ALASKA THE GREAT COUNTRY CHAPTER XVIII Echoes and Relics: Birds, Battles, and Peace in Sitka

Alaska has no birds? Then you've never walked beneath Sitka's forest canopy, where the hermit thrush sings in haunting sweetness, and the gold-crowned kinglet flits through the moss-draped trees like a spirit of the wild. On the path to Indian River, nestled in evergreens, stands the Sheldon Jackson Museum—an unassuming treasure trove of Alaska’s past. Within, I found more than artifacts; I found legends. One piece in particular held me spellbound: a war bonnet carved from wood into a raven’s head, polished until it gleamed like velvet. Worn by Chief Kath-le-an and his ancestors, it once led warriors through fire and fury. In 1804, during a long siege by the Russians, the charm of the raven failed. Defeated, Kath-le-an buried the war bonnet deep in the woods. Years later, he unearthed it—not for war, but for memory. “We will hereafter dwell in peace with the white people,” he declared, donating the bonnet to the museum. He kept that promise—and he lives on, nearly ninety, a keeper of peace in a place once known for war. Sitka’s soul is layered: birdsong and silence, relics and resistance, reverence and humor. It is not just a place—but a living story.

Episode Transcript

Speaker 1 (00:00):
Chapter eighteen. The many people who innocently believe that there
are no birds in Alaska may be surprised to learn
that there are at least fifty different species in the
southeastern part of that country. Among these are the songs sparrow,
the rufous humming bird, the western robin of unfailing cheeriness,

(00:20):
the russet back thrush, the barn swallow, the golden crowned kinglet,
the Oregon junko, the winter wren, and the bird that,
in liquid clearness and poignant sweetness of note, is second
only to the western meadowark, the poetic hermit thrush. He
that has heard the impassioned notes of this shy bird
rising from the woods of Sitka, will smile at the

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assertion that there are no birds in Alaska. On the
way to Indian River is the museum whose interesting and
valuable contents were gathered chiefly by Sheldon Jackson, and which
still bears his name. Doctor Jackson has been the General
Agent of Education in Alaska since eighteen eighty five and

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the Superintendent of Presbyterian Missions since eighteen seventy seven. His
work in Alaska in early years was undoubtedly of great value.
The museum stands in an evergreen grove not far from
the road. Here may be found curios and relics of
great value. It is to be regretted, however, that many

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of the articles are labeled with the names of collectors
instead of those of the raal donors. At least this
is the information voluntarily given me by some of the donors.
In the collection is an interesting war bonnet, which was
donated by Chief Kathleen, who planned and carried out the
siege of eighteen seventy eight. It was owned by one

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of Kathlewin's ancestors. It is made of wood carved into
a raven's head. It has been worked and polished until
the shell is more like velvet then would, and is
dyed black. It was many years ago a polite custom
of the Thlinkets to paint and oil the face of
a visitor as a matter of hospitality and an indication

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of friendly feeling and respect. A visitor from another tribe
to sitkefelel And died shortly after having been so oiled
and honored, and his people claimed that the oil was rancid,
or that sum evil spell had been oiled into him,
and a war arose, The Sitka tribe began the preparation

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of the raven war bonnet and worked upon it all summer,
while actual hostilities were delayed. As winter came on. Cathlun's ancestor,
one day addressed his young men, telling them that the
new war bonnet on his head would serve as a
talisman to carried them to a glorious victory over their enemies.

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Through the battle that followed, the war bonnet was everywhere
to be seen in the center of the most furious fighting.
Only once did it go down, and then only for
a moment when the chief struggled to his feet, and
as his young men saw the symbol of victory rising
from the dust, the thrill of renewed hope that went

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threw them impelled them forward in one splendid, simultaneous movement
that won the day. In eighteen o four, Catholin himself
wore the hat when his people were besieged for many
days by the Russians. On this occasion, the spell of
the war bonnet was broken, and upon his utter defeat, Cathlein,

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feeling that it had lost its charm for good luck,
buried the unfortunate symbol in the woods. Many years afterward,
Cathlein exhumed the hat and presented it to the museum.
We will hereafter dwell in peace with the white people,
he said, So, my young men will never again need
the war bonnet. Cathlein has to this day kept his word.

