Anthropological Survey in Alaska

Moreover, the utmost care is taken always to leave everything in as good shape as found; and the remains taken will be treated so well and may give us so much that we need that there is no more hesitation in securing them than there would be on the part of a paleontologist in securing old bones for his purposes.

For supper, though it is still early, am invited by Simel, an elderly Jew mail carrier. Have fine meat-and-potato soup, lettuce-and-cucumber salad (even if the cucumbers from the Holy Cross hothouse are overripe and bitter), fresh (storage) meat, cooked dried apples, and poor but hot coffee—all seasoned with the best will and genuine, simple friendliness.

Max Simel, whose home is at Ophir, has been in this country 29 years, and "never needed to buy a quarter's worth of medicine." Has a wife in Seattle, also a daughter and a son; has not seen them for four years. Wants me to call on them and tell them I met him. With his companion, Paul Keating, of Holikachakat, gives me some interesting information. They tell me independently and then together of an occurrence that shows what may happen along this great river. A well-known white man and woman, prospectors on their mail route, have last year thawed and dug out a shaft, nearly 40 feet deep, through muck and silt, to the gravel, in which they hoped to get gold; and just before they reached the gravel they found a piece of calico, old and in bad condition, but still showing some of its design and color.

7 p. m. It rains, but wind has moderated, and so near 7 p. m. we start on our way farther down the river, stopping just long enough at Holy Cross to attend to my reservation for St. Michael. The agent has no idea when the boat will go—maybe the 11th, maybe not until the 14th or later.

Going on an old leaky scow with an elderly, faded, chewing, not very talkative but for all that very kindly and accommodating man, who with one hand holds the steering wheel and with the other most of the time keeps on bailing. He carries supplies for his store and I my outfit, camera, and umbrella. Sky has here and there cleared, even patches of sun appear on far-away clean-cut hills. Water not very rough; make fair time downstream. Banks flat now, river broad, some hills in distance.

8.00 p. m. Hills nearer ahead of us. Some of the flats look from distance like fine tree nurseries. Getting cool. Cloudy ahead. The banks flat and low, no good site for habitation. Not even fishing camps here—just long "cut-banks" (banks being cut by the river) and low beaches. Here and there new bars and islands that are being built by the river. No birds, no boats, just an occasional floating snag or a rare solitary gull.

Paimute

Paimute down river, I am told, has nothing but Eskimo; Holy Cross, but a few natives now, mainly Indian; above Holy Cross, Indian, Eskimo only as adapted or in admixture.

July 3, 8.30 p. m. Hills on right now right before us. Behind first a fish camp of the Holy Cross Mission natives. River narrows and bends. Two other fish camps become visible. Stop; damp, cold, smoke, fish smell, a few natives, Eskimo. River now like molten glass, but air damp and cold, and I must sit behind the engine and keep my hands over the hot exhaust pipe to keep somewhat comfortable.

Pass bulging bluffs on right—old stratified shales.

11.00 p. m. Arrive at our destination about 11 p. m. But a few log huts on the right side of the river, with few others and a primitive frame church in the back. A little store and a big storehouse (with skins, etc.), trader's house (log cabin) a few rods away. Open store, only to find that a pup had been forgotten there, made a lot of mess and dirt and ate most of one side of bacon.

12.00 p. m. Got to bed in the cabin at 12. Spread bed roll on two reindeer skins which, with fire in the stove, keep me fairly warm. Rain in night and several earth tremors—common in these parts; feel several light ones every night and a stronger one occasionally even in daytime (a big "fault" in the Alaskan range and a proximity to the Aleutian volcanic zone).

Awake before 8, but as it still rains nothing can be done, while my man within a few feet of me still snores; stay in blanket till 9. Modest breakfast at 10 a. m.

10.00 a. m. A little house cleaning—watch kitten clean windows of the many flies, which it eats; and then my man, a Swede by birth, sailor, self-taught painter (of ships and sea scenes), and musician (accordion), goes to bail out the boat. Still full of bites that itch and need a lot of Aseptinol, which in turn makes underwear look dreadful. And no bath possible.

Last night met some of the local Eskimo, full bloods, mostly from the Kuskokwim River. Strong, kinder than the Yukon Indians. But they differ but little in some cases from the latter. They are medium brown in color, hair exactly like the Indian, beard also—only the rather flat (not prominent) mid parts of the face, with rather long and narrow (upper two-thirds) nose, and the cheek bones protruding more or less forward, with face long (often), due to the vertical development of the jaws, helps to distinguish them as Eskimo. There is no clear line of demarcation between the Indian farther up the river and the Eskimo down here, yet in some here the Eskimo type is unmistakable. They have more epicanthus, flatter, longer, and stronger (more massive) face, stronger frame, rather submedium length of legs, and less brachycephalic (or more oblong) head, but not the characteristic, narrow and high, keel-shaped dome that one is used to associate with the Eskimo.

1 p. m. A little lunch—just a cup of coffee and a few crackers. Photograph two natives.

1.30 p. m. Start toward Russian Mission. Trader carries sugar in bags and tea for camps.

Near 2. Stop at an Eskimo camp, see sick baby, photograph a few individuals. Get an ax for a pocketbook—old man happy as a child at the exchange. Made another one happy this morning in payment for information with one of my steamer caps. (Pl. 4, a.)

Pass along the still continuing bulging hills on the right. They are forested over lower parts, barren, though mostly greenish, above. As usual flats on left, devoid of man. Occasionally a fish camp on right, or a small village, somewhat different, though in essentials like the Indian (more gregariousness noticeable—up river mostly individual or at most two or three families). Every favorable higher flat or low saddle among the hills on the right and facing the river (or a slough) is utilized by the natives, but such places are scarce.

The ax obtained looks as if it had been broken after found, to make of it a single-edge tool. Tumbled out of a bank. Old Eskimo knew not who made it. Found some miles below Paimute by the old man. Others found, but lost. Ivory arrow and spear points also known to natives, but no one now has any.

A mountain ahead of us. Sky clouded mostly, high diffuse vapors and low, heavy but separated cumuli in the east; one would expect soon a heavy rain. Visibility exceptionally good, horizons far away, uncommonly clear. Mountains sharply outlined against the sky.

About 12 miles below Paimute, on left, some higher banks (old silts and dunes). The ax from the old man had been found here. Stop. Find pottery 12 feet, charcoal 15 feet from surface. Also polished and worked stones. But most of bank has already been cut off and what remains shows no signs of man on the top. (Pl. 4, b.)

Cross river obliquely to right bank, just beyond last ("12-mile") hill. Find at once numerous evidences of stone work along the stony beach. In an hour have a fair collection, mainly rejects, but interesting. On top of bank find several mounds and ridges, doubtless dunes, though the one farthest up the river looks very much like a large oval man-made mound. Parts of two much-weathered skulls and one bone lay on the top of this. No definite marks of graves excepting perhaps in one instance. A sign of old clearing farther down, but no "barabras." A spot well worthy of exploration. It was, I learned a little later from Nick Williams, a native who used to act as a pilot on the river, the old mountain village or "Ingrega-miut," and the site is 12 miles downstream from Paimute. (Pl. 4, c.)

