Alaska, our beautiful northland of opportunity ...

Front matter

Oass

COPYRJGHF DEPOSIir

ALASKA,

Preface

In offering this volume to the American people, the desire has been to bring to them an adequate picture, so far as is possible, of the great treasure house that is theirs on the northwest corner of the continent.

Alaska is a land of beautiful scenery and of almost inexhaustible resources. It is a land with a romantic history, and a land of interesting people, whether these be the sturdy pioneers and their descendants with their tales of early days, the Indians, and the rapid progress they are making on their march toward civilization, or the prospector with pack on back on his tireless quest for gold.

It is a land also of many opportunities. In size about one-fifth of the whole United States, in resources almost equal in variety to those of the entire country, Alaska as yet has but comparatively a small population and few industries. New business enterprises in almost countless number await the seeing eye and earnest hand of the shrewd business man and woman.

Alaska can be reached by modern, well-appointed steamers over a route that has few equals in the country or abroad for beauty of scenery. It can be travelled through by rail and other equally well-appointed boats. There is even a three-hundred-mile motor trip that can be taken in the heart of the country through majestic scenery not to be matched elsewhere on a motor highway in the world. There is no discomfort in travellinsr in Alaska and there is always natural beauty of a high order and, in many places, a touch with the primeval that is novel and fascinating. Alaska has been called "Our last

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Preface frontier," yet it is a frontier that can be viewed from steamer decks, observation cars and automobiles.

These facts it has been the desire to set forth in detail that the people of our country may realize and appreciate to the full all that Alaska has to give them. It is a great, enjoyable, health-giving playground. It is a rich storehouse of many things we need in the business world and in the home. It is a field to which we can turn with bright faces for new opportunities to work, and in the development of these opportunities develop afresh that hardihood, resourcefulness and initiative that have made the American people what they are to-day.

In gathering the material to present these facts, grateful acknowledgment is due the many who have so kindly and generously helped with information, with illustrative material, with aid in getting into sections otherwise inaccessible. Among these are many government officials both at Washington and in Alaska, some of them being Secretary Franklin K. Lane, of the Department of the Interior, Mr. E. C Bradley, Assistant to the Secretary of the Interior, Mr. Thomas Riggs, Jr., Governor of Alaska; also Mrs. E. H. Harriman, who kindly furnished photographs of regions not penetrated yet by the professional photographer; Dr. Leonard S. Sugden, the well-known lecturer, whose many years of residence in Alaska, especially during the early years of its development, make him not only an authority on Alaskan matters but furnish the eye-witness viewpoint that is so interesting and valuable; Mr. J. L. McPherson, of the Alaska Bureau of the Seattle Chamber of Commerce, who has made the study of Alaska almost his life work; Mr. Kenneth Kerr of the Seattle "Railway and Marine News," and many others.

Agnes Rush Burr.

Contents

Preface vii

I Alaska at a Glance i

II From Seattle NoRTirv\'ARD 15

Chapter II

A WORD AS TO STEAMER ROUTES. ThE BEAUTY THAT GREETS ONE AT THE VERY START. VICTORIA AND ITS INTERESTS. AlERT BaY AND

A potlatch. Totem poles. Their history and meaning.

It would seem as if nature had especially prepared the highway leading to Alaska so that every part of a trip thither might be delightful. The Inside Passage, as the stretch of waterways leading to Alaska is called, has few if any counterparts in the world. There are but two places, it is said, that even lend themselves to comparison, one a similar passage on the southwestern coast of South America, and the other the fiords of Norway. The coast of South America is at present little known, and though Norway is famed for its beauty, those who have travelled there, and even many Norwegians themselves, admit that the coast of Alaska surpasses it for sublimity. But comparisons are not necessary. Each part of the world has its individual appeal, and the Inside Passage has a loveliness, a charm, and a grandeur sufficient to elate any lover of natural beauty.

