hrdliCka] WRITER'S TRIP ON YUKON 75 



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. Xot 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 iy 2 , the other 4y 2 

 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 heavv lumber laid on a base raised above the 