Beyond are flats and cut banks, both sides, but with hills (old water front) behind on the right and mountains in front. River here very wide.

Many of the worked stones, and occasionally, according to native information, skulls and bones, are washed out from the banks and deposited (rolling, etc.) lower on the beach in something like strata, and in that way evidence is being perverted. Some day a new bank or even a dune may be formed over these secondary deposits and a great source of possible future error be completed.

All the natives along the river (to here) like to bury on the lower slopes of near-by hills.

To bed on floor of kitchen tent at the fine, clean little place of Tucker's, at 10.30. At 1.30 the 20 dogs start a fine, sustained, unison howl song, and I seem to hear an approaching boat. As the Governor of Alaska is expected, slip on shoes and necktie, brush hair, and run out. There is a little boat at the little "dock" (the only one seen so far on the Yukon). Tucker and his son are already there, and I soon hear that the governor is on the boat, which is that of Mr. Townsend, of the Fish Commission. In a few minutes we meet, both in shirt sleeves. And I learn the Matanuska, the boat that was to take me from the Russian Mission to St. Michael, has broken down and is not coming. In her place, but no telling as to time, will be sent the Agnes, a smaller and slower boat, on which three people have already this season been "gassed" (overcome by the exhaust gases), one of them jumping into the river. She has accommodation for four persons at most, and that of the most primitive, they say. The governor fortunately gives me some hope that I may be picked up and taken down by the same boat which is taking him to Holy Cross. He also tells me of a skull for me at one of the stopping places, Old Hamilton. A frank, good, strong man.

Boat leaves in a few minutes. Back to bed, but now almost full daylight—also cold, and so no more than a doze until 6.15, at which time the boy comes to the kitchen where I was kindly accommodated to start fire and breakfast. So up with a drowsy head. At 7 breakfast—coffee, oatmeal, flapjacks, and good company. Everything about this place is neat, fresh, pleasing—the best individual place on the river. Cloudy, blustery, cool; can not start, so go 1½ miles down to Dogfish village, or I-ka-thloy-gia-miut—probably the same as Zagoskin's I-ka-lig-vig-miut. Only three or four families there now; nearly all the inhabitants died of influenza in 1900. But already before reaching the village, in examining the stones along the beach, I find some chipped ones, and they represent the same industry evidently as those at the two sites yesterday. Later find numerous chipped scrapers, pointed hammers, crude cutters and chisels, and a few axes. Make quite a collection, including a few objects found in possession of natives.

This is a good site, above high water. Must be old. Pottery also encountered occasionally by present occupants, but not one bead; little if any river cutting here for a long period. Worth exploration. Photograph another Indianlike Eskimo. Want to buy an old dish from an Eskimo, border inlaid with six white stones, shaped like an oblong lozenge with rounded corners, but he wants $20. Lunch all together, some Eskimo included, at Tucker's, and then as the wind moderates and the sun comes out, start for the Russian Mission. Mostly still clouds and cool, with some rain in the mountains to the right.

Finds and inquiries made at Dogfish village make it positive that the stone culture there is Eskimo, i. e., of the Eskimo of this region who are probably not a little mixed with Indians. Their head is but moderately oblong, not keel shaped. The majority, however, have Eskimo features.

But the cupid-bow (double-grooved) axes are not known to have been made by these people, and when used after being found or brought down from farther up the river they apparently were broken. One such example was seen already at Ruby—another one at Anvik—secured; and one found yesterday at Mountain village. The axes here are most often oblong, quadrilateral, without groove, or approaching the single-grooved axes of the Indians in the States.

July 6. Proceed down the river toward Russian Mission, examining the banks as closely as possible. Toward evening stop at "Gurtler's," a short distance above the mission.

Mr. Gurtler is a German by birth; his wife is half Indian, of Ruby. She, as well as her 14-year-old daughter, are neat, apt, and very industrious, quiet and nice mannered. With an Eskimo woman, she cleans and cuts up—a whole art of its own—on the average over 200 good-sized salmon a day. Clean place, very good smoking house—much superior to those up the river, except Tucker's.

Sleep in a clean bed of theirs; would much prefer my own and the hard floor, but fear to offend.

Russian Mission

Pack my stones and bones collected between here and Holy Cross, and after lunch go to Russian Mission. Meet Mr. Cris Betsch, the trader, and find him both friendly and anxious to help. Teacher and her mother invite me to supper. Before that Mr. Betsch calls in a number of the older men, and we have a talk about ancient things, but they know nothing worth while beyond a few score of years at most; they give me, however, some data and names of old villages.

A few years ago some human bones and skulls were dug up here and reburied. Eskimo readily agree to help us find them and to let me take them. Moreover, they are quite eager to dig up an old medicine man supposed to be buried under a good-sized (for this country) blue spruce. They get shovels, soon find some of the old bones and a damaged skull, and later on, with the help of information given by an elderly woman, uncover also a female skull. Uncover further the end of two birch-bark-covered coffins, from Russian time, and would readily dig them out did I not restrain them; as also with the medicine man. We shall probably get some such specimens from this locality later, so there is no need of disturbing the burials.

Mrs. Barrick, the teacher, gives us a "civilized" supper, at which I am introduced for the first time to a great and fine Yukon specialty, namely, smoked raw strips of king salmon, and find them excellent. Then a good talk with all, after which pack specimens—still somewhat damp, but it would be difficult to wait—deliver to the post, and am sent to my place around the hill at a little past 10 p. m. with an invitation by Mr. Betsch to go to-morrow to "the slough of the 32 kashims (council or communal house)," about 10 miles down the river. But I have already been promised by Gurtler to take me down to this place, and so I can not accept. Just now I need sleep.

July 7. After breakfast examine banks and beach along Gurtler's place and find two stone implements, two pieces of decorated pottery, and a bone of some animal. Wash, dry, and pack, then a cup of coffee—the Gurtler's have a habit of drinking a second cup at about 10 a. m. each day—and then, after some of the seemingly inevitable trouble with motor, start down the river. It rained yesterday; the clouds show low pressure; it is not warm and the water is somewhat rough.

Stop a bit at the mission to give Mrs. Barrick a fish and get a bag or two from Mr. Betsch, and then proceed. From the river the Russian Mission settlement is seen to be very favorably situated at the foot of the southern slope of a big hill. But the recency of the flat below and in front of the church and schoolhouse is clearly seen again. The site about where the church and school are may—in fact must, it is so favored—be a very old one, and doubtless a thorough excavation of the slope from the back of the houses upward would be both easy and very instructive. The place should by all means receive attention.

Reach and examine the "32 kashim slough," a beautiful side channel about 7 miles long; reach about 1½ miles from its entrance, examine banks and pass through jungle, find tracks of foxes and of a bear, also see one big beautiful red fox trotting ahead of us on the other beach—but not a trace of man. Examine also the "mounds" on Grand Island, but find them to be only dunes.

