FAR AND NEAR 



grown potatoes, turnips, onions, strawberries, rasp- 

 berries, and currants. The people were clad as well 

 and in much the same way as those of rural villages 

 in New York and New England. A large number 

 of them were gathered upon the wharf when we 

 landed, their big round faces and black eyes showing 

 only a quiet, respectful curiosity. We called upon 

 Mr. Duncan at his house and listened to his racy 

 and entertaining conversation. His story was full of 

 interest. At eleven o'clock the church bell was ring- 

 ing, and the people — men, women, and children, all 

 neatly and tastefully clad — began to assemble foi 

 their Sunday devotions. Some of the hats of the 

 younger women looked as if fresh from the hands of 

 a fashionable city milliner. Many of the older ma- 

 trons wore silk handkerchiefs of various colors on 

 their heads. Mr. Duncan preached to his people in 

 their native tongue, a vague, guttural, featureless 

 sort of language, it seemed. The organ music and 

 the singing were quite equal to what one would hear 

 in any rural church at home. The church was built 

 by native carpenters out of native woods, and its 

 large audience room, capable of seating eight or 

 nine hundred people, was truly rich and beautiful. 

 Mr. Duncan is really the father of his people. He 

 stands to them not only for the gospel, but for the 

 civil law as well. He supervises their business enter- 

 prises and composes their family quarrels. 



The Alaskan Indian is of quite a different race 



30 



