A Woman who went to Alaska Part 23

I gave Jennie and Charlie two hours of my time, and went home, to return in the evening at Mollie's request. The poor woman was suffering severely, and I did what I could for her, rubbing her throat with camphorated oil and turpentine and wrapping it in thick, hot flannels.

Then I a.s.sisted her to bed, rubbing her aching bones, and left her less feverish than when I went in. The thermometer is above zero, and the weather is pleasant.

Two men from Topkok came in to see the Recorder's books, and searched all through them without finding what they wanted and expected to find, and then went away with sober and disappointed faces. "Curses not loud but deep" come to our ears each day about the Commissioner's work of recording, and many say he is now deep in dissipation at Nome, instead of attending here to his business as he should. Miners declare him unfitted in every way for his position, and affirm that they will depose him from office.

I went out this morning and bought a student lamp at the store, paying six dollars and a half for it. This, with my case of coal oil, will light my room nicely, besides giving a good deal of heat.

The Marshal and men are home from the Koyuk River, after four weeks of winter "mushing," and say nothing about their trip. They did not manage to pull harmoniously together, and Mr. L. returned before them.

January ninth: When I went today to the hotel to teach my pupils, I found the men in the room cleaning the big heater, and ashes and dirt drove us out of the place, so we went upstairs to another room in which Mollie sometimes sews, and where we found her at work on a white parkie for the musician. I played with Jennie for a time before the lesson, and Ageetuk came in on an errand, while Polly, the Eskimo servant, jabbered in a funny way and wabbled over the floor like a duck, as is her habit when walking. This girl is short, fat and shapeless, with beady black eyes, and a crafty expression, certainly not to be relied on if there is truth in physiognomy.

At the hotel all is excitement and bustle, getting the men off for the Kuskokquim River, where the new strikes are reported. Strong new sleds have been made by the natives, grub is being packed and dogs gotten into condition, besides a thousand other things which must be done before the expedition is ready to start. Seeing them make such extensive preparations reminded me that perhaps I might get the men to carry my paper and stake something for me, so, plucking up my courage, I asked the promoter of the expedition, whom I know, if I could do this, and was readily given permission. In a few minutes paper, pen and ink were brought in, a clerk was instructed to draw up the paper in proper shape, which he did, and it was signed and witnessed in due form, Mollie subscribing her name as one of the witnesses. For this I tendered my heartiest thanks, and ran home with a light heart, already imagining myself a lucky claim owner in a new and rich gold section on the Kuskokquim. The party of five men are to leave tomorrow morning for the long trip of several hundred miles over the ice and snow.

Mollie advises me to have another pair of muckluks made smaller, and to keep these I am wearing for traveling, when I will wear more inside them, so I will take my materials over tomorrow and she will have Alice cut and sew them for me. I hope they will not make my feet look so clumsy as do these, my first ones.

January tenth: This was a cold and windy morning, so the men at the hotel could not start out for the Kuskokquim as they intended. Some men came to the Mission to see if they could rent the old schoolhouse to live in, the doctor and his plucky little wife having left some weeks ago for a camp many miles east of Chinik. After looking it over, the men have concluded to take it, and move in soon. There are no buildings to buy or rent in this camp, nor anything with which to build, so it is hard lines for strangers coming to Chinik. This afternoon Alma went over with me to the hotel to st.i.tch on Mollie's sewing machine, and I carried the deerskin for my new footgear which Alice will make acceptably, no doubt, as she is very expert.

Mr. H., two natives and two white men, were here to supper tonight on their way to Nome by dog-team, and are wishing to start at three in the morning in order to make the trip in two days. M. and L. are also here, so we had seven men to supper. We had fried ham, beans, stewed prunes, tea, and bread and b.u.t.ter.

This morning it was two degrees below zero, with a strong, cold wind; tonight it is fourteen degrees below zero with no wind, and is warmer now than then. No moonlight till nearly morning, but the stars shine brightly.

January eleventh: Mary sat up all night baking bread, and starting the men off for Nome between three and four in the morning. I got up at nine o'clock and enjoyed the magnificent sunrise. I went out with Ricka while she tried at the three stores to find a lining for her fur coat, but one clerk told us that no provision for women was made by the companies, and they had nothing on their shelves she wanted. At the hotel store she found some dark green calico at twenty-five cents a yard, which she was obliged to take for her lining.

While I gave Jennie her lesson her mother came from her hunting, and had shot six ptarmigan, having hurt her finger on the trigger of the gun.