Lunch on the beach; remarkably few mosquitoes and no gnats; smoked raw salmon strips again, and coffee; and at 5 leave for home, it being impossible so late to go down to the end of the channel.

On return all going nicely until 5. Then, in a slough 3½ miles from the Russian Mission, after an examination of another likely site, breakdown of the motor. Do everything possible to make it go until about 8, but in vain. Then I take the crazy little rowboat that luckily we took with us, bail out the water with our shovel, and row to the mission for help. Get there about 9, send back a launch with some natives, have a little supper with the teacher, and row home around the hill, reaching Gurtler's near 11. In a few minutes the launch is towed in and all is well once more. Mr. Betsch got for us two good native "kantágs" or wooden dishes. Also we fix to go down to the "32 kashims" to-morrow once more with Mr. Betsch and the teacher.

July 8. Up a little after 6; breakfast; and then comes in a native from the mission with two letters and information that the Agnes, the little mail-carrier boat, has arrived during the night and is waiting for me to take me to Marshall and to Old Hamilton, whence another boat will take me in a day or two to St. Michael. So get ready in a minute, put my baggage on a native's boat, pay my bill, leave another lot of good friends, and row to the mission. There is the little dinghy Agnes with its "accommodation" for three passengers already two-thirds filled up, and towing two big logs as a freight. Put my things partly in a "bunk," partly on the roof, give good-byes to Betsch and the teacher, help to push off the boat which is stuck in the mud, and we are off for another Yukon chapter.

We pass by the lower end of the "32 kashim" slough—no sign of any site—all recently made flats. If there is anything left of the old sites it must be at the foot of the hills, or has been covered with silt. The site is so favorable that in all probability there was once there a good-sized settlement, but due to river action and the jungle it could not be located. Mr. Betsch visited the place that day, and again with some old natives on another occasion, without being more fortunate.

Cloudy, slightly drizzly day, no trace of sun, mists over the tops of the hills. Could not stand it in the boat, so sitting on my box on the roof of the boat, wrapped, due to the cold, in a blanket.

A little below the "32 kashim" slough a small stream enters from inland—a place to be examined; but this boat can not stop for such a purpose.

A half mile or so farther down a few graves and crosses, with remnants of a native habitation.

Over 3 miles down, just beyond first bluff, fine site, with low hills stretching far beyond it—now but a few empty, half-ruined native houses. Should be explored.

South of second rocky bluff a live camp, and farther down another.

The left side of the river is still all flats as far as one can see, but about 17 miles below Russian Mission human bones came out of a bank there (on a slough).

Marshall

At 3 p. m. reach Marshall, a little cheerful-looking mining town, high on a bank. See the place, identify the skeleton from the above-mentioned bank as that of a missing white man, see telegraph operator, postmaster, teacher, commissioner. Sun comes out, is warm. Almost no mosquitoes here and no gnats. Hills above and beyond town belong already to the coast range and are barren of trees, even largely bare of shrubs and bushes. Leave 4.30.

Soon after Marshall—after passing by an Eskimo village (white man's style of buildings)—leave the hills and enter flats on both sides. This is the beginning of the delta region. River like glass, and it is warm in the sun but very perceptibly cooler when sun is hidden.

The boat has only three bunks, and there are five of us with the two pilots. But on the last trip up, there were, fortunately only for about eight hours, seven, including two women and a child, and that without any privacy or conveniences whatsoever. It is almost criminal, and they charge a very steep fare. However, for me it will soon be over—only about 36 hours. Still it is hard to believe this is yet in the United States and presumably under some sort of supervision.

Which brings me to a realization that the first half of my journey—the preliminary survey of the Yukon—is slowly closing; a little, and it will be the sea and other conditions, which also brings the realization that I have seen much but learned not greatly. What should be done would be to own a suitable fast boat; to locate on each of the more important old sites a party for careful, prolonged excavation; and to try to locate, in the rear of or on the higher places on the present river flats, more ancient sites than are known to date. These steps, together with the enlisting of the interest in these matters of every prospector, miner, and trader, would before many years lead to much substantial knowledge.

Friday, July 9. Must keep up these notes, for they alone keep me posted on the day and date; even then I am not always sure. There are no Sundays in nature.

Slept in my bag on the roof of the Agnes. Her namesake must have been one of these goodly but insufficient and but indifferently clean native women, plodding, doing not a little work, but wanting in many a thing. It was cold and dreary, but I found an additional blanket, and so, with mosquito netting about my head—one or two got in anyway—would have slept quite well had it not been for a dog. At about 1 a. m. we stopped in front of a little place called also "Mountain Village." And almost at once we began to hear a most piteous and insistent wail of a dog who either had colic or thirst or hunger, and he kept it up with but little stops for what seemed like two hours, making my sleep, at least, impossible.

Saturday, July 9. Morning. Cold, cloudy, rough—head almost beginning to feel uncomfortable, the boat is tossing so much. A teacher comes aboard with an inflamed hand which I fix; a few questions, the mail bag, and we are off again. Enter a slough where it is less rough and warmer. Later the sun will probably come out again. This evening we shall be at Old Hamilton and then a new anxiety—how to get to St. Michael.

Just had a little walk over the roof—my roof, for the other two passengers prefer to sleep in the gassy, dingy room below, though how they can stand it is beyond my medical ken. It is four short steps long, or five half steps in an oblique direction.

Every object in distance appears magnified all along the river for many days now. An old snag will look like a boat or a man, hills look higher, a boat looks much more pretentious than she proves to be on meeting.

Firs and spruce have now completely disappeared, also forests of birch, etc., are reduced to brush both on flats and lower parts of hills. Very large portion of the hills in distance just greenish with grass and lichens, not even a brush.

9.45 a. m. Meet the Matanuska bound upward. Looked from distance like an ocean steamer; from near, just a lumbering, moderate-sized river boat with a barge in front. But a whole lot better than ours.

The scenery has become monotonous. The gray river, although only one of the "mouths," is broad, and the country is all low. Nothing but bushy or grassy cut banks on the right, and mud flats, "smoking" under the wind, to low banks on left. It is a little warmer and the warm sun shows itself occasionally, but I still need the wrapping of a double blanket. The wind luckily is with us and the waves not too bad.

Noon. Passing "Fish village"; a few huts and tents.

No "camps" here outside the few villages; just an endless dreary waste and water.

New Hamilton—a few native huts only now—no whites.

Reach Old Hamilton—about a dozen houses with a warehouse, a store of the Northern Commercial Co., and a nice looking but now unoccupied school.

