Millard Fillmore - "State of the Union Addresses of Millard Fillmore"

John H. Parker - "The Gatlings at Santiago"

Sir Francis Bacon - "Valerius Terminus: of the Interpretation of Nature"

Unkown - "Cinderella; or, The Little Glass Slipper and other Stories"

Travels in Alaska

J >> John Muir >> Travels in Alaska




Along the sides of the glacier we saw the mighty flood grinding
against the granite walls with tremendous pressure, rounding
outswelling bosses, and deepening the retreating hollows into the
forms they are destined to have when, in the fullness of appointed
time, the huge ice tool shall be withdrawn by the sun. Every feature
glowed with intention, reflecting the plans of God. Back a few miles
from the front, the glacier is now probably but little more than a
thousand feet deep; but when we examine the records on the walls, the
rounded, grooved, striated, and polished features so surely glacial,
we learn that in the earlier days of the ice age they were all
over-swept, and that this glacier has flowed at a height of from
three to four thousand feet above its present level, when it was at
least a mile deep.

Standing here, with facts so fresh and telling and held up so vividly
before us, every seeing observer, not to say geologist, must readily
apprehend the earth-sculpturing, landscape-making action of flowing
ice. And here, too, one learns that the world, though made, is yet
being made; that this is still the morning of creation; that
mountains long conceived are now being born, channels traced for
coming rivers, basins hollowed for lakes; that moraine soil is being
ground and outspread for coming plants,--coarse boulders and gravel
for forests, finer soil for grasses and flowers,--while the finest
part of the grist, seen hastening out to sea in the draining streams,
is being stored away in darkness and builded particle on particle,
cementing and crystallizing, to make the mountains and valleys and
plains of other predestined landscapes, to be followed by still
others in endless rhythm and beauty.

Gladly would we have camped out on this grand old landscape mill to
study its ways and works; but we had no bread and the captain was
keeping the Cassiar whistle screaming for our return. Therefore, in
mean haste, we threaded our way back through the crevasses and down
the blue cliffs, snatched a few flowers from a warm spot on the edge
of the ice, plashed across the moraine streams, and were paddled
aboard, rejoicing in the possession of so blessed a day, and feeling
that in very foundational truth we had been in one of God's own
temples and had seen Him and heard Him working and preaching like a
man.

Steaming solemnly out of the fiord and down the coast, the islands
and mountains were again passed in review; the clouds that so often
hide the mountain-tops even in good weather were now floating high
above them, and the transparent shadows they cast were scarce
perceptible on the white glacier fountains. So abundant and novel are
the objects of interest in a pure wilderness that unless you are
pursuing special studies it matters little where you go, or how
often to the same place. Wherever you chance to be always seems at
the moment of all places the best; and you feel that there can be no
happiness in this world or in any other for those who may not be
happy here. The bright hours were spent in making notes and sketches
and getting more of the wonderful region into memory. In particular a
second view of the mountains made me raise my first estimate of their
height. Some of them must be seven or eight thousand feet at the
least. Also the glaciers seemed larger and more numerous. I counted
nearly a hundred, large and small, between a point ten or fifteen
miles to the north of Cape Fanshawe and the mouth of the Stickeen
River. We made no more landings, however, until we had passed through
the Wrangell Narrows and dropped anchor for the night in a small
sequestered bay. This was about sunset, and I eagerly seized the
opportunity to go ashore in the canoe and see what I could learn. It
is here only a step from the marine algae to terrestrial vegetation of
almost tropical luxuriance. Parting the alders and huckleberry bushes
and the crooked stems of the prickly panax, I made my way into the
woods, and lingered in the twilight doing nothing in particular, only
measuring a few of the trees, listening to learn what birds and
animals might be about, and gazing along the dusky aisles.

In the mean time another excursion was being invented, one of small
size and price. We might have reached Fort Wrangell this evening
instead of anchoring here; but the owners of the Cassiar would then
receive only ten dollars fare from each person, while they had
incurred considerable expense in fitting up the boat for this special
trip, and had treated us well. No, under the circumstances, it would
never do to return to Wrangell so meanly soon.

It was decided, therefore, that the Cassiar Company should have the
benefit of another day's hire, in visiting the old deserted Stickeen
village fourteen miles to the south of Wrangell.

