p146  Chapter X

A Winter in the North

Return to Alaska — Captain Francis' Story — Rescuing the Elder — Settling an Indian Difficulty — "Baptist Jim" surrenders.

As soon as I had stood a tour of duty I took the first ferry for Vallejo, walked up Georgia street and down the hill, looking on the starboard side for Staade's saloon, and his wife and children. They were not there.

At Mare Island I found that several new officers had reported for duty on the Pinta — O. W. Farenholt, commander; T. W. Kinkard, engineer; and Carl W. Jungen, senior ensign. Arnold, our new medical officer, had had a wonderful and checkered career. He was born in Kentucky and reared in Tennessee, where his family had lost its fortune during the war. He was ambitious for an education in medicine, and his stories of the way he had lived on crackers and cheese and milk were most interesting. He had about given up all hope in life when he chanced to read Mary Murfree's celebrated book, The Romance of Sunrise Rock.​a It inspired in him a new outlook on life. He persevered, was graduated from the Tennessee medical school, and later passed an examination for the Navy.

With repairs completed the Pinta left San Francisco, on October 2, 1889, and in five days reached Port Townsend. From there we made a leisurely voyage north by the inside passage, and upon arriving at Sitka secured for the winter. Our pilot was Edward H. Francis, who was known to all the old‑timers as about the most skilful and efficient  p147 in Alaskan waters. Some thought that Captain George was his equal.

I quote verbatim Captain Francis' strange story of "Meek, the Mish, or the Power of Imagination," as it was published years later in one of the Seattle papers.

In settling down for the winter Dr. Arnold and I, being the only bachelors, decided to take a place on shore. We hired one of the old Russian houses, equipped with the regulation Russian stove, and bought a cord of wood. On a bet we sawed and split one cord of wood in twelve hours, and won ten dollars. We slept in our new home just one night, and came so near freezing to death that we never returned to it. We could not handle the Russian stove.

In Sitka, at this time, poker parties were all the rage. I played on two occasions. The second time I won thirteen dollars and a half, and the wife of an officer had to pay me. Her husband had borrowed fifty dollars from me that day to pay his mess bills, and also owed me twenty-five that I had paid on clothes for his children. Since then I have never played the game.

Captain Farenholt believed in cruising, and even before spring opened up he had made many trips, by small boat, to the harbors of southeastern Alaska, within easy range of Sitka harbor. He obtained the services of Francis for the early spring piloting, and utilized them to the fullest extent.

Unfortunately the Pinta developed further engine  p150 troubles. It was almost impossible to get the old craft to reverse. When we wanted to anchor we would stop ahead of the spot selected, and take a chance that when the anchor was dropped the chain would not be carried away — a disastrous occurrence in those Alaskan currents.

In the spring we had a fine cruise, taking in Glacier Bay, and we had another view of the celebrated Muir Glacier. We took the Israel Russell expedition to Yakutat, when it made its first attempt to climb St. Elias. We measured and named all of the glaciers of the St. Elias Alps. Our selections, however, were not approved by the authorities in Washington. Most of them were the given names of women, and they were not acceptable. On this cruise I had my best chance to learn piloting in southeast Alaska, with Francis as pilot. He took the ship to Winter Harbor near the British coast, a shelter against "southeasters," and then on a long trip up the Portland Canal on the tide. We had to reach the upper end at slack water in order to turn safely, and go back on the ebb tide.

We visited Port Simpson, British Columbia, and found supplies cheap there. Liquor, as well as wine and beer, was allowed on board ship then. As wine caterer I laid in a winter's supply of square-face gin at only twenty cents a bottle. I made out a new wine list and placed at the top, "Square-Face Gin, $.22 a bottle."

J. T. Smith came to me and said, "Coontz, don't you know gin is hard liquor?"

I said, "No, I don't."

"Well, it is," he continued, "and you had better send to the cabin and get the price list you gave the captain and take it off."

"Too late," said I, "the captain has already taken twelve bottles."

 p151  We returned to Sitka and expected to be there for July 4th.

On a bright moonlight night the steamer George Elder grounded in the narrowest part of Whitestone Narrows. Hawsers were sent ashore and secured to trees, but the old craft heeled to a great angle, and was in grave danger of turning over. The captain sent a small boat to Sitka to ask for aid. He had on board a party of tourists, along with other passengers, and among the latter were my future brother-in‑law, Dr. Wyman, and his wife.

