To the Bright Edge of the World

by Eowyn Ivey

  I said there is no reason to think there will be a battle.

   — He says the battle will come. But maybe this boy will be able to talk over here, talk over there.

  June 2

  For now, our party upriver consists of myself, Sgt. Tillman, Lieut. Pruitt, Ceeth Hwya, Nat’aaggi, & the dog. Samuelson & Boyd will continue with us for the next week or so to scout prospecting sites.

  We retrieved our cached goods, including tea, lard, beans, our last sack with some small portion of flour. I insisted that we leave behind Pruitt’s photographic equipment & remaining plates. We arranged for Ceeth Hwya to send these downriver with traders to be delivered to Perkins Island. Pruitt does not believe he will ever see the photograph plates again. I understand his dismay, yet they become unwarranted as our welfare does not depend on them.

  We pull our supplies upriver in the skin boat. The current is swift, however, so the work is hard. I consider resorting to packs again, but it would require us to abandon some of the food we have obtained from the Indians. I had hoped to employ several Midnooskies as guides upriver, but the tyone says they cannot be spared from their fishing.

  Ceeth Hwya’s presence, however, is a considerable asset. It is evident the esteem in which he is held along this river. At each Indian camp, we are greeted with much fanfare, provided with salmon & wild greens. These protracted visits slow our progress, but we are kept well fed.

  June 3

  I understand that their ways are not like ours, yet is there not some basic level of human morality? In a just world, a man should be given his due. If he works hard, he should be rewarded. If he shirks his duty, he should be punished. One would expect this to be universally accepted, but not so among some of these Indians.

  I have made it my habit at each camp to present the local head man with a small token to show our respect. Today we met one tyone who was a particularly lazy, unpleasant fellow. He did nothing for himself, would not even stand in our presence, but shouted orders at his vassals.

  A young boy, bright-eyed & cheerful, ran about the camp at the tyone’s bidding. The boy fetched water & wooden trays with food for each of us. As the visit wore on, I became decided. I gave the boy a coin. I made no show of it, but neither did I hide it. The tyone was watchful as he perhaps waited to receive his own gift. None was coming.

  Samuelson disapproved of my stand.

   — You won’t change their way of thinking, just rile them.

  There was to be no conflict. The tyone simply called the boy to him, took the coin, merrily thanked me for the gift as if I had intended to give it to him all along. As we turned our back on the camp, he was proudly showing his prize among his men.

  I enjoy my conversations with Ceeth Hwya, which become less formal. Though I have no aptitude for it, I learn a few words of his language. Mostly, though, I rely on Samuelson for translation. This afternoon as we traveled upriver, the tyone asked about where I come from, my family, & our ways of living, which I endeavored to answer. He was surprised to learn that a man of my age & status would have only one wife, to which Samuelson offered that perhaps more wives only meant more trouble. This amused Ceeth Hwya.

  His next line of questions puzzled us for some time. He approached it in several ways, asking about a certain activity I conducted each day. At last he mimicked the behavior of my writing in my journal.

  I explained how one might, through symbols drawn on paper, record experiences & ideas so that they will not be forgotten. I described it as akin to the stories they tell each other in the evenings.

  He understood that the Russians had also kept such records. He asked if I would give the books to my tyones, as the Russians had. I said that while I write reports & a journal for my commander, I also have my private diary.

  He asked if he could learn to make these symbols. I assumed so. How could he go about learning such a thing?

   — You ask a lot of questions for such a young man, I said.

  The tyone nodded seriously, then saw my joke & laughed.

  From all I have observed, these people seem to have a quick sense of humor, which is a pleasant trait.

  Received at Vancouver Barracks, August 15, 1885

  REPORT TO HEADQUARTERS DEPARTMENT OF THE COLUMBIA,

  VANCOUVER BARRACKS,

  Attention General John Haywood

  June 4, 1885

  Dear Sir,

  Our party is in good health, our expedition so far a success. We are near the confluence with the Trail River at or near 62°14'N, 145°23'W, and prepare to continue our travels north up the Wolverine River. We estimate we have traveled approximately 340 miles from the mouth of the Wolverine River. I am hopeful that you have received my previous reports.

  If all continues according to plan, we should pass through the mountains within the month and begin our journey down the river system to the western coast of the territory.

  Our encounters with the Midnooskies have so far been amiable and informative. They are a poorly armed people. Mostly they still use bow and arrow, although some small-bore muzzle-loading shotguns are present, out of which they fire pebbles or bullets hammered from copper. Judging by their peaceable, jovial character, I would not deem them warlike.

  In the future, good relations with the Trail River tyone Ceeth Hwya will be of upmost importance in securing the trust and cooperation of these tribes.

  Strong evidence exists of gold and copper along the Wolverine River Valley. The Indians are adorned with the metals and use them to make a variety of tools. Two trapper/prospectors who accompany us believe there may also be silver deposits nearby. The Indians are not particularly guarded or secretive about these minerals. I believe they will easily reveal their specific locations when pressed.

