelbarrow on which is the box of bones. Bones look not very old, and Eskimoid at first sight, but take box, which contains a good deal of gravel, carry it through the very interested Eskimo to the boat, all get in, hurried good-bys to everybody, and we are off.

A two and a half hours' trip once more, and the last more than half of it very rough. Such tossing and dancing and dipping and twisting, with the spray, fortunately not cold, shooting high up at times, or an angry wave splashing over. But the boat is large and strong and so eventually we reach the Bear, which was completely out of sight until about an hour after we started, and in a few minutes off we go to the north. A little fruit, bed, and know nothing more until near 7 the next morning. It was a long day—over 25 hours in a stretch without a wink. Yet did not feel bad; the work and good nature of people about and those met with, with some success, are good tonics.

Wednesday, July 28. All of us have to consult the calendar to be sure of the day and date.

Sort and wash Berryman's specimens—a nice lot of little things, mainly of stone, slate, flint, etc.

Then go after my bones. Find the spray made the earth and gravel in the box thoroughly wet, so that it is necessary carefully to excavate all the bones. Find a male, rather short-statured, typically Eskimo. May have been a burial of the Russian times. Wire for all details. Must dry bones. Meanwhile try to catch up with notes. Toward evening expect to be in another village. Weather fair. Have passed the Arctic Circle during night, but it is not cold nor in any way strange here. Sunset coloring lasts long and passes into that of sunrise—no real night, no stars; but moon seen late at night and far to the south.

May this weather continue, for in rough weather landing at any of these places—there are no harbors whatever and always shallows and bars and shoals—would be extremely risky or impossible and my work, for which I feel ever more eager, would suffer. If only I could see all worth seeing, and stay a little longer when I find what I am after.

We reach Kevalina. It is just a schoolhouse and about seven sod houses. Only a native school teacher, from whom I do not get much.

No remains or old site very near, but an old village, with "good many things," exists on the Kevalina River within a few hours' distance (by canoe) from Kevalina.

Natives bring old adzes (mounted by them, however), and a harpoon handle from the old site—bought.

Spend rest of day in washing, sorting, and packing specimens.

After supper am invited to the officers' room and given by Lieut. M. C. Anderson a fine selection of old ivory harpoon heads and other things. Many of these are from the old site on the St. Lawrence Island, and especially from little isles off that island named Punuk. All this strengthens the importance of those islands for regular exploration.

Thursday, July 29. In anticipation of being called up again during the night, at Point Hope, which is evidently another important spot for archeological exploration, for the natives are said to bring many old articles for sale each year, I do not undress and go to bed earlier, but have, because of the anticipation, closeness of air, and a cat jumping on my face just as I am dozing off, a very poor night; and no call came after all. In the morning there are cold showers, the sky is much clouded, and the wind keeps on blowing from the north-northwest, threatening, the officers say, to drive the ice toward this shore, which would be bad for us. It is cool and disagreeable. We have anchored to the south of the spit on which stands the village and can not unload or get ashore. Nor can the natives come here to us.

The village consists of a schoolhouse, a little mission (Rev. F. W. Goodman), an accumulation of houses, semi-subterraneans, and tents. A few tents are also seen a good distance to the right—a reindeer camp. Otherwise there is nothing but the long, low, sandy, and grassy spit projecting far out into the ocean.

Later. The north-northwest still blows, and so the ship has to anchor to the south of the long spit on the point of which is the village. Of this but little can be seen, just a few houses, and it seems near and insignificant.

The captain is evidently waiting again for the natives to come out, and I am helpless. Finally, however, a boat is made ready and I am taken to the shore with the mail. This is piled on the beach, and with two officers we start to walk toward the dwellings opposite to us, which are the mission. Heavy walking in the loose sand and gravel of the steep beach, and as we ascend it is seen the buildings which seemed so near to the shore are about a mile or more away.

A man coming toward us—the missionary, Archdeacon Goodman. Tell him my mission; says he has some business on the ship, but will come, and there will be no trouble in helping me to a "good deal of what I want," which sounds fine.

In the absence of the missionary, go to see the teacher. The school is over a mile in the direction toward the point. Find him at home and helpful. In 15 minutes, with his aid, engage two native boys, give two sacks to each, and send them out over the long flats (old beaches) to pick up every skull and jaw they can find. They go cheerfully, and we depart shortly after to see Mr. La Voy, a movie-picture man, who has been staying here for some time making movie pictures of the natives, and at the same time collecting all the antiquities they could bring him. We go to see his collection, but find him not home; has gone for mail. The rare mail in these regions is, of course, the most important of events. So back to the school (a good many rods from the sod house part of the native village to the left), and then—it is now near noon—to the mission, a good mile from the school and more from the village.

Road staked on one side with whale ribs about 2 rods distance. Flats on both sides show many parts of bleached human bones. They are a part of the old extensive burial grounds. Unfortunately, about two years ago the predecessor of the present missionary had most of the skulls and bones collected and put in a hole in the new cemetery, now seen in the distance to the right of the mission. This new burial place is surrounded by a unique whale-rib fence. Reach mission, but no one there. Does not look good. Try one building and door after another—no one—learn later that the missionary has no family. Twenty minutes to 1. Nothing remains but to go back to the school for some lunch. So leave my raincoat, camera, and remaining bags (expecting to do main work on the buried bones) and hurry back to the school, which I reach just after 1, and, thanks to their late clock, just in time for a modest lunch, but with a real hot cup of coffee. Queer that the only genuinely hot cups of coffee I got on this journey were furnished by Eskimo—for Mrs. Moyer, the wife of the teacher, is an Eskimo.

Then comes the mail and Mr. La Voy, and I go to see the latter's collection.

Find a mass of old and modern material, of stone, bone, and wood. All the older things are from an old site on the point. It is an important and large site, as found later (at least 50 houses), which the natives (getting coffee, tea, chewing gum, chocolate, candy, etc., for what they find) are now busy digging over and ruining for scientific exploration. Women dig as well as men, confining themselves to from 2 to 3 uppermost feet that have thawed; but even thus finding a lot of specimens. Bones, of course, and other things are left and no observation whatever on the site is made. It is a pity.

Mr. La Voy donates some stone objects, mainly scrapers, and then I go with a native he employs to the "diggings." Find much already turned over—one woman actually digging—but very much more still remaining. Examine everything—site evidently not ancient but of the richest—and then return with the woman to get some of her "cullings."