Mollie studies a little while each day, when Jennie has finished her lesson.

There is a sick Eskimo woman here now who was brought in from the reindeer camp yesterday, and Mollie has her upstairs in the sewing room on a cot. Mary, the nurse, went over with me to see her, and says she has rheumatic fever. She seems to be suffering very much, and cannot move her hands or limbs.

January twelfth: At eight o'clock today the thermometer stood at forty-one degrees below zero, but registered thirty-two degrees during the middle of the day, and the houses are not so warm as they have been.

When I called for Jennie at the hotel today I found her crying with pain in her leg, so she could not take a lesson, but I sent out for little Charlie who came running to me with outstretched arms. He is a dear little child, and I am getting very fond of him. It is some weeks since Jennie first began crying occasionally with pain, and her parents cannot understand it, unless it is caused by a fall she had on the steamer coming from San Francisco last summer, and of which they thought nothing at the time. I sincerely hope she is not going to be very ill, with no doctor nearer than White Mountain. The sick woman still suffers, though they are doing what they can for her. The captain requested me to bring our medical books over, or send them, that he can look up remedies and treatment of rheumatic fever, for that is what she no doubt has.

While seated at the organ an hour later, in came the storekeeper and his clerk, followed soon after by the captain and musician. Then we had music and solos by the last named gentleman, and the knitting needles kept rapidly flying. At eleven o'clock they went out into the intense cold, which sparkled like diamonds, but which pinched like nippers the exposed faces and hands.

Here is another cold, quiet day, with the thermometer at thirty-five degrees below zero, and it is a first cla.s.s one to spend by the fire. We have read, slept, eaten, and fed the fires; with only one man, three girls and myself in the house. At ten in the evening G. and B. came in from a five days "mushing" trip on the trails, being nearly starved and frozen. They were covered with snow and icicles, their shirts and coats stiff with frost from steam of their bodies, as they ran behind the sled to keep warm. A hot supper of chicken (canned), coffee, and bread and b.u.t.ter was prepared in haste for them, and they toasted themselves until bedtime.

CHAPTER XXII.

THE LITTLE SICK CHILD.

The winter is rapidly pa.s.sing, and so far without monotony, though what it will bring to us before spring remains to be seen. Little Jennie has been suffering more and more with her leg of late, and her papa sent for the doctor at White Mountain, who came today by dog-team. The child's mother has had a spring cot made for her, and she was put to bed by the doctor, who says the knee trouble is a very serious one, and she must have good nursing, attention being also paid to her diet. The Eskimos are all exceedingly fond of seal and reindeer meat, and Jennie's Auntie Apuk or grandmother will often bring choice tidbits to the child at bedtime, or between meals, when she ought not to eat anything, much less such hearty food. When the little child sees the good things, she, of course, wants them, and having been humored in every whim, she must still be, she thinks, especially when she is ill. A problem then is here presented which I may help to solve for them. Jennie and I are growing very fond of each other, and she will do some things for me which she will not do for others who have obeyed her wishes so long. I begin by round-about coaxing and reasoning, and get some other idea into her mind, until the plate of seal meat is partially forgotten, and does not seem so attractive at nine in the evening as when presented with loving smiles by her old grandmother, who does sometimes resent the alternative, but is still exceedingly solicitous that the little girl should recover. As grandmother understands English imperfectly, Mollie is obliged to reiterate the doctor's orders in Eskimo, making them as imperative as possible, and the poor old Eskimo woman goes home with the promise that Jennie shall have some of the dainties at meal-time on the morrow.

In appearance grandmother is still somewhat rugged, being a large woman, with an intelligent face, which expresses very forcibly her inner feelings, and being, probably, somewhere between sixty and seventy years of age. Her husband, who has been dead only a year or two, was much beloved by her, and no reference to him is ever made in her presence, without a flow of tears from her eyes. Her love of home and kindred seems very strong, and her devotion to little Jennie amounts almost to idolatry, so the solicitude expressed by the good woman is only a part of what she really feels, but which is shown in hundreds of ways. When the doctor settled the little girl in her bed she adjusted a heavy weight to the foot on the limb which has given her so much trouble, and now the grief of Mollie and her mother is unbounded. Poor old grandmother wipes her eyes continually, leaving the house quickly at times to rush home and mourn alone, as she is so constrained to do, her sorrow for her darling's sufferings being very sincere. Later she comes in after doing her best at courage building, tiptoes her way in to see if her pet is sleeping or awake, and bringing something if possible, with which to amuse or interest the invalid. However great is the grief of the women, that of the child's papa is equally sad to see, and he, poor man, is forced to face the probability of a long and dreary winter, if not a lifetime of suffering for his darling child. One cannot help seeing his misery, though he tries like a Trojan to hide it, and keeps as cheerful as possible to encourage others. He is always an invalid himself.