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He is still alive, but is nearly ninety years old.
Interesting stories and myths are connected with a large number
of the relics in the museum, to which the small
admission fee of fifty cents is asked. One of the
early picturesque block houses built by the Russians still stands
in a good state of preservation, on a slight eminence

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above the town, on the way to the old cemetery.
The story of the lowering of the Russian flag and
the hoisting of the American colors at Sica is fraught
with significance to the superstitious. The steamship John L. Stephens,
carrying United States troops from San Francisco, arrived in Sica

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Harbor on the morning of October ninth, eighteen sixty seven.
The gunboats Jamestown and Russica had already arrived and were
lying at anchor. The Ossipe did not enter the harbor
until the morning of the eighteenth. At three o'clock of
the same day, the command of General Jefferson's S. D. Davis,

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about two hundred and fifty strong in full uniform, armed
and handsomely equipped, were landed and marched to the heights
where the famous Governors Castle stood. Here they were met
by a company of Russian soldiers, who took their place
upon the left of the flagstaff, the command of General
Davis formed on the right. The United States flag, which

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was to float for the first time in possession of Sitka,
was in the care of a color guard, a lieutenant,
a sergeant and ten men. Besides the officers and troops,
there were present the Prince and Princess Matsukov, many Russian
and American residents, and some interested Indians. It was arranged

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by Captain Peshchurov and General Levelen Rassou, Commissioner for the
United States, that the United States should lead in firing
the first salute, but that there should be alternate guns
from the American end Russian batteries, thus giving the flag
of each nation a double national salute. The ceremony was

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begun by the lowering of the Russian flag, which caused
the princess to burst into passionate weeping, while all the
Russians gazed upon their colors with the deepest sorrow and
regret marked upon their faces. As the battery of the
Ossipe led off in the salute and the deep peals
crashed upon Mount Verstoviye and reverberated across the bay, an

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accident occurred which has ever been considered an omen of misfortune.
The Russian flag became entangled about the ropes owing to
a high wind, and refused to be lowered. The staff
was a native pine about ninety feet in height. Russian soldiers,
who were sailors as well, at once set out to

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climb the pole. It was so far to the flag, however,
that their strength failed ere they reached it. A bosun's
chair was hastily rigged of rope, and another Russian soldier
was hoisted to the flag. On reaching it, he untangled
it and then made the mistake of dropping it to

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the ground, not understanding Captain Pestiurov's energetic commands. To the contrary,
It fell upon the bayonets of the Russian soldiers, which
was considered an ill omen for Russia. The United States
flag was then slowly hoisted by George Loveorassau, and the
salutes were fired as before, the Russian water battery leading.

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This time the hoisting of the flag was so timed
that at the exact instant of its reaching its place,
the report of the last big gun of the Ossipe
roared out its final salute. Upon the completion of the salutes,
Captain Pesturov approached the Commissioner and said, General Rosseau, by
authority of his majesty, the Emperor of Russia, I transfer

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to the United States day the territory of Alaska. The
transfer was simply accepted, and the ceremony was at an end.
No one understanding the American spirit can seriously condemn the
Americans present for the three cheers which burst spontaneously forth.
Yet there are occasions upon which an exhibition of good taste, repression,

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and consideration for the people of other nationalities present is
more admirable and commendable than a spreadigo burst of patriotism.
The last trouble caused by the Sick and Indians was
in eighteen seventy eight. The ceiling schooner San Diego carried
among its crew seven men of the Kiksati clan. The

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schooner was wrecked, and six of the cake Saties were drowned.
Chief Catholin demanded of Colonel M. D. Ball, collector of
Customs and at that time the only representative of the
government in Sitka, one thousand blankets for the life of
each man drowned. Colonel Ball, appreciating the gravity of the

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situation and desiring time to prepare for the attack which
he knew would be made upon the town, promised to
write to the company in San Francisco and to the
government in Washington. After a long delay, a replied to
his letter arrived from the company, which refused, as he
had expected, to allow the claim and stated that no

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wages even were due the men who were drowned. The government,
which at that time had a vague idea that Alaska
was a great iceberg floating between America and Siberia, paid
no attention to the plea for assistants. When Chief Cathlen
learned that payment in blankets would not be made, he

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demanded the lives of six white men, this also being refused,
he withdrew to prepare for battle. Then hasty preparations were
made in the settlement to meet the hourly expected attack.
All the firearms were made ready for action, and a
guard kept watch day and night. The Russian women and

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children were quartered in the home of father Nikolai Metropolski,
the Americans in the custom house. The Indians held their
war feast many miles from Sitka. On their way to
attack the village, they passed the white sulfur hot springs
on the eastern shore of Baranof Island and murdered the
man in charge. They then demanded the lives of five