On the way am called by a man whose sod house (semisubterranean) we pass. We sit on the top of his house and soon establish a regular trading place, with a big flat stone as a counter. One after another the native women and men bring out a few articles, good, bad, or indifferent, lay them on the stone, I select what I want, lay so much money against the articles, and usually get them. Everybody in the best of humor. The natives surely enjoy the sport, and so do I, if only I was not hurried. Thus trade for at least an hour until my pockets are bulging. Then once more to the school and once more to the mission. In the latter get my things, as nobody is there yet, Doctor Goodman having doubtless been delayed on the boat. I hear that there are prospects of both him and Mr. La Voy going north with us on a little vacation. Send the coat with spare bags to the school by a native I meet, while I go to look at the rib cemetery and photograph it. Find the bones have been interred in its middle and a low mound raised over them, so there is for the moment nothing to do there. Therefore go over the plain a little farther, picking up a few odds and ends, a damaged skull, and finally, from a fairly recent burial box, a fine skull with its lower jaw. Then attempt to pass a pool of water and sink in the mud to above my rubber boots, so that the icy water runs in, wetting me thoroughly, and gurgling henceforth with every step in the shoes. Try to get these off but can not. The feet must be congested. So spill out all I can by raising the feet, and then do some hard walking which takes away the cold.

Evening, though no dusk approaching. Sit on gravel to empty more water from shoes, but can still hardly get one off. And just as I succeed I see, across another long pool, two men, one with a cap of an officer of the ship, waving their arms, evidently signifying to me that the time is up and I am to return. Call to them to wait. Impossible to make them hear me or for me to hear them. All here is elusive—enchanted-like—distances, sounds. Finally they stop. I catch up with them after passing a broad ditch, and learn that the ship is about to sail and they are waiting for me. My coat, however, and collections are still at the school, over a mile away, so once more it is necessary to hurry to the school and then back to the ship. So things go when promises go wrong and one is alone under a constant apprehension.

The boys collected four bags full. Moreover, they undertook to bring them toward the boat, and are bringing the last two just as I approach the beach. There are Eskimos on the beach with dog teams and sledges waiting to cart off what was unloaded from the ship. Photograph one of the teams and then on into the boat and to the Bear with the four bags, a box full, part of another bag, and all pockets full of specimens. Only to learn when we reach the boat that both Doctor Goodman and Mr. La Voy are going with us and that the former after supper is still to go and get his things from the mission. I have no boat to go back with, and so lose several hours.

July 30. Gloomy morning, windy, cool, sea not good. Do not feel easy. But need to pack. One of the officers, Boatswain Berg, lends me his short sheepskin coat, and I pack up to lunch. The sea is getting worse. Have but little lunch and soon after have to take to bed or would again be sick. To avoid the pitching of the end of the boat where my bed is I go to the dispensary and lie until 6. From 6 on the sea moderates somewhat, so that I am able to have a little supper. After that go to officers' wardroom, play two games of checkers with the doctor, get some more specimens from two of the officers, and retire.

When I boarded the Bear it became plain to me that I must earn as much as possible the sympathetic understanding of my work by both the officers and the crew, and so I gave two talks, one to the officers and the other to the men, telling them of our problems in Alaska, of the meaning and value of such collections as I was making, and of other matters that I felt would be useful on this occasion. As a result I had throughout the voyage nothing but the friendliest feelings of all and their cooperation. Sincere thanks to the officers and the crew of the Bear, from the captain downward.

Saturday, July 31. At 4.30 a. m. suddenly a heavy bump forward, followed by several smaller ones. Ship rises and shivers. Have struck ice floes. Going very slowly. Further bumps at longer or shorter intervals and occasionally the ship stops entirely. Sea fortunately much calmer.

Up at 7. We are in a loose field of ice—aquamarine-blue ice covered with hillocks of snow, all shapes and sizes, as after a hard winter on the Hudson, only floes mostly larger and especially deeper.

Soon after breakfast hear walrus and seals had been observed on the ice, and shortly before 9 the captain comes down hurriedly to tell us they have just spied—they now have a man in the crow's nest up on the foremast—a white bear.

Run up—everybody pleasurably excited—to the front of the ship. See a black-looking head of something swimming toward a large ice floe about 500 yards in front of us. As we approach the head reaches the floe, then a big yellowish paw comes out upon the ice, then the shoulders, and finally the whole bear. The officers hurry forward, each with a gun. Soon men all there. Some one fires. Bear stands broadside watching us. The bullet goes way over. Then other shots—still missing—water spouting high in many places. Bear bewildered, does not know what to do, lopes off a little here and there, stops again, looking at us, and now—we are less than 100 yards from him it seems—a bullet strikes him above the loin—we can see him jerk and the red spot following. He runs clumsily, but other shots follow, some seemingly taking effect, and then he drops, first on his belly, then, twisting, turns over on his back. A few more movements with his paws and head, and he lies still, quite dead. Can not but feel sorry for the poor bear, who did not know why he was being killed, and had no chance.

A motor boat is lowered and goes to get him. They find on the floe the remains of a seal on which he fed. Tie a rope to him, drag him into the water, tow him to the Bear, which has stopped and where all stand on the bows in expectation and with all sorts of cameras, and prepare to hoist the brute aboard. Captain says it is the second case of this nature in 20 years. Ropes are fastened about the big body, attached to a winch, and the big limp form is hauled up, though not without some difficulty, due to its size and weight. All stand about him, examine, photograph. They will let the natives at Wainwright skin it and give them the flesh. It is a middle-sized, full-grown male. It shows only two wounds, the one in the side and one where the bullet passed through his mouth, knocking out one of the canines.

Cold—must put on second suit of underwear. Very gloomy, but storm abated. No land in sight—above Cape Lombard all is flat. It rains in that direction. We meander among the floes, now and then bumping and shivering. Should a wind come up and blow the ice landward we would be in danger of being closed in and stopped or delayed.

Evening. Arrive off Wainwright. Village recent—older site 20 miles away. People the usual type of Eskimo. Visit the village, but soon return.

After supper the boat stops—fear the ice. Another passenger is added here, Jim Allen, the local trader, with a bagful of white fox skins and a bear skin. Conditions becoming a bit crowded.

Sunday, August 1. No movement to-day. They are apprehensive of the ice, and so we stay here, the one place of all where there is nothing for me to do. Of course there are the natives, but with the constant uncertainty as to when we shall start and a lack of facilities I can not do much with them.

The weather is quiet but still cloudy, though the sun may possibly peep out. Ice seen in the offing. Would be more interesting to be in it, as yesterday. The bear has been skinned, cut up, and we shall try some of its flesh at noon. Rest of day quiet but still mostly cloudy, though occasionally a little of pale, lukewarm sun. At 3.30 give lecture to the officers and fellow passengers on the subject of evolution. Seems quite appreciated. Reading, writing, and walking the deck fills the time. Ate a little of the bear meat—somewhat tough, otherwise not much different from reindeer or even beef. If better prepared (especially roasted on coals) would be quite palatable.