  As to other resources, game is not as plentiful as one might expect. We have seen but a few caribou and moose. Salmon, however, are said to be abundant in the Wolverine River throughout the summer. The tribes migrate to the river in early June for the fishing season. Any military endeavor would be best planned with the annual return salmon in mind.

  The main deterrent to a military presence in this territory is the rough terrain. Even the Indians are stymied in their attempt to navigate the river. The hardiest traders amongst them make journeys to the coast, via skin boat in summer, over the ice in winter, but it is a rare few. This accounts for my scant reports so far this journey.

  Due to stretches of boulder-strewn rapids, steamboats will never ascend the Wolverine River. Other than native dogs, pack animals are not suited for this country due to poor footing in the mountains and deadly winter conditions. The only feasible means of bringing a military force into the country would be to march soldiers across the ice in winter. Even with well-packed sledges, however, food stores would be exhausted well before any regiment could reach the headwaters.

  In the event of conflict, the Indians would best be controlled by halting the sale of ammunition and arms, then by patrolling the river and restricting their access to salmon during the summer season. A large number of the natives would thus perish from starvation the following winter. It is my firm belief that the destitute nature of these peoples will ensure their quick obedience if threatened with the loss of shelter or food.

  This is a demanding country. Any man who ventures here must be strong of body and mind, with great endurance and the ability to live on very little food. He must be warrior, hunter, packer, and diplomat all in one. In my experience, the only class of men to meet such requirements are mineral prospectors and fur trappers.

  I anticipate that I will not be able to send another report until we have cleared the mountains and entered the Tanana River drainage.

  Very respectfully,

  Lieutenant-Colonel Allen Forrester

  Dear Walt,

  I have just come across the name of the baby the Colonel found under the spruce tree, Moses Picea — I know him! Or I should say, I know of him. He died before I was born, but he is a hugely important figure here
in Alaska. He helped organize the first Tanana Chiefs Conference in 1915. Many Natives didn’t want the federal government to bring the reservation system to Alaska. Moses Picea served as a translator for those who came to testify before the government officials.

  I was transcribing that portion of the diary yesterday and literally jumped out of my chair with excitement when I came across his name. And I’m certain it has to be him — all the details line up.

  He died in 1980, three years before I was born. Some people said he was nearly 100 years old when he died. He didn’t have a birth certificate, though that wasn’t unusual among Alaska Natives back then.

  My mom met him several times. She says he was a remarkable man. He reminded her a lot of her own uncles, but she also remembers Moses Picea as being unusually tall and broad-shouldered and with unusual hazel eyes. She said when she was a little girl, she was always afraid of him at first because he had such an imposing presence. But then he would crack a joke or wink at her, and then they would be friends for the rest of the visit. He was a favorite among children, she said, because he always shared a bit of “Indian candy,” smoked salmon cured with brown sugar.

  It’s hard to list all that he did. That 1915 meeting was one of the first times Native leaders spoke up in defense of their land rights, and even though it wasn’t settled until nearly 60 years later, Moses Picea saw it happen in his lifetime. Instead of reservations in Alaska, Natives were given land and money to set up their own corporations. I’m sending you a copy of a photograph from that initial chiefs conference. I thought you might find it interesting.

  I think Moses Picea is most remembered for his writing, though. He was one of the last fluent speakers of the Wolverine dialect of Na-Dene. He helped translate the Bible into the Wolverine River dialect, and he wrote stories and poetry in both languages.

  This has always been one of my favorites, and I read it now with new meaning:

  Song for My Mother, 1952

  You say go to the river, it is time for the salmon

  And I go to the mountains to hunt for nothing.

  You say to never let anger chisel me

  And I sharpen my words on a whetstone.

  You say come home at night5

  but I sleep where I fall.

  So what is this Mother’s love

  but a steady hold against the bore tide of a young man?

  You say “I did not give birth to you, but you

  belong to my heart.”10

  I say, what is birth but death in reverse

  And what is love

  but the beat of a mother’s heart against her son’s ear?

  My mom saw Moses Picea speak publicly a number of times. She says he was articulate in both languages and had a way of bringing really different kinds of people together. His main message was always that the government should treat both the land and its Native people with care.

  It’s so eerie to have that all in mind when I’m reading these diaries.

  That isn’t the only reason I am writing, though. It’s been a while since I heard from you, Walt. I don’t want to be a pest, but I’ve missed your letters and wanted to make sure you are well.

  With warm regards,

  Josh

  Tanana Chiefs Conference, Library Room at Fairbanks, Alaska, July 5, 1915

  We feel that just as soon as you take us from the wild country and put us on reservations that we would soon all die off like rabbits, just as the chief has said. We live like the wild animals, in long times ago our people did not wear cotton clothing and clothes like the white men wear, but we wore skins made from the caribou. We lived on fish, the wild game, moose and caribou, and ate blueberries and roots. That is what we are made to live on, not vegetables, cattle, and things like the white people eat. As soon as we are made to leave our customs and wild life, we will all get sick and soon die. We have moved into cabins. There is no such thing now as the underground living, and as soon as we have done this the natives begin to catch cold. You used to never hear anything of consumption or tuberculosis. The majority of people say that whiskey brings tuberculosis to the Indians, but this is not true. It is because we have changed our mode of living, and are trying to live like the white men do. I feel that the natives are entitled to their own land, and should not be put on a reservation.

