Part 9

There are many pleasant homes in Juneau, and some of its society people are charming indeed. The business houses carry some large stocks of goods, and outfitting for the interior mines in the Yukon country is all done at this place. There are two weekly papers, one the Mining Record, an eight-page, bright, newsy paper which deserves a liberal support.

One of the most novel and grotesque features of the entire trip was a dance given by the Indians at

A "POTLATCH,"

a term applied to any assemblage of good cheer, although in its primary sense it means a gift. A potlatch is given at the outset, or during the progress of some important event, such as the building of a new house, confirming of a sub-chief, or celebrating any good fortune, either of peace or war. In this instance, a sub-chief was building a new house, and the frame work was inclosed in rough boards with no floor laid. There is never but one entrance to an Indian hut. This is in front, and elevated several feet from the ground, so that you must go down from the door-sill inside as well as out. No windows were yet in the building, and it was really in a crude state. These grand festivities last five days, and this was the second day of merry-making.

There are two tribes at Juneau, located at each extreme of the town. The water was black with canoes coming to the feast and dance, bringing gifts to the tyhee, who, in return, gives them gifts according to their wealth, and a feast of boiled rice and raisins and dog-meat. The richest men of the tribe dressed, in the rear of the building, in the wildest and most fantastic garbs, some in skins of wild animals. There was a full panoply of blankets, feathers, guns, swords, knives, and, as a last resort, an old broom was covered with a scarlet case. Jingling pendant horns added to their usual order, and the savage faces were painted with red and black in hideous lines. Anything their minds could shape was rigged for a head-dress, and finally, when all was ready, they ran with fiendish yells toward the beach, some twenty yards, and there behind a canvas facing the water they began their strange dance.

Only one squaw was with them, and she was the wife of the tyhee (chief) giving the feast. The medicine man had a large bird with white breast, called the loon. While dancing he picked the white feathers and scattered them on the heads of the others. The other squaws were sitting on the ground in long rows in front of the canoes reaching to the water's edge, about 200 feet below.

Their music was a wild shout or croon by all the tribe, and the dancing is a movement in any irregular way, or a swaying motion given to the time given by the voices, and they only advanced a few inches in an hour's time.

The tribe approaching in canoes had their representative men dressed in the same styles, only gayer, if possible. When the canoes glided onto the beach, four abreast, it was the signal to drop the canvas hiding the host and party, and advance a little distance to meet them. Then they broke ranks and made way for the visitors to approach the house with their gifts of blankets or other valuables for the tyhee. Most of the Indians convert their riches into blankets. These nations, seen by the tourist in an ordinary trip to Alaska, seem very much the same in all points visited. None of them are poor, all have some money, and many have

WEALTH COUNTED BY THOUSANDS.

To be sure, some of them are in a measure Christianized, but the odors arising from the homes of the best of them are such as a civilized nose never scented before. Rancid grease, dried fish, pelts, decaying animals, and human filth made the strongest perfume known to the commercial or social world.

The squaws, if they were in mourning or in love, would have their faces painted black with oil and tar. Then again, a great many wear a wooden or ivory pin thrust through the lip just below the fleshy part. It is worn for ornament, the same as ear-rings or nose-rings, and is called a labret. The missionary work done among them is a commendable one, but it seems a hopeless task. Their houses are always built with one object in view, to be able to tie the canoe to the front door. A long row of huts just above high-tide line can always be safely called a rancherie in that country. Their food is brought by the tide to their very doors, and the timbered mountains abound in wild game, and offer ample fuel for the cutting.

Chilcot, or Pyramid Harbor, is about twelve hours run from Juneau, and it is here the famous Chilcot blanket is made from the goat's wool, woven by hand, and dyed by native dyes, and worked from grotesque patterns. Here, also, are two of the largest salmon canneries in Alaska, and here, indeed, were we in the

LAND OF THE MIDNIGHT SUN.

The hours passed quickly by as the supposed night wore away. At midnight the twilight was so bright that one could read a newspaper easily. Then the moon shone in the clear sky with all regal splendor until 3.30 in the morning, when old Sol again put in his claims for admission. He lifted his golden head above the snowy peaks, and spirited away the uncertain light of unfolding dawn by drawing the curtains of the purpling east, and sending floods of radiance upon the entire world. It was a sight never to be forgotten, if seen but once in a lifetime.