Yesterday there were several flurries of snow, none to-day, but air cold enough to make a long stay outside disagreeable.

Toward evening Captain announces that he is going to try to reach Barrow, about 80 miles northeastward, and soon after supper we start. He also tells me we may be there at or not long after midnight and so to be ready, for the boat will be unable to stop more than an hour or two. As the only place where a few skulls and bones may be found is about 1½ miles outside of the village and it takes a good 30 minutes to make a mile over the tundras, I shall have to rush once more. But I am promised a man to help me.

August 2. With clothes on, and anticipation, slept poorly. Ship stopped about 1 a. m. and I imagined we were off Barrow. But on rising find that we have gone on and then backward again, encountering ever more ice. It is cold and foggy outside, and cloudy and gloomy. We now meander among the big floes, now and then bump into one until the whole ship heaves and shivers, and occasionally the siren, stop for a while to diminish the shock. We are now on way back to Wainwright. If we only could go as far back as Point Hope, where there is so much of interest. I might have stayed over, but would surely have reproached myself for missing the remainder of the coast.

Back off Wainwright, cold, windy, sky gloomy as usual.

Late in the afternoon go with the trader to land, to visit the site of an older village, about a mile down the shore. Walk along the beach. Cold wind, raincoat stiffens. Walrus meat and blubber chunks (slabs, etc.) along the beach at several places, also a large skinned seal. Traces, as one nears the village, of worked stones, but all waterworn and no finished objects. At one place in bank, about 3 feet deep, a layer of clear blue ice about 20 inches thick—strangely pure ice, not frozen earth or even inclusion of any dirt or gravel.

Village site small, along the edge of the low (about 10 feet) bluff. Count remains of eight dwellings. Some animal bones, but nothing else on surface or in vicinity. Burial place not seen. Companion says there is nothing.

A simple supper at the trader's, prepared by his Eskimo wife, and good company: Doctor Smith, of the Geological Survey, with two of his men; Jim Allen, the storekeeper, a big, good-hearted fellow; La Voy, the big, active movie man, who knows all the gossip and enjoys telling it with embellishment; and two men of the trader. Menu: Soup, boiled reindeer meat, underdone biscuits, coffee.

After supper go to a meeting at the school, where our missionary, Doctor Goodman, is to talk to the natives. Large schoolroom crowded. I talk through an interpreter—a serious disadvantage—on cleanliness. Fine study for me on the many present, though like elsewhere on such occasions they are mainly women and children. Good many Indianlike faces, though cheekbones more prominent and more flatness between them. But hair, low foreheads, eyes (except in children where they are more superficial, less sunken, and with more epicanthus than in Indians), lips, and other characteristics the same as in Indians. Some of the faces are strong, many among the younger pleasant, some of the young women handsome. A moderate number of mix bloods, even among the adults. Color of skin in full bloods medium to submedium brown, exactly as in full-blood Indians along the Yukon, but cheeks more dusky red.

The behavior of these people is in all important points radically that of the Indian, but they are more approachable and open and matter-of-fact people. More easily civilized. Good mechanics. Less superstitious, more easily converted to white man's religion. And good singers. Their singing at the meeting in the schoolhouse would have shamed a good many whites in this respect.

Except for epidemics, I am told, these natives would more than hold their own in numbers. They are fecund, if conditions are right. Sterility is rare. They marry fairly young.

August 3. Still standing, though we had to pull out farther south and away from the shore. The water was pretty rough and I had to go to bed again, but weather moderated.

We are in touch with the world through the ship's radio, but get more trash—same all through the radio service in Alaska—than serious news. Spend time in reading, talking; some play solitaire games; captain and Allen play cribbage. Deck too small for any outside games, even if it were not so cold.

Ice floes floating about us, now scarce, now thicker; water splashing against them and wearing them out into pillared halls, mushrooms, and other strange forms. Due to their snow covering, the water upon them, so far as it results from melting, is sweet, and in it swim many small fishes. It snowed a bit again to-day.

August 4. No change, except that the sea is somewhat calmer, and for a while we have once more seen the sun, but it was hazy and just mildly warm, while the same wind, from the sea, even though now subdued, has an icy undertone. It snowed a little this morning.

Thursday, August 5. Sea calm, atmosphere hazy, but the wind has turned at last slightly offshore and the sun penetrates through the mists, until it conquers and shines, warm and bright if not wholly clear, once more. Ice visible only on the horizon. At 7.15 we start on another effort to reach Barrow.

Pass Wainwright, and all is well until after lunch, when fog (though fortunately not thick) develops and the floes increase until they are as thick as at the first attempt in this same region. Heavy bumps and strains follow one another and the boat must often go very slow or even stop altogether. Sometimes the heavy ship just staggers from the impact, but the floes are generally broken by the shock and swirl away out of our way, or scraping the ship pass to the rear. All aboard show new interest and energy. The forced stops and inaction were dulling even to the crew.

File a wireless to be sent from Barrow. It will reach Washington to-morrow after we shall have started on the return journey.

Two dogs on board fight fiercely. An officer, the owner of one, trying to separate them is bitten by his own through a finger.

A marine, in swinging the heavy lead with which they are constantly sounding the depth, gets the cord caught about his hand and suffers a bad sprain with fracture.

The captain's little black cat, Peter, helps to entertain us by his antics. No wonder sailors in their often monotonous existence like all sorts of mascots.

Friday, August 6. Of course our dates got mixed, and more than one has to consult the calendar and count. The Bear had to turn back once more last night; ice too heavy. Anchored, however, not far to south. This morning very cloudy, rainy, chilly, but wind from near to east, and so from about 6 a. m. we are once more laboriously on our way. Now and then a bump, heave, stagger, then again the screw resumes its cheerful song. We are passing through the most dangerous part of all the coast here where many vessels have been lost, sometimes whole small fleets of whalers. But very few come here now—we have seen but one since leaving Kotzebue. They call this stretch "the boat graveyard."

Saturday, August 7. Stalled, about 30 miles from Barrow. Anchored in the protection of a great grounded flat, in a clear pond of water, with ice all around it, but especially seaward, where the pack seems solid. Some open water reported beyond it, but wind (wild) keeps from the wrong quarter and the captain will make no further attempt until conditions change. Of course it is cloudy again and has rained some during the night and morning, but the temperature is somewhat higher, so that one does not need an overcoat and gloves, although the officers wear their sheep-lined short coats which are nice and warm.

