Humanity itself, in the Far North, sometimes becomes quite as cold and frozen as the land itself. But there is one thing which never fails to thaw it,--children. And any one who lives long in the north country can not but realize that children are of vital necessity in any spa.r.s.ely-settled land. The Reverend Hudson Stuck, to whose admirable volume, _Voyages on the Yukon_, reference has already been made, relates a good story bearing on this point. Long residence in Alaska has taught him much that has never yet been writ in books and has made of him, although a man of the strictest religious convictions, kindly tolerant of the frailties of humankind. Above all else, he is impatient, as we all are, of the non-essentials in education which are being crammed down the throats of the natives by teachers, often due to youth and inexperience, while the essentials, the things of real value to them as individuals and to the country as a whole, are neglected.
The Archdeacon relates that once he visited a Mission where the man in charge, a youth, with misguided enthusiasm, boasted that there was neither a half-breed nor an illegitimate child in the village! The Archdeacon received the information in silence, but after a tour of inspection he returned to the subject.
"I see no children at all," he remarked. "Aren"t there any?"
The young man proudly admitted that there were none,--whereupon the Archdeacon proceeded to shock him.
"I much prefer half-breed children or even illegitimate children to no children at all!" he said. "By the grace of G.o.d, much may be done with the half-breed or even the illegitimate child. But in the name of all that is hopeless and preposterous," he finished, "what can ever be accomplished in a country where there are _no children at all_?"
It has always been a matter of real regret to me that the Archdeacon did not record the answer to his question!
Just when the custom of the trial marriage in its present form originated I do not know. That it must have entered with or at least followed closely in the wake of the Greek Catholic Church is undeniable. As was the case with the native ceremonies of the American Indians,--the Sun Dance, the Ghost Dance, the Flute Dance and the Snake Dance--_religious_ ceremonies, every one of them, exaggerated and highly-colored reports of which were carried to the government by over-enthusiastic and sometimes fanatical missionaries and agents with the result that the government took steps to suppress them, the trial marriage of the natives of Alaska, while not yet suppressed, now rests under official displeasure. A part of my duty was to investigate this subject. I did so--with a result more astonishing to myself than it could possibly have been to any one else. Like the man of old who went to the temple to scoff and remained to pray, I issued forth from this investigation with most of my preconceived theories on the subject knocked galley-west. Some of my hitherto staunchest principles, if not quite broken, were so badly bent that I have never yet been able to hammer them out quite straight again!
I had it out one day with Father B----, a priest of the Greek Church, a benevolent and kindly old man who in the early days of his mission among the Eskimos had cherished a dream of them as a separate people,--a race apart, who should work out their own salvation with the _a.s.sistance_ (not the _insistence_) of a wisely directed form of religion. That dream for a while promised to be realized, at least to a certain extent. But with the coming of the first white men, most of whom were utterly lawless, he saw his vision fade and finally vanish.
Nevertheless he worked on and the trial marriage is his solution of the problem. It is a sort of welding of the customs of both the native and the church.
There is one point in regard to the custom on which I wish to be plainly understood. In Alaska it is against the law for an unmarried man and woman to live together. To say that the custom exists with the _consent_ of the Church is wholly unfair. Every one who has lived in such a country as this knows very well that many of the customs as well as the laws are born of necessity, and the custom of the trial marriage is unquestionably one of these. It certainly exists with the _knowledge_ of the Church and its origin undoubtedly lies in this fact: The parishes over which one priest has jurisdiction lie far apart. A visit to each of them is possible only about once a year. Without the Church there would be _no_ marriage, even a belated one. Not infrequently it happens that a young Eskimo who wishes a wife goes to the priest and asks his a.s.sistance in finding one. The girl may (and often does) live in one parish and the young man in another. He will either go to her home or she will go to his. But they can not be married until the next visit of the priest which is sometimes a whole year later.
