[Footnote 15: The eglu is the Esquimo house. Often they occupy tents during the summer, but return to the huts the first cool nights.]

"I thought the Esquimos lived in snow houses," said Ted, as they looked at the queer little huts, and Kalitan exclaimed:

"Huh! Innuit queer Indian!"

"No," said Mr. Strong; "his hut is built by digging a hole about six feet deep and standing logs up side by side around the hole. On the top of these are placed logs which rest even with the ground. Stringers are put across these, and other logs and moss and mud roofed over it, leaving an opening in the middle about two feet square. This is covered with a piece of walrus entrail so thin and transparent that light easily passes through it, and it serves as a window, the only one they have. A smoke-hole is cut through the roof, but there is no door, for the hut is entered through another room built in the same way, fifteen or twenty feet distant, and connected by an underground passage about two feet square with the main room. The entrance-room is entered through a hole in the roof, from which a ladder reaches the bottom of the passage."

"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 passage 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, grass 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 stitches, 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 scrape 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 grass, 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 assent 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 bumblebees, 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, grass, 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.

"No, thank you," said Teddy, but Kalitan said:

"Reindeer very gentle; they will not hurt unless very much frightened."

"What queer-looking animals they are," said Ted, as they approached nearer. "A sort of a cross between a deer and a cow."

"Perhaps they are more useful than handsome, but I think there is something picturesque about them, especially when hitched to sleds and skimming over the frozen ground."

The farm at Teller was certainly an interesting spot. Teddy saw the deer fed and milked, the Lapland women being experts in that line, and found the herders, in their quaint parkas tied around the waist, and conical caps, scarcely less interesting than the deer. Two funny little Lapp babies he took to ride on a large reindeer, which proceeding did not frighten the babies half so much as did the white boy who put them on the deer. A reindeer was to them an everyday occurrence, but a Boston boy was quite another matter.

Better than the reindeer, however, Teddy and Kalitan liked the draught dogs who hauled the water at the station. A great cask on wheels was pulled by five magnificent dogs, beautiful fellows with bright alert faces.

"They are the most faithful creatures in the world," said Mr. Strong, "devoted to their masters, even though the masters are cruel to them. Reindeer can work all day without a mouthful to eat, living on one meal at night of seven pounds of corn-meal mush, with a pound or so of dried fish cooked into it. On long journeys they can live on dried fish and snow, and five dogs will haul four hundred pounds thirty-five miles a day. They carry the United States mails all over Alaska."

"I should think the dog would be worth more than the reindeer," said Ted.

"Many Alaskan travellers say he is by far the best for travelling, but he cannot feed himself on the tundra, nor can he be eaten himself if necessary. The Jarvis expedition proved the value of the reindeer," said Mr. Strong.

"What was that?" asked Ted.

"Some years ago a whale fleet was caught in the ice near Point Barrow, and in danger of starving to death, and word of this was sent to the government. The President ordered the revenue cutter Bear to go as far north as possible and send a relief party over the ice by sledge with provisions. When the Bear could go no farther, her commander landed Lieutenant Jarvis, who was familiar with the region, and a relief party. They were to seek the nearest reindeer station and drive a reindeer herd to the relief of the starving people. The party reached Cape Nome and secured some deer, and the rescue was made, but under such difficulties that it is one of the most heroic stories of the age. These men drove four hundred reindeer over two thousand miles north of the Arctic Circle, over frozen seas and snow-covered mountains, and found the starving sailors, who ate the fresh reindeer meat, which lasted until the ice melted in the spring and set them free."

"I think that was fine," said Ted. "But it seems a little hard on the reindeer, doesn't it, to tramp all that distance just to be eaten?"

"Animals made for man," said Kalitan, briefly.

* * * * *

A golden glory filled the sky, running upwards toward the zenith, spreading there in varying colours from palest yellow to orange and deepest, richest red. Glowing streams of light streamed heavenward like feathery wings, as Ted and Kalitan sailed southward, and Ted exclaimed in wonder: "What is it?"

"The splendour of Saghalie Tyee,"[16] said Kalitan, solemnly.

[Footnote 16: Way-up High Chief, i.e., God.]

"The Aurora Borealis," said Mr. Strong, "and very fortunate you are to see it. Indeed, Teddy, you seem to have brought good luck, for everything has gone well this trip. Our faces are turned homeward now, but we will have to come again next summer and bring mother and Judith."

"I'll be glad to get home to mother again," said Ted, then noting Kalitan's wistful face, "We'll find you at Sitka and go home with you to the island," and he put his arm affectionately over the Indian boy's shoulder. Kalitan pointed to the sky, whence the splendour was fading, and a flock of birds was skimming southwards.

"From the sky fades the splendour of Saghalle Tyee," he said. "The summer is gone, the birds fly southward. The light goes from me when my White Brother goes with the birds. Unless he return with them, all is dark for Kalitan!"

THE END.