Here the governor told me there was somewhere a skull waiting for me, and the storekeeper would tell me of it. But when we arrive there are only two or three natives to meet us. The storekeeper, who is also postmaster, is said to be sick in bed. He is supposed to have an ulcer or some other bad thing of the stomach. So we go to his house and find him in bed, with a lot of medicine bottles on a table next to him. Is alone; no wife. Shows no enthusiasm in seeing me, though heard of my coming. Reads letters—no attention to me. Gets up—I ask him about his illness—answers like a man carrying a chip on his shoulder. Goes to store to attend to mail, and barely asks me to follow. I wait in store; he finishes mail and goes out—orders the Eskimo present out gruffly, and to me says, "You may stay in the store; I'll be back." But I wait and wait, and finally decide the man for some reason is unwilling to help me. Asked him before he went out about the Matanuska, but he told me she might not be back from Holy Cross in a month, trying doubtless to discourage me to stay. On going toward the Agnes I find him sitting on a log and talking to a couple of men from a tugboat that has arrived—just talk, no business, judging from their laughing. So I go on the boat, write a few words to Mr. Townsend of the Bureau of Fisheries, who makes this place his headquarters, and with some feeling hand this to the man, telling him at the same time that plainly he does not wish to assist me in any way. This, of course, rouses him; he gets red and says a few lame words, ending with, "Do you think I would touch any of them dam things or that I would let any of my men (natives) touch them? Not on your life!" So I leave Old Hamilton, for he is the only white man there now. But the place had other distinctions. Until recently, I am told, they have had a teacher, a young girl, who in her zeal had the natives collect all the burial boxes with their contents and had them all thrown into the river. Not long after she accomplished that she left. The storekeeper told me that "If I want them so bad I could pick them up (skulls and bones) along the river where the water washed them out after the teacher threw them in." Luckily there were not many "Old Hamiltons."

We met here a boat from St. Michael with Mr. Frank P. Williams, the well-known postmaster and trader of St. Michael, who comes for the two men, my fellow passengers. We get acquainted and, to escape the gases of the Agnes, I go with them. The boat is heavier and free from fumes, though without accommodation. At about 7 p. m. we arrive at Kotlik, at the mouth of the river—an abandoned wireless station, a store, and four tents of natives. But the old wireless building, now the storekeeper's house, is the dwelling place of a clean white man, Mr. Backlund, who is now "outside," but with whom Mr. Williams is in some partnership; so we occupy the building. Outside the wind has risen to half a gale and there are squalls of rain and drizzle. The Agnes has to "tie to," as she would be swamped in the open. My boxes and bedding, which were on the roof of the Agnes, are soaked, though the contents will be dry. So both boats are fastened to a little "dock," and we soon have fire in the stove, supper, and then—it is 11 p. m.—a bed, not overclean, somewhat smelly, but a bed and free from mosquitoes, rain, wind, and cold.

July 10. Up at 6.30. Outside a storm and rain—just like one of the three-day northeasters with us, and cool. Both boats were to leave, but are unable to do so. I find that Mr. Williams's tug will come back here and go to St. Michael on the 13th, so arrange with Mr. Williams to take me and leave the Agnes for good. This partly because I learn of two graveyards near, one 1½, the other 4½ miles distant.

After lunch, rain for a while ceasing, I set out for the nearer burial place. This is already a tundra country—treeless and bush-less flats overgrown with a thick coat of moss, into which feet bury themselves as in a cushion, and dotted with innumerable swampy depressions with high swamp grass. Walking over all this is very difficult—lucky I have rubber boots. Even so, it is no easy matter, except where a little native trail is encountered.

The graveyard, belonging to the now abandoned little village above Kotlik, consists of only about half a dozen adult graves. These consist of boxes of heavy lumber laid on a base raised above the ground level, and covered with other heavy boards. Some of the burials are quite recent. Open three older ones. In two the remains are too fresh yet, but from one secure a good female skeleton, which I pack in a practically new heavy pail, thrown out probably on the occasion of the last funeral. Then back, farther out, to avoid notice, through swamps and over moss, and with a recurring wind-driven drizzle against which my umbrella is but a weak protection.

Reach home quite wet and a bit tired. Have to undress and, wrapped in a blanket, dry my clothes and underwear about the stove.

Nothing further this day and evening—just wind and heavy low clouds and rain.

July 11. Up at 4.40. Weather has moderated. The Agnes left at 4 and Mr. Williams's boat, due to favorable tide, must soon go also. Breakfast, and all leave me before 6.

Yesterday we brought up my needs—i. e., collection of skeletal material—to the few natives here, explaining to them everything, and they do not object in the least. One of them, in fact, is to take me to-day to the more distant cemetery in a rowboat and help me in my work.

My man, after being sent for, comes at a little after 7. He is a good-looking and well-behaving Eskimo of about 35. He brings a good-sized tin rowboat—a whaling or navy boat probably; but "he leaks a whole lot." The oarlocks are not fastened to the boat, the plate of one is loose, and the oars are crudely homemade of driftwood and pieces of lumber fastened on with nails; in one the shaft is crooked, while the other is much heavier. But we start, with the sky still leaden and gray but no wind and calm water. I row and he paddles; then he rows and I paddle. We carry but the camera, a little lunch, a heavier coat each, and a box and two bags for the specimens. We pass a number of broods of little ducks, the mother prancing before us until the young are in safety, and there are several species of new kinds (to me) of water birds, some of which fly right above us, examining us. In the distance we see a big abandoned dredge, then a few empty log houses and "barabras" on the bank of a stream and the edge of the tundra. This is Pastolik, our destination. There is no one anywhere near, an ideal condition for work, if work there'll be. And there will be—for almost immediately upon landing I see, beginning at a few rods distance on the tundra, a series (about 50) of old graves, in all grades of mossiness and preservation. A few are, we later find, quite late, but the majority are old—60 years and over according to information given by the natives of Kotlik. They do not, except perhaps the few late ones, seem to belong to anyone still living. Yet "Pashtolik," as they wrote it then, used to be a place of some importance in the Russian times, and even later.

We settle in an empty native house, and I start investigation. The older graves are found widely spread in several clusters, but a few are isolated at a distance.

The graves are all aboveground and resemble in substance those along the lower Yukon (Bonasila and downward). They consist of a base of small logs or splits; a rude box about 3 feet long by about 2 feet wide, of heavy, unpainted, unnailed, split boards; four posts near the four corners; a cover, unjoined, of two to three heavy split boards; two crosspieces over this, at head and base, perforated and sliding over the upright posts, and a few half splits (smaller drift logs split in two) laid over the top of the crosspieces.

On the first cover lies as a rule a stone—generally a piece of a slab or a good-sized pebble—unworked, though now and then showing some trace of use. The pebble is generally broken.

When the grave is opened there is usually over the body, as a canopy on a light frame, a large (probably caribou) skin—rarely birch bark. Neither covers or envelops the body but simply forms a covering over it, with some space between it and the body. The body lies flexed, on left or (rarely) right side, with the head toward (or near) the east (same as at Bonasila). It is often covered with or enveloped in a native matting. There are but few traces of clothing on women; none on men. And very seldom is there anything else in the coffin.

Some of the oldest graves were found tumbled down and could not be examined. The moss and roots envelop the bones, and it is a tough job to get them out; also they eat the bones and destroy them. Even in the older boxes, however, the downward part of the skeleton—generally the left—is, due to moisture, usually in much worse state of preservation than the upper.

Children have been buried in large native wooden dishes and these were in some cases placed on the top of adult graves, but more generally about these, or even apart.