"We shall have a good time," one of the most influential of the party
said to me in a semi-apologetic tone, as if dimly recognizing my
disappointment in not going on to Chilcat. "We shall probably find
stone axes and other curiosities. Chief Kadachan is going to guide
us, and the other Indians aboard will dig for us, and there are
interesting old buildings and totem poles to be seen."

It seemed strange, however, that so important a mission to the most
influential of the Alaskan tribes should end in a deserted village.
But divinity abounded nevertheless; the day was divine and there was
plenty of natural religion in the newborn landscapes that were being
baptized in sunshine, and sermons in the glacial boulders on the
beach where we landed.

The site of the old village is on an outswelling strip of ground
about two hundred yards long and fifty wide, sloping gently to the
water with a strip of gravel and tall grass in front, dark woods back
of it, and charming views over the water among the islands--a
delightful place. The tide was low when we arrived, and I noticed
that the exposed boulders on the beach--granite erratics that had
been dropped by the melting ice toward the close of the glacial
period--were piled in parallel rows at right angles to the
shore-line, out of the way of the canoes that had belonged to the
village.

Most of the party sauntered along the shore; for the ruins were
overgrown with tall nettles, elder bushes, and prickly rubus vines
through which it was difficult to force a way. In company with the
most eager of the relic-seekers and two Indians, I pushed back among
the dilapidated dwellings. They were deserted some sixty or seventy
years before, and some of them were at least a hundred years old. So
said our guide, Kadachan, and his word was corroborated by the
venerable aspect of the ruins. Though the damp climate is
destructive, many of the house timbers were still in a good state of
preservation, particularly those hewn from the yellow cypress, or
cedar as it is called here. The magnitude of the ruins and the
excellence of the workmanship manifest in them was astonishing as
belonging to Indians. For example, the first dwelling we visited was
about forty feet square, with walls built of planks two feet wide and
six inches thick. The ridgepole of yellow cypress was two feet in
diameter, forty feet long, and as round and true as if it had been
turned in a lathe; and, though lying in the damp weeds, it was still
perfectly sound. The nibble marks of the stone adze were still
visible, though crusted over with scale lichens in most places. The
pillars that had supported the ridgepole were still standing in some
of the ruins. They were all, as far as I observed, carved into
life-size figures of men, women, and children, fishes, birds, and
various other animals, such as the beaver, wolf, or bear. Each of the
wall planks had evidently been hewn out of a whole log, and must have
required sturdy deliberation as well as skill. Their geometrical
truthfulness was admirable. With the same tools not one in a thousand
of our skilled mechanics could do as good work. Compared with it the
bravest work of civilized backwoodsmen is feeble and bungling. The
completeness of form, finish, and proportion of these timbers
suggested skill of a wild and positive kind, like that which guides
the woodpecker in drilling round holes, and the bee in making its
cells.

The carved totem-pole monuments are the most striking of the objects
displayed here. The simplest of them consisted of a smooth, round
post fifteen or twenty feet high and about eighteen inches in
diameter, with the figure of some animal on top--a bear, porpoise,
eagle, or raven, about life-size or larger. These were the totems of
the families that occupied the houses in front of which they stood.
Others supported the figure of a man or woman, life-size or larger,
usually in a sitting posture, said to resemble the dead whose ashes
were contained in a closed cavity in the pole. The largest were
thirty or forty feet high, carved from top to bottom into human and
animal totem figures, one above another, with their limbs grotesquely
doubled and folded. Some of the most imposing were said to
commemorate some event of an historical character. But a telling
display of family pride seemed to have been the prevailing motive.
All the figures were more or less rude, and some were broadly
grotesque, but there was never any feebleness or obscurity in the
expression. On the contrary, every feature showed grave force and
decision; while the childish audacity displayed in the designs,
combined with manly strength in their execution, was truly wonderful.

The colored lichens and mosses gave them a venerable air, while the
larger vegetation often found on such as were most decayed produced a
picturesque effect. Here, for example, is a bear five or six feet
long, reposing on top of his lichen-clad pillar, with paws
comfortably folded, a tuft of grass growing in each ear and rubus
bushes along his back. And yonder is an old chief poised on a taller
pillar, apparently gazing out over the landscape in contemplative
mood, a tuft of bushes leaning back with a jaunty air from the top of
his weatherbeaten hat, and downy mosses about his massive lips. But
no rudeness or grotesqueness that may appear, however combined with
the decorations that nature has added, may possibly provoke mirth.
The whole work is serious in aspect and brave and true in execution.