Before the priest will consent to a.s.sist the youth in finding a suitable companion, however, he makes certain requirements which the young man must meet. He must build an igloo, furnish it and stock it with supplies. He must then construct his boat in order that he may fish and thus make a living for them both. This done he may have his girl. _Score one in favor of the trial marriage!_ He may _not_ have her unless he is prepared to house and support her. When his igloo and boat are complete the young people go to the new home and live together for one year. At the end of the year, however, they must be married by the ceremony of the Church. If they do not come to him to be married the priest seeks them out and forbids them to live together any longer.
While the idea itself rather sticks in one"s throat, the thoughtful man can not deny that the trial marriage has much to recommend it. They who have come most closely in touch with it, the missionaries and priests, say that it is indeed seldom that the couple fail to return at the end of the year to be married. When they do, it is a.s.serted, there is usually a reason, and when this reason exists, they claim, it is far better for them to separate. The year of trial has proved that they are not suited to each other. If a child has come to them, the mother takes it and goes back to her people, and both the man and woman may select another mate and enter into another compact if they desire. But this seldom happens.
I argued the question to a finish with Father B----. He could not be moved from his position and in the end I could but acquiesce in much that he said. How much better this system is than that which prevails under the stress of our present day civilization! In the rapid and feverish life of the cities of the world to-day,--what happens? The lover and his la.s.s during the period of courtship put forth their whole stock of attractiveness. Seeing each other periodically it is quite simple to keep out of sight one"s faults and weaknesses. No sooner are they married than the hitherto concealed frailties begin to appear.
Then----. They realize that there exists a _bond_ between them and more often than not, like a dog straining at his leash, they endeavor to find out just how elastic the tie is,--just how far they can strain or stretch it. First arguments, then differences, then quarrels. Before they know it the cord snaps. Life is never the same again. Lovers"
quarrels may be made up. Family quarrels never! What then? Nine times out of ten, for social or economic reasons, they go on living together, ekeing out an unhappy and often tortured existence. What could be worse? That which (for lack of a better term to apply to it) we call the social evil is not confined to the scarlet woman of the streets. It often exists in the best families of the land!
Among these people of the Northland, however, it is different. Both the youth and the maiden know very well that at the end of the year there is a possibility of either leaving the other. The result of this knowledge is that from the very first they fall into the habit of trying to please each other! And it is a habit they seldom outgrow. If they find that they can _not_ please each other they are privileged to separate,--in fact, are required to do so. They are not permitted to remain together quarreling all their lives and ruining the family life of the children who come to them. This, in my judgment, explains the light-heartedness of the Eskimos. They are a happy people and the parents never punish the children. Domesticity counts for much among them. Home is sanctuary from the elements. They have little else,--but they have each other! The manner in which they are forced to live for so many months of the year, so closely confined, draws them very closely together. I question whether what they lack, or what we imagine they lack, does not matter less than we think. To me it seems that they miss little of life"s essential meaning. They do not have much, it is true. They are often ill-fed. They are not intellectual. They are not sentimental. They are just human! And although they may be for months shut in by the icy blasts of winter they do not complain. Why? Because no cold can penetrate the inner glow and warmth which is born of an adequate comradeship!
The trial marriage permits the indulgence in one of their quaintest of customs. No Eskimo maiden ever accepts a proposal of marriage.
Indifference to the attention of her admirer is the acme of good form!
I find that "keeping up appearances" is characteristic of humanity whether the latter dwell on Greenland"s icy mountain or India"s coral strand! And propinquity is and ever has been the most prolific parent of love--at either the North Pole or the Equator. The "force" with which the Eskimo youth of to-day seizes his bride by the hair to "drag" her off to his igloo is altogether counterfeit, as is also the attempt on the part of her family to "rescue" her. It is merely the indulgence in one of their most ancient customs.
I have been much among the natives,--especially those who abide on my island, and because of what I have seen of their family life I am almost a convert to the system. As a rule the Eskimo makes a good husband, willing to perform any labor, endure any hardship or suffer any deprivation in order to procure food for his wife and children.