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white men, and when their demand was again refused, they
marched stealthily upon the settlement. However, Sitka possessed a warm
and faithful friend in the person of Anahoot's, chief of
the Kakwantans. He and his men met the hostile party,
and while attempting to turn them aside from their murderous purpose,

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a general fight among the two clans was precipitated. Before
the Cakesaties could again advance, a mail boat arrived and
the war passion simmered. When the boat sailed, a petition
was sent to the British authorities at Esquimalt, asking for
humanity's sake that assistance be sent to Sitica. Cathlin had

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retreated for reinforcement, and on the eve of his return
to make a second attack, h mess Osprey arrived in
the harbor. The appeal to another nation for aid, and
the bitter newspaper criticism of its own indifference had at
last aroused the United States government to aid. Realization of

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its responsibilities, the revenue cutter Walcott dropped anchoring the Sitka
Harbor a few days after the Osprey, and from that
time on Sitka was not left without protection. Along the
curving road to Indian River stands the soft gray Episcopal
Church Saint Peter's by the Sea. Built of rough graystone

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and shingles, it is an immediate pleasure and rest to
the eye. Its doors stand open to the sea. The
wind goes through at will and bears the scent of
brine and blue to the far Emerald hill. Any stranger
may enter alone, and, passing into any pew, may kneel
in silent communion with the God who has created few

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things on this earth more beautiful then Sitka. No admission
is asked. The church is free to the prince and
the pauper, the sinner and the saint, to those of
every creed, and to those of no creed at all.
The church has no rector, but is presided over by P.
T Roe, the Bishop of all Alaska, and the beloved

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of all men, Him who carries over land and sea,
over ice, an everlasting snow, over far thunder wastes, and
down the lone and mighty Yukon in his solitary canoe,
or by dharka, by dog teen and on foot, to
white people and dark and to whomsoever needs the simple,
sweet and blessed message of love. It was in eighteen

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ninety five that Reverend P. T Roe, rector of Saint
James Church, Salt Saint Marie, was confirmed as Bishop of Alaska.
He went at once to that far an unknown land,
and of him and his work there no words are
ever heard, save those of love and praise. He is bishop,

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rector and traveling missionary. He is doctor, apothecary and nurse.
He is the hope and the comfort of the dying end,
the pall bearer of the dead. He travels many hundreds
of miles every year by lone and perilous ways, over
the ice and snow, with only an Indian guide in
a team of huskies. To carry the word of God

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into dark places. He is equally at ease in the
bare barah and in the palace like hombs of the rich.
When he visits the larch cities of the world, Bishop
Row is an exceptionally handsome man, of courtly bearing and
polished manners. The moment he enters a church, his personality
impresses itself upon the people assembled to hear him speak.

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On a grey august Sunday and Nome, three thousand miles
from Sica, I was surprised to see so many people
on their way to midday service, Alaska not being famed
for its church going qualities. Oh it is the bishop,
said the hotel clerk, smiling Bishop Row. He added, apparently

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as an afterthought, everybody goes to church when he comes
to town. I had never seen Bishop Row, and I
had planned to spend the day alone on the beach,
for the surf was rolling high, and its musical thunder
filled the town. It's lonely melancholy spell was upon me,

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and its call was loud and insistent, and my heart
told me to go. But I had heard so much
of Bishop Row and his self devoted work in Alaska
that I finally turned my back upon temptation, enjoying the
narrow stream of humanity winning its way to the little church.
When Bishop Row came, bending his dark head through the

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low door leading from the vestry, clad in his rich
scarlet and purple and gold embroidered robes, I thought I
had never seen so handsome a man. But his appearance
was forgotten the moment he began to speak. He talked
to us, but he did not preach. And we gathered
there from so many distant lands, each with his own

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hopes and sins and passions, his own desires and selfishness,
grew closer together and leaned upon the words that were
spoken there to us. They were so simple, and so earnest,
and so sweet, They were so seriously and so kindly uttered.
And the text it went with us out into the sea,

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sweet surf beaten streets of Nome, and this was it,
Love me and tell me so. Like the illustrious Viniemenov,
Bishop Row, of a different church and creed, and working
in a later, more commercial age, has yet won his
hold upon northern hearts by the sane and simple way

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of love. The text of his sermon that gray day
in the serf beaten thunder, sweet City of Nome is
the text that he is patiently and cheerfully working out
in his noble life work. Mister duncan at Metlakatla has
given his life to the Indians who have gathered about him.
But Bishop Row of all Alaska has given his life

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to dark man and white, wherever they might be. Year
after year, he has gone out by perilous ways to
find them, and to scatter among them his words of love,
as softly and as gently as the Indians used to
scatter the white down from the breasts of sea birds
as a message of peace to all men. The White

