Kalitan, Our Little Alaskan Cousin - Mary F. Nixon Roulet
The young girl rose, and, putting the baby down on a pile of skins, spoke
to them in good English, saying quietly:
"You are welcome. I am Alalik."
"May we see your wares? We wish to buy," said Mr. Strong, courteously.
"You may see, whether you buy or not," she said, with a smile, which
showed a mouth full of even white teeth, and she spread out before them
a collection of Esquimo goods. There were all kinds of carvings from
walrus tusks, grass baskets, moccasins of walrus hide, stone bowls and
cups, _parkas_ made of reindeer skin, and one superb one of bird
feathers, _ramleikas_, and all manner of carved trinkets, the most
charming of which, to Ted's eyes, being a tiny _oomiak_ with an Esquimo
in it, made to be used as a breast-pin. This he bought for his mother,
and a carving of a baby for Judith; while his father made him and
Kalitan happy with presents.
"Where did you learn such English?" asked Mr. Strong of Alalik,
wondering, too, where she learned her pretty, modest ways, for Esquimo
women are commonly free and easy.
"I was for two years at the Mission at Holy Cross," she said. "There I
learned much that was good. Then my mother died, and I came home."
She spoke simply, and Mr. Strong wondered what would be the fate of this
sweet-faced girl.
"Did you learn to sew from the sisters?" asked Ted, who had been looking
at the garments she had made, in which the stitches, though made in skins
and sewn with deer sinew, were as even as though done with a machine.
"Oh, no," she said. "We learn that at home. When I was no larger than
Zaksriner there, my mother taught me to braid thread from deer and whale
sinew, and we must sew very much in winter if we have anything to sell
when summer comes. It is very hard to get enough to live. Since the
Boston men come, our people waste the summer in idleness, so we have
nothing stored for the winter's food. Hundreds die and many sicknesses
come upon us. In the village where my people lived, in each house lay the
dead of what the Boston men called measles, and there were not left
enough living to bury the dead. Only we escaped, and a Black Gown came
from the Mission to help, and he took me and Antisarlook, my brother, to
the school. The rest came here, where we live very well because there
are in the summer, people who buy what we make in the winter."
"How do you get your skins so soft?" asked Ted, feeling the exquisite
texture of a bag she had just finished. It was a beautiful bit of work, a
tobacco-pouch or "Tee-rum-i-ute," made of reindeer skin, decorated with
beads and the soft creamy fur of the ermine in its summer hue.
"We scrape it a very long time and pull and rub," she said. "Plenty of
time for patience in winter."
"Your hands are too small and slim. I shouldn't think you could do much
with those stiff skins," said Teddy.
Alalik smiled at the compliment, and a little flush crept into the clear
olive of her skin. She was clean and neat, and the _eglu_, though close
from being shut up, was neater than most of the Esquimo houses. The bowl
filled with seal oil, which served as fire and light, was unlighted, and
Alalik's father motioned to her and said something in Innuit, to which
she smilingly replied:
"My father wishes you to eat with us," she said, and produced her flint
bag. In this were some wads of fibrous material used for wicks. Rolling a
piece of this in wood ashes, she held it between her thumb and a flint,
struck her steel against the stone, and sparks flew out which lighted the
fibre so that it burst into flame. This was thrown into the bowl of oil,
and she deftly began preparing tea. She served it in cups of grass, and
Ted thought he had never tasted anything nicer than the cup of afternoon
tea served in an _eglu_.
"Alalik, what were you singing as we came in?" asked Ted.
"A song my mother always sang to us," she replied. "It is called 'Ahmi,'
and is an Esquimo slumber song."
"Will you sing it now?" asked Mr. Strong, and she smiled in assent and
sang the quaint, crooning lullaby of her Esquimo mother--
"The wind blows over the Yukon.
My husband hunts the deer on the Koyukun Mountains,
Ahmi, Ahmi, sleep, little one, wake not.
Long since my husband departed. Why does he wait in the mountains?
Ahmi, Ahmi, sleep, little one, softly.
Where is my own?
Does he lie starving on the hillside? Why does he linger?
Comes he not soon, I will seek him among the mountains.
Ahmi, Ahmi, sleep, little one, sleep.
The crow has come laughing.
His beak is red, his eyes glisten, the false one.
'Thanks for a good meal to Kuskokala the Shaman.
