The Home I Found in Alaska 



the 2Oth to Wrangell, the most inhospitable place at 

 first sight I had ever seen. The little steamer that had 

 been my home in the wonderful trip through the 

 archipelago, after taking the mail, departed on her 

 return to Portland, and as I watched her gliding out 

 of sight in the dismal blurring rain, I felt strangely 

 lonesome. The friend that had accompanied me thus 

 far now left for his home in San Francisco, with two 

 other interesting travelers who had made the trip for 

 health and scenery, while my fellow passengers, the 

 missionaries, went direct to the Presbyterian home in 

 the old fort. There was nothing like a tavern or lodg- 

 ing-house in the village, nor could I find any place in 

 the stumpy, rocky, boggy ground about it that looked 

 dry enough to camp on until I could find a way into 

 the wilderness to begin my studies. Every place 

 within a mile or two of the town seemed strangely 

 shelterless and inhospitable, for all the trees had long 

 ago been felled for building-timber and firewood. At 

 the worst, I thought, I could build a bark hut on a 

 hill back of the village, where something like a forest 

 loomed dimly through the draggled clouds. 



I had already seen some of the high glacier-bearing 

 mountains in distant views from the steamer, and 

 was anxious to reach them. A few whites of the village, 

 with whom I entered into conversation, warned me 

 that the Indians were a bad lot, not to be trusted, 

 that the woods were well-nigh impenetrable, and 

 that I could go nowhere without a canoe. On the 

 other hand, these natural difficulties made the grand 

 wild country all the more attractive, and I deter- 



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