The Pinta got under way immediately, and went as close as possible to the stricken ship, anchored and threw out lines to her. We worked until four o'clock in the morning, when, with a heavy tug on the hawsers, the vessel slid off the reef, and we almost hit the beach on the other side as the strain eased up. The Elder was not injured, and proceeded to Sitka, where we had a wonderful Fourth of July. The owners of the Elder offered us life passes on the boats of their lines, but only two officers accepted them.

I was greatly exhausted by the rescue work, and the story is told that I sat on the sidewalk to see the day's sports and fell asleep. I had had the brunt of the Elder job. In July there wasn't any night anyhow. The captain decided to send me to Hot Springs, •sixteen miles south of Sitka, to recuperate. I had with me a doctor and a quartermaster, and after taking mineral baths the first night I felt better. The second morning we decided to make a little excursion over the mountains to Redoubt Bay. On the chart the distance looked short.

We had sufficient food for lunch and did not realize how great the undertaking was. Late in the afternoon we came to a small lake surrounded by precipitous bluffs, and we lowered our quartermaster down to get water. We also felt the need  p152 of food and our clothing was badly torn. The surgeon was exhausted and wanted us to leave him there until the next day. This we refused to do and literally dragged him along. Late at night we reached the western end of Redoubt Bay, followed its bank, and by great luck came upon a band of Indians sitting beside a fire, eating baked beans and hard tack. Even now I look back upon those baked beans and regard them as the best baked beans I ever ate. We hired the Indians to take us to Hot Springs in their canoes, and arrived there at daybreak. I lay in a bath tub for a long time, and then slept for eighteen hours. I was not troubled with insomnia.

After I had returned to the Pinta word came from Sitkoh Bay that trouble had broken out between the Indians and the white fishermen. The captain summoned me as soon as he received word from the Governor, and ordered me to take command of a relief expedition starting out on a cannery tug early in the morning.

He gave me the following written orders:

I selected six good marines and took an Indian interpreter, Lewis Koshook. I was very much interested in a young lady in Sitka at this time, and the captain himself took the watch while I went over to see her and say good‑bye.

We carried what we considered would be an ample supply of provisions, but it proved to be insufficient. When we reached our destination I found the white men in the upper part of the bay with their seines and everything ready to haul, and a band of one hundred and twenty-five Indians on a point of land where a little stream enters the bay. The tug took us close in to the shore, and we lowered a boat.  p154 I endeavored to get one or two Indians to come out and talk with us, but failed. We saw that they were all armed with shotguns, rifles and other implements of war. I picked out the leader, whom I found to be Baptist Jim. He was a big fellow with a black beard and looked like a man of importance. We knew that we had no chance with them unless something desperate were done at once. I landed the boat about two hundred yards from the Indians and instructed the marines to fire if the Indians shot me, and to keep up the firing until all of our party were killed.

With my trusty six‑shooter in my right hip pocket, and accompanied by the interpreter, I walked down the beach. As I neared the Indians, Baptist Jim took a bead on the center of my stomach, and I could almost feel the charge from his shotgun going through my body. The time for action was then or never. I walked boldly up to him, shoved the shotgun to one side and demanded the surrender of the entire party at once. He demurred, but I told him that even if he did kill us, the federal government would sooner or later have its innings with them, and that if the Indians had real grievances, they could be adjusted by the Governor. I was perspiring freely by this time, and felt very much relieved when he said he would agree. We stacked our arms in a tent and sat down to wait for the vessel that was to reinforce us and take us back to Sitka.

I was afraid to let the Indians know how short our food supplies were. After we ate the two days' rations, all we had was raw fish and brown sugar, and •a pint of brandy for medicinal purposes. I have never eaten raw fish since nor tasted brown sugar. When the tug which was to relieve us came in sight I opened the pint of brandy and we all had one good drink.

 p155  The tug could not carry a hundred and twenty-five prisoners, so we chose about twenty of the leaders, got them on board, and at midnight hove up anchor and started for Sitka, leaving the families of the Indians to come on later as best they could. It was a mean thing to do, but it was necessary. Their troubles dragged for months, and the governmental investigation took so long that the poor Indians, who stayed with their friends at the Ranch in Sitka, gradually became discouraged, and one by one went home.

As soon as the Indians surrendered I ordered the white men to start fishing, and I remember that on the first haul of the seine they took in more than a thousand salmon.

From the captain I received high commendation for my work in this affair, and later from the Bureau of Navigation as well. After that experience I knew I was a man.

---

Thayer's Note:

a A short story, actually. It is online.

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