iirdliCKA] WRITER'S TRIP ON YUKON 97 



as far as Nome, whore most of them go every summer to sell their 

 ivory and its products and bring back all sorts of provisions. And 

 in the same way the King Islanders come every summer to Nome, 

 on the east end of which, as the Diomedes on the west, they have 

 their summer habitations. (PL 7, a, b.) Only a year or two ago. 

 the natives tell, an Eskimo woman of St. Lawrence Island set out 

 alone in a canoe with her child to visit a cousin on the Asiatic coast, 

 50 miles distant, and returned safe and sound after the visit was 

 over. 



To bed dressed — the captain tells me we shall soon be at Shish- 

 maref, on the north shore of the Seward Peninsula, and that he will 

 have me called, if I want to visit the village. 



Awake 11.30 p. m. At 11.45 word comes that we have arrived and 

 a boat is getting ready. On deck in five minutes. Of course it is 

 still light — there is no real night any more in these regions. 



Have a cinnamon roll — the night specialty for the crew on the 

 Bear — and a bowl of coffee. The natives, two boats full, already 

 coming, and a fine full-blooded lot they show themselves to be. They 

 are accompanied by Mr. Wegner, a big, pleasant young teacher. 



Leave natives trading and set oil in ship's boat. The Bear is 

 anchored about iy s miles off. Fortunately fairly quiet or we should 

 not be able to go ashore. Teacher and a young English-speaking 

 native go with us. We have the launch and the skin whaleboat. 

 Anchor first off shallow beach and transfer into the skin boat for 

 the landing. 



Tuesday, July 27. It is about 12.30 a. m. Many native women, 

 youngsters, and some men gather about us at the school. Talk to 

 them — explain what I want, which is mainly skulls and bones — all 

 quite agreed. Take two young natives, some bags, and proceed to 

 where they lead me. 



Find, about half a mile from the present village, a big and im- 

 portant old site, which existed up to the white man's time. But 

 dunes on which burials were made and house sites have been largely 

 graded by a fox-farm keeper and trader. Mr. Goshaw. He bad 

 gathered many skulls — shows me a photo of two rows, at least 40 — 

 will not tell what he did with them. Says he sent " many things to 

 the Smithsonian," but can give no details, ''and to the universities," 

 but will not mention which. Also "buried a lot." Bad business. 



Gathering what is possible from the debris thrown out by the 

 Eskimo working for the fox farm, we proceed rapidly from mound 

 (dune) to mound. Find burials still on the surface in situ — i. e., 

 nearly buried by the rising carpet of the vegetation — but skulls gone. 

 Many of those on remaining heaps imperfect, but at least something 

 can be saved. Collect all that is worth collecting. See Mr. Goshaw — 