There are various lines of steamers running from Seattle to Alaska. Some go only as far as Skagway at the head of Lynn Canal. Others go westward to Seward and Anchorage, the coast terminals of the government railroad. Still others go to Nome, farther north on Bering Sea. There are several American lines, one Canadian line, and among those running only to Skagway some smaller boats whose fares are less than the larger steamers. So that one has wide choice. A good plan is to divide the trip between the American and Canadian boats, going by one and returning by the other. In this way one will be enabled to see all the ports along the coast, for the American boats do not stop at some of the Canadian towns nor the Canadian boats at a few of the American cities. But by using both lines all the towns can be seen, and they are so quaint and interesting none should be missed.

The Canadian Pacific line is delightful to travel upon. The boats are built with an observation room forward, with large windows and big easy chairs in front of each window. The arrangement is much that of a parlor car except that in place of the rather cramped quarters of a car is a good-sized room with cosy corners and an electric grate fire giving a cheerful glow if the day is chill.

The table service is that of a well-appointed home. Not only are the menu and cooking all that can be desired, but the china, silver and little things of the table are of the sort to satisfy the most fastidious.

Charts of the route are posted where the passengers can easily study them, also typed information about the places at which the steamer stops. Every detail that will add to the pleasure of the trip has been thought of. There is as well an atmosphere of courtesy and kindliness upon the part of all in charge that increases the enjoyment of the voyage. In fact, the surroundings and the attentive thought fulness make one feel as if he were a guest in the home of a friend and robs the journey of much of the ordinary atmosphere of travelling.

One of the American lines also has its boats built on this plan of the observation room. It is an excellent idea in boat construction for such a trip as this. There is no part of the journey where the scenery does not lure, and with this arrangement one can gaze at it entirely protected from sun and wind and quite at ease in a big, comfortable chair.

The waterfront at Seattle presents a vivid picture of bustle and beauty as the steamer waits for lines to be cast off. The buildings of the city dominated by the high Smith tower rise tier upon tier, impressive in their orderly, business-like aspect. Up and down the long line of piers, sombre dock buildings range side by side, attractive in their very air of homely usefulness. Across the harbor, green heights rise sharply, prettily bright with flowers and homes. A slight haze softens the outline of distant hills, and the red smokestack of a passing boat adds a vivid note of color.

The steamer glides smoothly from its moorings, so smoothly that it is the receding of the dock that gives the first intimation that the voyage has begun. Soon skyscrapers and piers and shipyards and the noises of the busy world of work are left behind. The shore sweeps out here and there into sharp points thickly wooded. To the west, the Olympic Mountains begin to appear, softly, hazily blue and crowned with snow. Here and there along the densely forested shores a column of smoke rises among the trees telling of industries busily providing for the needs of other parts of the globe.

Through a world of blue water, green shores, and mistily blue mountains, the steamer glides for hours. Under the brilliant sun the water sparkles as if encrusted with silver and sprinkled with diamonds. Over the tops of the deep green spruce and fir of the shore rise on both sides of the channel tier upon tier of blue mountains, the distant ones gleaming purely white on their summits. The blue of these mountains is a peculiarly soft, tender color.

melting almost imperceptibly into the blue of the sky. Indeed, were it not for the mountain outlines, and here and there shadows, one could scarcely distinguish the mountains at times from the cloud scenery. But it is this very delicacy, like a faint pencilling, that makes them so lovely. And, shining more brilliantly than the clouds, are their snowy caps which call attention, like a clear voice, to their faint, subtle loveliness.

The hours slip by unnoticed in these enchanted waters and almost before one has realized how they have sped, the lower end of Vancouver Island appears and the steamer swings in for Victoria.

The approach to Victoria is particularly beautiful. A narrow winding channel leads between densely wooded shores, past a breakwater and islands with tiny lighthouses, and sweeps in almost a semicircle up to the dock. Looking backward, the eye is carried from the blue waters, the tiny lighthouses, the green shore, to an amphitheatre of blue and white mountains encircling the harbor, some rising above the banks of clouds with all the serene beauty of Fujiyama.