Many an Arctic man of my acquaintance has died for his family, and I am often reminded when I think of them of the familiar lines:
"All love that hath not friendship for its base Is like a mansion built upon the sand!
Love, to endure life"s sorrow and earth"s woe, _Needs friendship"s solid masonry below_!"
It is said that some one once asked Diogynes this question:
"At what age is it best for a man to marry?"
With the cla.s.sical brevity of the Greeks he replied:
"In youth it is too soon,--in age too late!"
I disclaim any intention of offering a treatise on the subject of marriage, but the investigation of this custom of the natives unquestionably gave me a huge jolt! It turned my thoughts into a channel which otherwise I might never have had occasion to explore.
Would that I could chart it! If only we could bring ourselves to regard marriage as a profession and would set ourselves in a business-like way to excelling in it! Could it in any way detract from its dignity? Or its sacredness? Surely not. Medicine and surgery are professions. The Law is a profession, and the Church. Diplomacy, legislation and arms are professions. Marriage is the greatest of all professions,--and the most difficult of any to master! One may master to a degree which may be regarded as little short of perfection the other professions,--music, art, oratory, etc. What man of to-day has the conceit to regard himself as a well-nigh perfect husband?
That the rewards of marriage are incomparable is undeniable. Life"s journey, at best, is lonely. No man can deny that even though his daily task may take him amidst the crowd he lives the greater part of his life alone! A dear and close companionship is all that makes life tolerable. Nothing else ever has, will or can. Fame is a delusion and a snare. Ambition is a disease. Affectionate companionship and a home are the only things worth having. Why not build a _home_ instead of a house? Why not go about the process in a business-like way? Why not make honor and loyalty fashionable and permit faithlessness to go out of style?
One of America"s foremost writers declares repeatedly throughout his excellent novels that judgment has never yet entered into the selection of a mate,--that sentiment and emotion alone decide the after life of every couple who are wed. This is, unfortunately, true except in rare cases. None would care to abolish wholly the electrical current which flashes between the s.e.xes. And yet----. Marriage entered into from a sense of duty on both sides is not without its strong argument. He who undertakes marriage because he regards it as both a duty and a privilege, or solely from a sense of duty, who either actively or pa.s.sively selects a mate for no other reason, is very likely because of that same sense of duty to fulfill his obligations faithfully and to behave well. Nothing in all the earth is quite so fine as an active conscience! For such a man life reserves some of her grandest hours.
The Golden Apples do not grow so far above the heads of any of us that we can not reach out and gather them if we try! And he who follows the path of duty will find his own apple quite as luscious and sweet at the core as that of him who trod the flowery road of personal pleasure!
I am one of those who hope that with the end of the great World War a new spirit of tolerance may spread its white wings over all the world and that sooner or later some of the time-worn social rules and regulations, archaic because designed for a civilization two thousand years ago, may be abrogated or at least amended and modified. May the day come when life shall be individual, when creed and dogma shall be buried in a grave so deep that there shall be no possibility of a Resurrection! When that nameless and indefinite thing known as Public Opinion shall be forced to lower its threatening finger and lose its power! When all men and all women shall enjoy the privilege of working out, each for himself and herself, that most potent factor in the human experience, namely, the personal relationship, and when we shall all live saner, cleaner, healthier, happier and _more moral_ lives in consequence!
Dr. William H. Dall, Paleontologist of the United States Geological Survey and Honorary Curator of Mollusks at the National Museum at Washington, D. C., has written the following charming verses about the natives of Alaska. "Innuit" is the name by which the Eskimo calls himself and his people from Greenland to Mt. St. Elias. The _topek_ is the winter house of turf and walrus hide. In the igloo, or snow house, there is no wood. All Innuit believe in evil spirits which are supposed to dwell far inland, away from the sh.o.r.es. In times of starvation Innuit ethics permit a mother to put her baby, when she can no longer feed it, out in the snow to die. The child"s mouth must be stuffed with mud or gra.s.s. Otherwise its spirit will return and be heard crying about the house at night.