Onward once again when the tide was in, and our next awakening was on the grand glacier fields. The greatest sight of the entire trip, or of any other in America, now opened out before many eager eyes. For several days, icebergs had been seen sailing along on the smooth surface from the great glaciers, and speeding to the southern seas like phantom ships. As the ship neared the bay, these huge bergs increased in size and number, with such grotesque and weird shapes, that the mind is absorbed in shaping turrets, ghosts, goblins, and the like, each moment developing more and more of things unearthly, until the heart and eyes seem bursting with the strain, when suddenly a great roar, like the shock of an explosion of giant powder, turns the eyes to the parent glacier to see the birth of these unnatural forms. They break from the icy wall with a stupendous crash, and fall into the water with such force as to send our great ship careening on her side when the swell from the disturbed waters strikes her.

The Muir glacier is the one that occupies the most attention, as it is the most accessible to tourists. It rises to a perpendicular height of 350 feet, and stretches across the entire head of the Glacier Bay, which is estimated from three to five miles in width. The Muir and Davidson glaciers are two arms of that great Ice field extending more than 400 miles in length, covering more area

THAN ALL SWITZERLAND,

and any one of the fifteen subdivisions of the glacial stream is as large as the Great Rhone glacier.

Underlying this great ice field is that glacial river which bears these mountains of ice on its bosom to the ocean. With a roar like distant artillery, or an approaching thunder-storm, the advancing walls of this great monster split and fall into the watery deep, which has been sounded to a depth of some 800 feet without finding anchor.

The glacial wall is a rugged, uneven mass, with clefts and crevices, towering pinnacles and domes, higher than Bunker Hill monument, cutting the air at all angles, and with a stupendous crash sections break off from any portion without warning and sink far out of sight. Scarcely two minutes elapse without a portion falling from some quarter. The marble whiteness of the face is relieved by lines of intense blue, a characteristic peculiar to the small portions as well as the great.

Going ashore in little rowboats, the vast area along the sandy beach was first explored, and it was, indeed, like a fairy land. There were acres of grottoes, whose honey-combed walls were most delicately carved by the soft winds and the sunlight reflections around and in the arches of ice, such as are never seen except in water, ice, and sky.

MOUNTAINS OF ICE,

remnants of glaciers, along the beach, stood poised on one point, or perchance on two points, and arched between. These icebergs were dotted with stones imbedded; great bowls were melted out and filled with water, and little cups made of ice would afford you a drink of fresh water on the shore of this salt sea.

At five o'clock in the morning, with the sun kissing the cold majestic glacier into a glad awakening from its icy sleep, the ascent was begun. Too eager to be among the first to see the top, many started without breakfast, while others chose the wiser part, and waited to be physically fortified.

The ascent is not so difficult as it is dangerous. There is no trail and no guide, and many a step had to be retraced to get across or around some bottomless fissure. For some distance the ground seemed quite solid. Soon it was discovered that there was but a thin covering of dirt on the solid ice below; but anon in striking the ground with the end of an alpine stick it would prove to be but an inch of ice and dirt mixed, and a dark abyss below which we could not fathom. It is to be hoped, for the good of future tourists, that there are not many such places, or that they may soon be exposed so they can be avoided. Reaching the top after a tedious and slippery climb, there was a long view of icy billows, as if the sea had suddenly congealed amid a wild tempestuous storm. Deep chasms obstructed the way on all sides, and a misstep or slip would send one down the blue steps where no friendly rope could rescue, and only the rushing water could be heard. To view the solid phalanxes of icy floes, as they fill the mountain fastnesses and imperceptibly march through the ravines and force their way to the sea, fills one with awe indescribable. The knowledge that the ice is moving from beneath one's feet thrills one with a curious sensation hard to portray.

Below, it seems like the constant wooing of the sea that wins the offering from this wealth of purity, instead of the voluntary act of this giant of the Arctic zone.

For twenty-four hours the awful grandeur of these scenes was gloried in, when Captain Hunter gave the order to draw the anchor and steam away. The whistles call the passengers back to the steamer, where they were soon comparing specimens, viewing instantaneous photographs, hiding bedraggled clothing, casting away tattered mufflers, and telling of hair-breadth escapes from peril and death. Many a tired head sought an early pillow, and floated away in dreams of ghoulish icebergs, until the call for breakfast disclosed to opening eyes that the boat was anchored in the

BEAUTIFUL HARBOR OF SITKA.