After noon asked the captain for the skin whaleboat to explore the shore. The latter is nearly a mile distant and shows about 60 feet high dirt bluffs. Got the boat and went with the boatswain. Berg, a young "hand," Weenie, and the movie man, La Voy. Rowed with La Voy. Had a wholesome two and a half hours exploring. Found a little stream, with traces of native deer camp (collected two seal skulls); a moderate number of flowers and grasses (collected some mushrooms); some fossil shells from the bluffs; and two Eskimo burials. One of these, a woman, nearly all washed away and lost; of the other, a man, secured the skull, jaw, one shoulder blade and part of a diseased femur with corresponding socket (mushroom arthritis), also the two humeri. A good specimen. Returned, rowing again, near 4. All there playing cribbage and solitaire.

Am tempted to walk to Barrow; but there are some streams in the way which it might be impossible to ford. Moreover, no one knows the distance.

Sunday, August 8. Morning finds us once more thwarted, and standing at our place of refuge. No change in conditions, but there will be a change of moon to-night, so I at least have hopes. In my travels I learned too much about the moon not to believe in it. Toward evening ice begins to move out.

Monday, August 9. At 12.30 a. m., unexpectedly, a new start. The wind has turned at last (new moon!) to northeast, but is mild. Soon in ice. Many bumps and much creaking and shaking. Captain's collie gets scared and tries to get into our beds, one after another. But very little sleep under these conditions.

In the morning we find ourselves in a thicker ice field than any before, with floes on all sides. Boat barely creeps. Toward 10 a. m. further progress found almost impossible, and so forced to turn backward once more. However, can not even go back and so, near 12, anchor about a mile offshore opposite a small river with lagoon-like mouth and two tents of natives—"Shinara," or "Shinerara."

Ask captain for a boat to visit and explore the coast. Consents, and so at 1 we go forth, about eight of us, with the captain's dog. Reach Eskimo, photograph the group. All look remarkably Indianlike. Then go to look for skeletal material. Nothing near, so return for the Eskimo boy. He leads me about a mile over the highland tundra to two burials in boxes—not old. Look through crevices shows in one an adolescent, in the other a female (or a boy) with hair and skin still on. Leave both.

Then into the boat once more after buying some fossil teeth, and with the boy Isaac—his father is Abraham—try to go into the river, and soon get stuck in the stickiest mud (oily shale) imaginable—great work to clean even the oar with which we had to push ourselves off. Land then on the beach and for the next two hours explore that side of the basin. Find remains of two small settlements—seven huts in all, none very old.

Gather five skulls with parts of four skeletons, most bones missing; also some mushrooms, several interesting humeri of seals, and a piece of pumice-like fossil bone. Near 4.30 begins to rain a bit so we hurry to boat, and in a little while, after depositing Isaac near his camp, reach the Bear.

Eskimo on shore had two skinned seal lying on the ground, and there were many reindeer horns. A pile of them was over a fire, being smoked.

The wind has been the whole day from the northeast, the long-wished-for wind, and the ice has moved out sufficiently to induce the captain to make another start. So at 5 p. m. off we go again, and for quite a while the screw sings merrily, until we reach some remaining ice, when there are more bumps and staggers.

The waters about the ship show, whenever calmer, the heads of swimming seal, grown and little. But they are wary and keep at a distance. Otherwise the only live things are an occasional gull, and rarely a couple of ducks. In the icy water, however, on and about the floes, are seen again numerous small, dark fish (from the size of a big minnow to that of a tomcod); and along the shore swim merrily hundreds of very tame and graceful little snipes, lovely small birds, too little, luckily, to be hunted.

Little enthusiasm about my collecting, but the boatswain and some at least of the men are genuinely helpful. I believe some of the others are a bit superstitious. But I get some chance at least, and that is precious.

Expect to reach Barrow before 12 p. m., and to start back before morning—a big chance for some sleep again if I want to do some collecting. Sleep, through the frequent lack of it, has become a kind of obsession in one's thoughts, yet when there were chances during the days of waiting it would not come.

August 9, evening, to 10 next morning. This is a land of odds and wonders. In the morning things looked hopeless; toward evening the wind has driven away enough ice to make a narrow open lane near the shore, and utilizing this we arrived without difficulty at 8 p. m. at the long unreachable Barrow. At 9 boat takes us ashore. At 9.30 p. m. I start with an Eskimo and a seaman (Weenie) from the Bear on a collecting trip over about 3 square miles of tundra behind Barrow, and at 12.30 return to ship with four bags of skulls and bones. But sleep! Hardly any since 12.30 last night, and very little after return to-day, for due to fear of ice they called in everybody from shore before 3 a. m., and the newcomers keep on walking and talking and banging with their baggage until 5, when, fearing a return of the ice, we start once more southward, toward—it feels strange, but it is so—home. It was a remarkable good fortune, our getting there thus and getting out again, as we did, without damage.

Barrow is a good-looking and rather important place. It stretches about 2 miles along the low shore, in three clusters, the two main ones separated by a lagoon. It has a radio station, a mission hospital, and a school. There are over 200 natives here, and also quite a few whites, including Mr. Charles Brower, the trader, observer and collector, with his native wife and their family, the teacher, the missionary and his family, and the nurses.

The burial place here is the most extensive in the Eskimo territory. Taking the older parts and the new, it covers over a square mile of the tundra, beginning not far beyond the site of the hospital and extending to and beyond a small stream that flows over a mile inland. But the burials were grouped in a few spots, the rest being barren.

This extensive burial ground is now about exhausted for scientific purposes, except for such skeletons and objects as may have been assimilated—i. e. buried—by the tundra. That such exist became quite evident during our search, and they naturally are the oldest and most valuable. We secured two good skulls of this nature. They were completely buried, only a little of the vault showing, and had there been time we should doubtless have found also parts of the skeletons. The skulls were discolored brown.

Of the later skeletal material we found but the leavings, the best having been carried off by other collectors. There were remnants of hundreds of skulls and skeletons, but for the most part so damaged as not to be worth saving. Nevertheless our diligent midnight search was not in vain, and we brought back four sacks full of specimens, the Eskimo carrying his with the utmost good nature. The destruction here is due to sailors and other whites and to dogs, foxes, and reindeer.

The reindeer herds, going in hundreds over the ground, help materially to scatter and damage the bones. So, the older material gone, while the more recent burials are, at least so far as the younger element is concerned, quite worthless to science, containing many mix bloods of all sorts—even occasionally with the negro (men from the wrecked whaleboats). The collection now secured was the last one possible from this locality, except through excavation.

Tuesday, August 10. The boat is now crowded. We lost one woman and got three; also about five or six men—newspaper, movie, radioman, a dog teamster, a trapper. Quite a variety, in every way, and most are to go with us at least as far as Nome. They will have to hang up two hammocks in our little cabin each night, and some must sleep elsewhere.

