His face was jammed right in the ice an' was already freezin'. We couldn't do nothin' but just look at each other. Then he says, 'You might as well go on!' An' I says, 'I'm d.a.m.ned ef I do!' I untied the packs an' got all the rope we had, but it wouldn't reach him. 'I'll go git some more rope,' I says to him, but I knowed it'd be too late. 'Go on!' he says. 'Don't let the dark git you out here. You can't do nothin' fer me!' I knowed he was right. But I hated like h.e.l.l to leave him. I'd 'a stayed ef it'd done any good. But it wouldn't. To-day I got some more rope an' went back. But----. The ice down where he was had opened again an' I could see straight down fer two hundred feet. He wuzn't there!"

n.o.body said anything. He took a few more puffs from his pipe. Then he got up and went out.

I have more than once mentioned the Reverend Hudson Stuck, Archdeacon of the Yukon, author, missionary and first white man to ascend Mt.

McKinley. The Archdeacon is known and loved by all who know him, not only for his services but because of his personality and his adaptability to the needs and conditions of the land in which he lives.

His books, _The Ascent of Denali_, _Ten Thousand Miles with a Dog Sled_ and _Voyages on the Yukon_, are excellent reading, good examples of Alaskan literature and history. The Archdeacon has a sense of humor which makes friends for him wherever he goes, and one evening Gene Doyle, the oldest mail-carrier in our part of Alaska, a hardened traveler of the trails, blew in with a good story. Gene was a sourdough of the most p.r.o.nounced type. He had wintered many times in Alaska.

When two people meet on the trails each is warned of the other's approach by the actions of the dogs. First the leader and then the rest of the team will begin to bristle and cut antics of various kinds. The usual salutation in Alaska is not "How are you?" or "h.e.l.lo!" as might be the case elsewhere. Instead we call out: "How are the trails ahead?"

On this occasion Doyle knew by the actions of his dogs that he was about to meet another team. There was a storm in progress and neither man could see the driver of the other team. Doyle had had a particularly difficult day's trip and was a bit out of temper when the driver of the other team thus accosted him:

"Friend, how are the trails ahead?"

"They are the G---- d---- dest, blank, blank, blankety-blankedest I've ever seen in Alaska!" Doyle replied. "How are they your way?"

"The same!" was the somewhat emphatic response of the gentleman. It was the Archdeacon!

As I have already said, weather which in lower lat.i.tudes would promptly convert one into an icicle has little effect upon one who understands how to prepare for it. With hands and feet warmly protected, with winter underwear and wind-proof outer clothes one can comfortably and successfully "weather the weather!" It is no uncommon experience, however, to meet a man on the trail who sings out to you:

"I say, old fellow,--your nose is frozen!"

"Thanks!" you respond. "So is yours!"

Each will then blissfully apply a little snow to the disabled member and proceed on his way. But there is one other thing which should be rigorously guarded against as it is a painful and distressing experience. This is snow-blindness. The glare on the snow causes the film of the eye to become a water blister, which takes three or four days to heal. One of my most poignant recollections is a three days'

siege of snow-blindness, during which I lay helpless in a hut while an old squaw put wet tea leaves on my eyes. Never again!

I have heard that from the fighting men of the allied armies now in Europe have come back some exquisite verse,--such verse as one could not reasonably expect from men of their youth and previous environment.

The same may be said of much of the verse of Alaska. The poems of Service and Dunham are well known. But alas, the bulk of the others never saw the light of day in print!

As has been said, however, Alaska is a land of contrasts. Not every one gets the same impression of the same thing! To prove it I quote a poem written by one of the many who did not find in Alaska just what they came to seek. The writer of the verses below was the steward on the _Susie_,--one of the boats which plied the Yukon during the gold rush.

Evidently his claim proved worthless, or something else went wrong. For he has thus expressed himself:

AN IMPRESSION OF ALASKA

The Devil in h.e.l.l, we are told, was chained.

Thousands of years he thus remained, But he did not complain nor did he groan.

He decided to have a h.e.l.l of his own Where he could torment the souls of men Without being chained in a sulphur pen!

So he asked the Lord if He had any land In a clime cool enough for a Devil to stand.

