Kalitan, Our Little Alaskan Cousin Part 9

"Can we go into a hut?" asked Ted.

"I'll ask that woman cooking over there," said Mr. Strong, as they went up to a woman who was cooking over a peat fire, holding over the coals an old battered skillet in which she was frying fish. She nodded and smiled at the boys, and, as Esquimos are always friendly and hospitable souls, told them to go right into her _iglu_, which was close by.

They climbed down the ladder, crawled along the narrow pa.s.sage to where a skin hung before an opening, and, pushing it aside, entered the living-room. Here they found an old man busily engaged in carving a walrus tooth, another sewing _mukluks_, while a girl was singing a quaint lullaby to a child of two in the corner.

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, gra.s.s 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 st.i.tches, 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 sc.r.a.pe 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 gra.s.s, 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 a.s.sent 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 b.u.mblebees, 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, gra.s.s, 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.