   — Paul Williams, front row, right.

  Hello Josh,

  Please excuse my long absence from pen and paper. I’m afraid this decrepit old husk of mine is proving more trouble than it’s worth. Of all the damndest things, my plumbing landed me in the hospital for a few days, and I was slow to get back on my feet here at home. I am glad it didn’t end me. Not that I’m clinging to life by any means, but it would be an embarrassment to be knocked off by an infection in my piss-pipes. It seems to me, all things weighed, I have earned a more dignified exit.

  Good grief, it ages me all the more to know you weren’t born until 1983. Are you even old enough to buy yourself a beer?

  I didn’t know all that business about Moses Picea and the chiefs conference, and I sure appreciate being able to see that photograph. It’s proof to me once again that you’re the right man for the job. I doubt most would have been attentive enough in their reading to come across the name, or knowledgeable enough to recognize it for what it was. It is no easy chore, reading those diaries that closely. The Colonel’s handwriting was neat enough, but so small and crowded onto the page that I always had to use a magnifying glass. And some of it has suffered from water damage and the like. I admire your diligence.

  I enjoyed telling one of the nurses about your museum up there. All those strangers coming and going from my room in the hospital, and she was the only one who would give me the time of day. Most of those gals were too busy gossiping to even notice there was an old coot in the bed they were changing. But this one girl was a sweetheart. Actually looked me in the eye and talked to me, rather than around me. Seems she’s planning a trip up to Alaska this summer with her boyfriend, going to see the sights. I envy her, and told her so. I also told her she should swing by Alpine and say hello to your museum. Sounds like she won’t be much near your neck of the woods, though. I forget just how big that state is.

  I’ve been meaning to ask you — you’ve mentioned a fellow by the name of Isaac in a number of your letters. Does he have something to do with the museum? It’s no matter except my own curiosity.

  I’ve hired a neighbor kid to help me clean out the crawl space. Along with a lot of useless junk, he brought up a rusty cookie tin filled with coins, stick pins and the like. That’s where I found this brass button. It belonged to the Colonel, although I can’t be sure it made the trip to Alaska.

  I’m still thinking on how to get all these artifacts up to you. It’s going to take some doing. For now, I thought you might enjoy this little token.

  Sincerely,

  Walt

  Lieut. Col. Allen Forrester

  June 4, 1885

  Ceeth Hwya has bestowed upon me his moose-hide tunic. It is an impressive garment, beaded with dyed porcupine quills & dentalium shells. When I went to pull it on over my head, however, we found that it was too small for my larger frame. I wrestled absurdly to remove it, which provoked laughter from all, myself included.

  One of his wives is altering it with panels of hide along the sides, an opening down the front in the manner of a white man’s jacket, so it will better fit me. It is a fine gift. I hope I managed to communicate my gratitude, both for the gift’s craftsmanship & intention. He says if I wear it, it will earn us safe passage. He indicates its power is of a magical sort. While I do not hold to such notions, it is plausible that the jacket will mark us as under his protection as we encounter other villages.

  Ceeth Hwya will not be swayed to accompany us farther north. At long last, however, he has advised us on a route. We are to take the west fork of the Wolverine River, follow it to a lake called Kulgadzi. There we will find a village on its shores.

  W
ith hopes of obtaining a map, I showed Ceeth Hwya how to use paper & pencil. He was quite taken with the implements, spent some time drawing different shapes before I induced him to draw the map.

  Based on his crude drawing, Kulgadzi appears to be a narrow lake, running east to west. We will be able to obtain canoes from the Indians. I suggested that we would paddle directly across the lake. The tyone says this is ill-advised & that we should instead travel west, taking the long way near the shore of the lake. I cannot discern his reasoning, though we will soon enough see for ourselves.

  On the north side of the lake, we will begin our last ascent to the summit.

   — He says the only living souls in this land belong to the Wolverine People, Samuelson translated.

  I asked if this is the tribe’s name.

   — Not that simple, Colonel. They mean what they say. These are wolverines that take human form. No nastier blend of character, man & wolverine. Ruthless enough to steal your last meal out from under your nose & smart enough to do it.

  Fables do not concern me. We will make our way.

   — Better you than me, the trapper said.

  Once we get into the high mountain pass, the tyone says we should not stop for the night. Samuelson says it will be best to camp while we are still down in the trees, then get an early morning start so we can make it through the pass in a long day. If we get caught out at night, he says we should keep moving. Don’t stop to set camp.

  Because of the threat of being caught out by a mountain storm?

   — Maybe that, too. But Ceeth Hwya says you’ll enter a kind of spirit world up there. He says it’s a good place, but not for the living.

  It seems these people believe the dead spend their days hunting strange beasts like none seen elsewhere, creatures with giant horns coming out of their mouths & legs the size of cottonwood trees. Once we pass over the mountains, according to the tyone, we will travel down to a river. Along the way, he claims, we are likely to stumble upon the bones of these mythical creatures.