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Sulfur Hot Springs, now frequently called the Sitka Hot Springs,
are situated on Hot Springs Bay on the eastern shore
of Baranoff Island, almost directly east of Sitka. The bay
is sheltered by many small green islands, with lofty mountains
rising behind the sloping shores. It is an ideally beautiful

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and desirable place to visit, even aside from the curative
qualities of the clear waters which bubble from pools and
crevices among the rocks. These springs have been famous since
there discovery by Liznski in eighteen o five. Sir George
Simpson visited them in eighteen forty two, and with every

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year that has passed, their praises have been more enthusiastically,
some by the fortunate ones who have voyage to that
dazzlingly green and jeweled region. Copyright by E. A. Hegg
Juno's Summit of Chilcoot Pass eighteen ninety eight. Copyright by E. A.
Heg Juno Summit of Chocoop Pass, eighteen ninety eight. The

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main spring has a temperature of one hundred and fifty
three degrees fahrenheit. Its water's cooking eggs in eight minutes.
From this spring to baths are fed, their waters flowing
down to the sea, being soon reduced in temperature to
one hundred and thirty degrees. Filmy vapors float over the
vicinity of the springs and rise in funnel shaped columns,

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which may be seen at a considerable distance, and which
imparten atmosphere of mystery and unreality to the place. Vegetation
is of unusual luxuriance, even for this land of tropical growth,
and in recent years experiments with melons and vegetables, which
usually mature in tropic climes only have been entirely successful.

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In this steamy in balmy region. There are four springs
in whose waters the Indians from the time of their
discovery have sought to wash away the ills to which
flesh is air. They came hundreds of miles and lay
for hours at a time in the healing baths, with
only there heads visible. The bay was neutral ground, where

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all might come, but where none might make settlement or
establish claims. The waters near bound in fish and waterfowl,
and the forests with deer, bears and other large game.
The place is coming, but slowly, to the recognition of
the present generation. When the tropic beauty of its location

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and the curative powers of its waters are more generally known,
it will be a mecca for pilgrims. The main station
of government agricultural experimental work in Alaska is located at SIKA.
Professors see Georgeson is the special agent in charge of
the work, which has been very successful. It has accomplished

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more than anything else in the way of dispelling the
erroneous impressions which people have received of Alaska by reading
the descriptions of early explorers who fancied that every drift
of snow was a living glacier, and every feather the
war bonnet of a savage. In nineteen o six, at
cold Foot, sixty miles north of the Arctic Circle, were

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grown cucumbers eight inches long, nineteen inch rhubarb, potatoes four
inches long, cabbages whose matured heads weighed eight pounds, and
turnips weighing sixteen pounds, all of excellent quality. At Bear Lake,
near Seward and cook Inlet were grown good potatoes, radishes, lettuce, carrots, beets, rhubarb, strawberries, raspberries,

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logan berries, blackberries, also roses, lilacs, and English ivy. In
this locality, cows end chickens thrive and are profitable investments
for those who are not too indolent to take care
of them. Alaska lettuce must be eaten to be appreciated.
During the hot days and the long light hours of

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the nights, it grows so rapidly that its crispness and
delicacy a flavor cannot be imagined. Everything in Alaska is
either the largest, the best, or most beautiful in the world.
The people who live there maintain and this soon grows
to be a joke to the traveler. But when the
assertion that lettuce grown in Alaska is the most delicious

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in the world is made, not a dissenting voice is heard.
Along the coast, seaweed and fish guano are used as fertilizers,
and soil at the mouth of a stream where there
is silt is most desirable for vegetables. In southeastern Alaska
and along the coast to Kodiak, at Fairbanks and Copper Center.

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At white Horse, Dawson Rampart, Tanninal, Council, City, Eagle, and
other places. On the Yukon, almost all kinds of vegetables,
berries and flowers grow luxuriantly in bloom and bare in abundance.
One turnip of fine flavor has been found sufficient for
several people in the vicinity of the various hot springs.