The main topic of interest to Jennie now is the little stranger who has come to live with her Auntie Apuk, and whom she is so desirous of seeing that she almost forgets her trouble and suffering, asking constantly about its size, color, eyes, hair, hands and feet. She counts the days before she can see it, and puzzles greatly over the fact of its not possessing a name, her big black eyes getting larger and blacker as she wonders where one will be found. Little Charlie is allowed in to see Jennie at times, and wonders greatly to find her always in bed, asking many questions in his childish Eskimo treble, and patting her hand sympathetically while standing at her side.

"Mamma," said he the other day to Mollie in Eskimo, with a pleased smile on his face, and when the two were alone, "the ladie loves me."

"How do you know?" asked Mollie.

"Because," he said shyly, putting his little arms about her neck, "because she kissed me." Whereupon Mollie did the same, and a.s.sured him of her own love, always providing, of course, that he was a good boy, and did what papa and mamma told him to do.

This conversation Mollie reported to me a few days after it took place, and I a.s.sured her with tears welling up in my eyes that the little child had made no mistake. Strange action of the subjective mind of one person over another, even to the understanding by this Eskimo baby of a stranger heart, and that one so unresponsive as mine. The child, deprived as he was of an own mother's love, still hungered and thirsted for it, and he was quick to discern in my eyes and voice the secret for which he was looking. How I should enjoy giving my whole time to these two children, and they really do need me to teach and care for them; but I am dividing myself between them and the Mission, and the winter days are very short.

The thermometer today registered fourteen degrees below zero, against twenty-eight yesterday and thirty below the day before that.

Mr. H. has returned from Nome, bringing me a package of kodak films sent from Oakland, Cal., last August, and which I never expected to receive after so long a time. I was delighted to get them, and now I can kodak this whole district, above and below.

Mollie is trying to study English a little, but with many interruptions on every hand. The big living room is light and warm, our only study place, and yet the rendezvous of all who care to drop in, regardless of invitations, making it somewhat difficult for us to concentrate our attention on the lessons. The Marshal, the bartender, the clerks, cooks, miners, natives, strangers and all come into this room to chat, see and inquire for Jennie, play with Charlie, and get warm by the fire. Here is an opportunity of a lifetime to study human nature, and I am glad, for it is a subject always full of interest to me, though I frequently feel literally choked with tobacco smoke, and wish often for a private sitting-room.

Sunday, January twentieth: We are snuggled indoors by the fires under the most terrible blizzard of the season so far, with furious gales, falling and drifting snow, and intense cold. It is impossible to keep the house as warm as usual, and I have eaten my meals today dressed in my fur coat, my seat at table being at the end with my back close to the frosty north window. Though this is the place of honor at the board, and the missionary's seat when he eats in the Mission, still it is a chilly berth on occasions, and this is decidedly one.

The dining-room contains, besides the north window, one on the south side as well, and though both are covered with storm windows, the frost and ice is several inches thick upon the panes, precluding any possibility of receiving light from either quarter unless the sun shines very brightly indeed, and then only a subdued light is admitted. During the night the house shook constantly in the terrific gale, rattling loose boards and shingles, and I was kept awake for several hours.

At night I am in the habit of tossing my fur coat upon my bed for the warmth there is in it, as I am not the possessor of a fur robe, as all persons should be who winter here. Furs are the only things to keep the intense cold out in such weather as we are now having, but with some management I get along fairly well.

A reindeer skin not in use from the attic makes my bed soft and warm underneath, my coat over my blankets answers the same purpose, and the white fox baby robe from the old wooden cradle upstairs makes a soft, warm rug on the floor upon which to step out in the morning. Wool slippers are never off my feet when my muckluks are resting, and I manage by keeping a supply of kindlings and small wood in my box by the stove, to have a warm fire by which to dress.