Similar monuments are made by other Thlinkit tribes. The erection of
a totem pole is made a grand affair, and is often talked of for a
year or two beforehand. A feast, to which many are invited, is held,
and the joyous occasion is spent in eating, dancing, and the
distribution of gifts. Some of the larger specimens cost a thousand
dollars or more. From one to two hundred blankets, worth three
dollars apiece, are paid to the genius who carves them, while the
presents and feast usually cost twice as much, so that only the
wealthy families can afford them. I talked with an old Indian who
pointed out one of the carvings he had made in the Wrangell village,
for which he told me he had received forty blankets, a gun, a canoe,
and other articles, all together worth about $170. Mr. Swan, who has
contributed much information concerning the British Columbian and
Alaskan tribes, describes a totem pole that cost $2500. They are
always planted firmly in the ground and stand fast, showing the
sturdy erectness of their builders.

While I was busy with my pencil, I heard chopping going on at the
north end of the village, followed by a heavy thud, as if a tree had
fallen. It appeared that after digging about the old hearth in the
first dwelling visited without finding anything of consequence, the
archaeological doctor called the steamer deck hands to one of the most
interesting of the totems and directed them to cut it down, saw off
the principal figure,--a woman measuring three feet three inches
across the shoulders,--and convey it aboard the steamer, with a view
to taking it on East to enrich some museum or other. This sacrilege
came near causing trouble and would have cost us dear had the totem
not chanced to belong to the Kadachan family, the representative of
which is a member of the newly organized Wrangell Presbyterian
Church. Kadachan looked very seriously into the face of the reverend
doctor and pushed home the pertinent question: "How would you like
to have an Indian go to a graveyard and break down and carry away a
monument belonging to your family?"

However, the religious relations of the parties and a few trifling
presents embedded in apologies served to hush and mend the matter.

Some time in the afternoon the steam whistle called us together to
finish our memorable trip. There was no trace of decay in the sky; a
glorious sunset gilded the water and cleared away the shadows of our
meditations among the ruins. We landed at the Wrangell wharf at dusk,
pushed our way through a group of inquisitive Indians, across the two
crooked streets, and up to our homes in the fort. We had been away
only three days, but they were so full of novel scenes and
impressions the time seemed indefinitely long, and our broken Chilcat
excursion, far from being a failure as it seemed to some, was one of
the most memorable of my life.



Chapter VI

The Cassiar Trail


I made a second trip up the Stickeen in August and from the head of
navigation pushed inland for general views over dry grassy hills and
plains on the Cassiar trail.

Soon after leaving Telegraph Creek I met a merry trader who
encouragingly assured me that I was going into the most wonderful
region in the world, that "the scenery up the river was full of the
very wildest freaks of nature, surpassing all other sceneries either
natural or artificial, on paper or in nature. And give yourself no
bothering care about provisions, for wild food grows in prodigious
abundance everywhere. A man was lost four days up there, but he
feasted on vegetables and berries and got back to camp in good
condition. A mess of wild parsnips and pepper, for example, will
actually do you good. And here's my advice--go slow and take the
pleasures and sceneries as you go."

At the confluence of the first North Fork of the Stickeen I found a
band of Toltan or Stick Indians catching their winter supply of
salmon in willow traps, set where the fish are struggling in swift
rapids on their way to the spawning-grounds. A large supply had
already been secured, and of course the Indians were well fed and
merry. They were camping in large booths made of poles set on end in
the ground, with many binding cross-pieces on which tons of salmon
were being dried. The heads were strung on separate poles and the
roes packed in willow baskets, all being well smoked from fires in
the middle of the floor. The largest of the booths near the bank of
the river was about forty feet square. Beds made of spruce and pine
boughs were spread all around the walls, on which some of the Indians
lay asleep; some were braiding ropes, others sitting and lounging,
gossiping and courting, while a little baby was swinging in a
hammock. All seemed to be light-hearted and jolly, with work enough
and wit enough to maintain health and comfort. In the winter they are
said to dwell in substantial huts in the woods, where game,
especially caribou, is abundant. They are pale copper-colored, have
small feet and hands, are not at all negroish in lips or cheeks like
some of the coast tribes, nor so thickset, short-necked, or
heavy-featured in general.