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Even corn, tomatoes, and muscmelans where successful to the highest degree.
On the Yukon, cabbages form fine, white, solid heads. Cauliflower
is unusually fine, and white beets grow to a good size,
are tender, sweet, and of a bright red. Peas are excellent. Rhubarb, parsley,

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and celery were in many places successful onions seem to
prove a failure in nearly all sections of the country,
and potatoes, turnips and lettuce are the prize vegetables. Grain
growing is no longer attempted. The experiment made by the
government in the coast region proved entirely unsatisfactory. It will

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usually mature, but August, September and October are so rainy
that it is not possible to save the crop. It is, however,
grown as a forage crop, for which purpose it serves excellently.
The numerous small valleys, coves and pockets afford desirable locations
for gardens, berries, and some varieties of fruit trees. In

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the interior. Encouraging success has been obtained with grain. The
experiments a Copper Center have not been so satisfactory as
at Rampart, three and a half degrees farther north on
the Yukon. At Copper Center, heavy frosts occur as early
as August fourteenth, while at Rampart nel killing frosts have

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been known before the grain had ripened in the latter
part of August. Rampart is the low loveliest settlement on
the Yukon, with the exception of Tannino. Across the river
from Rampart, the green fields of the experimental station sloped
down to the water. The experiments carried on here by

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Superintendent Raider under the general supervision of Professor Georgeson, who
visits the stations yearly, have been very satisfactory. Experimental work
was begun at Rampart in nineteen hundred and grain has
matured there every year, while at Copper Center only one
crop of four has matured. In nineteen o six owing

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to dry weather, the growth was slow until the middle
of July. From that date on to the latter part
of August there were frequent rains, causing a later growth
of grain than usual. The result of these conditions was
that when the first killing frost occurred, the grain was
still growing, and all plats save those seated earliest, were

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spoiled for the finer purposes. The frosted grain was, however,
immediately cut for hay, twenty tons of which easily sold
for four thousand, one hundred and fifty two dollars. These
results proved that even where grain cannot be grown to
the best advantage, it may be profitably grown for hay.

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For the latter purpose, larger growing varieties would be sown,
which would produce a much heavier yield than bring larger profits.
At present, all the feed consumed in the interior by
the horses of packed trains and of travelers is hauled
in from Tidewater one hundred miles at least, and frequently

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two or three times as far, and two hundred dollars
a ton for hay is a low price. The actual
cost of hauling a ton of hay from Valdez to
Copper Center one hundred miles is more than two hundred dollars.
Roadhouse keepers advertise spe victually low rates on hay at
twenty cents a pound, the ordinary retail price at that

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distance from Tidewater being five hundred dollars a ton. The
most serious drawback to the advancement of agriculture in Alaska
is the lack of interest on the part of the inhabitants.
Probably not fifty people could be found in the territory
who went there for the purpose of making homes. Now

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and then a lone dreamer of dreams may be found
who lives there, or who would gladly live there, if
he might only for the beauty of it, which can
be found nowhere else, and which will soon vanish before
the brutal tread of civilization. The others go for gold.
If they do not expect to dig it out of

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the earth themselves, they plan and scheme to get it
out of those who have so acquired it. There is
no scheme that has not been worked upon Alaska, and
the real workers of Alaska go there to get gold,
honestly if possible, but to get gold, to live from
hand to mouth while they are there, and to get

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away as quickly as possible, and spend their gold far
from the country which yielded it. They have neither the
time nor the desire to do anything toward the development
of the country itself. Ex Governor John G. Brady is
one of the few who have devoted their lives to
the interest and the upbuilding of Alaska. Thirty years ago

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he went to Alaska and established his home at Sitka.
There he has lived all these years with his large
and interesting family. There he still lives. He has a
comfortable home, gardens and orchards that leave little to be desired,
and has demonstrated beyond all doubt that the man who
wishes to establish a modern, comfortable, even luxurious home in

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Alaska can accomplish his purpose. Without serious hardship to his family,
however delicate the members thereof may be, the Bradys are
enthusiasts and authorities on all matters pertaining to Alaska. Governor
Brady has been called the Rose Governor of Alaska because
of his genuine admiration for this flower. He can scarcely

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talk five minutes on Alaska without introducing the subject of roses,
and no enthusiast has ever talked more simply and charmingly
of the roses of any land than he talks of
the roses of Alaska, the cherished ones of the Garden,
and the big pink ones of Unalaska and the Yukon.
As missionary and governor, mister Brady has devoted many years

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to this splendid country, and the distressful troubles into which
he has fallen of late, through no fault of his own,
can never make a grateful people forget his unselfish work
for the upbuilding and the civilization of Alaska. Today, Sitka
is idyllic. Her charm is too poetic and too elusive

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to be described in prose. A greater contrast than she
presents to such hustling commercial towns as Juno Valdas, Kordova
and Katala could scarcely be conceived to drift into the
harbor of Sitkas like entering another world. The Russian influence

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is still there after all these years, as it is
in Kodiak and Unalaska.