Many household articles, from matches and pails to dishes, alarm clocks, lamps, etc., are placed upon the ground near the more recent dead. Excavation would probably recover here many older objects, though wood decays.

The wind has died down and the flat is as full of mosquitoes as a Jersey salt meadow, and there is an occasional gnat. They bite, and, having been almost free of the pest at Kotlik, I failed to take my "juice" along, so just have to do the best possible. The gnats enter even the eyes, however.

Work as never before. Decide to utilize the rare opportunity to the limit, and to take the whole skeletons, not merely the skulls, leaving only the few fresher ones and those that are badly damaged. A great Sunday; burial after burial; opening the wooden grave—taking out and marking on the spot bone after bone—fighting mosquitoes all the while—and packing temporarily in any convenient receptacle. Fortunately there are quite a few boxes and pails and oil cans on the spot, left by the dredge people and the few natives who evidently sometimes come to the place. At about 2 eat lunch—coffee (the Eskimo put what was for three cups into about two quarts of water, so there is but a suggestion of coffee), raw smoked fish for me and eggs with bacon (left over from breakfast) for my companion, and on again until about 5 p. m. or a little later. Last two or three hours, however, work with some difficulty. A gnat bit me in an eyelid, or got into my eye, and that has now swollen so that I can hardly see with it. My Eskimo, however, is about all I could wish. He just looks at me working in a matter-of-fact way, and carries the filled boxes, or looks around for something I could take with me, and even helps on a few occasions with the bones, finding evidently the whole proceeding quite right and natural. Brings me, among other things, an old copper teakettle, but to his wonder I do not want it and leave it. I find a fine large walrus-ivory doll and a handsome decorated "kantág" (wooden bowl), besides smaller objects, and also a large piece of a poor quality clay pot (no pottery now), with a fragment of a decorated border as on the lower Yukon.

Pack up, we load on the boat—lucky now she is so spacious—get into the shallow river—the tide has run out—push the boat out and start for home.

Thus far we had but slight drizzles. But the clouds now grow heavier, and as we have much farther to row than this morning, due to the low water, we are caught by showers. The last mile or so we have to hurry, see a big rain approaching. My man pushes her with a pole while I row all I can, with both hands, with the heavy oar. Of course the whole population of Kotlik has to see our arrival. And more, too, for in our absence a schooner came in with wood and a number of the natives. They talk, but no one is either angry or excited. We two carry the boxes, pails, etc.—grass covered—into the house; how lucky I am now alone. Inside I remove the wet grass from them—the bones, too, are somewhat wet—then pay my Eskimo $5, which again is taken as a matter-of-fact thing, without thanks, but he well deserved the amount, even if I rowed a full half.

It is 9 p. m. My man comes again, we have a modest supper, he some left-over meat and I again the smoked fish, which I feel is strengthening me as well as agreeing with my stomach, and then to rest, quite earned to-day. Seldom have done as much in a day. Thirty-three graves collected, with over twenty nearly complete skeletons, and all restored so that I had to take considerable care not to go again into some already emptied. But this place should be dug over. The tundra in a few years swallows up everything on the surface. It literally buries or assimilates bones and all other objects, the moss and other vegetation with probably blown dust covering them very effectively. Finding anything below the surface and that even a foot or more, as was actually experienced, means something quite different under these conditions than it might elsewhere.

Monday, July 12. Slept fairly well and feel refreshed, but the eye still badly swollen. The Eskimo believe, I think, I got it from the bones. Yet they are quite sensible—a marked mental difference between them and the Yukon Indians.

Breakfast before 7—cereal, raw smoked fish, and coffee. Then pack. At the store buy empty gasoline boxes, but no nails to be had, and no packing. Lunch at 1—macaroni, raw smoked fish, sauerkraut, coffee; then pack again, fix boxes, break old ones to get nails, even pull a few unnecessary ones from the boards of the house, go see my man's wife, a hopeless consumptive, and at 6 through with all except cleaning. Another fair work-day, 12 tightly packed boxes. Then clean up, burn rubbish, and ready for departure early to-morrow.

Supper—macaroni, raw smoked fish, greengage plums, a little sauerkraut, and coffee. Then a little walk outside, watch Eskimo women and children jump the rope (hilariously, but awkwardly), and go in to catch up with my notes. Nobody scowls at me, so that although they probably fear me as a "medicine man" they are not at all resentful for what I did yesterday. They are grown-up children, much more tractable than the Indians. But otherwise they show so much in common with the Indian that the more one sees of them the more he grows drawn to the belief of the original (and that not so far distant) identity of their parentage. It seems the Eskimo and the Indian are after all no more than two diverging fingers of one and the same hand; or they were so a bit farther back. Mental differences there are, yet these are no more than may be found in different tribes of the Indians or different groups of other races.

Tuesday, July 13. Rise a little after 6. Eye still sore after Sunday's gnat and sweat and dirt; must use boric acid frequently. An Eskimo actually said yesterday it was a sickness from touching the bones. A little breakfast—have no more salmon strips, so just cereal, canned plums, and coffee. And then with the help of two young Eskimo carry my spoils and baggage on to the tug, which has come for me. By about 7 start. Good-by Kotlik, what little there is of it.

At 9 arrive at Mr. Williams's reindeer camp farther up the coast. There are five tents and two small log houses of natives—the herders with their families, dogs, and fish racks; and three whites, Mr. Williams, owner of the boat and of most of the herd of about 8,000 animals; Mr. Palmer, of the United States Biological Survey; and a Dane, Mr. Posielt, here for the Biological Survey of Canada. All are already at the corral some distance over the hill, branding, counting, etc., the great reindeer herd, which belong to several owners.

A short walk along the shore brings me in sight of the herd. The animals can be heard grunting a good distance off. The herd is so large and so compact that it looks like a forest of horns. The animals keep on moving in streams, but remain in the herd. They go to the shore to drink some of the salty water, instead of salt. All is of interest, even though the branding, the cutting off of big slices from the ears, and castration, is rather cruel.

At lunch, for the first time, reindeer meat, a select steak. It is tender and decidedly good. Has no special flavor and is poor in fat, but tender and good.

Afternoon, once more to the corral, and then various things, including a photograph of a little impromptu native group.

Supper once more on reindeer meat. This time prepared as a sort of a stew with onions—again very good. But we were to leave after supper for St. Michael and I see no intention to that effect. Instead they all go once more to the corral to continue the work until about 11 p. m. So I have to settle for the night, with some hope that we may leave in the morning. We sleep four side by side in a tent 10 feet wide. Luckily they had a spare clean blanket or two, and but one of the three snores, and he like a lady; also the weather has cleared and is warmer, so the night is fairly good.

Wednesday, July 14. Morning bright, calm. Breakfast, and all hurry off to corral without even any explanation—just a few casual words, from which I understand that we shall not go. So I write whole forenoon, though feeling none too good about the delay. Had I my own boat, as one should have in this country, all would be different. As it is I am utterly helpless. At lunch speak to Mr. Williams; and though not much willing, he half promises that we may go to St. Michael to-night.

