We are out of the weather. For that I should be glad. Instead I want for fresh air, room to stretch my legs. More than two dozen Indians, three dogs, and the four of us, packed into a hovel the size of a small woodshed. In the center, a greasy fire sends more smoke into our faces than out the hole above. I envy Samuelson, who snores beside me. I too would like to sleep off this day.
Earlier we cached the supplies in a stand of willows near the row boats. As we carried crates ashore, Lieut. Pruitt spotted the old Eyak coming across the snow towards us. He moved slowly, elbows & knees askew, clothes flapping in sleety wind. At his pace, the journey was sure to take him hours, yet too quickly he was beside us.
When I had Samuelson ask him if he knows where we can find this village, the old man shook his head & poked about in the crates.
?—?He’s lying, Pruitt said.
I concurred. I advised we would give him some tea if he would tell us how to find our way there.
Still the Eyak offered nothing. Samuelson said he wasn’t sure of the exact location but that we should be able to follow a nearby dry creek bed to find it. He suspected that some of the Indians we met near Point Blake were already making their way to the village over land to warn them of our coming.
As we prepared to leave, the old man sat beside the supplies. I ordered that he was to have no tea, since he offered no guidance.
?—?We can’t leave him here. He’ll rob us blind, Pruitt said.
?—?He says he is old & slow so he’ll make his own way, Samuelson said.
I would waste no more time on the matter, so we left him. For two hours we walked, crawled, beat our way through the willows. Pruitt took a branch to the face that narrowly missed his eye.
The dry creek bed petered out to leave us in a thicket. A graying dusk made passage more difficult. At times we considered we had made no progress at all, but at last we broke out of the willows & stumbled into the village, which is nothing more than a few hovels made of sticks & hides.
There, waiting for us, rested as if he had arrived hours before, was the old man. He crouched with a sly grin beside a heap of firewood.
?—?The devil! Tillman said.
Tillman seemed more amused than angry, but Pruitt wanted to search him for any of our supplies. The old man dodged his efforts.
Now, inside this overcrowded, poorly ventilated shelter, the troublemaker continues his pestering. We don’t need Samuelson to translate. The old man stands in the middle of the shelter, hops around the campfire & talks in his sing-song chortles. He waves his arms, gestures towards us, takes exaggerated steps like a clumsy hunter stalking his prey, then he spins in circles like a dizzy child. The Indians all look at us & laugh.
?—?Glad we could provide the evening entertainment, Tillman grumbled.
I continue to try to write here in my journal. When the old man forces my attention, I do not smile but nod politely.
Just now the old man knelt in front of me, reached into a pouch at his neck to pull out his prize.
?—?Chocolate! He has stolen chocolate from us! Tillman shouted & jumped to his feet, as much as he was able in this squat shelter. —?I’ll be eating pea soup, while this scoundrel feasts on chocolate.
Even Tillman proved too worn out for a fight, however. He has returned to his bed, rolled on his side to face the wall.
Despite the rowdy laughter of the Indians, I will try to sleep now as well.
March 28
I had hoped for five strong men. Instead I’m given three reluctant Indians, the young woman who claims to have skinned out her husband, & a dog.
The Indians resisted being employed, except the woman. She is not much more than a girl, yet despite her youth & small frame, I am wary of her. At best she is slightly mad, at worst capable of slitting a man’s throat as he sleeps. It did not increase my trust to know that she was amongst those who went ahead of us to warn these Indians of our approach.
Samuelson, however, argued for employing her.
?—?I’d wager she’ll be more help than the rest of them put together. Their women are hardworking. When a village moves, the women carry all the heavy loads. They fetch the wood, water, pack up the hides. To top it off, this one can hunt. She’ll earn her way.
I am doubtful, but I conceded to Samuelson’s greater knowledge of these people. Still we were in need of several men. Contrary to my conscience, I again followed Samuelson’s advice.
?—?They love a game of chance. If they think joining our party is a lucky win, they’ll want in.