But the beauty of the scene is broken by a raucous voice rolling out over the water through a megaphone advising the tourists that the only way to see the town in the time at their disposal is in the cars of the owner of said voice. He stands, a lonely figure on a pier that stretches far out into the harbor, and his voice rolls on until it is drowned in the scornful toot of the whistle as the boat draws into the dock. But here another stentor takes up the tale, and as he begins on a foundation of interest already laid, and as he adds a clever jingle to his seductive appeal, he gets the most of the customers.

Victoria is a clean, bright, substantial town with wide streets and pretty homes set amidst beautiful flower iJ§f^ gardens. Indeed it is the greenness and floweriness of the city that makes its strongest appeal to many, though it has. too, the substantial Old World air that somehow an English town always seems to acquire no matter where planted.

Victoria is the capital of British Columbia. The Parliament buildings, the government offices and an interesting museum are the chief places of note. Beacon Hill Park is a delightful bit of woods, and the grassy downs of Oak Bay provide links for golfers.

The town is the outgrowth of old Fort Victoria, established by the Hudson Bay Company in 1842. Vancouver Island, upon whose southern point it lies, was discovered by Juan de Fuca in 1 592. Vancouver surv^eyed its coasts in 1793, and it was named in his honor. The island is sparsely inhabited, though it is rich in minerals and timber, and has some good agricultural land; but the mining of coal is at present the chief industry.

Steaming out again through Victoria's pretty harbor, the boat now takes almost a straight course north across the Gulf of Georgia for the city of Vancouver. The water highway begins to expand, the shores fade into a blue line in the distance, but the merging of blue waters, blue shore lines, and the low blue hills is very lovely. Low points of bare rock run out here and there from the shore. Islands with tiny lighthouses on them dot the waters. Sail-boats lend their graceful beauty. The Olympic Mountains on the west and the Cascade Mountains on the east enclose the scene of silvery water and wooded shore with a background of snowy peaks. To the southeast, Mt. Baker, shadowy and serene, towers over all, a faint white cone assuring one it is a mountain and not a cloud only by its unchanging form.

As Vancouver is approached, the scenery grows wilder.

Great, towering mountains crowd down to the water's edge, and the snow-capped ones seem but a hand's throw away. Again the steamer winds through a narrow, picturesque channel up to its dock.

It is not so many years since Vancouver was a post of that " Honourable Company of Merchant Adventurers Trading into Hudson Bay," the strictly correct name of the Hudson Bay Company and ever so much more romantic and surely more enjoyable to work under than its present shortened form. The town was then a little straggling frontier settlement such as is even yet seen in some parts of Alaska. But is to-day one of the important business ports of the Pacific coast with wide busy streets, handsome buildings, and all that goes to make a modern city. Stanley Park stands perhaps as its best representative of progressiveness, for such things are usually the last expression of a city's civic spirit. This park is a fine pleasure ground for the people of almost a thousand acres. The giant trees of its virgin forest and the great Siwash Rock carved by nature into the resemblance of an Indian head are the chief objects of interest. A motor road winds along the shore, giving enchanting views of harbor and distant mountains, and leads to English Bay, a place of beach diversions, promenades, bathing, and all the gay life of an English seaside watering place.

Beyond Vancouver the wider waters of the Gulf of Georgia are soon left behind and the steamer enters one of the many narrow channels that thread the Inside Passage like silver ribbons. The vista ahead is much like that of a winding river, except that no river ever had such an enchanting background nor such beautiful shores. Point after point of land stretches out into the water, crowded densely with slender, spear-tipped spruce. Island after island dots the water, forested with the same thick green. Wherever the eye wanders is an entrancing picture of silvery water, green shores, tree-crowned islands, and in the far view* in every direction, majestic snow mountains.