Afternoon. Walk 8 miles along the beach, to a cape and back, looking in vain for traces of human habitation and collecting along the beach what this offers, which outside of some odd, flat, polished stones is but little. Come back near 6—soon after supper—and hear with much satisfaction that, after all, we will go to-night to St. Michael.

RÉSUMÉ

So ends the Yukon and its immediate vicinity. What has been learned?

1. The great and easily navigable river, extending for many hundreds of miles from west to east, could not but have played a material part in the peopling of Alaska, and quite probably in that of the continent, and all human movements along it must have left some material remains. It seems, therefore, a justified inference that the valley of the Yukon harbors human remains of much scientific value.

2. Such remains, judging from the present conditions, were left exclusively along the banks of the river, on the flood-safe elevated platforms of the banks, and especially about the mouths of the tributaries of the Yukon of those times.

3. But the banks and mouths of the past are seldom, if ever, those of to-day. The river, with its currents, storms, and ice pack every spring, is changing from year to year. It is ever cutting and eroding in places, and building bars and islands or covering with flood silts in others. In many stretches no one can be sure where the banks were 500 or 1,000 years ago, not to speak of earlier periods.

4. The banks and islands of to-day, therefore, are for the most part recent formations, in which it would be useless to expect anything very ancient. And there is nothing like the successive ocean beaches at Nome and elsewhere, which would guide exploration.

5. The right hilly side of the river alone seems to offer some hope of locating some more ancient sites and remains; yet it is quite certain that the river ran once far to the left, for all the vast flats on that side are of its construction; so that the more ancient remains of man may lie in that direction. But there everything is, from the point of view of archeology, a practically unexplorable jungle and wilderness, and there is no one there who might make accidental discoveries.

6. It would seem that the best hope for the archeologist along the Yukon, so far as the more ancient remains are concerned, lies along the tributaries of the stream, and that particularly at the old limits of the more recently made lands.

7. Nevertheless the banks of the Yukon as they are now are not wholly barren. Up from Tanana, at the Old Station, probably about Ruby and Nulato, about Kaltag and the Greyling River, at Bonasila, Holy Cross and Ghost Creek, and at the Mountain village, Dog village, Russian Mission, and doubtless a number of other sites, they contain both cultural and skeletal remains that, if recovered, will be invaluable to the anthropological history of these regions.

8. The line of demarcation between the Indians of the Yukon and the Eskimo, outside of language, is indefinite. Traces of old Eskimo admixture are perceptible among the Indians far up the river, and the cultures of the two peoples in many respects merge into each other; while among the Eskimo of the lower river and farther on there are physiognomies that it would be hard to separate from the Indian. Whether all this means simply extensive past mixture, or whether, as would seem, the Alaska Indians as a whole are nearer physically to the Eskimo than are the tribes in the States, remains to be determined. Among the Athapascan Mescalero Apache, who have reached as far south as New Mexico, a somewhat Eskimoid tinge to the face, especially in young women, was by no means very unusual 25 years ago when I studied this tribe. This problem will be touched upon again in this volume.

9. All along the Yukon, from near Tanana (Old Station) to the mouth of the river, in the Indian and in the Eskimo region, there prevailed the same type of winter house, namely, a largely subterranean room with a subterranean tunnel or corridor entrance; and also a similar type of summer dwelling, formerly a skin, now a canvas, tent. The winter dwellings were built within of stout posts and covered with birch bark and sod, looking from outside much like the present-day Navaho hogan; while the pits left by them remind one of the southwestern "pit dwellings," the kashims of the Pueblo kivas. As a hogan, so these largely subterranean dwellings along the Yukon had a smoke-air-and-light hole in the center of the top, a fireplace in the middle of the floor, and benches (of heavy hewn planks in the north) along the sides. Each village, furthermore, had at least one larger structure of similar nature, the "kashim," or communal house. All this may still be traced more or less plainly on the dead sites along the Yukon, and houses as well as a kashim of this type were seen at Kotlik and Pastolik, at the mouth of the river.

10. The native industry of the river presents also much similarity, though there are differences.

Pottery, of much the same type and decoration, was made at least as far as the lower middle Yukon.

Stone implements were made and used all along the river, and were much alike. But the double-grooved, cupid-bow ax of the Yukon Indian, hafted in the center and used for chipping rather than cutting, is lower down replaced by the same ax, in which one end has been broken off (or has not been finished), and which is hafted as an adze; or by oblong quadrilateral flat axes which have not been found up the river.

The peculiar and apparently very primitive stone industry of Bonasila is, it seems, just a development of local conditions—nature of most available stone, and essentially hunting habit of the people that resulted in many skins which called for numerous scrapers. Nevertheless the site deserves a thorough further exploration.

There was apparently not much basketry along the river, the place of the baskets being taken by the birch-bark dishes of the Indian and the kantág or ingeniously made wooden dish of the Eskimo part of the river.

Canoes among the Yukon Indians were mainly of birch bark, while the Eskimo had mainly skin canoes.

11. Neither the Indians nor the Eskimo of the Yukon practiced deformation of the head or of any other part of the body, or dental mutilation. The Indians as well as the Eskimo occasionally pierced the septum of the nose, for nose pieces, while the Eskimo cut on each side a slit in the lower lip for the introduction of labrets. The Eskimo cut their hair short in a characteristic way, reminding strongly of certain monks; the Indians left their hair long. But at Anvik the Indians both cut their hair and wore labrets. They also used the wooden dish.

12. From all the preceding it appears that there must have been long and intensive contacts between the Yukon Eskimo and Indians; that, through war or in peace, they became mutually admixed; and that there were mutual cultural transmissions.

13. No further light for the present could be gained on the origin, antiquity, or early migrations of the Yukon Indian. It was determined, however, that he represents but one main physical type, and that this type is the same as that of the Indians of the Tanana and most other Alaskan Indians of the present time.

14. Exceptional skeletal remains were washed out from the bank at Bonasila. They are of Indians (?), but appear to be not those of the Yukon Indian of to-day. They present a problem which is to be solved by further exploration of the site.

15. The Eskimo of the lower parts of the river are in general better preserved and more coherent than the Indians. They are more tractable people and are taking more readily to work and civilization.

16. These Eskimo show, in the majority of cases, fairly typical Eskimo physiognomies. But their heads are not as those of the northern and eastern members of the race. The head is less narrow, less high, and has but now and then a suggestion of the scaphoid form that is so characteristic of the Greenland, Labrador, or northern Eskimo cranium; also, the angles of the jaws are less bulging and the lower jaws themselves do not appear so heavy.

17. The Yukon Eskimo burials are in all essentials much like those of the Indians up the river. Here again a cultural connection is very evident, in this case there having in all probability been an adaptation of methods by the Eskimo from the Indians.

18. Archeological prospects along the delta flats occupied by the Eskimo appear very limited.

St. Michael

Thursday, July 15. In the morning, after a good trip, reach St. Michael—quite a town from a distance, with many boats on the shore in front of it; but soon find that it is largely a dead city and ships' graveyard, not harbor. With the gold rush over, and the Government railroad from Seward to the Tanana, men and business have departed. Before the summer is over most of the large buildings and the fine large boats are to be demolished, and there will be left but a lonely village.

