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LOOKING back on my Alaska
travels, I have always been glad that good luck gave me Mr. Young as a
companion, for he brought me into confiding contact with the Thlinkit
tribes, so that I learned their customs, what manner of men they were, how
they lived and loved, fought and played, their morals, religion, hopes and
fears, and superstitions, how they resembled and differed in their
characteristics from our own and other races. It was easy to see that they
differed greatly from the typical American Indian of the interior of this
continent. They were doubtless derived from the Mongol stock. Their
down-slanting oval eyes, wide cheek-bones, and rather thick, outstanding
upper lips at once suggest their connection with the Chinese or Japanese. I
have not seen a single specimen that looks in the least like the best of the
Sioux, or indeed of any of the tribes to the east of the Rocky Mountains.
They also differ from other North American Indians in being willing to work,
when free from the contamination of bad whites. They manage to feed
themselves well, build good, substantial houses, bravely fight their
enemies, love their wives and children and friends, and cherish a quick
sense of honor. The best of them prefer death to dishonor, and sympathize
with their neighbors in their misfortunes and sorrows. Thus when a family
loses a child by death, neighbors visit them to cheer and console. They
gather around the fire and smoke, talk kindly and naturally, telling the
sorrowing parents not to grieve too much, reminding them of the better lot
of their child in another world and of the troubles and trials the little
ones escape by dying young, all this in a perfectly natural, straightforward
way, wholly unlike the vacant, silent, hesitating behavior of most civilized
friends, who oftentimes in such cases seem nonplussed, awkward, and afraid
to speak, however sympathetic.
The Thlinkits are fond and
indulgent parents. In all my travels I never heard a cross, fault-finding
word, or anything like scolding inflicted on an Indian child, or ever
witnessed a single case of spanking, so common in civilized communities.
They consider the want of a son to bear their name and keep it alive the
saddest and most deplorable ill-fortune imaginable.
The Thlinkit tribes give a
hearty welcome to Christian missionaries. In particular they are quick to
accept the doctrine of the atonement, because they themselves practice it,
although to many of the civilized whites it is a stumbling-block and rock of
offense. As an example of their own doctrine of atonement they told Mr.
Young and me one evening that twenty or thirty years ago there was a bitter
war between their own and the Sitka tribe, great fighters, and pretty evenly
matched. After fighting all summer in a desultory, squabbling way, fighting
now under cover, now in the open, watching for every chance for a shot, none
of the women dared venture to the salmon-streams or berry-fields to procure
their winter stock of food. At this crisis one of the Stickeen chiefs came
out of his block-house fort into an open space midway between their
fortified camps, and shouted that he wished to speak to the leader of the
Sitkas.
When the Sitka chief appeared
he said:
"My people are hungry. They
dare not go to the salmon-streams or berry-fields for winter supplies, and
if this war goes on much longer most of my people will die of hunger. We
have fought long enough; let us make peace. You brave Sitka warriors go
home, and we will go home, and we will all set out to dry salmon and berries
before it is too late."
The Sitka chief replied: —
"You may well say let us stop
fighting, when you have had the best of it. You have killed ten more of my
tribe than we have killed of yours. Give us ten Stickeen men to balance our
blood-account; then, and not till then, will we make peace and go home."
"Very well," replied the
Stickeen chief, "you know my rank. You know that I am worth ten common men
and more. Take me and make peace."
This noble offer was promptly
accepted; the Stickeen chief stepped forward and was shot down in sight of
the fighting bands. Peace was thus established, and all made haste to their
homes and ordinary work. That chief literally gave himself a sacrifice for
his people. He died that they might live. Therefore, when missionaries
preached the doctrine of atonement, explaining that when all mankind had
gone astray, had broken God's laws and deserved to die, God's son came
forward, and, like the Stickeen chief, offered himself as a sacrifice to
heal the cause of God's wrath and set all the people of the world free, the
doctrine was readily accepted.
"Yes, your words are good,"
they said. The Son of God, the Chief of chiefs, the Maker of all the world,
must be worth more than all mankind put, together; therefore, when His blood
was shed, the salvation of the world was made sure."
A telling illustration of the
ready acceptance of this doctrine was displayed by Shakes, head chief of the
Stickeens at Fort Wrangell. A few years before my first visit to the
Territory, when the first missionary arrived, he requested Shakes to call
his people together to hear the good word he had brought them. Shakes
accordingly sent out messengers throughout the village, telling his people
to wash their faces, put on their best clothing, and come to his block-house
to hear what their visitor had to say. 'When all were assembled, the
missionary preached a Christian sermon on the f all of man and the atonement
whereby Christ, the Son of God, the Chief of chiefs, had redeemed all
mankind, provided that this redemption was voluntarily accepted with
repentance of their sins and the keeping of his commandments.
When the missionary had
finished his sermon, Chief Shakes slowly arose, and, after thanking the
missionary for coming so far to bring them good tidings and taking so much
unselfish interest in the welfare of his tribe, he advised his people to
accept the new religion, for he felt satisfied that because the white man
knew so much more than the Indian, the white man's religion was likely to be
better than theirs.