At times the channel onward seems entirely blocked as if the boat were sailing into some little cove or land-locked harbor, but the vessel swings around a point and again an entrancing waterway lures between high green mountains and wooded islands, and again the serene, far-off snow mountains fill the background with their glittering peaks. Here and there a tiny lighthouse perched on a jutting rock gives a sense of friendly watchful guardianship.

Thus, threading shining waterway after waterway, gliding quietly by cape after cape, slender promontory after promontory, along mile after mile of densely wooded shores, past peak after peak that soars in unbroken succession thousands of feet in the air, sweeping into larger bays and lakelike expanses where shore line and mountain meet in a tender, ethereal blue, then again into narrow channels with luring, ever-changing, on-leading vistas, the hours slip by without hint of weariness.

An interesting stop after Vancouver is Alert Bay, a collection of frame buildings that one hesitates to call houses, and smells, noticeably smells. The buildings stretch along the shore of a curving blue bay beyond which rises a magnificent mountain range; and the enchanting view somewhat alleviates the odors.

Several piers run picturesquely out into the water, throwing black shadow^s that crimple and bend with the movement of the waves. The beach is well filled with Indian canoes, long, graceful, sharply pointed. A few " gas " boats ride at anchor, staunch and businesslike, far more profitable no doubt for fishing than the canoe but lacking its grace, beauty and touch with the primeval.

Back of the buildings that line the one side of the street, the land rises steeply, brightly green with grass and birch and alder and a few fruit trees with here and there the dark sombre foliage of the spruce and fir. Some well-kept gardens, a few lilac bushes, yellow broom in blossom, sunshiny dandelions, and other wild flowers make the one little street cheerful. Stately slow-pacing Indian women and Indian men in red blankets move slowly about and eye the visitor silently, curiously.

At the lower end of the village is the hospital and Indian graveyard, " a significant proximity," a tourist idly remarks. The graveyard is reached by a charming, treeembowered walk along the blue waters of the harbor with delightful vistas caught now and then of the far away snowy mountains.

The little graveyard is among the trees on the sloping hillside with grasses growing almost as high as the picket fences that enclose the graves. In many of these enclosures is a totem pole, " probably the family tombstone," one tourist hazards.

On the way back to the dock, almost in the shadow of a totem pole, an Indian wrestled with a huge can of ice cream while overhead the wires of the government telephone service hummed in the trees. The edges of two civilizations are meeting in this little town in the wilderness and it will not be very long before the one will disappear before the other. Much that is picturesque and some that is artistic will go, but also will go other things not so desirable, among them, it is to be hoped, the smells.

A ceremony that was luckily stumbled on at Alert Bay was a potlatch. A stout Indian gentleman in white men's clothes and a big felt hat stood in a small building enclosed on three sides addressing some Indians gathered about him and a little group of others in red blankets squatted near by on the grass. Their faces were absolutely impassive. Near him was a pile of blankets, and fiom time to time one of these was taken and bestowed on some one in the listening group.

It was much like a Christmas or birthday gathering at home except that the Indian is much more adept than his white brother in concealing that happy, expectant look worn when gifts are about to be bestowed, or the disappointment that creeps out despite staunch efforts if the gift is not what was ardently hoped for. When the blankets were all gone the crowd dispersed, still somewhat stolid, and the stout benevolent Indian went home much uplifted in spirit it is to be hoped, though much poorer in earthly possessions.

This sort of potlatch is far from being like the original ceremony in picturesqueness. The potlatch was at one time a great event in Indian life. It was a perfectly systematized distribution of gifts involving much more thoughtful consideration and balancing of obligations than the giving of a social entertainment by a member of the Four Hundred. The more frequently and liberally an Indian distributed his property the better was his standing with the others, the greater his chance of reaching the dignity of chief of the village, and the more was due him when some one else gave, results not unknown in communities other than Indian.