Packing the whole morning. Five boxes. My man of last night helping, a fine, big young fellow. This aid in the work is a great boon to me, and the transportation of the many specimens by the Bear down to Seattle or San Francisco will be a fine service to the Institution.

The older of us, that is those who have been longer on the ship, feel like veterans and are drawn closer together. The new lot, heterogeneous, do not attract, particularly one of the women. An older one, evidently a well-liked nurse, goes off at Wainwright, which we reach once more at 8 p. m. Here goes off also Jim Allen, the trader, who is a good fellow in a rough shell and whom I learned to like. He helped us all a good deal while in the ice.

The movie man from Point Hope is a somewhat spoiled, gossipy, and roughshod, but otherwise, a good-hearted big kid—not very wise, but not mischievous, and more than efficient in his own calling. Is 40, but already aging, like a weather-beaten poplar—not pine or oak. Is violently against all "kikes," or eastern money-lending Jews, from whom he used to borrow at usurious interest and who sold him out once or twice when he could not pay.

Lost Jim Allen and dropped the nurse, but are still too many. At 10 p. m., just as the minister and I have retired, there comes a call for the former to go up. A couple of Eskimos have arrived, with their friends, to be married. So he dresses and performs the function. I am too weary to rise and dress to go and look at it. He says it was quite tame. Then the anchor, and once more we are off. No ice any more, and the sea has again a swell, which was absent in the ice-covered waters.

Wednesday, August 11. Swell, but not bad, though one of the women, another nurse, is ill, and the other, a "writer," etc., will not get up for breakfast. Quite a problem now to get washed and shaved. Both the minister (archdeacon) and the movie man like to use perfumed things, and the former takes much time with his toilet, so I endeavor as before to be first up.

August 12. A great day. Was called a little after 12.30 a. m., after but little sleep (through anticipation), to examine a site ashore—a coal mine, a water source, and possibly something human. Two miles to shore, in semidarkness; no night yet in these regions. A long tramp over the mossy and grassy tundra; mosquitoes. One native igloo, and on a little elevation some distance off a grave of a child; otherwise nothing. After examination of the coal strata, a curious secondary inclusion in sand and gravel, and the stream of water (good to drink, even if not clear), we depart and reach ship again after 4 a. m.

Beginning to be—in fact am already—a "night doctor," for sure. Never thought I could stand such doings, but am standing it, and that even with some cold and bothersome night cough. But am sure short on sleeping, for it is impossible for me to catch up during the days; am not a day sleeper. I suppose when one is most of the time half hungry his mind naturally reverts to hunger, as mine does to sleep.

We are due to-day again at Point Hope, and I am anxious for a little time there.

At night. This was a day of harvest. Reached Point Hope about 3 p. m., but had to go around again to the other side, due to the swell and surf on the north. I went to shore in the first boat, about 4 p. m. Doctor Goodman, with whom we are very friendly, was with me and promised to go over and help me get some men with whom I want to excavate the burial hole of his predecessor. But when on the shore stays behind and remains. So we go on with my man from the ship to the whalebone graveyard. Near there see two Eskimo men with some dogs. They smile; so I tell them what I want; in two minutes have engaged them; in about three more we begin to dig, and in about five minutes after strike first bones.

My good friend the boatswain, Mr. Berg, comes to help, and as I now have four to work I take a bag and go on collecting a little more over the plains beyond where we are. Get a good bag. Find another good-natured Eskimo, Frank, coming from fishing, engage him to help carrying and eventually to take place of one of my first workers, who is an old man. Then we see Doctor Goodman, far away, coming to the mission. Borrow two more shovels from his stock and a few coal bags. Meanwhile bone and skull pile is fairly exposed from one side and top gravel partly removed, so I give up intended trip to old village site and, as we were given only to 9.30 p. m., go to work on the pile.

A great deal here. More than anticipated, though all is a jumble, with the long and other bones of the skeleton on the top. The work is to get down in the moist gravel, disengage one bone and skull after another as rapidly as possible, give it a rapid look-over, and either save, if fairly well preserved or showing some special feature, or discard. If saved, the specimen is handed to one of the Eskimo, who cleans it of gravel, lays it out to dry a little, and then places it gently in a bag.

Many of the bones and skulls were found so damaged that they had to be left. But much was also good. The strenuous work, however, had to go on without interruption and at the fullest possible speed, if the main part of what was there was to be saved. So no supper, no stop for even a minute, until after 8 p. m. Sixteen bags full, and some of the sacks quite spacious. At last had to give up—no more time, no sacks, and lower down everything frozen as hard as flint. The main part, however, secured—183 good skulls, several hundred lower jaws, and a lot of long and other bones. This, together with the rest of the material from this place, ought to give us data of much value.

But now, how shall the lot be got on the boat. Luckily, one of the Eskimo that has been working for me has a dog team and sled. So I engage these; and shortly after we finish putting everything in order—in the presence now of Doctor Goodman, who comes to look at us—the man arrives, with a good-sized sled and 13 whitish dogs. Load all the bags on—and then a sight never to be forgotten—the dogs pulling the load across the tundra, depressions, gravels, right down to the water's edge and to the motor boat that is waiting for us. How they strained, pulled with all will, and obeyed. A wise leader in front, six pairs behind. No reins, only a few calls from the Eskimo, and they knew just what to do. Tried to photograph them, but light already poor—advancing season. (Pl. 9, a. b.)

Then hurry to the teacher, not home; to La Voy, not home. Find teacher in tent, sick, trembling; I fear beginning of typhoid. Did not get anything for me in our absence. La Voy promised to give me some things from his collections, but now is not here. A native woman, however, meets me far out on the beach, and I learn she has dug out for me since our first visit five good skulls from the ground—some, she shows, deep to above the elbow. She has them near the ship—we go on—on the road boys and women overtake me with a few things to sell. Then the woman brings her skulls, in a bag on her back, in excellent condition. I pay her for her trouble. Reach our boat, and the bell on the Bear rings 9.30.

The bone pile—the sled and dogs and load over the tundra—the woman carrying a native (seal) bag with skulls—will be three rare, indelible pictures.

On the Bear at 10. A little sandwich, fruit, and a cinnamon cake with coffee, and to bed. But irritating tire-cough keeps me up for another hour.

Friday, 13th. Packing. A nice day. Toward evening stop at Kevalina. Obtain a few things and pictures. To bed soon, but cough still bothers. I have nothing for it; there is but little on the boat in the way of medicines outside of the most ordinary things.

Saturday, 14th. Up 5.30, early breakfast, and 6.45 start once more for Kotzebue. The Bear has anchored about 12 miles off, so do not reach village until 8.35, and have to go back at 9.10. Rush to store, get boxes, barrels, and packing. And then to the schoolhouse, where I expect some information about the skeleton found under the house and obtained on my former visit. Also promised information from Mr. Chance, the supervisor, about old sites. But Mr. Chance is gone, and no letter or message—it came later, to Washington. A few words with the teacher, and one of the boys from our boat is already calling me.