"The white man," said he,
"makes great ships. We, like children, can only make canoes. He makes his
big ships go with the wind, and he also makes them go with fire. We chop
down trees with stone axes; the Boston man with iron axes, which are far
better. In everything the ways of the white ,man seem to be better than
ours. Compared with the white man we are only blind children, knowing not
how best to live either here or in the country we go to after we die. So I
wish you to learn this new religion and teach it to your children, that you
may all go when you die into that good heaven country of the white man and
be happy. But I am too old to learn a new religion, and besides, many of my
people who have died were bad and foolish people, and if this word the
missionary has brought us is true, and I think it is, many of my people must
be in that bad country the missionary calls `Hell,' and I must go there
also, for a Stickeen chief never deserts his people in time of trouble. To
that bad country, therefore, I will go, and try to cheer my people and help
them as best I can to endure their misery."
Toyatte was a famous orator.
I was present at the meeting at Fort Wrangell at which he was examined and
admitted as a member of the Presbyterian Church. When called upon to answer
the questions as to his ideas of God, and the principal doctrines of
Christianity, he slowly arose in the crowded audience, while the missionary
said, "Toyatte, you do not need to rise. You can answer the questions
seated."
To this he paid no attention,
but stood several minutes without speaking a word, never for a moment
thinking of sitting down like a tired woman while making the most important
of all the speeches of his life. He then explained in detail what his mother
had taught him as to the character of God, the great Maker of the world;
also what the shamans had taught him; the thoughts that often came to his
mind when he was alone on hunting expeditions, and what he first thought of
the religion which the missionaries had brought them. In all his gestures,
and in the language in which he expressed himself, there was a noble
simplicity and earnestness and majestic bearing which made the sermons and
behavior of the three distinguished divinity doctors present seem
commonplace in comparison.
Soon after our return to Fort
Wrangell this grand old man was killed in a quarrel in which he had taken no
other part than that of peacemaker. A number of the Taku tribe came to Fort
Wrangell, camped near the Stickeen village, and made merry, manufacturing
and drinking hootchenoo, a vile liquor distilled from a mash made of flour,
dried apples, sugar, and molasses, and drunk hot from the still. The
manufacture of hootchenoo being illegal, and several of Toyatte's tribe
having been appointed deputy constables to prevent it, they went to the Taku
camp and destroyed as much of the liquor as they could find. The Takus
resisted, and during the quarrel one of the Stickeens struck a Taku in the
face — an unpardonable offense. The next day messengers from the Taku camp
gave notice to the Stickeens that they must make atonement for that blow, or
fight with guns. Mr. Young, of course, was eager to stop the quarrel and so
was Toyatte. They advised the Stickeen who had struck the Taku to return to
their camp and submit to an equal blow in the face from the Taku. He did so;
went to the camp, said he was ready to make atonement, and invited the
person whom he had struck to strike him. This the Taku did with so much
force that the balance of justice was again disturbed. The attention of the
Takus was called to the fact that this atoning blow was far harder than the
one to be atoned for, and immediately a sort of general free fist-fight
began, and the quarrel was thus increased in bitterness rather than
diminished.
Next day the Takus sent word
to the Stickeens to get their guns ready, for to-morrow they would come up
and fight them, thus boldly declaring war. The Stickeens in great excitement
assembled and loaded their guns for the coming strife. Mr. Young ran hither
and thither amongst the men of his congregation, forbidding them to fight,
reminding them that Christ told them when they were struck to offer the
other cheek instead of giving a blow in return, doing everything in his
power to still the storm, but all in vain. Toyatte stood outside one of the
big block-houses with his men about him, awaiting the onset of the Takus.
Mr. Young tried hard to get him away to a place of safety, reminding him
that he belonged to his church and no longer had any right to fight. Toyatte
calmly replied:
"Mr. Young, Mr. Young, I am
not going to fight. You see I have no gun in my hand; but I cannot go inside
of the fort to a place of safety like women and children while my young men
are exposed to the bullets of their enemies. I must stay with them and share
their dangers, but I will not fight. But you, Mr. Young, you must go away;
you are a minister and you are an important man. It would not do for you to
be exposed to bullets. Go to your home in the fort; pretty soon `hi yu poogh"
(much shooting).
At the first fire Toyatte
fell, shot through the breast. Thus died for his people the noblest old
Roman of them all.
On this first Alaska
excursion I saw Toyatte under all circumstances, — in rain and snow, landing
at night in dark storms, making fires, building shelters, exposed to all
kinds of discomfort, but never under any circumstances did I ever see him do
anything, or make a single gesture, that was not dignified, or hear him say
a word that might not be uttered anywhere. He often deplored the fact that
he had no son to take his name at his death, and expressed himself as very
grateful when I told him that his name would not be forgotten, - that I had
named one of the Stickeen glaciers for him. |