Unload my collections on the old dock. The postman kindly comes down from his place, which, with Mr. Williams's store, is far up on the hill above the harbor, the boxes are weighed and stamped for the parcel post, and relieved of them I go to the hotel and spend the day in visiting the teacher, the marshal, Mr. Williams's store, where I see a whole lot of recent Eskimo ceremonial masks decorated with colors and feathers, and the wireless station to send a message to the Institution. All native (Eskimo) character is almost gone from the place, what remains being mainly civilized mix bloods; and also little, if anything, remains to be collected, particularly now when all vacant land is thickly overgrown with grass and weeds. An occasional skull appears, one having been seen recently on the beach and one on Whale Island, but there is little besides, though things could be found doubtless by excavation.

Items of interest in Mr. Williams's store, and also in that of the N. C. Co., are various articles cut handsomely by the Eskimo from walrus ivory, both fresh and "fossil" (old and nicely discolored). There are beads, napkin rings, hairpins, cigar and cigarette holders, and other objects, generally exceedingly well made and decorated. It is, of course, well known that the Eskimo are very apt in this work; it is not, however, so well known that every island or village has certain specialties and types of decoration. This is so true that an observer before long can tell in many instances just where a given article has been made.

The fossil ivory industry is, it was soon learned, becoming a serious detriment to archeological work in these regions; of which, however, more later.

During the day I find that a small boat, the Silver Wave, belonging to Lomen Bros., will leave St. Michael for Nome that same evening. As this suits me very well I engage a berth on the boat, help to get my baggage on deck over a broken landing place, and get ready to depart.

At 6 leave St. Michael. The Silver Wave is a tub—too short—am told if it were of proper length they would have to have more help. Result—very unsteady. Fortunately the weather is fair, and the captain gives me a berth in his cabin. I had originally a stateroom, right in the back, with three bunks or beds, so small that one could barely get into the beds; but there came two mix-breed women with a girl and so they turned me out and put me in the "hole"—seven bunks in an ill-ventilated cabin under the deck in the stern of the ship. She is only about 60 feet long by about 15 broad. As it is I have a bunk in what would have been a well-ventilated little cabin, had it not been for rough weather which came on later in the night and which necessitated the closing of the window.

Friday, July 16. The rougher weather came and the boat began to pitch and roll. Luckily I slept for the most part. At about 6.30 the captain called me to breakfast with him. I got up rather groggy from the sea, but managed to wash my face and get to the little messroom, where the cook started to bring eggs, bacon, coffee, etc.—and then I had enough and had all I could do to reach my bunk again without getting seasick. I was kept on the verge of it until after 10, when we arrived off Nome.

This, however, meant no relief. There was no bay, no dock, no shelter for even such a small boat, and so we anchored a few hundred yards off the shore along which stretch the long line of unpainted (mostly), weather-beaten frame dwellings of this northern capital.

By this time I barely keep my feet, but they lowered a heavy rowboat, and several of us—there were four other men passengers—are helped to tumble in. I get back, and to steady myself catch hold of the borders of the boat, only for this the next moment to be dashed against the larger boat with my hand between. It was almost too much, the seasickness and added to it the very painful hurt. Fortunately the fingers were not crushed, just bruised badly—they might easily have been mashed to a pulp.

They row us in and we tumble out on the sand, and there is no one to receive anybody or take any notice. However, after a while there comes accidentally an old two-seated Ford. Three of us crowd in, leave the few bulkier things we brought along on the beach unguarded, and are driven to the other end of the town, to the Golden Gate Hotel.

This is a big old frame building, out of plumb in several directions. There is no one in the spacious lobby. However, after a time some one, not looking much like a proprietor—more like a groom at work—comes out from somewhere and without much ado shows us each to a room. Mine smells musty, old sweat and blankets and mould, and looks out on a dilapidated tin roof—must ask for another. Finally get one "front" for $3—the other was only $2.50. Musty too, but fairly large, and with a double bed with, at last again, clean covers.

Unshaven—in the khaki worse for rain and work—with fingers so sore they can not bear a touch, feverish, and head still dizzy—I go to lunch. On my way stop at Coast Guard building—no one there; at the Roads Commission—office empty; at the Customs—not a soul. But at the courthouse they tell me where Judge Lomen sometimes lunches, and so I go there. It is near by—nothing here is far distant—and so I soon sit at Mrs. Niebeling's, a justly famed Nome's "for everybody," at a clean table and to a big civilized dinner. Order reindeer roast—find it this time, in my condition, not much to boast of—one could hardly tell it from similarly done beef—and begin on the coffee when in comes a young man, asks me if I am the doctor, and introduces himself as Mr. Alfred Lomen, the judge's son; and in a minute or two in comes the judge himself, a kindly man of something over 70. It all makes me feel a lot better, though still weak. Have rest of lunch together and talk, but do not get very far in anything that interests me; but the judge takes me to the Catholic Fathers here, who have an orphanage somewhere near where I want next to go, and leaves me with Father Post. The father is kindly, but himself does not know much, and so makes arrangements for me to meet next day Father Lafortune, who works among the Eskimo.

Then I go once more to the Coast Guard building and meet Captain Ross, in charge. The Bear, I learn, has just arrived here, and is soon going north. She is my godsend, evidently. So Captain Ross sends me over to see Captain Cochran. The meeting is good, and I have a promise to be taken to the cape and some other stations. But the Bear goes first to coal at St. Michael, and then will make a visit to St. Lawrence Island. So I propose to go to Teller first, see what I can of the Chukchee-Eskimo "battle field" near there, and be taken from there by the Bear. The priests give me some hope for getting there over an inland route, but later on tell me one of the boats of the orphanage which is located in that region is away and the other has broken down, so that there will be no possibility of making the trip through the Salt Lake and to Teller. But the Victoria (the Seattle boat to come to-night) will go to Teller. Unfortunately, if weather is rough or there are no passengers she will not stop at Nome, so all is again uncertain. The Silver Wave goes northward next Monday, but I have a dread of her. All of which is put down merely to show slightly what an explorer without a boat of his own may expect in these regions.

Nome, Saturday, July 17. Poor night again—it surely seems to be the fashion in Alaska. The Victoria came at night (or what should be night). The ramshackle big frame hotel, with partitions so thin that they transmit every sound, got about 40 guests, and next room to mine came to be occupied by two women who had visitors, female and male, were taken out for a ride after 12 and returned about 2 a. m. One of them, or their visitor, had a perpetual vocal gush, the others chimed in now and then, and a strong male voice added the bass from time to time, with old Fords noisily coming and going outside, and people going up and down the stairs. So sleep for some hours was out of the question. And there was nothing to do about it.