Return at 11 a. m. and spend the rest of the day packing, finishing just at supper. A curious sunset at 8, a horizontally banded sun, several clear-cut, fairly broad, dark bands. Sea getting rougher.

Sunday, August 15. Bad sea, wind, waves, fog. Have to take to bed and do without breakfast. Stay in until lunch. We could not stop again at Shishmareff; could not get ashore. The next stop, late afternoon, is to be at the Little Diomede, to take off Jenness; but if too rough we shall go on to Teller. The wind is from the northwest and the foghorn keeps on blowing.

The whole day continues rough, foggy, unfriendly. The ship can not stop at the Diomede, nor go to Teller; obliged to go to Nome. After supper all chairs and movable articles have to be tied up. Most day in bed, but escaped real seasickness, and got some sleep.

Monday, 16. Weather moderated. We are in lee of the mountainous part of Seward Peninsula. After breakfast off Nome, and at 11 a. m. in town. First stop at Lomen's. Then from one to another till 4.55 p. m., when Dan Sutherland, the Alaska Delegate to Congress, escorts me to the boat. Saw many friends, got some mail, and, best of all, got a fine deposit collection for the National Museum from Mr. Carl Lomen. The judge asked me for another lecture for next Saturday, when we are to see Nome for the last time.

About 5 a. m. arrive at Golovnin Bay to take water. At this place this is generally a day of partial rest and recreation for the crew. The water is taken from a small stream fed by a spring that comes out from a cave of the mountain, and is put direct into the whaleboats, brought to ship, and pumped into its tanks.

Shortly after breakfast the captain gives us the larger motor boat, and with Mr. Berg and two of the seamen I start for a little survey trip along the northern shore of the bay. In less than an hour we reach a sheltered nook with a small stream, where there is an old frame dwelling with some out-structures, all evidently abandoned, though various articles of use hang or lie about, including several guns of old patterns.

On a bluff to the left of the house are six burials, some old, wood near all rotten, some more recent. The latter, two in number, both show a large animal skin covering of the body, besides which the latter shows remnants of clothing. Secure two good skeletons, practically complete; also head and a few parts of a newborn (or near) child. A unique feature—with one of the male skeletons is found a complete skeleton of an eagle. Could have got also a female skeleton, but was still unclean, and we perceived a small native motor boat coming toward us from the reindeer camp about 1½ miles farther inward. So we replaced everything (outwardly) and started off to meet the native boat. Found in it two young men and three women. Inquired about old sites and learned of one about 3 miles farther inward.

Stopped at the reindeer camp. Found there about a dozen individuals. Got more information, also a young man to go with us, bought for the Bear a dozen good-sized silver salmon—caught this morning and lying for protection against flies, in a pool of water—and left for the old site "around the point."

A nice site, but small. Fine beach for bathing if it were in a warmer climate. Remains of about a half dozen semisubterranean houses. A copper nail from one shows they were not very ancient. And no burials left, save one, more recent, of a child, most of which is gone. But there is a green elevated plane rising from the beach and we soon find several varieties of berries, especially large and good blueberries, a variety of huckleberry, and a sort of wine-tasting dwarf blackberry. Collect enough for immediate consumption—a most welcome diversion in every way—and get some for the captain.

Leave near 1 p. m. A little lunch on boat, then once more the reindeer camp, where the young women make us good hot coffee with as good biscuits as one could find anywhere. Buy more berries from them, load our fish (12 salmon ranging about 12 pounds each, for $3), and start off for another site just around Stony Point.

Round up one point, then another and another, up to five, and by that time the going has become so rough that we get much tossed about, ship water, dog gets frightened and near sick, and just as we reach what we thought must be the last point there juts out still another. It is now so rough that the boatswain thinks we could not land, and so nothing remains but to turn back to the mother boat. Reach there near 3.30 p. m. Soon all boats are hoisted, and at 4 the Bear is on her way to St. Michael.

August 18. Arrived about midnight off St. Michael; must stay outside due to shoal water. Somewhat rough.

In the morning boat coaling, dirty work, so all who can go ashore. Meet Mr. Williams again; buy a few native articles in stores, visit Mrs. Evans, the teacher-nurse, who has on an occasion successfully amputated a native's finger. The deputy marshal takes me to his house, gives me some dried deer meat and smoked salmon strips, and promises to be on a lookout for specimens for us. Near noon return. Still rough.

At night a bad blow and the ship tossing a great deal, almost as during the storm to St. Lawrence. Feel it considerably, but after 3 a. m. wind and water moderate. Feel effects of it, however, whole morning. For an explorer to be ever in rough weather subject to seasickness is a horrid affliction.

August 19. Off Nome once more. Everything, city, mountains, appear exceedingly, unnaturally clear—not a good sign. After 9 a. m. go to town. Soon at the Lomens' headquarters, and the sons, particularly Carl, bring out three smaller boxes full of things from St. Lawrence and Nunivak Islands, and give me the choice of all. And after I am through—near two hours' fast work—Carl adds one beautiful tusk (carved) from Nunivak Island, and then adds another, and two big bones of a mammoth, some as gifts, some as an addition to his loan to our institution. Excellent men.

Lunch with Ralph and Carl; then a good walk in the open; and then another lecture. All pleased, and two bring me specimens for our museum. Slowly back to boat and 4.45 on the Bear again. Nice day, but getting cooler and blustery.

Captain Ross comes to port, the graphophone starts its usual jazz songs next (ward) room, then the supper, all visitors gone, and the Bear raises anchor to be off for the north once more.

August 19, evening. A new, final chapter begins with to-day. What will it contain when over?

August 20. Rough. Go north until in plain sight of the Diomedes as well as Cape Wales, and then the captain decides landing would be risky, if not impossible; and so reluctantly we turn back and proceed toward Teller. What a tantalizing experience this must have been to poor Jenness, who is waiting for us on the Little Diomede, a most dreary place, to be taken off; and I, too, expected collections at both the Diomedes and the Cape.

Saturday, August 21. Port Clarence, off Teller. This proved a day never to be forgotten; for failure of a rigid system, for bad weather, for strain and endurance, and nearness to almost anything.

My purpose was to utilize the Bear's visit to Teller for a survey of a Chukchee-Eskimo battle field, of which I heard repeatedly from the Yukon onward. Sometime during the earlier half of the last century the Chukchee from Asia are said to have made an invasion of the peninsula and to have reached as far as the Salt Lake, east of Teller, when they were met by the united Eskimo and badly defeated. The exact spot where this happened is, however, somewhat uncertain, and it was to locate it, examine, and collect what might be possible of the remains that were said to be still there that I asked Captain Cochran to let me have one of the motor boats, to which he kindly consented, uniting the trip with some topographical observations for his own purposes.