THE SONG OF THE INNUIT
O, we are the Innuit people, Who scatter about the floe And watch for the puff of the breathing seal While the whistling breezes blow.
By a silent stroke the ice is broke And the struggling prey below With the crimson flood of its spouting blood Reddens the level snow.
O, we are the Innuit people, Who flock to the broken rim Of the Arctic pack where the walrus lie In the polar twilight dim.
Far from the sh.o.r.e their surly roar Rises above the whirl Of the eager wave, as the Innuit brave Their flying lances hurl.
O, we are the Innuit people Who lie in the topek warm; While the northern blast flies strong and fast And fiercely roars the storm; Recounting the ancient legends Of fighting, hunting and play, When our ancestors came from the southland tame To the glorious Arctic day.
There is one sits by in silence With terror in her eyes, For she hears in dreams the piteous screams Of a cast-out babe that dies-- Dies in the snow as the keen winds blow And the shrieking northers come,-- On that dreadful day when the starving lay Alone in her empty home.
O, we are the Innuit people, And we lie secure and warm Where the ghostly folk of the Nunatak Can never do us harm.
Under the stretching walrus hide Where at the evening meal The well-filled bowl cheers every soul Heaped high with steaming seal.
The Awful Folk of the Nunatak Come down in the hail and the snow, And slash the skin of the kayak thin To work the hunter woe.
They steal the fish from the next day"s dish And rot the walrus lines-- But they fade away with the dawning day As the light of summer shines.
O, we are the Innuit people Of the long, bright Arctic day, When the whalers come and the poppies bloom And the ice-floe shrinks away; Afar in the buoyant umiak We feather our paddle blades And laugh in the light of the sunshine bright, Where the white man"s schooner trades.
O, we are the Innuit people Rosy and brown and gay; And we shout as we sing of the wrestling ring Or toss the ball at play.
In frolic chase we oft embrace The waist of a giggling maid As she runs on the sand of the Arctic strand Where the ice-bears bones are laid.
O, we are the Innuit people, Content in our northern home; Where the kayak"s prow cuts the curling brow Of the breakers snowy foam.
The merry Innuit people, Of the cold, gray Arctic sea, Where the breathing whale, the Aurora pale And the snow-white foxes be.
There is a diversity of opinion as to the ultimate fate of the native races of the earth. To my mind there is but one answer. Search the wide world over to-day and where will you find a wilderness? There are none which the aggressive white man has not penetrated. And wherever the white man enters the native man begins to disappear. It has always been so, and it always will be so.
If only the white man would let them alone! Is it not better to have the vast Arctic s.p.a.ces people by a native race than to have it unpeopled by anybody? The Eskimos live where no one else on earth can or will live. They are a picturesque and harmless people. In their struggle for existence they have fought valiantly. Surely they have earned the right to exist unmolested, earned it bravely.
CHAPTER XVI
SOCIAL LIFE IN ALASKA
I have more than once been forced to endure the suppressed sympathy of friends who live in the Interior because of my enforced residence on St. Michael. It is a sympathy wholly wasted. St. Michael is a bright, clean little place. There are few mosquitoes,--a fact which in itself is a recommendation. Although the temperature is sometimes very low, and although the Arctic winter sends down some terrific blizzards at times, as a rule the short winter days are bright, still and pleasant.
If one wishes sport it is right at hand on the mainland,--wild geese, duck, ptarmigan and caribou. There is also salmon fishing.
As a brilliantly-colored thread is sometimes woven into a piece of embroidery I find one vivid memory running through the years I have lived on St. Michael. To me the most wonderful thing in connection with those years is the transformation which takes place each year on the day that the first ship anchors in the Bay. Like the Sleeping Beauty of the fairy tale St. Michael suddenly wakens from her long winter"s sleep. No words can describe that awakening. It must be seen to be appreciated.