After breakfast went to meet Father Lafortune, a Catholic missionary priest to the Eskimo, who speaks their language well and who promised to accompany me to their habitations; and together we spent the forenoon on one side of the town, among the natives of the Diomedes, and most of the afternoon on the other end among the people from King Island. It was a good experience, resulting in seeing a good many of the Eskimo and getting some information, a few photographs, and quite a few old specimens. Then we went to the parsonage, where I got a few good photos from Father Lafortune's collection. He is a matter-of-fact, always ready to help, natural he-man, rather than a priest and teacher, and a great practical helper to the natives, who all are his friends.

Also saw Judge Lomen, arranged for lecture to-morrow, saw Captain Ross about the Bear, and various other people; but there is not much to be obtained here about old sites and specimens. Telegraphed Institution, and also to the Russian consul at Montreal for permission to visit the Great Diomede Island. Evening packing. Natives bring walrus ivory, some excellent pieces. Weather whole day cloudy, threatening, occasional showers, cool but not cold.

Sunday, July 18. Heavy sleep 10 p. m. to 7 a. m., regardless of a typewriter going in the next room and the women (now quieter, however) on the other side.

Forenoon spent in talking with people and attending a little service, for the natives mainly, at the Catholic Church of Fathers Post and Lafortune. Poor, simple, but sincere and interesting.

After lunch more consultations, then a visit to bank where they smelt gold dust (even to-day), and then a lecture on "The Peopling of America," at the courthouse. Well attended, and many came to shake hands after. Then a dinner, with examination of a number of interesting and valuable specimens, at Judge Lomen's. Among other objects there is a duplicate, in ivory, of the broken double ax from the Yukon, the two grooves and even the break being well represented. Evening—examination of specimens at Reverend Baldwin's. Cloudy, cool, threatening, but stormy weather abating.

About Nome

Due to the delay with the Bear, the next few days until July 23 were spent at and about Nome. They proved more profitable than was expected. Numbers of interesting specimens were found in the possession of some of the dealers, and more of those of scientific value were secured either through gift or by purchase for the National Museum. These collections consisted of objects of stone—i. e., spear points, knives, axes, etc.—but above all of utensils, spear points, effigies, etc., some of them of remarkable artistry and decoration, were made of walrus ivory that through age has turned "fossil."

Among the stone objects were several axes made of the greenish, hard nephrite which came from the "Jade Mountain" on the Kobuk River. The objects from fossil ivory came principally from the St. Lawrence Island, the Diomede Islands, Cape Wales, unknown parts of the nearer Asiatic coast, and here and there from the Seward Peninsula.

A large majority of these objects are now collected by the natives themselves, who assiduously excavate the old sites, and are sold at so much per pound as "fossil ivory" to crews of visiting boats or to merchants at Nome and elsewhere, to be worked up into beads, pendants, and other objects of semi-jewelry that find ready sale among the whites.

In addition a certain part of these objects is reserved by the natives, especially those of the Diomede Islands, and worked up by themselves. The more striking the coloration of the ivory, the more desirable it is for the beads, etc., and the less chance of the object, regardless of its archeological or artistic value, to be preserved. The most artistic pieces, nevertheless, are usually disposed of separately, bringing higher prices than could be obtained for beads.

In this way hundreds of pounds collectively of ancient implements, statuettes, etc., are recovered each year from the old sites on both the Asiatic and the American side of the Bering Sea, and are cut up, their scientific value being lost. Most of the fossil ivory, fortunately, consists of objects which, though showing man's workmanship, are of relatively little scientific value; nevertheless it was seen repeatedly that specimens of real archeological value and artistic interest would be destroyed if their color and texture made them suitable for some of the higher-priced jewelry.

The Eskimo, as repeatedly found later, have not the slightest hesitation about excavating the old sites, and whatever they can not use, which as a rule includes animal and human bones, and in fact everything else except stone tools and ivory, is left in the excavated soil and lost. The amount of destruction thus accomplished by the women, children, and even men each year is large and promises to grow from year to year as long as the supply lasts. This means that unless scientific exploration of these old sites is hastened there will be little left before long to study.

The fossil ivory trade has become such that many of the officers and the crews even of the visiting vessels, including the revenue cutters, engage in buying the ivory from the natives and cutting it up in their spare time into beads and other ornaments. A captain of a well-known boat who with his crew visited in the summer of 1926 a small island on which there is an extensive frozen refuse heap containing many bones and tools of the natives who once occupied the place, exclaimed, "Gad, there's $50,000 of ivory in sight."

The boat crew took away about "2 bushels" of it, or all that could be removed from the extensive frozen pile. I saw some of this ivory later, all cut up, but with a number of the pieces still showing old human handiwork, and some beads made of other parts of the lot were brought later to my office in Washington.

If American archeology and ethnology are to learn what they need in these regions it is absolutely essential that they take early steps for a proper exploration of the old sites, besides which every effort should be made by the intelligent traders, missionaries, teachers, and officials to save the more artistic and characteristic pieces of human workmanship in the old ivory, and bring them with such data as may be available to the attention of scientific men or institutions. It would in fact be of much value, and the writer has suggested this to the Governor of Alaska, to establish a local museum at Nome, where such objects could be gathered and saved to science.

ABORIGINAL REMAINS

The coast of which Nome is now the human center, up to Cape Wales, together with the nearer islands, was occupied by the Maiglemiut (Zagoskin), or Mahlemut (Dall et al.) subdivision of the Eskimo. They were a strong group, and great traders. During the Russian times the Aziags, from what is now the Sledge Island, with probably others from the coast, visited yearly for trading purposes as far as St. Michael and the Yukon, while the Wales people were known to trade up to fairly recently as far as Kotzebue, both at the same time having trading connections with Asia.

Of these natives, with the exception of those at Wales, there remains but little. On Sledge Island there are only two dead villages, and on the coast from Port Clarence to far east of Nome there is not a single existing native settlement. A few remnants of the people live in Nome, but they have lost all individuality.

Dead sites are known to exist from west to east, at Cape Wooley; at the mouth of the Sonora or Quartz Creek; at the mouth of the Penny River—some natives are said to still go to fish there in summer; at the mouth of a small river 3 miles east of Nome; both west (a larger village) and east (a small site) of Cape Nome; and 18 miles east of Nome (the "Nook" village).

Most of these sites have been peopled within the memory of the oldest inhabitants.

Thanks to the kind aid of the Reverend Doctor Baldwin, I was able to visit several of the sites east of Nome, more particularly the Nook village, and it was still possible to find two skeletons and a skull on these sites.

The Nook site must have been one of considerable importance. It was an especially large village, or rather two near-by villages, in one of which I counted upward of 30 depressions, remnants of the semisubterranean houses with vestibules, such as are elsewhere described from the Yukon.

Here a clear illustration was had of what changes on sites of this nature may be wrought in a short time by the elements.

Fifteen years ago, I was assured, there were still many burials and skeletal remains scattered along the coast near the Nook village. Then in 1913 came a great southwestern storm, which at Nome ripped up the cemetery and carried away some coffins with bodies, scattering them over the plains in the vicinity. Since that storm not a vestige remains of any of the burials or bones near the large Nook village. On prolonged examination I found nothing but sands overgrown with the usual coast vegetation. Everything had been carried away or buried and the pits of the houses were evidently themselves largely filled in.