The evening before I was told by the second officer that we shall start some time soon after midnight for that part of the old battle field—there seemed to be two of them—at the eastern point of the Salt Lake. As a result could not undress, and after ship stopped in Port Clarence, near 11 p. m., had but a little rest. The call came at 4 a. m. A little breakfast, a package of lunch, and start at 5.10.

First note. Ship about 7 miles from Teller. Water deep enough much nearer, but we came at night. Here there are already dark nights between about 9 p. m. and 4 a. m., and so they were cautious.

Second. The officer says he has orders not to stop at Teller, where there is an old Indian (Dunak) from whom I expected to get exact bearings, and where there is also a white trader, Mr. Peterson, who knows the place and might possibly have accompanied us.

Third. Distances, as usual, longer than estimated. We find eventually that the destination is about 32 miles from Teller.

Fourth. A brisk head wind and sea retarding us.

Fifth. As we approach our spot, a shoal water, with grass, preventing us from going straight to the most likely place, and no other way was tried. It is 11 a. m. and already I hear an intimation that we shall not have time for anything except to make a lunch. This is the same officer, a very good man at his post but rigid and without much interest in anything else than his own field, who after 10 miles' trip to Kotzebue gave us 25 minutes there, when it required 15 minutes alone to reach the school from the boat.

So we end by landing on the extremity of a spit there to make lunch, and I have only the time it takes to prepare the latter. I find, in hurry, remains of five old semisubterranean dwellings on the northern side of the point, and about as many low mounds with remnants about of rotten driftwood—undoubtedly old burials. Probably the skeletons have been assimilated by the tundra vegetation and blown material. A single native skull, a female, without face, is lying about. Collected.

While lunch is being made ready the officer and the boatswain, Mr. Berg, each shoot a duck. Then the lunch, a hurried loading, and departure, after some delay in setting the sail, at 1.30 p. m. I saw nothing that looked like a battle field. Its determination and survey must be left for some future explorer.

Sail rapidly. Wind fresh, with us, also waves. Cross Salt Lake, and Tussoc "River." About 4.30 reach Grantly Harbor and wind increases; also waves. We run fast, and well enough, but the umiak (skin boat) we are pulling begins to suffer. It rides crazily and is jerked over the seething waves. The crossbar by which it is partly held breaks, and now the boat goes more sidewise, with water lapping over its border and getting in. Wind now quite a gale, breaking waves everywhere—every now and then a big one—whitecaps all over. A dim view of Teller in distance, when the skin boat begins to fill more rapidly and sag. Must stop engine—waves toss us like mad—one could be thrown bodily out of the boat if not careful in bending or moving and holding. The sail comes down and the mast is laid down, a bad piece of work. Berg and Pete Brant (an elderly trapper with us but formerly of Coast Guard Service at Nome, a good sailor and knowing these waters) work very hard and well. The skin boat has to be pulled alongside and bailed out by young Weenie, a very hard and dangerous task. Mr. Berg's rain hat ("souwester") blows off and is lost in the seething waves. Later Weenie nearly loses his—snatches it out between the boats with a narrow escape for his head. Then Weenie climbs into the skin boat—a brave act—and finishes the bailing, but is much "in" after getting back. Then our big staunch motor launch starts again at reduced speed. But the skin boat does great antics and threatens to fill again or break; so Pete Brant holds the rope and is jerked every now and then, until I fear that he may any moment be jerked out into the waves and watch to catch his legs. Fortunately he succeeds in preventing it, but there was a slim margin.

It has drizzled or rained, besides the wind, most of the afternoon, and there is a lot of spray to splashes from the waves. All this has to be taken as it comes, but the water is not cold, and our boots and oilskins give protection. Nevertheless my right knee to hip gets thoroughly wet and chilly, and I was not alone. But there is little time to think of such things. We see at Teller the waves breaking high on the shore, some boats already on the beach and others being driven there, a few people looking helplessly on.

About 5.50 we round the Teller spit and come in the lee of it into calmer water. But the visibility over the water is probably not over a mile now, and we see no trace of the Bear. The gasoline supply is getting rather low; and all are more or less cold, though dressed warmer than I and, due to their hip-high rubber boots—mine reach only to the knee—not wet. I now shake a lot with the cold, without being able to stop it. So we skirt the protecting bluffs southward to where everyone thinks the Bear is, near a little stream from which they were to take fresh water. But though we all strain our eyes to the limit, there is no trace of the ship.

Thus reach Cape Riley and the stream, which is found dry, without a drop of water. Get on the pebbly beach, turn skin boat over to get the water out, and hurry to chop wood. No wood save the water troughs, so chop these. Must have fire. I warm up a little by running around and chopping. They pour gasoline on the wood, make a big fire, cook a pot of coffee, and with bread and preserved meat make a supper, though it is mainly coffee.

Near 8 and getting dark. Storm, outside of protection of cliffs, unabated. There is a second watering place, 7 or 8 miles across the bay, and our only chance to find the Bear is to rush for this. But to do this we must go diagonally across the waves and similarly against the wind—a bad prospect. Also, we have only just about enough gasoline to reach the place. But there is no help.

Thus a new start, and before long we are once more in the waves. It is now quite obscure. The waves break now and then and splash over us. Before long the skin boat is again sagging and in danger of sinking. Once more pull alongside and dangerous, exhausting bailing by Weenie.

And so on, tossed, driven aside, but thanks to the good engine never stopping. I hold to seat not to be thrown against things or even out; the others are becoming gruff, irritable. And then Higsby makes out a faint light far ahead. No one certain, but in a while it seems moving. A solitary small light somewhere far on the shore, probably, not the boat.

But soon another stronger light discerned, seemingly moving to the left, and later several—the ship in all probability.

We toss and reel and stagger nearer, but motor still going strong. For the skin boat they found at last a position in which it takes but little water. Finally see decisively a blinking light, the mast signal. We show our lantern a few times. Then the ship looms before us, but there is still the risky task of getting alongside and aboard. However, all is accomplished without real damage.

The cabin—the good and anxious captain—a little canned grapefruit, and bed. But head falls and rises, the events of the day reappear, wonder what has become of the trade schooner we saw being driven on the beach—and so on until consciousness passes into deep sleep. The Bear is fairly quiet, not in the brunt of the weather. And this eventually moderates, so that a little after 4 we start again, only to anchor once more at 6, a little below where last night we had our supper.

August 22. Cloudy, drizzly, rough still, and wireless news of widespread bad storms, even in the States. So we shall wait. One more hope for my collections at the Cape and with Jenness.