On the sharp mountain quietly lies your husband.'
Ahmi, Ahmi, sleep, little one, wake not.
'Twenty deers' tongues tied to the pack on his shoulders;
Not a tongue in his mouth to call to his wife with,
Wolves, foxes, and ravens are fighting for morsels.
Tough and hard are the sinews, not so the child in your bosom.'
Ahmi, Ahmi, sleep, little one, wake not.
Over the mountains slowly staggers the hunter.
Two bucks' thighs on his shoulders with bladders of fat between them.
Twenty deers' tongues in his belt. Go, gather wood, old woman!
Off flew the crow, liar, cheat, and deceiver!
Wake, little sleeper, and call to your father.
He brings you back fat, marrow and venison fresh from the mountain.
Tired and worn, he has carved a toy of the deer's horn,
While he was sitting and waiting long for the deer on the hillside.
Wake, and see the crow hiding himself from the arrow,
Wake, little one, wake, for here is your father."
Thanking Alalik for the quaint song, sung in a sweet, touching voice,
they all took their departure, laden with purchases and delighted with
their visit. "But you must not think this is a fair sample of Esquimo
hut or Esquimo life," said Mr. Strong to the boys. "These are near enough
civilized to show the best side of their race, but theirs must be a
terrible existence who are inland or on islands where no one ever comes,
and whose only idea of life is a constant struggle for food."
"I think I would rather be an American," remarked Ted, while Kalitan
said, briefly: "I like Thlinkit."
CHAPTER XII
THE SPLENDOUR OF SAGHALIE TYEE
The _tundra_ was greenish-brown in colour, and looked like a great meadow
stretching from the beach, like a new moon, gently upward to the cones of
volcanic mountains far away. The ground, frozen solid all the year,
thaws out for a foot or two on the surface during the warm months, and
here and there were scattered wild flowers; spring beauties, purple
primroses, yellow anemone, and saxifrages bloomed in beauty, and wild
honey-bees, gay bumblebees, and fat mosquitoes buzzed and hummed
everywhere.
Ted and Kalitan were going to see the reindeer farm at Port Clarence,
and, as this was to be their last jaunt in Alaska, they were determined
to make the best of it. Next day they were to take ship from Cape Prince
of Wales and go straight to Sitka. Here Ted was to start for home, and
Mr. Strong was to leave Kalitan at the Mission School for a year's
schooling, which, to Kalitan's great delight, was to be a present to him
from his American friends.
"Tell us about the reindeer farms, daddy. Have they always been here?"
demanded Ted, as they tramped over the _tundra_, covered with moss,
grass, and flowers.
"No," said his father. "They are quite recent arrivals in Alaska. The
Esquimos used to live entirely upon the game they killed before the
whites came. There were many walruses, which they used for many things;
whales, too, they could easily capture before the whalers drove them
north, and then they hunted the wild reindeer, until now there are
scarcely any left. There was little left for them to eat but small fish,
for you see the whites had taken away or destroyed their food supplies.
"One day, in 1891, an American vessel discovered an entire village of
Esquimos starving, being reduced to eating their dogs, and it was thought
quite time that the government did something for these people whose land
they had bought. Finding that people of the same race in Siberia were
prosperous and healthy, they sent to investigate conditions, and found
that the Siberian Esquimos lived entirely by means of the reindeer. The
government decided to start a reindeer farm and see if it would not
benefit the natives."
"How does it work?" asked Ted.
"Very well indeed," said his father. "At first about two hundred animals
were brought over, and they increased about fifty per cent, the first
year. Everywhere in the arctic region the _tundra_ gives the reindeer the
moss he lives on. It is never dry in summer because the frost prevents
any underground drainage, and even in winter the animals feed upon it and
thrive. There are, it is said, hundreds of thousands of square miles of
reindeer moss in Alaska, and reindeer stations have been established in
many places, and, as the natives are the only ones allowed to raise them,
it seems as if this might be the way found to help the industrious
Esquimos to help themselves."
"But if it all belongs to the government, how can it help the natives?"
asked Ted.
"Of course they have to be taught the business," said Mr. Strong. "The
government brought over some Lapps and Finlanders to care for the deer at
first, and these took young Esquimos to train. Each one serves five years
as herder, having a certain number of deer set apart for him each year,
and at the end of his service goes into business for himself."