One of the most striking of the geological features of this region
are immense gravel deposits displayed in sections on the walls of the
river gorges. About two miles above the North Fork confluence there
is a bluff of basalt three hundred and fifty feet high, and above
this a bed of gravel four hundred feet thick, while beneath the
basalt there is another bed at least fifty feet thick.

From "Ward's," seventeen miles beyond Telegraph, and about fourteen
hundred feet above sea-level, the trail ascends a gravel ridge to a
pine-and-fir-covered plateau twenty-one hundred feet above the sea.
Thence for three miles the trail leads through a forest of short,
closely planted trees to the second North Fork of the Stickeen, where
a still greater deposit of stratified gravel is displayed, a section
at least six hundred feet thick resting on a red jaspery formation.

Nine hundred feet above the river there is a slightly dimpled plateau
diversified with aspen and willow groves and mossy meadows. At
"Wilson's," one and a half miles from the river, the ground is
carpeted with dwarf manzanita and the blessed Linnaea borealis, and
forested with small pines, spruces, and aspens, the tallest fifty to
sixty feet high.

From Wilson's to "Caribou," fourteen miles, no water was visible,
though the nearly level, mossy ground is swampy-looking. At "Caribou
Camp," two miles from the river, I saw two fine dogs, a Newfoundland
and a spaniel. Their owner told me that he paid only twenty dollars
for the team and was offered one hundred dollars for one of them a
short time afterwards. The Newfoundland, he said, caught salmon on
the ripples, and could be sent back for miles to fetch horses. The
fine jet-black curly spaniel helped to carry the dishes from the
table to the kitchen, went for water when ordered, took the pail and
set it down at the stream-side, but could not be taught to dip it
full. But their principal work was hauling camp-supplies on sleds up
the river in winter. These two were said to be able to haul a load of
a thousand pounds when the ice was in fairly good condition. They
were fed on dried fish and oatmeal boiled together.

The timber hereabouts is mostly willow or poplar on the low ground,
with here and there pine, birch, and spruce about fifty feet high.
None seen much exceeded a foot in diameter. Thousand-acre patches
have been destroyed by fire. Some of the green trees had been burned
off at the root, the raised roots, packed in dry moss, being readily
attacked from beneath. A range of mountains about five thousand to
six thousand feet high trending nearly north and south for sixty
miles is forested to the summit. Only a few cliff-faces and one of
the highest points patched with snow are treeless. No part of this
range as far as I could see is deeply sculptured, though the general
denudation of the country must have been enormous as the gravel-beds
show.

At the top of a smooth, flowery pass about four thousand feet above
the sea, beautiful Dease Lake comes suddenly in sight, shining like a
broad tranquil river between densely forested hills and mountains. It
is about twenty-seven miles long, one to two miles wide, and its
waters, tributary to the Mackenzie, flow into the Arctic Ocean by a
very long, roundabout, romantic way, the exploration of which in 1789
from Great Slave Lake to the Arctic Ocean must have been a glorious
task for the heroic Scotchman, Alexander Mackenzie, whose name it
bears.

Dease Creek, a fine rushing stream about forty miles long and forty
or fifty feet wide, enters the lake from the west, drawing its
sources from grassy mountain-ridges. Thibert Creek, about the same
size, and McDames and Defot Creeks, with their many branches, head
together in the same general range of mountains or on moor-like
tablelands on the divide between the Mackenzie and Yukon and
Stickeen. All these Mackenzie streams had proved rich in gold. The
wing-dams, flumes, and sluice-boxes on the lower five or ten miles of
their courses showed wonderful industry, and the quantity of glacial
and perhaps pre-glacial gravel displayed was enormous. Some of the
beds were not unlike those of the so-called Dead Rivers of
California. Several ancient drift-filled channels on Thibert Creek,
blue at bed rock, were exposed and had been worked. A considerable
portion of the gold, though mostly coarse, had no doubt come from
considerable distances, as boulders included in some of the deposits
show. The deepest beds, though known to be rich, had not yet been
worked to any great depth on account of expense. Diggings that yield
less than five dollars a day to the man were considered worthless.
Only three of the claims on Defot Creek, eighteen miles from the
mouth of Thibert Creek, were then said to pay. One of the nuggets
from this creek weighed forty pounds.