An ordinary member of a tribe confined his potlatch to those of his own village, but a chief usually sent out invitations to certain individuals of other villages. Before doing this, however, he called together his friends and relatives and with their help made out a list of persons to whom he intended to give and the articles for each. It was often the custom, however, before calling together these friends to quietly distribute his property among the principal people of the village who, by etiquette, were required just before the time set for the potlatch to return the gift with interest. So that it may be supposed a potlatch was not always a season of rejoicing to those most intimately concerned.

When the day of the great event arrived, hosts and guests arrayed themselves in ceremonial attire. This ceremonial dress for a potlatch was in many tribes quite elaborate. If the occasion was for the purpose of raising a house, cutting out and erecting a new carved column, or undertaking some new industrial enterprise, and potlatches were given for all such reasons, the feasting and dancing were interspersed with work, and the gifts were presented only to the workers. But if it was a potlatch unconnected with any such enterprise every one received gifts. In both cases the distribution was the final act. The guests assembled, the goods were displayed on the floor, on poles, wherever they could be shown to advantage. The host sat or stood arrayed in his ceremonial attire and with a ceremonial baton. A herald blew a call and announced the opening of the ceremony in a speech extolling the liberality and the virtues of the host, and then called a name. An attendant took the present and placed it in front of the one to whom it was given. On the announcement of each name the host solemnly nodded his head and thumped on the floor with his baton. It was all very solemn, very formal, very rich in gay headdresses, blankets, beads, paint and moccasins. When all had been distributed, songs were sung, dances performed, and all was over.

With the advance of education among the natives, the potlatch is dying out. Those in charge of Indian schools make no direct attack upon Indian customs, but they endeavor indirectly to lead the natives to see for themselves the unwisdom of some of their practices. The Indians make themselves poor by some of these potlatches, as they frequently give away everything of value they possess, and must start again at the beginning to acquire the necessities of life. The teachers lead them by deft questions and discussions to think practically upon this and to see if it pays.

Undoubtedly, to the Indian, the potlatch brings some reward of the spirit not sensed entirely from the practical side of life, for the Indian has a viewpoint not always grasped by others. John Muir tells that upon one occasion, when returning from a glacial expedition wet and cold, he was met by an old chief as wet and cold as himself who said, " As soon as I saw you coming back, I was ashamed to think I had been sitting warm and dry at my fire while you were out in the storm; therefore I made haste to strip off my clothing and put on these wet rags to share your misery and to show how much I love you."

Most of us would have thought we could have shown our love better and also a decidedly larger amount of common sense by having warm, dry clothing for the traveller. But, no doubt, the Indian got something of value from his act. The abolishing of Indian customs requires a reverent and careful hand.

More interesting, however, than the potlatch at Alert Bay are the totem poles, for here are the first to be encountered on the trip.

The jaws that bite, the claws that catch ; Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun The frumious Bandersnatch."

one is inclined to mutter as he walks up and down the one street of the village and studies the totem poles in front of the houses. " Curiouser and cu.riouser," he mentally continues to quote as he gazes upon these weird, uncouth figures upreared before almost every Indian home. For these strange columns that are encountered throughout the southeastern part of Alaska do, if one knows little totem pole lore, arouse all one's curiosity and put his wits on their mettle to explain.

Each tourist, unlearned in the legend of the totem, has his explanation. " A family crest," says one. " The family tombstone," says another. " The family genealogical tree," says a third. " The first efforts of the family genius," conjectures a fourth, recalling perhaps personal experiences. And a thin, querulous man who conscientiously took notes throughout the trip inscribed in his diary, " Tad poles. Strange, wooden columns decorated with attempted portrayals of men and birds. Indians poor artists. Could make better looking faces myself. Most of the folks call them totem poles. Never heard the word. Mean tad poles."