"Why, I think that's fine," cried Ted. "Oh, Daddy, what is that? It
looks like a queer, tangled up forest, all bare branches in the summer."
"That's a reindeer herd lying down for their noonday rest. What you see
are their antlers. How would you like to be in the midst of that forest
of branches?" asked Mr. Strong.
"No, thank you," said Teddy, but Kalitan said:
"Reindeer very gentle; they will not hurt unless very much frightened."
"What queer-looking animals they are," said Ted, as they approached
nearer. "A sort of a cross between a deer and a cow."
"Perhaps they are more useful than handsome, but I think there is
something picturesque about them, especially when hitched to sleds and
skimming over the frozen ground."
The farm at Teller was certainly an interesting spot. Teddy saw the deer
fed and milked, the Lapland women being experts in that line, and found
the herders, in their quaint _parkas_ tied around the waist, and conical
caps, scarcely less interesting than the deer. Two funny little Lapp
babies he took to ride on a large reindeer, which proceeding did not
frighten the babies half so much as did the white boy who put them on the
deer. A reindeer was to them an everyday occurrence, but a Boston boy was
quite another matter.
Better than the reindeer, however, Teddy and Kalitan liked the
draught dogs who hauled the water at the station. A great cask on
wheels was pulled by five magnificent dogs, beautiful fellows with
bright alert faces.
"They are the most faithful creatures in the world," said Mr. Strong,
"devoted to their masters, even though the masters are cruel to them.
Reindeer can work all day without a mouthful to eat, living on one meal
at night of seven pounds of corn-meal mush, with a pound or so of dried
fish cooked into it. On long journeys they can live on dried fish and
snow, and five dogs will haul four hundred pounds thirty-five miles a
day. They carry the United States mails all over Alaska."
"I should think the dog would be worth more than the reindeer," said Ted.
"Many Alaskan travellers say he is by far the best for travelling, but he
cannot feed himself on the _tundra_, nor can he be eaten himself if
necessary. The Jarvis expedition proved the value of the reindeer," said
Mr. Strong.
"What was that?" asked Ted.
"Some years ago a whale fleet was caught in the ice near Point Barrow,
and in danger of starving to death, and word of this was sent to the
government. The President ordered the revenue cutter _Bear_ to go as far
north as possible and send a relief party over the ice by sledge with
provisions. When the _Bear_ could go no farther, her commander landed
Lieutenant Jarvis, who was familiar with the region, and a relief party.
They were to seek the nearest reindeer station and drive a reindeer herd
to the relief of the starving people. The party reached Cape Nome and
secured some deer, and the rescue was made, but under such difficulties
that it is one of the most heroic stories of the age. These men drove
four hundred reindeer over two thousand miles north of the Arctic Circle,
over frozen seas and snow-covered mountains, and found the starving
sailors, who ate the fresh reindeer meat, which lasted until the ice
melted in the spring and set them free."
"I think that was fine," said Ted. "But it seems a little hard on the
reindeer, doesn't it, to tramp all that distance just to be eaten?"
"Animals made for man," said Kalitan, briefly.
* * * * *
A golden glory filled the sky, running upwards toward the zenith,
spreading there in varying colours from palest yellow to orange and
deepest, richest red. Glowing streams of light streamed heavenward like
feathery wings, as Ted and Kalitan sailed southward, and Ted exclaimed in
wonder: "What is it?"
"The splendour of _Saghalie Tyee_,"[16] said Kalitan, solemnly.
[Footnote 16: Way-up High Chief, i.e., God.]
"The Aurora Borealis," said Mr. Strong, "and very fortunate you are to
see it. Indeed, Teddy, you seem to have brought good luck, for everything
has gone well this trip. Our faces are turned homeward now, but we will
have to come again next summer and bring mother and Judith."
"I'll be glad to get home to mother again," said Ted, then noting
Kalitan's wistful face, "We'll find you at Sitka and go home with you to
the island," and he put his arm affectionately over the Indian boy's
shoulder. Kalitan pointed to the sky, whence the splendour was fading,
and a flock of birds was skimming southwards.
"From the sky fades the splendour of _Saghalle Tyee_," he said. "The
summer is gone, the birds fly southward. The light goes from me when my
White Brother goes with the birds. Unless he return with them, all is
dark for Kalitan!"
THE END.