These days we do not often rise early, and ten o'clock frequently finds us at breakfast, but we retire correspondingly late, and midnight is quite a customary hour lately. Today we pa.s.sed the time in eating, sleeping, singing, and reading. A visiting Swedish preacher came over a few days ago from the Home, and is storm-bound in the Mission. He is a large, heavy man, with a hearty voice and hand grip, and is a graduate of Yale College, using the best of English, having filled one of the vacant Nome pulpits for several weeks last fall before coming to Golovin.

Today he has read one of Talmage's sermons to us, and we have sung Gospel songs galore, in both Swedish and English, with myself as organist. When this is tired of, the smaller instruments are taken out, and Ricka has the greatest difficulty in preventing Alma from amusing the a.s.sembled company with her mandolin solo, "Johnny Get Your Hair Cut," the young lady's red lips growing quite prominent while she insists upon playing it.

"Good music is always acceptable, Ricka, and on Sunday as well as on any other day, so I cannot see why you will not let me play as I want to. I do not think it a sin to play on the mandolin on Sunday. Do you, Pastor F.?" asked Alma of the preacher, appealingly, and in all innocence.

What could he say to her? He laughed.

"O, no," said Ricka, "I do not say that mandolin music is sinful on Sunday, and if you would play 'Nearer My G.o.d to Thee,' or some such piece, and not play 'Johnny,' I should not object." And she now looked at the preacher and me for reinforcements.

Alma is not, however, easily put down, and the contest usually winds up with Ricka going into the kitchen where she cannot hear the silly strains of "Johnny," which Alma is picking abstractedly from the strings of the instrument, while the preacher continues his reading, and I go off to my room.

Mr. Q., a Swedish missionary, and his native preacher called Rock, have arrived from Unalaklik, with the two visiting preachers at the Home, and they held an evening service in the schoolhouse, which was fairly well attended. There were seven white men, the three women in this house and myself, besides many natives of both s.e.xes. Grandmother was there with Alice, Ageetuk and others, and the missionary spoke well and feelingly in English, interpreted by Rock into Eskimo. One of the preachers sang a solo, and presided at the organ. Some of the native women present had with them their babies, and these, away from home in the evening, contrary to their usual habit, cried and nestled around a good deal, and had to be comforted in various ways, both substantial and otherwise, during the evening; but the speakers were accustomed to all that, and were thankful to have as listeners the poor mothers, who probably could not have come without the youngsters.

Considerable will power and auto-suggestion is needed to enable me to endure the fumes of seal oil along with other smells which are constantly arising from the furs and bodies of the Eskimos, made damp, perhaps, by the snow which has lodged upon them before entering the room. Fire we must have. Those who are continually with the natives in these gatherings do get "acclimated," but I am having a hard struggle along these lines.

The three Swedish and one Eskimo preacher left today for the Home, after I had taken a kodak view of them, and their dog-team. As the wind blew cold and stiffly from the northwest, they hoisted a sail made of an old blanket upon their sled.

There are many who are ingenious, and who are glad to help the sick child, Jennie, pa.s.s her time pleasantly, and among them is the musician.

Being a clever artist as well as musician, he goes often to sit beside Jennie, and then slate and pencils are brought out, and the drawing begins. Indian heads, Eskimo children in fur parkies, summer landscapes, anything and everything takes its turn upon the slate, which appears a real kaleidoscope under the artist's hands. Jennie often laughs till the tears run down her face at some comical drawing or story, or the musician's efforts to speak Eskimo as she does, and both enjoy themselves immensely.

Yesterday Mollie went out to hunt for ptarmigan. She is exceedingly fond of gunning, has great success, and she and the child relish these tasty birds better than anything else at this season. Ageetuk also is a good hunter and trapper, and brought in two red foxes from her traps yesterday, when she came home from her outing with Mollie. Little Charlie ran up to Mollie on her return from her hunt, and cried in a mixture of Eskimo and English:

"Foxes peeluk, Mamma?" meaning to ask if she did not secure any animals, appearing disappointed when told by his mamma (for such she calls herself to the child) that she did not find anything today but ptarmigan.

It was twenty degrees below zero this morning, and the sun was beautifully bright. The days are growing longer, and it is quite light at eight o'clock in the morning. The short days have never been tiresome to me because we have not lacked for fuel and lights, and have kept occupied.

One of the Commissioners and two or three other men have been trying for a long time to get their meals here, but the girls have pleaded too little room, and other excuses, until now the Commissioner has returned, and renewed his requests. Today he came over and left word that he and two others would be here to six o'clock supper, at which the girls were wrathy.