The Lord said: "Yes--but it's not much use.

It's called Alaska. It's cold as the deuce.

In fact, old boy, the place is so bare I fear you could not make a good h.e.l.l there!"

But the Devil said he could not see why; He knew his business. He'd like to try.

So the bargain was made, the deed was given, And the Devil took his departure from heaven.

He next appeared in the far, far North, Exploring Alaska to learn its worth; And he said from McKinley as he looked at the truck, "I got it for nothing,--but still I'm stuck!"

But, oh,--it was fine to be out in the cold!

The wind blew a gale, but the Devil grew bold, And thus on the mountain height he planned: "I'll make of Alaska the home of the d.a.m.ned!

A different place from the old-fashioned h.e.l.l, Where each soul burns in a brimstone cell.

I'll use every means a wise Devil need To make a good h.e.l.l. You bet I'll succeed!"

First he filled the air with millions of gnats.

Then he spread the Yukon all over the Flats, Set a line of volcanos from Unimak Pa.s.s, And covered the soil with tundra gra.s.s.

He made six months' night--when 'twas sixty below, A howling wind and a pelting snow!

And six months' day--with a spell now and then Too hot for the Devil and all of his men!

Brought hungry wolves and dogs by the pack Whose yells send chills right down your back, And as you "mush" o'er the bleak expanse The North Wind blows holes in your pants!

But of all the pests the imp could devise The Yukon mosquitoes bear off the prize.

They've a rattler's bite, a scorpion's sting, And they measure six inches from wing to wing!

The Devil said when he fashioned these: "One of 'em is worse than a thousand fleas!"

Then, over the mountain and rolling plain Where the dew falls soft and there's plenty of rain He grew flowers and berries. 'Twas just a bluff!

The Devil knows how to peddle his stuff!

And to prove how well he knew the game He next proceeded to salt his claim.

He put gold nuggets in all the streams To lure men on in dreams! In dreams!

He hid them deep in the glacial ice, As a glittering city hides its vice!

Then he bade Dame Rumor spread the news Throughout all the world to its motley crews That there was gold in piles and piles, Of every color and in all styles!

Then he grinned a grim, sardonic grin, And said: "Now watch the fools rush in!

They'll fight for gold. They'll steal and slay!

But in the end _I'm_ the one they'll pay!"

'Tis a fine h.e.l.l this that the Devil owns!

Its trails are marked with frozen bones; The wild winds moan over bleak chaparral; 'Tis a h.e.l.l of a place he chose for his h.e.l.l!

And now you know, should anyone ask you, What kind of a place is our Alaska!

I am convinced that the Alaskans, whether they realize it or not, are poetic and imaginative. All over the country one finds the quaintest of names that have been bestowed upon the various localities by some follower of the trail, prospector, or other traveler. In one's journeyings he will come upon settlements bearing such names as Sunset, Paystreak, Anchorage and Fortymile. There are also the "Isles of G.o.d's Mercy" where Henry Hudson found shelter on his last voyage, "Anxiety Point" and "Return Reef" of Sir John Franklin, that Sir Galahad of explorers whose Eskimo name means "the man who does not molest our women." In Bank's Land is "Mercy Bay" and there is also the "Thank G.o.d"

harbor so named by poor Hall on the _Polaris_.

So, if one could but gather them together, the poems and songs and pretty names of Alaska, each a part of her real history, it might make a column about three miles long, but--it would be mighty interesting reading!

One has but to glance at the map to see the similarity of the Alaskan coast to that of Norway. Will not the day come when her fiords and mountains, her Northern Lights and Midnight Sun will be as famed in song and story as those of Norway? Surely it will!

CONCLUSION

In concluding this volume I am reminded of two stories, both of which seem applicable to the subject. One of the quaintest and most interesting characters I ever ran across was a French-Canadian, Captain of one of the boats which plied the Yukon during the summer and in the winter stayed at St. Michael. One day the river, or the boat, or both, behaved badly. So he sang out:

"T'row over the anch'!"

"But, Capitaine," expostulated a sailor, "ze anch' she have no chain on her!"

The Captain glared at him wrathfully.

"T'row her over any way!" he bawled. "She may help some!"