Captain says this morning the officer misunderstood his orders about Teller. The trip demonstrated a number of things. One of the main and most gratifying was the sterling quality of the men with me, officer, boatswain, motorman. Weenie, Pete, in the teeth of real danger. They were all that men should be under such conditions, which is the best way I can express it. The trip may have been in vain so far as its scientific object was concerned, but it brought a number of men face to face with life's stresses and found their mettle of the truest quality, without exception, to witness which was worth the whole experience.

August 22-23. During the night have left Port Clarence and endeavored once more to reach Wales and the Diomedes, to be again turned away by fog and rough weather. The captain doubts if there will be any more decent "spells." The season for this stormy sea is too far advanced. Unable to land anywhere.

The day is followed by another horrid night, again off the St. Lawrence Island. Boat tossing and heaving and rolling, waves reaching and even splashing over the level of the high upper deck in the back, everything tied tip and cleared or fastened, a danger in making even a few steps of being thrown against something, or on the deck of being thrown overboard, and everything constantly cracking, creaking, with every few minutes an impact big thud-like or a splash of a wave, the floor heaving and twisting; and thus from before evening until morning. Then a trace easier, but the whole day gloomy and rough and the night again more unsettled. To-day better, wind which began east then turned northwest, then almost north, now stopped, but a heavy swell is running, heaving us nearly as much as yesterday. We have gone very slowly.

Have arrived off Savonga. The sky is now clear and there is not much wind, but the swell is and keeps on such that, notwithstanding the repeated calls of our siren, the Eskimo whom we see above the beach near their boats, do not dare to launch these and come, nor does the captain care to risk one of our own launches, though we need fresh reindeer meat and all would like once more to meet the nice lot of natives of this village. After a prolonged wait and as conditions show no improvement, nothing remains but to leave the island.

Our next stop, if the weather permits, is to be at Nunivak Island. This is a large island off the Alaskan coast, well below the present delta of the Yukon and some distance above Kuskokwim Bay. The island is one of the least explored, and the people living upon it one of the least known. It is only during the last few years that a trading and a reindeer post has been established on this island, and only the second year that there is a teacher. What little is known of the natives, a branch of the Eskimo, shows that they have many different habits from those farther north, in clothing, decoration, etc. They make rather good black pottery, and from this island come the most elaborate carvings in ivory, reminding strongly of small totem poles. A photograph of a group of these people, seen at the Lomen Studio at Nome, showed remarkably broad and short faces, unlike the Eskimo of the north. All of which made me very anxious to visit the island.

To be brief such a visit, though promised to me by the captain, could not be realized. The waters about the island are so imperfectly charted that in weather that continued half rough it was thought unwise to risk a landing. I felt this keenly, as the various other impossibilities of the trip. But I could never forget all the unexpected help I received from the Revenue Cutter Service, for which I was deeply grateful, and had to acknowledge the justice of the captain's position. We came so near that the land birds from the island were already about us, but then turned toward the Pribilofs and Unalaska....

Only little remains to be told. At the Pribilof Island, St. Paul, we stopped at night, to take on four live fur seals for the Academy of Sciences of San Francisco, and there we ran once more into stormy weather. Here are a few notes from this period:

August 27. Toward evening again a gale, southwest. At night worse. Ship tossing rather wildly. No possibility to me of either getting up or resting. Barely keep from being horribly ill again.

Later in night ship had to be turned back and just drift.

August 28. All day the storm continues. I could take no meals, not even a drop of water. In bed and barely standing it. Ship hove to at last and just drifting.

August 29. Gale keeps on just as bad, howling till 1.30 a. m. Then it moderates somewhat and ship starts going again. Last night we were only 60 miles from Unalaska, now a good deal farther out. Steam, still in half a gale and big sea, until after midday, when, not without some difficulty and danger, we reach the fine little protected harbor of Unalaska. Feel weak, near worn out.

August 30, p. m. Rest, and all is well again. Secure a little rowboat and go with old Pete Brant to near-by islands. Storm over for the day and fair, though not entirely. Row, climb hills, pick berries and mushrooms, watch a bearlike semiwild pig, out whole afternoon, returning strengthened, refreshed. Only no appetite yet. Found no traces of human occupancy, but heard of some in the "Captain's Bay" and at other spots.

The few Aleuts in Unalaska at this time show physiognomies akin to the brachycephalic Indian, and not the Eskimo type.

August 31-September 1. A new gale, with drizzles. Luckily we are at a dock, but I can do little. They are cleaning the boilers and coaling. Evening of 1st have a good dinner—captain and the rest of us from the Bear's cabin—at a friendly local trader, Louis Strauss, and after that give lecture on "Man's Origin, etc." Introduction by Capt. Van Buskirk, local commodore of the Revenue Cutter Service. Lecture well received, make numerous friends, get good information. Strauss's supper was the first I could eat with some taste and hunger. But the lecture did me good.

September 2. Coaling and overhauling of boilers finished. Gale stopped. Ship leaves 1 p. m. Day fairly sunny. Everyone sees us off. Harbor and hills look fine, though sky again clouded. Outside quite a swell after the gales. Pass the Haida, practicing with her cannon. The Algonkin was here too, with the story of their visit to the Punuk Islands. The fresh green steep mountains toward the entrance of the harbor are refreshing to the eye.

Pass through Akitan. Pass picturesque, especially the outstanding isolated rocks near the islands.

Toward evening, far to the left (east), see under the clouds a glorious icy cone, the "Pogrovemoi," and later a lower but still great mountain a little farther and to the right an old but not so very old volcano. Other volcanoes there are, the captain tells me, now hidden by the low clouds.

Have a new passenger, Mr. Charles Brower, the trader of Barrow. Came from the Brower, ship of his own company, a little larger and faster than the Bear, and going also to San Francisco, but with poorer accommodations. Brings with him a box of archeological specimens from the Barter Island, in the north. Examine them, but find little of special interest.

It takes us a little less than 10 days of a fairly good journey to reach San Francisco. Dock at Oakland late in the evening. The next morning, after breakfast, the boxes and barrels with collections are taken on the dock—a big pile. Then the Santa Fe officials kindly run a flat freight car to the pile, the boxes, etc., are loaded on, the main part taken to the freight depot, the most valuable ones to express, shipped, and shortly after what remains of the expedition is on the Santa Fe Limited for Chicago. It only needs to be added that, notwithstanding the variety of receptacles and the difficulties of packing, the collections reached the Institution without damage to a single specimen. Thanks once more for the help received in making all safe to the captain and officers of the Bear, to Mr. Berg, the best of boatswains, to the carpenter, and to all those of the crew who assisted.