Little fault could have been found with one pole, a neutrally painted column surmounted with a graceful bird with outstretched wings. But few of the poles displayed this simplicity or charm. One had at the top a man wearing a close resemblance to the stovepipe hat of civilization. Below him stood a stout gentleman with a smile from ear to ear and with his hands folded complacently over his stomach. Evidently he had dined well. Beneath him was a figure with his hands also on his stomach but with a far less happy expression. His wife was a poor cook. Thus the alien reads the story. Many of the figures have long horse faces. There is a decided display of teeth. The noses of some were never seen on sea or land. The majority wore expressions resigned, belligerent or lugubrious. Few really happy faces were to be seen.

In colors the poles are as weird as in carving. One man had a complexion like a camouflaged boat. Sea green faces are not unusual. Great patches of blue about the eyes are not uncommon, and there is quite a prevalence of black on the cheeks and chin.

But as grotesque as these columns seem with their uncouth figures and strange colorings, much as they may arouse the conjecture and sarcasm and ribaldry of the tourist, they have to the Indian a poetic and sacred significance.

To him they are a picture, a poem, and a religion. The very uncouthness of the figures is intended and has a meaning. It carries his thoughts back to the dim beginnings of time when man and bird and beast were not, in his belief, as they are now, but far more wonderful beings. These figures stand for vast realms of imagination in which his fancy roams and creates what it will. The poles also mean family history, the prowess of ancestors, the traditions that incite to brave deeds, that help to endure trial with dignity, that make one a worthy member of the tribe.

Totemism is not confined to the Indians of Alaska but is found among many savage tribes in various parts of the world. Most tribes possess a set of beliefs and practices mythological, religious, ceremonial, artistic, and economic that grow from their attitude toward animals, plants, and inanimate objects. These beliefs and practices govern their mode of life and give rise to their forms of worship. Totemism in its original and widespread significance represented this combination of social organization and religious belief. This idea still lingers with the Alaskan Indians in the significance the totem has in regard to their family and the family myths and superstitions.

These Indians believe they are descended from some bird, beast, fish, or other object, and take this as their symbol. The emblem chosen is carved or painted on all belongings and is regarded as the visible manifestation of some powerful mystical being who has to do with their welfare. The totem carries with it certain obligations. Those with the same crest, for instance, cannot intermarry. It is, one might say, a symbolic way of expressing certain laws that hold in civilized communities.

The Alaskan totem pole is of three kinds. One is the family totem and is the one seen in front of the Indian houses. It represents the totem of the family and relations. Another is the death totem in which the ashes of the departed are placed. The third is the " story master " totem and illustrates some remarkable event.

Any one versed in totem lore can read these totems as he would a book. It is said that of the present tribes, the Hydahs best understand the totem and can read one, especially the story master totem, for an hour or more, whereas a member of some other tribes will get only the briefest and most superficial tale.

A tourist gazing at a totem with an eagle, a bear holding two whales, and with a seal below, would probably see in the grotesque carving merely something to idly speculate about or pass a joke on. But a Hydah Indian would read the story of two of his tribe belonging respectively to the Eagle and Bear families who went hunting seals, were drowned and turned into whales. It would bring to mind the belief that whenever a Hydah is lost at sea he becomes a whale and the kindly feeling this tribe has for whales. It is said that whenever these Indians see whales they throw overboard fresh water that the spirits of friends or relatives inhabiting these whales may have something fresh to drink.

Some of these totems are rather modern. One at Kasan, some fifty feet high, has at the top an eagle, the totem of the great chief Skwall; then the head of a Russian saint, that of the archangel Michael; then, a Russian bishop, and, lastly, that of a white man surmounted by an eagle. It was erected to commemorate the baptism of the chief of the family into the Russian church at Sitka.

The different tribes have their quaint legends, too, as to the original adoption of these symbols. The Hydahs tell a story of the deluge in which all things were drowned but the raven. This bird, while sitting on the beach after the waters had subsided, saw a huge shell thrown up by the waves. After much effort he opened it and out came a number of small people who warmly thanked the raven for their deliverance and promised always to care for him. Thus the Hydahs came and this is the reason the raven is their principal totem.