While wandering about the banks of these gold-besprinkled streams,
looking at the plants and mines and miners, I was so fortunate as to
meet an interesting French Canadian, an old coureur de bois, who
after a few minutes' conversation invited me to accompany him to his
gold-mine on the head of Defot Creek, near the summit of a smooth,
grassy mountain-ridge which he assured me commanded extensive views
of the region at the heads of Stickeen, Taku, Yukon, and Mackenzie
tributaries. Though heavy-laden with flour and bacon, he strode
lightly along the rough trails as if his load was only a natural
balanced part of his body. Our way at first lay along Thibert Creek,
now on gravel benches, now on bed rock, now close down on the
bouldery edge of the stream. Above the mines the stream is clear and
flows with a rapid current. Its banks are embossed with moss and
grass and sedge well mixed with flowers--daisies, larkspurs,
solidagos, parnassia, potentilla, strawberry, etc. Small strips of
meadow occur here and there, and belts of slender arrowy fir and
spruce with moss-clad roots grow close to the water's edge. The creek
is about forty-five miles long, and the richest of its gold-bearing
beds so far discovered were on the lower four miles of the creek; the
higher four-or-five-dollars-a-day diggings were considered very poor
on account of the high price of provisions and shortness of the
season. After crossing many smaller streams with their strips of
trees and meadows, bogs and bright wild gardens, we arrived at the Le
Claire cabin about the middle of the afternoon. Before entering it he
threw down his burden and made haste to show me his favorite flower,
a blue forget-me-not, a specimen of which he found within a few rods
of the cabin, and proudly handed it to me with the finest respect,
and telling its many charms and lifelong associations, showed in
every endearing look and touch and gesture that the tender little
plant of the mountain wilderness was truly his best-loved darling.

After luncheon we set out for the highest point on the dividing ridge
about a mile above the cabin, and sauntered and gazed until sundown,
admiring the vast expanse of open rolling prairie-like highlands
dotted with groves and lakes, the fountain-heads of countless cool,
glad streams.

Le Claire's simple, childlike love of nature, preserved undimmed
through a hard wilderness life, was delightful to see. The grand
landscapes with their lakes and streams, plants and animals, all were
dear to him. In particular he was fond of the birds that nested near
his cabin, watched the young, and in stormy weather helped their
parents to feed and shelter them. Some species were so confiding they
learned to perch on his shoulders and take crumbs from his hand.

A little before sunset snow began to fly, driven by a cold wind, and
by the time we reached the cabin, though we had not far to go,
everything looked wintry. At half-past nine we ate supper, while a
good fire crackled cheerily in the ingle and a wintry wind blew hard.
The little log cabin was only ten feet long, eight wide, and just
high enough under the roof peak to allow one to stand upright. The
bedstead was not wide enough for two, so Le Claire spread the
blankets on the floor, and we gladly lay down after our long, happy
walk, our heads under the bedstead, our feet against the opposite
wall, and though comfortably tired, it was long ere we fell asleep,
for Le Claire, finding me a good listener, told many stories of his
adventurous life with Indians, bears and wolves, snow and hunger,
and of his many camps in the Canadian woods, hidden like the nests
and dens of wild animals; stories that have a singular interest to
everybody, for they awaken inherited memories of the lang, lang syne
when we were all wild. He had nine children, he told me, the youngest
eight years of age, and several of his daughters were married. His
home was in Victoria.

Next morning was cloudy and windy, snowy and cold, dreary December
weather in August, and I gladly ran out to see what I might learn. A
gray ragged-edged cloud capped the top of the divide, its snowy
fringes drawn out by the wind. The flowers, though most of them were
buried or partly so, were to some extent recognizable, the bluebells
bent over, shining like eyes through the snow, and the gentians, too,
with their corollas twisted shut; cassiope I could recognize under
any disguise; and two species of dwarf willow with their seeds
already ripe, one with comparatively small leaves, were growing in
mere cracks and crevices of rock-ledges where the dry snow could not
lie. Snowbirds and ptarmigan were flying briskly in the cold wind,
and on the edge of a grove I saw a spruce from which a bear had
stripped large sections of bark for food.

About nine o'clock the clouds lifted and I enjoyed another wide view
from the summit of the ridge of the vast grassy fountain region with
smooth rolling features. A few patches of forest broke the monotony
of color, and the many lakes, one of them about five miles long, were
glowing like windows. Only the highest ridges were whitened with
snow, while rifts in the clouds showed beautiful bits of yellow-green
sky. The limit of tree growth is about five thousand feet.

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